
0ass__PS.2aS3 






Copyright N° [3JA 



COMRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



/:Li 



THE COMPLETE 

DRAMATIC AND POETICAL WORKS 

^^ OP 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 

'^ WITH A 

SUMMARY OUTLINE OF 

The Life oe the Poet, 

And a Description of His Most Authentic Portraits; 
COLLECTED FROM THE LATEST AND MOST RELIABLE SOURCES; 

BY 

JOHN S. HART, LL.D., 



TO WHICH IS APPENDED A 



5escriptii-i{ lualgsis o( ilic |lol of facli |lag ; 

TOGETHER WITH 

h:& ALPHABETICAL INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS, 

AN INDEX TO FAMILIAR PASSAGES, AND A COMPLETE GLOSSARY 

OF THE WORDS USED IN THE TEXT TIL\T VARY FROM 

THEIR MODERN SIGNIFICATION. 

THE TEXT EDITED BY 

W. G. CLARK AND W. A. WRIGHT. 



ijKtfi ](((u$tr8tta«$ ^^ 



MEADOWS, FRITH, AXD OTHERS. 

PHILADELPHIA: 
CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFIXGER, 

624, 626 & 628 Market Street. 
1879. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by 

CLAXTON, EEMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



^*C^ 



^S^j^::^^^::::::^^^^^^ 



COLLINS PKINTING-HOUSE. 




PUBLISHERS' ANNOUNCEMENT. 



rPlHE Publishers of " The Avon Shakespeare " are well aware of tlie many 
-"- editions of Shakespeare that have already issued from the press of both 
England and America, but they have, nevertheless, been induced to undertake the 
publication of the present volume by the generally expressed desire for a book in 
large, clear type, the text of lohich should embody the latest revisions of the best 
Shakespearian scholars. As the readings of JMessrs. Clark and Wright have been 
carefully followed, it is believed this result has been most fully achieved. 

The graphically descriptive Life, by Dr. John S. Hart, is rich with new and 
varied information, gleaned by the accomplished hand of the author from the late 
discoveries made by Shakespearian antiquaries, who have been stimulated in their 
untiring researches after all relating to the great poet's life by the ever increasing, 
never flagging, public interest in one of whom his personal friend " Rare Ben 
Jonson " said, " Neither man nor muse can j^raise too much." 

In the typographical arrangement of this work new features have been intr • 
duced, — each page being indexed at the page-head with the Scene and Act, wh 
through the printed text, by means of the dark displayed type, the eye catch' -, 
without an eifort, the main points or characters that appear on that page; ; n 
advantage the student cannot fail to heartily appreciate. 

A Descriptive Analysis of the Plots of the Plays has been prepared with gn .i 
care, and is presented as peculiar to this edition. By it the reader is enabled << 
gain, if so desired, a clear understanding of the story of the plot before readiv 
the text of the play. 

The Alphabetical Index to the Characters in Shakespeare's Plays, The Index ■/ 
Familiar Passages, and the very complete Glossarial Index, are very valuable fea- 
tures, important or -essential to the fullest understanding of Shakespeare's works 
by either the student or the general reader. The illustrations are from the sketches 
by Kenny IMeadows, Frith, or other artists of nearly equal celebrity. 

The publishers desire here to express their thanks to ]\Ir. J. Parker Norris for 
much valuable information and assistance given during the progress of the work. 




CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The Life of Shakespeaee xi 

Analysis of the Plots of the Plays . sli 
Chronological Order of the Plays . Isx 

The Tempest 1 

The Two Gentlemen of Verona ... 18 
The Merry Wives of Windsor ... 35 

Measure for Measure 56 

The Comedy of Errors 'i'S 

Much Ado about Nothing 9i2 

Love's Labour's Lost 112. 

A Midsummer-Night's Dream .... 133 

The Merchant of Venice 150 

As You Like It 170 

The Taming of the Shrew . . ... . 190 

All's Well that Ends Well . . . 210 
Twelfth Night; or, What You Will. 23:2 

The Winter's Tale 251 

The Life and Peath of King John . 275 
The Tragedy of King Richard II. . . 295 
The First Part of King Henry IV. . 316 
The Second Part of King Henry IV.. 339 

The Life of King Henry V 364 

The First Part of King Henry VI. . 3S9 
The Second Part of King Henry VL. 410 
The Third Part of King Henry VI. . 434 
The Tragedy of King Pvichaed IIL . 458 
iv 



PAGE 

The History of King Henry VIII. . 486 

Troilus and Chessida 510 

coriolanus 536 

Titus Andeonicus ........ 564 

PiOMEO AND Juliet 584 

Timon of Athens 60S 

Julius C^sar 627 

Macbeth 647 

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark .... 666 

King Lear 696 

Othello, The Moor of Venice . . . 722 

Antony and Cleopatra 748 

Cymbeline . .' 775 

Pericles 803 

POEMS. 

Venus and Adonis 822 

The Rape of Lucrece 832 

Sonnets 847 

A Lover's Complaint 863 

The Passionate Pilgrim 866 

Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music . 868 
The Phcenix and The Turtle . . . .870 

Glossarial Index 871 

Index to Familiar Passages .... 8S4 
Index to the Chaeactees in the Plays 891 




I'. . 



'i-u 








Stratford Church, where Shakespeare is Buried. 



A SUMMARY OUTLINE 



LIFE OF SHAKESPEAi.ai.; 

WITH A 

Description of His Most Authentic Portraits. 



CnAPTEP ■ 

MARVELLOUS lONORANCE . 

REGARD TO THE PERSOX ' .'II^Toi 
EST AUTHOR — DIOTn>< „f 8TBBT" 
17V3 — RECENT AW.',. UXING** 
THE INQUIRY — OiJVAMZK' 
FIFTY YEVR3 TO RESC' 
IN Till"; ..IFB OF BU ■ 

PEr.i.->i!.;D -socoi 



O the 
who 
rei^n 
ward 
ohjec 
— an object 
jy the travel 
R Nile, wliet 
5 east over 
across the t 
r quarter of t . 
•rt to strike, 
here. Whet 
; backwards ■ 
3, Wordswor 
■ id towards ti 
/(« Plowman, ' 
"User, whethei 
: t by a trans 
-ipain, Italy, o 
)f the literal 







.•■sn NATION IN 
■ OF TDEIR GREAT- 
NS ON THE SUB.TECT, 
!IE IMPORTANCE OF 
RTS IN TIIE LA.ST 
ILIVION WHATEVER 
3 NOT ABSOLUTELY 
BORS. 

r literary history, 

-d of King James's 

a the current to- 

Tie, the very first 

nd is one proudly 

raraid of Cheops, 

"her you go up or 

te its rich valley 

Arabia, or from 

f Sahara, — from 

ipproach, — is the 

from, the vision. 

h the year 1600 

? of Longfellow, 

■ron, and Scott; 

:n the author of 

Surrey, Sidney. 

current of <■ 

-, of Ge-- 

froni 

lir- 



towards the point indicated, one object stands proudly 
eniiuent, one name rises spontaneously on every 
tongue — the greatest name in all Eni;lisli, in , all 
modern, perhaps, absolutel}', in all literature. Shake- 
speare possibly may not be read as much, he cert.iinly 
is not acted as much, as he once was. But he is 
studied more; he is better known; his fame is steadily 
in the ascendant. His star is confessedly higher and 
brighter now than it was at the beginning of th 
present century ; it has risen perceptil)Iy within tl 
last twenty -five years; it is even yet far from haviui 
reached its meridian. 

Steevens, one of the most famous of the S' 
spearian editors.said.over one hundred years a-- 
"AU that is known with any degree of 
Shakespeare is, that he was born at '' 
Avon, married and had children th 
don, where he commenced act-^ 
plays ; returned to Stratfon' 
was buried." 

This statement, at *^ 
stantiallv true. I*^ 
that the'Englis' 
half from ♦' 
less of *-■ 



know 



.,ry and 

..ithor, kne' ^ 

,, than we noijr 

o of nearly thirt^ 

,)aratively recent timfh. 

letters have been count''*'* 

.^ element in the history of : 

.,c a battle, or negotiated a treaty, 

, court, or was prominently connecto'l 

Lh the civil or military adrainistrati' n 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



it, if he was even toady to some 
is life was thought to be of some 
; he formed a noticeable integer in 
lie national history. But to write a 
a discovery in science, was thought 
t the obscure dwellers of the Grub 
even though the discoveries of the 
lionize the whole fabric of human 
cations of the other might help to 
3 and manners of the race until the 
ut a change has come over the 
in this matter. We have at last 
to the fact that the literature of a 
that which has made the race what 
t thoughts which, in the course of 
m developed by its master minds, are 
s that have set the race onward in 
lization. The man of thouglit is 
of action. Great ideas precede and 
t'ements. The ideal Achilles made 
f Marathon and the Granicus. In 
race, from the days of Alfred until 
lius, the great original thinkers in 
ons, have given birth to ennobling 
■ontinue to endure, and which are 
nly in the language, but in the race 
lat these great thinkers have made 
[••(1 Americans of to-day are living 
i,li;.2._and truths elaborated by the 
In the'iU'^ral sense, indeed, no lineal 
akespcare rennins. llis blood i\e.- 
oiit within the generation that fol- 
-^--'- But in a-ki^licr and better 
liritual life-blood, "tmisc i/Uoughtg 
words that burn," pulsate? ' this 
mere than a hundred miHio"i, '^t 
in of the English-speaking racC-, 
1 whose thoughts, whose impulses 
i . consciously or unconsciously, liave 
. tone and color from the man who 
ford-upon-Avon, a little more than 
rs ago. 

jn, that, under the quickening 4n- 

'. \\ method of estimating values in 

: steadily growing fame of the great 

kened at length the most intense 

something more of his personal 

nn the "ruins of time" some pre- 

once noble edifice. The zeal and 

splayed in this investigation have 

en surpassed in any new literary 

se labors, though late, have not 

)ut success. Many important facts 

peare's life have been ascertained 

Steevens, some even within the last 

ineipal facts which have been thus 

M gathered from legal documents, 

irths, deaths, marriages, baptisms; 

ecords, wills, title-deeds, tax-lists, 

' 111 such sources, vague statements, 

1 on mere tradition, have, in some 

jVl, in others, have been defined 

''' ^_ many facts entirely new have 

V 1. In this way a somewhat 

iistent se.Ses of facts has been made 

I skeleton i-,. a biography. Tlie 

sh and fulness— i,as been on this 

the whole range o' contemporary 

re has been found, 3escribing the 

nners of any one similaily situated 

seized as showing one oi the pos- 

1 Shakespeare may have sp^m his 

thus has ceased, on the one liand 



to be a collection of absurd and contradictory tl| 
tions; and, on the other, has become something il| 
than a mere tissue of dates and legal entries. He, 
become, indeed, to some reasonable extent, persoii 
known. 



CHAPTER IT. ~ 

PARENTAOIE OF SHAKESPEARE, WHY IMTOIiTAXT- 
SHAKKSPEARE, THE FATHER, WHAT IS KNOWN 
— NAME AND GENEALOGY OF THE SIIAKESPEAl:' , 
EEPDTABLE OnARACTER OF THEIR HISTORY — M.', 
ARDEN, THE MOTHER, A YOUTHFUL HEIRESS, BELO'. 
ING TO THE LANDED GENTRY — NAME AND GENEALlj.i " 

OF THE ARDENS, THEIR HONORABLE HISTORY HA,' Y 

MARRIAGE OF JOHN SHAKESPEARE AND MARY ARD 
THEIR SETTLEMENT IN STRATFORD, AND SOCIAL ]•( 
TION THERE — PECUNIARY AFFAIRS AND OFFIC 
DISTINCTIONS OF JOHN SHAKESPEARE. 

THE date of Sliakespeare's birth is not exactly knoT ■ 
The nearest approach to it that we have is tlie chi , 
of his baptism, which is found in the parish register .>* 
Stratford. He was baptized April 26, 156-4. As b;-, 
tism in those days followed close upon birth, the piv 
abilities are that Shakespeare was born within thi 
or four days of the date of his baptism ; and as t 
23d of April is the day consecrated to St. George, t 
tutelary saint of England, Englishmen have been i 
unwilling to assume that Shakespeare was born i 
that day. Moreover, unvarying tradition — whi; 
must be allowed its weight of authority where histo 
evidence is wanting — has uniformly assigned the 2 ■ 
of April as the day on which the Great Poet was bor; 
'.'id i.ccordingly that day is now, as it ever has bee-, 
ce! -rated as his natal day all over the world. 

,;■ B'.iakespeare's parentage we now know sevei:. 
inii,^ -^liOt particulars, — important, because they co ■ 
tradicL -ui'l s*t aside some of the absurd traditio .i 
respecting (• •• ((/.-f hi!n:,elt'. To the intelligent coi - 
prehension o» lit r-/.'i'blem of Shakespeare's autho; ■ 
ship, it is necess.iry lo kiow something of his original 
condition in life — whether he was of gentle blood ■ 
of base, whether, in L.he techaical sense of the wop . 
he was educated or was merety sjif-taii.c'it, can mak-- 
his writings neither worse n< r bftter. ijijt tl^e ci' - 
cumstances of his liirth and education, his mantit^ ( 
living and his means of knowledge, do ail- ' 
the inferences which may be drawn froiu . 
They are essential conditions in the pix l i b' 
authorship. ,.j 

John Sliakespeare, the father of the poet, wasff."i.J 
inally, accoriling to tlie best information thus !»' 
obtained, what would be called a "gentleman farmer. 
The description given by Harrison, in his introductio 
to Ilolinshed's Vhroiacle, published somewhere abov 
1580,* of a certain class of Englishmen in the days ■ 
Elizabeth, might, it is believed, tit very well .\ 
character and woiidl/ circumstances of John Sha'ii« 
speare. "This sort of people," says Harrison, "hav 
a certain preeminence and more estimation than labor- 
ers and the coinmoL sort of artificers; unci theS'- 
commonly live wealthily, keep good houses, and twivel 
to get riches. They are also, for the most fiart 
farmers to gentlemen, or at the leastwise arti(i«ers: 
and with grazing, frequenting of markets, and keep 
ing of servants (not idlo servants as the gentleme i do 
but such as get both their own and part of theii 
master's living), do coiae to great wealth, info.iiucl 

• HoUiishea d. bet. loT.i uud 1582, Harrisou d. VJii C:. 



THE LIF^ 



KESPEARE. 



that Diany of them are able and do buy the 
of unthrifty gentlemen, and often settling their 
to the schools, to the universities, and to the Inns 
tiie Court, or otherwise leaving them sufficient lanu 
whereupon they may live without labor, do make 
them by those means to become gentlemen." John 
Shakespeare seems to have been, during a considerable 
poi-tion of his life, an incipient gentleman, somewhat 
after the same sort. 

It further appears that he resided originally in a 
small village (Snitterfield) three miles from Stratford, 
that he went to Stratford about the year 1.551, and 
engaged there in trade of some kind, made purchases 
of property, and continued to reside there during all 
the minority, at least, of his son William. 

The name Shakespeare was a familiar one in the 
county of Warwick, being found on record in that 
county in six different places in the fifteenth century, 
twenty-two places in the sixteenth century, and thirty- 
two places in the seventeenth century. The name has 
in itself evidence of the occupation of its origin.al 
holders. Verstegan,* the antiquarian, in a work pub- 
lished in 1605, says: "Breakspear, Shakespear, and 
the like, have been surnames imposed upon the first 
bearers of them for valor and feats of arras." Cam- 
den, under the same date, 1605, says that many an- 
cient families are named "from that which they com- 
monly carried; as. Palmer, that is. Pilgrim, for that 
they [the pilgrimsj carried palms when they returned 
from Uierusalem; Long-sword, Broad-speare, For- 
tescue (tliat is. Strong-shield), and in some such re- 
spect, Break-speare, Shake-speare, Sliot-bolt, Wag- 
staff." Fuller, in his Worthies of England, 1602, 
refers to the "warlike sound of his (the poet's) 
surname, whence," says he, "some may conjecture 
him of a military extraction, — Ilasti-vihrans, or Shalc- 
Sjieare." Hall further records, in his Chronicle, already 
quoted, that after the battle of Bosworth Field, 1485, 
which secured the kingdom to Henry VII., "the king 
began to remember his especial friends and factors, of 
whom some he advanced to honor and dignity, and 
some he enriched with possessions and goods, every 
man according to his desert and merit." This Bos- 
worth field is only thirty miles from Stratford, and 
one of the Warwickshire Shakespeares, apparently an 
ancestor of William, seems to have'been among those 
who fought in this battle, and who was thus enriched 
with possessions and goods. It is furthermore a mat- 
ter of record that a grant of arms was made to "John 
Shakespeare, now of Stratford-upon-Avon, county of 
Warwick, gentleman," a grant first drafted in 15116, 
and afterwards confirmed in 1599, in which it is re- 
cited that "his great-grandfather, and late antecessor, 
for his faithful and approved service to the late most 
prudent Prince, Henry VII., of famous memory, was 
advanced and rewarded with lands and tenements, 
given to him in those parts of Warwickshire, where 
they have continued by some descents in good reputa- 
tion and credit." The coat-of-arms thus granted to 
.the family contains a gold spear, headed with silver 
on a bend sable, on a field of gold, and also for its 
crest a falcon brandishing a spear. Spenser, in a 
passage generally believed to refer to Shakespeare, 
calls him Aetion, a name formed apparently from the 
Greek airdf, an eagle, and says, his muse doth, like him- 
self, "heroically sound;" the poet's name, too, it is to 
be observed, was in that day sometimes printed as two 
words, connected by a hyphen, Shake-speare. 

The poet's mother was of an ancient and somewhat 
wealthy family, of the name of Ap.dkn. Arden is 



■dale, the antiquarian, to be an old British 

signify " woodiness" or "woodland," and 

been traced back to the time of 

f'essor. " In this place," says Dug- 

'e choice to speak historically of 

d worthy family, whose surname 

' their residence in this part of 

H called Arden, by reason of 

•itons and Gauls using the 

■de further says that Tur- 

of especial note and 

ions" in the time of 

.'irst here in England 



r ssumed a surname, 

Eardene [Turkill 

>i Eufus." Sir 

squire of the 

;e d.iys one 

■ily could 

"■and on 

when 

hen 



• Rertitvition of Deoavecl Intelliaence in Antiquities, concern- 
ing the Most Noble and KeuowueJ English Nation. Aulwerp, 
16U5. 



word 11 

chill de 

power," aL 

the Conqueri 

that, in imitati ■: 

. . . and wrote . 

of Arden], in the 

John Arden, of this 

body to Henry VII. 

of considerable impori 

array the royal person ; !■ 

the king. The squire can 

the latter walked out, and pi 

the king would drink, and slep 

ence-chamber, for the protect! • 

person. 

Robert Arden, nephew of this Sir 

of the chamber to the same Henry \ 

also, though inferior to that of 

squire, was yet one of some 

mark. While the squire slept 

in the same apartment with the 

king, the groom slept in the 

ante-room outside, to guard tlie 

door. He also presented the 

robes with W'hich the squire 

arrayed the royal person, and 

perfoi'ined various other offices 
of a like nature. Besides this 
office, the younger Arden re- 
ceived from Henry VII. a lease 
of the royal manor of Yoxall, 
in St;iiiordshire, and was like- 
wise keeper of the royal park 
of Aldecar. This Robert Ar- 
den, the younger. Groom of the The Arms of John 
Chamber to Henry VII., was Shakespeare, 
grandfather of Mary Arden. 

Thus it appears that both the Shakespeares and the 
Ardens were persons of consideration in Warwick- 
shire, in the reign of Henry VII., and for the genera- 
tion or two immediately succeeding. 

Robert Arden, son of the Robert just named, at his 
death, in 1556, divided his estate, by will, among 
several children ; but Mary, his youngest, appears for 
some reason, to have been prominent in his thoughts. 
She was one of the executors oi his will, and received 
therein a special legacy in these words : " I give and 
bequeath to my youngest daughter, Mary, all my land 
in Wilmecote, called Asbies, and the crop upon the 
ground, sown and tilled as it is, and £6 Vis. id. of • 
money, to be paid over ere my goods be divided." 
This Wilmecote estate consisted of about sixty acres 
of land and a house, and is situated about three miles 
from Stratford, in the parish of Aston Cantlow. 

I have said the skeleton of Shakespeare's history 
has been clothed with flesh and blood, by transferring 
to a few naked facts materials drawn from contem- 
poraneous literature. Let me give a specimen of this 
mode of giving "to airy nothing a local habitation and 
a name." Suppose, in the first place, the extracts 
from the will just quoted. Next, suppose a line 
extracted from the parish register, being the official 
record of an interesting domestic occurrence a year 




THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



or two later. From these two facts a fertile imagina- 
liun has woven a narrative somewhat after this wise:* 
Mary Arden ! Tlie very name breatlies of poetry. 
But Mary is a mourner. Jler father is dead, and slie 
is now left without guidance, an lieiress and an 
orphan. Mary lives, indeed, in a peaceful hamlet. 
But there are strange things around her, — things 
incomprehensible to a very young woman. When 
slie goes to the parish church on Sunday, there are 
many things which she did not see there in lier father's 
time. She hears the mass sung and sees the beads 
bidden. Once, certainly, within those walls she had 
heard a very different form of worsljip. She recollects 
tljat in her childhood the rich religious houses of the 
vicinity had been suppressed, their property contis- 
cated, and their buildings torn down or defaced. 
Now there is apparently a new power trying to re- 



by his wisdom her doubts and perplexities about 
public affairs are kindly resolved. But ecclesiastical 
and agricultural affairs are not the only topics dis- 
cussed under this lonely roof-tree; and so, in due 
season, and not far from the time when Mary, the 
Queen, was expiring, and with her the Catholic wor- 
ship was again disappearing, as the established religion 
of England, Mary Arden and John Shakespeare were 
standing before the altar of the parish church of Aston 
Cantlow, and the house and lands of Asbies became 
thenceforth administered by one who took possession 
of the same by the right of the said Mary. 

One thing at least is certain. The parents of Shake- 
speare were neither the ill-bred nor the ill-conditioned 
people they are generally reputed to have been. On 
the contrary, they were persons of substance, of rep- 
utable descent, and in comfortable circumstances, 




The Shakespeare Homestead in Henley Street, 

Where WiUiam Shakespeare was born. 



store these institutions. There are around her mutual 
[lersecutions and heart-burnings, — neighbor warring 
against neighbor, friend against friend, parents against 
children, husband against wife. Mary muses on many 
things with an anxious heart. Tlie wealtliier Ardens 
of Kingsbury and Hampton, of Rotley and Rodburne 
and Park Hall, are her very good cousins: but bad 
roads and bad times keep them separate; and so she 
leads a somewhat lonely life. But village gossip tells 
of a young man, a yeoman of the neighboring town, 
an acquaintance of her father's, who often comes to 
sit upon those wooden benches in the old hall. He is 
<i .substantial and towardly young man, already a 
burgess in the village. From him she gathers useful 
suggestions as to the management of her little estate; 



and their son had, without the shadow of a doubt, all 
the advantages of breeding and education usually de- 
rived from growing up in such a family and attending 
the village school. What the latter was we shall 
presently inquire. 

John Shakespeare and Mary Arden were married 
probably in 1557, some time, at all events, between No- 
vember 24, 1.5.56. the date of Robert Arden's will, and 
September 15, 1558, the date of the baptism of their 
first child. This first child died in infancy. Tlieir 
second died before it was a year old. Their third, 
William, as before stated, was baptized April 26, and 
is commonly reputed to have been born April 23, 
1564. He was therefore the oldest of the family, ex- 
cepting those that died in infancy. 



* Altered from Knight, p. 11. 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



bailiff, aldermen, and bursesses. The 
alderman, once a fortnifrht held a cour 
also a court-leet, wliicli appointed " ale-ti 
of officers to prevent fraud in the qualit. 
portant el-"ment in an Englishman's co. 
court-lecu appointed also ati'eerors, whose 
to punish citizens for various minor offence 
there was no express provision in the statu 
there was the constable, an officer of no little i 
tion in such a town. John Shakespeare, the 
William, held successively all these offices. H 
the jury of the court-leet in 1556, an ale-taster 
a burgess in 1558, a constable in 1559, an affi 
1559 and again in 1561, an alderman in 1565, am 
bailiff or chief magistrate in 1568. William was 
fifth year when his father was at the height c 
municipal distinction. 

One thing is noticeable in regard to this gradual 
vation of John Shakespeare in the social scale. Il 
the registers where his name occurs prior to 1571, 
is recorded simply as John Shakespeare, in one pla 



CHAPTER III. 

TITE SnAKESPEARE norsE, ITS IDENTIFICATION AND niS- 
TORT — EVIDENCE IT AFFORDS IN REGARD TO THE 
CIRCrMSTANCES OF SHAKESPEARE's BOYHOOD BAP- 
TISMAL REGISTER OF THE SHAKESPEARE FAMILY 

EVIDENCE IT GIVES IN REGARD TO THE COMPANIONSHIP 
OF THE BOY WILL SHAKESPEARE. 

THE house in which Shakespeare was bom has been 
identified with sufficient certainty. It was situ- 
ated in Henley Street, and was bought by John Shake- 
speare in 1556. He lived in this street, and most of the 
time in this house, from 1551, the time of his coming 
to Stratford, till 1601, the time of his death. The 
property passed, by inheritance or will, first to William 
Shakespeare, then to his eldest daughter, Susannah 
Hall, then to his granddaughter, Elizal)eth Hall (after- 
wards Lady Barnard), and then to Thomas and George 
Hart, grandsons of Shakespeare's sister, Joan, who was 
married to William Hart, of Stratford. It i-emaiued 
in possession of the Hart family till about the 
year 1820, the last of that name who occupied 
it being the seventh in descent in a direct line 
from Joan Shakespeare, the sister of William. 
By special contributions, in 1849 this house was 
made the property of the nation. It has been 
restored as nearly as possible to its original con- 
dition three hundred years ago, has been filK'd 
■with Shakespeare mementoes of every kind, an i 
a fund has been set apart for the purpose of keel- 
ing it permanently in repair, and open to tlje i:; 
spection of visitors from all nations. Enoiiu': 
remains of the original structure to show tL^ii 
Siiakespeare was born, and that he spent his 
boyliood and yonth, in a home fully equal, in re- 
gard to the comforts and proprieties of life, to 
those common among the well-to-do. burgher 
class of England in the sixteenth century. 

No one who wishes to trace the circumstances 
which have infiuenced, for good or evil, the 
growth of a great intellect, will overlook the 
companionship of childhood. Who were the 
youthful companions of William Shakespeare? 
The parish register of Stratford, after the date 
of William's baptism, contains among others 
the following entries of the Shakespeare family: 
Gilbert, baptized October 13, 1566 ; Joan, bap- 
tized April 15, 1569; Richard, baptized March 
11, 1574; Edmund, baptized May 3, 1580. 

Putting these dates together, and calling im- 
agination once more to our aid, we find that when Wil- 
liam was two and a half years old, Gilbert came to be 
his playmate; when William was five years old, that 
most precious gift to a loviug boy, a sister, was granted, 

to grow up with him, and to find in him at once a play- i as goodman Shakespeare, or plain John Siiakespeare, 
mate and a protector; at ten, he had another brother i but as Master Shakespeare. This title of Master or 
to lead out into the green fields; and at sixteen, the ' Mr. was then never used, as now that of M. D. is never 
youngest was born, "the baby," whom William prob- | used, except by virtue of some specific legal right, 
ably never regarded in any other light than as a play- { This change of title in the history of John Shake- 
thing. 




The Room 



re Shakespeare w: 
House in Henley Street. 



John Shakespeare, glover. But in a record on Sep- 
tember 28, 1571, William being then in his eighth year, 
the father's name is entered as Magister Shakespeare; 
and ever after among his neighbors he fs known, not 



These things may be accounted mere fancies. I think 
they contain a doctrine. Selfishness and gloom are 
apt to be engendered by a solitary childhood. The 
baptismal register shows, in the childhood of Shake- 
speare, no cause at least for the existence of such mor- 
bid affections, as his writings give no evidence that 
such feelings ever did exist in his healthy and cheerful 
mind. 

Stratford-upon-x\von is a small town in Warwick- 
shire, ninety-six miles 'north-west from London. Its 
[lopulation in tlie time of Shakespeare was about fifteen 



speare, it can hardly be doubted, was in consequence of 
his increasing wealth and his position in the village. 
It shows incontestably that he was about this time a 
leading man in the town, and consequently that his 
son, the poet, could not have been the illiterate butch- 
er's boy that the early biographers represented him 
to be. We are left free to admire his transcendent 
genius without being called upon to believe the absurd 
tables of his clownish ignorance. 

As further bearing upon the circumstances of the 
poet's childhood, the following ascertained facts may 
be cited, showing the probable occupation .and the 



hundred. The municipal government consisted of a i worldly condition of John Shakespeare. In 1556 he 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



nement and garden adjacent, in Henley 
ilso a tenement with a garden and croft 
sed field] in Grenehyll Street, both in Strat- 
.357 or 1558, he acquired by marriage the 
vsbies, sixty acres of land and .house, three 
1 Stratford ; also, by inheritance, some landed 
at Snitterfield, three and a half miles from 
. In 1570, he held, as tenant under Sir Wil- 
■pton, a meadow of fourteen acres, at an annual 
£8 (= $200 then). The inference from these 
unmistakable. John Shakespeare was at one 
living upon his own land, and renting the land 
ers, ami actively engaged in tlie business of culti va- 
in an age when tillage was profitable. "When, a 
s later in life, he came to the vilfage and settled in 
jley Street, he probably kept up his agricultural 
jrations, and also kept a shop in his house, where 
sold the products of his farm, — butcher's meat, 
ool, hides, and other articles, such as gloves made 
rom the skins of the animals slaughtered. Harrison 
jays: "Men of great port and countenance are so far 
from suffering their farmers [tenants] to have any gain 
at all, that they become graziers, butchers, tanners, 
sheepmasters, woodmen, and denique quid non.'''' 



probably on this account, M'illiam was thrown upmi 
liis own resources somewhat earlier than he might 
otherwise have been. The boy evidently knew little 
either of a father's care or of a father's control after 
the age of fifteen. 




Grammar School Attended by Shakespeare, 
Stratford. 

This explains the mystery of the apparently contra- 
dictory traditions in regard to the occupation of John 
Shakespeare. We see how he was a "butcher," also 
a "wool-merchant," also a "glover," also a "farmer," 
also a "yeoman; " how finally .John Shakespeare, the 
woodman of Arden, sold timber to the corporation of 
Stratford. 

The evidence is tolerably complete that John Shake- 
speare, in his later years, for some cause not ascer- 
tained, fell into pecuniary difficulties and embarrass- 
ments. He was evidently in straitened circumstances 
in 1579 ; was turned out of the aldermanship in 1586 ; 
was arrested for debt in 1587; and finally, in 1592, 
was reported by the authorities as absenting himself 
from church for fear of being arrested for debt. But 
as these things occurred chiefly after the formative 
period in the life of his son William, and as these diffi- 
culties, even when greatest, did not seem to affect the 
social status of the family, it is hardly necessary to 
pursue the subject further, except to remark that, 
xvi 



CHAPTER IV. 

SnAKESPEAEE's SCHOOL AND SCHOOLMASTERS — WHAT 

IS KNOWN OF HIS COURSE OF STUDY IIlS KNOWLELK.E 

OF LATIN AND OREEK — EVIDENCE IN HIS WHITINGS OF 
Ills BEING A CLASSICAL SCHOLAR. 



STRATFORD-UPON-AVON was, as it still is, a 
quiet place, comparatively free from disturbance 
and excitement. Its ecclesiastical foundations were 
numerous and ample. AVith one of these, the Guild 
of the Holy Cross, was connected an endowed gram- 
mar school. It was founded in 1482, in the reign of 
Edward IV., by gift of Thomas Jolyffe, on condition 
that the authorities of the town and guild " should find 
a priest, fit and able in knowledge, to teach gram- 
raai freely to all scholars coming to the school, 
. taking nothing of the scholars for their 
teaching." The school was afterwards enriched 
by bir Ilugh Clopton, the great benefactor of Strat- 
ford and finally was reorganized by Edward VI., 
in his royal charter to the town, which requires, 
among other things, " that the free grammar school 
fot the instruction and education of boys and youth 
thei e, should be hereafter kept up and maintained 
as theretofore it used to be." 

There is no register, or document of any kind, 
to show that Shakespeare actually attended this 
school. That he did so attend, however, is morally 
ceitdn, from the fact of its existence, and from his 
t ither's position and standing in the village. We 
ha\e no record that the showers fell or the sun 
shone ujion the little garden and croft in Henley 
Stitet, yet we make no question of the fact. We 
h ive an almost equal certainty that the boy Shake- 
sptare, "with his satchel and shining morning 
face," found his way regularly to the grammar 
school in Chapel Street. 

A grammar school in England in those days meant 
a school for teaching mainly Latin and Greek, corre- 
sponding in some respects to the old-fashioned acad- 
emy once so common in this country. It was always 
taught by men of the clerical profession, graduates 
of the universities. The teacher of this particular 
school from 1572, when Shakespeare was eight years 
old, to 1580, when he was sixteen, was a graduate of 
Cambridge, the Rev. Thomas Hunt, who was at the 
same time curate of the adjoining parish of Ludding- 
ton. In this school, and under this teacher, without a 
shadow of doubt, Shakespeare was instructed in the 
knowledge of the ancient tongues. As to the extent of 
this knowledge, an unfair presumption has been cre- 
ated by the oft-quoted expression of Ben Jonson on the 
subject. Jonson, who knew Shakespeare intimately, 
speaks of his having "small Latin and less Greek." 
Tills was said in Ben's usual style, more to point an 
antithesis than to state exact truth. Jonson, himself 
the pupil of the great Camden, was eminent for classical 
scholarship, and gloried in the fact. Statements by 
him on this suliject, therefore, are to be received with 
some degree of allowance. What seemed to him a small 
modicum of Latin and Greek may have been after all 
a very fair possession. But taking his expression 
literally, it shows that Shakespeare had certainly some 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



considerable knowledfre of the classics, and with equal 
certainty that he had in his youth attended the public 
grammar school, where only in Stratford this knowl- 
edge could have been acquired by him. Now the 
course of studies in these old endowed grammar schools 
is a matter of public record. It included instruction 
always in Latin and Greek, often in French, and some- 
times in Italian. The classics usually read were C;esar, 
Sallust, Cicero, Terence, Virgil, Ilorace, and Ovid, in 
Latin ; Lucian, Xeno[)lion, Homer, and Aristophanes, 
in Greek.* The pupil, furthermore, was obliged to 
read a goodly portion of this Latin before beginning 
Greek. It is doubtful whetlier, in any public gi-amraar 
school then existing in England, a boy could begin 
Greek without a familiar acquaintance with at least 
Caesar, Cicero, Virgil, and Ovid; and after beginning 
Greek, the Latin, be it remembered, would be still 
continued ; be it remembered too that the Greek itself 
was studied through the medium of the Latin, the only 
grammar and the only dictionary of the Greek at tlie 
pupil's command being written in Latin, as indeed it 
was done in my own school days. So far as the dic- 
tionary was concerned, Shakespeare then could not 
have had even the little Greek that the critical Ben 
was willing to allow him, witiiout having known a 
good deal of Latin. In all probability he knew as 
much of both as would be learned by a bright boy who 
attended the grammar school until he was fifteen or 
sixteen, but who did not go thence to the university. 
Tliere is nothing in his history, and still less in his 
writings, to make it necessary to suppose, as has been 
very generally done, that for his knowledge of Roman 
afiiiirs he was dependent entirely upon the very imper- 
fect translations then extant of the Roman writers. 
Tiie signs, too, are unmistakable that in the use of 
words he was thoroughly at home in the classic ele- 
ment of the language, to an extent utterly unattainable 
by one who had never studied Latin and Greek. 

There is perhaps no more decisive test of scholar- 
ship, — meaning by that term accjuaintance with lan- 
guages, — than the extent of a man's vocabulary. The 
number of different words that conmion uneducated 
peo]ile use is surprisingly small. A thousand or two, 
sometimes only a few hundred, are all the words at 
their command. Uneducated men of genius, like 
Bunyan, have,of course a larger stock at command. 
But even in their case the number of different words 
used by them is comparatively small. The words they 
do use are forcible and are used with great vigor, but 
the range is limited. Men acquire a wide range of 
words in two ways, namely. 1st, by becoming acquaint- 
ed with numerotte and varying subjects through study 
and observation, and. 2d, by the study of languages, 
and by the hitcei- chiefly. Hence it is noticeable that 
writers who have studied foreign languages, ancient 
or modern, excel others in the range of their vocabu- 
lary. Milton, for instance, who was eminent as a 
Stliolar, uses in his poetical works no less than eight ! 
thousand different words. But Shakespeare, in his 
poetry, nearly doubles the amount, using more than 
fifteen thousand — a vocabulary larger, so far as known, 
than that of any other English writer. A more con- 
vincing proof of scholarship could not well be con- 
ceived. 

It may not be amiss to dwell a moment longer upon 
this point, as it is an essential fact in any theory that 
undertakes to explain intelligibly the problem of 
Shakespeare's authorship. "A young autlior's first 
work," as Coleridge well observes, "almost always 
bespeaks his recent pursuits." The earliest produc- 
tions of Shakespeare, accordingly, those written soon 

* See BrilLsli Quarterly for July, 1SC5. 



after he had left school, betray unmistakably the class 
cal scholar. Compare them with those jf any un 
t.aught genius, say Bunyan, and see t).e difference. 

Venus and Adonis, "the first heir of his invention," 
and the Rape of Lucrece, published only one year later, 
are both on classical subjects; and while treated with 
originality of conception, the author using freely old 
materials to construct an edifice of his own contriv- 
ance, are yet thorougldy and consistently classical in 
all their ideas and devices. They show a mind steeped 
and saturated with a knowledge of Greek and Latin 
fable. Would an unlettered village youth have ven- 
tured on such subjects, in addressing a nobleman like 
Southampton, distinguished alike for his own scholar- 
ship and for his p'atronage of scholars? All of Shake- 
speare's earlier plays, such as Love's Labour's Lost, The 

Comedy of Errors, and the three parts of Henry IT., 
abound in classical allusions, classical quotations, and 
Latinisms both of diction and construction, almost to 
the verge of pedantry ; — not indeed the direct ped- 
antry of his contemporaries, Marlowe, Greene, and 
Peele, who made open show of their learning, and who 
stole bodily from the ancients ; Shakespeare, even in 
these earlier days of his authorship, when still fresh 
from his school studies, and infected to some extent 
with the spirit of his times, yet used his classical 
knowledge as a master, not as a servile copyist. As 
lie proceeded in his work, and acquired maturity of 
power and of art, his mastery appears both in his less 
frequent use of classical allusions and in the wonderful 
nicety with which the allusions actually used are 
wrought into the substance of his own thought. In 
the Latin constructions sometimes used in these later 
plays, and in the Latin-English words which he some- 
times coins, he shows not only singular facility of in- 
vention, but unerring correctness. Milton himself 
does not walk with more assured tread than does 
Shakespeare, whenever he has occasion to resort to 
classic Ipre. And then how wonderfully steeped with 
beauty are these classical words and ideas, after having 
passed through his subtile brain ! How purely classi- 
cal, yet with a grace how entirely his own, is that ex- 
quisite image in i7a>'!Zef; 

"A station like the herald Mercury, 
New -lighted on a heaven-kissing hill." 

Observe, too, the new use to which this master of 
language here puts the word "station" — a mode of 
standing — a use of the word how purely Latin, and- 
yet how thoroughly Shakespearian. Perhaps, how- 
ever, there is not in all his works a finer instance of 
his absolute dominion in the wuild of words than' in 
that singular expression in Macbeth : 



Not only by words and phrases, however, does he 
show knowledge of classical lore, but by the com- 
pleteness with which he enters into the life of the 
ancients, as in the Roman jilays, where he seems to 
be actually co-existent with Ciesar and Pompey, with 
Brutus and Oassius, with Antony and Cleopatra. It 
is not possible to believe that tliis intimate knowledge 
of the " very form and pressure of the time " in those 
old Roman days, came from copying extracts from 
school grammars and lexicons, and reading the 
wretched translations of Thomas Phaer and Arthur 
Golding. The foundation of this classical knowledge, 
assuredly, was laid in that public grammar school at 
Stratford, where, during all his boyhood, to the age 
beyond that at which youth then went to the univer- 
sities, he had the continued instruction of a learned 
clergyman, himself a graduate of Cambridge. There 
xvii 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



tnd then, beyond question, Shakespeare became ac- 
quainted witli the classical tongues, and witli some 
of the masterpieces of classical composition ; and this 
familiarity with the ancients, thus began in youth, 
was, there can be as little doubt, continued in later 
life, while seeking materials for his own great works. 
Ko other theory seems possible. No other satisfies 
the conditions of the problem of Ids authorship. 
Assuredly, he was an intelligent, educated artist, not 
an inspired idiot. 



CHAPTER V. 

OTnER EDUCATIONAL INFLUENCES ACTING UPON HIS 
YOUTHFUL MIND («) KELIOIOU8 TRAINING AND ASSO- 
CIATIONS, THE QUESTION WHETHEE JOHN SHAKESPEARE, 
THE FATHER, WAS A CATHOLIC, STRONGLY PROTESTANT 
CHARACTER OF TRE STRATFORD PARISH CHURCH, LIST 
OF THE SERVICE BOOKS USED IN THAT CHURCH, CATE- 
CHISMS AND MANUALS OP RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION IN 
WHICn SHAKESPEARE IN HIS BOYHOOD WAS DRILLED; 
(5) CHRONICLES AND LEGENDS WHICH FOR.MED A PART 
OF HIS YOUTHFUL READING, A LIST OF THESE BOOKS 
given; (c) LOCAL ASSOCIATIONS TO WHIOH HIS YOUTH- 
FUL MIND WAS SUBJECTED, REMARKABLE SERIES OF 
FACTS ON THIS POINT. 

BUT education is more than learning. Education is 
growth, and whatever contributes to the growth of 
a great intellect, whether it be the religious as.socia- 
tions of church and home, the story books devoured, 
the local usages and traditions by which one is sur- 
rounded and inspired, whatever thus acts upon the 
growth of a great intellect, is a part of its means of 
education. Let us glance -at some of these outside 
"schools and schoolmasters" of the boy Shakespeare. 
And first of religious associations. On thi* point I 
propose to dwell a little, as the subject is one not so 
generally understood as it sliould be, and the facts 
that bear upon it are not matters of conjecture, but of 
record — clear, positive, and well defined; and they 
throw a strong light ujjou one of the most marked 
features of the author's works. ^ More than a century 
and a half after his death, the theory was broached 
that John Shakespeare, the father of William, was a 
Catholic. The facts in regard to this matter are, 
briefly, as follows: The Hart who, in 1770, occupied 
the Shakespeare tenement in Ilenley Street, had the 
roof new tiled. The bricklayer employed for this 
purpose professed to have found between the rafters 
and the old tiling a manuscript, which on examination 
purported to be the confession of faith of John 
Shakespeare, and wliich contained ample avowals of 
his being a Roman Catholic. The authenticity of this 
document, like the notorious Ireland forgeries, is now 
entirely discarded by Shakespearian e.xperts and 
critics. John Shakespeare was of course born a 
Catholic, as were the great body of other Englishmen 
born prior to the breach between Henry VHI. and the 
Pope, in 1531. But the fact that he held various 
civil offices 'in Stratford, and especially that of chief 
burgess or mayor, shows ineontestably that John 
Shakespeare was, outwardly at least, a Protestant 
during all the time of William's boyhood, for by the 
statute of Elizabeth, 15.58-9, known as the oath of 
supremacy, every ci^l magistrate in the realm was 
bound under penalties of forfeiture and imprisonment 
to conform to the established reformed religion. John 
Shakespeare in his old age is indeed ofl5cially reported, 
among others of his neighbors, for "not coming 
monthly to the church," as required by statute, but 
xviii 



at the same time it is significantly added that he was 
thought "to forbear church for debt or fear of pro- 
cess; " in otlier words, he stayed away from church 
to escape arrest for debt, not out of disaffection for 
the reformed religion. 

Then we have the fact, from which there is no 
escaping, that William and all his brothers and sistere 
were regidarly baptized in the Stratford parish church, 
which was not only Protestant but Puritan, the vicar, 
Richard Bifield, being one of the most zealous of the 
Puritan divines.* Shakespeare himself, his wife, his 
daughter, his son-in-law, all lie buried in the most 
conspicuous position in the chancel, — the strongest pos- 
sible attestation that this Protestant church was the 
religious home of the Shakespeare family. 

The services of that church, then, were, beyond 
question, among the educational infiuences under 
which the intellect of Shakespeare grew. Let us see 
for a moment what these services were, and how far 
they were of a kind likely to influence such a mind. 
The Psalter in use there, the only one in fact then 
known to the English church, was the hard, bald 
Doric of old Sternhold and Hopkins; these were the 
Psalms to which without doubt his boyish ears were 
accustomed. The Book of Common Prayer, adopted 
in the reign of Edward VL, 1549, and reaflinned by 
Elizabeth, 1559, was then in use in all the churches, 
and was, with all its wealtli of purest English, perfectly 
familiar to the youthful Shakespeare. The portions 
of Scripture which he heard fi-ora the Prayer-Book 
on the Sabbath were, as they still are, from Oranmer's 
version, 1540, known as The Great Bible, a huge folio 
for the use of the churches. But the household Bible 
of that day, the only one printed in small volume, 
was the Geneva version, executed by the Presbyterian 
refugees at Geneva, Switzerland, in 1560. This Geneva 
Bible, it can hardly be doubted, was the oiie used in 
the household of John Shakespeare and of his son 
William. It was indeed for half a century, that is, 
until the appearance of our present version, in 1611, 
the common iiousehold Bible of the great majority of 
the English people. That Shakespeare was familiar 
with this Geneva Bible is further proved by a critical 
examination of the Scripture words and phrases which 
he uses in such abundance, and which are cleai'ly those 
of the Geneva version. 

In tliis connection it is proper to notice certain 
manuals of religious instruction in which all young 
persons were then drilled. Shakespeare, in King 
John (I. i.), mentions one of these, the Absey Book. 
This Absey Book, so called from A B C, is the name 
of a little manual for the instructimi of young chil- 
dren, put forth in tlie first year of the reign of Ed- 
ward VI. It contains "the ABC, the Pater Noster, 
Ave, Creed, and Ten Commandments." It contained 
also, in some of the subsequent editions, a few short 
lessons for reading and spelling, and a brief catechism 
of religious instruction. Besides this Absey Book, 
Edward, before the close of his reign, put forth a new 
edition of the old English Primer, being "a short 
catechism of plain instruction, containing the sum of 
Christian learning." These two manuals, the Absey 
Book and the Primer, covering substantially the same 
ground as that occupied half a century later by the 
Kew England Primer put forth by the "gseat John 
Cotton " of Boston, were made obligatory. Every 
schoolmaster of the realm was required, by royal 
command, and under severe penalties, to teach these 

* Various little incidents show the Puritan character of the 
village. In 1564, 2s. are paid by the corporation /or defacing the 
image in the chapel. In IfiSO, a man is fined by the aiuhorities for 
travelling on tne Sabbath. The inscriptions on the tombstones 
of the Shakespeare family in the church all speak deep religious 
feeling of the John Bunyan order. 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



manuals to his pupils. It is morally certain then that 
Shakespeare conned them and committed them to 
memory. 

To recapitulate : From the plain old Psalter of 
Sternhold and Hopkins, in use in the parish church, 
from the weekly «ervice3 of the Book of Common 
Prayer, from the daily use at his. mother's knee of 
that most familiar liousehold hook, the Geneva Bible, 
from the careful training which good Master Hunt 
gave hira in the Absey Book and the Primer, it is easy 
to understand how a mind so susceptible to external 
influences as was tliat of Shakespeare became so 
imbued and saturated, as we find it, with Scripture 
language and doctrine. 

f Another educational influence needs to be men- 
) tioned. Shakespeare's plays show him to have been 
■ early familiar with the old English chronicles and 
other legendary lore which formed a part of the 
popular reading of that day. A mind such as his 
would naturally revel in this kind of reading, as did 
Walter Scott's in the old border liallads of Scotland. 
Some of the books of this kind at the command of the 
youthful Shakespeare, which he has used so largely in 
Lis works, and which evidently helped to mould and 
fashion his thoughts, it is worth while to mention. 
They were "the books, the academes," (Love's Lah. 
Lost, IV. iii.) from which his soul drank nourish- 
ment, just as truly as it did from Master Hunt and 
Lily's grammar and the volume of Greek and Latin 
lore over which he pored in the famous Chapel Street 
grammar school. Among the books thus devoured 
by the imaginative boy we may reckon, with scarcely 
a possibility of mistake, the following; 

L The Palace of Pleasure, by William Painter, 1566. 
This was a collection of stories and novels, from 
various languages, translated into English. In this 
collection we find among others the pitiful Italian 
story of Romeo and Juliet, as translated from the 
French of Boisteau. 

2. Fahyan's Chronicle of the old British history, 
1516. This contains among its many wild legends the 
"story of Leir and his three daughters" — a story 
peculiarly interesting to a Warwickshire man, as 
"Leir" is reputed to have founded the neighboring 
town of "Caerlier," now called Leicester. 

3. Hall's Chronicle, 1.548. This was devoted to a 
narrative of the wars of the houses of York and 
Lancaster, a large part of the battle-fields of which 
were within a day's walk of Stratford-upon-Avon. 
That this book had been well thumbed by the youthful 
bard may be inferred from tiie fact that three-f(uirths 
of all his great historical plays were founded on 
materials gathered from this field. 

4. UolinsheiVs Chronicle of England, Scotland, and 
Ireland, 1577. This is another fascinating book of the 
same sort. Shakespeare follows it in all his plays on 
English history. He doubtless devoured it when a 
boy. Just as Walter Scott devoured the old Scotch 
ballads and legends. 

5. Oesta Pomanornm, translated into English by 
Robinson, 159.5. This was a famous story-book of 
those days. It was a vast storehouse of monkish and 
mediaeval legends, full of fascination for an imaginative 
mind, and containing among other things the two 
stories which form the groundwork of the Merchant 
of Venice, also the story of the Emperor Theodosius 
and his three daughters, which is another form of the 
old fable of King Lear. 

6. Reginald ScoVs Discovery of Witchcraft, 1584. 
This work, with its infinite details and wild stories of 
witches, fairies, hobgoblins, and other uncanny folk, 
must have had a strange fascination for the mind that 
has given us the weird sisters of Macbeth, Ariel and 



Caliban of The Tempest, and all the long list of Puck, 
Peaseblossom, Titania, Queen Mab, and their fellows. 

Many other books might be mentioned as forming 
very probably a part of the library of the boy Shake- 
speare. But of these six which have been named, 
Palace of Pleasure, Fabyan's Chronicle, Hall's Chron- 
icle, Holinshed's Chronicle, Gesta Romanorum, and 
Reginald Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft, we can no 
more doubt than we could if we saw the very books 
themselves with his autograph upon them, the very 
dog's-ears telling us where to turn for the well- 
thumbed passages which have formed the staple of so 
many of his most glorious creations. 

We are considering, remember, the educational in- 
fluences that gave shape and color to the character of 
this wonderful man. I have spoken thus far, first, of 
his school and the studies which he pursued there ; 
secondly, of his church and his religious instruction 
and associations; thirdlj', of the story books and\ 
legends which were within his reach, and with which 
his works show him to have been entirely familiar. 
AU these things are strictly educational ; by grouping 
them together thus in one view, we are able to realize 
to some extent the kind of atmosphere in which the 
mind of Shakespeare was inmiersed, and in which it 
received such a healthy development. But there was 
still one other educational influence, not inferior to any 
of these. I refer to the powerful influence of tlie local 
associations that were around liira on every side, and 
on this point I shall nudce no apology for entering a 
little into particulars. The subject, you will find, is 
in the highest degree suggestive. 

The childhood of Shakespeare, it can hardly be 
doubted, was one of great physical activity. The 
Stratford bust, which, with all its faults as a work of 
art, is perhaps the best authenticated likeness of hira, 
tells unmistakably the same story. In his writings, 
too, he displays a minute fiuniliarity with out-door 
sports of every kind, an acquaintance with external 
nature and country scenes, such as is never gained 
except by those whose childhood and youth are spent 
largely in the open air, among the green fields and by 
the hedge-rows and limes of the country. The free, 
harum-scarum country boy speaks out from his page 
in places innumerable. In this, as in many other 
points, there is a striking resemblance between Shake- 
speare and Sir Walter Scott, — the same healthy robust- 
ness of thought, the same joyousness of temperament, 
the same fondness for out-door life and out-door 
sports, the same dose observation of nature, the same 
love for legendary lore, written or unwritten. The 
story of Scott's early hfe fortunately is on record ; and, 
by analogy, it tells us ]jlainly how, in corresponding cir- 
cumstances, the Stratford boy with liis great exuberance 
of life deported himself among the stirring associa- 
tions by which he was surrounded. Let us look for a 
moment at some of these local transactions and asso- 
ciations, which were likely to act upon the imagination 
of a thoughtful boy in that spring-time of life when 
the thick-coming fancies of the brain are just begin- 
ning to take root. 

We have all read Walter Scott's description of 
Kenilworth Castle, and of the gorgeous pageants ex- 
hibited there by the Earl of Leicester to Queen 
Elizabeth. All mid-England was there by thousands, 
three hundred and twenty hogsheads of ale drank on 
the occasion testifying to the extent of the gatliering. 
Is it likely, can we conceive it possible, that a boy of 
active habits and ardent imagination, then in the 
twelfth year of his age, and living only thirteen miles 
away, would be absent from such an exhibition? The 
dramatic cast of many parts of that superb entertain- 
\ ment must have been especially suggestive to the 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



mind of the young villager. •'When, on that occasion, 
the great Earl welcomed his sovereign with a more 
than regal magnificence, it is not hard to believe that 
his ambition looked higher than the part of favorite 
counsellor and minister. The Stratford boy would 
not be slow to take up the pleasing surmise, as it 
passed from mouth to mouth among the gaping mul- 
titude, nor would he soon forget the pageant itself, or 
the gay throngs surging in and out through the lordly 
portals. The only passage in the plays in which 
Shakespeare appears distinctly to allude to Queen 
Elizabeth is one the hint of which seems to have been 
caught on this occasion. Bear in mind that in these 
shows at Kenilworth, the mythology of lakes and seas 
abounds. "Arion appears sitting on a dolphin's back," 
"Triston, in likeness of a mermaid, comes towards her 



Let us look at some of the other local associations: 
Only ten miles from Stratford was Warwick Castle, 
the seat of the great Earl, the king-maker, with its 
huge piles of masonry and its rich historical associa- 
tions. Many an old servitor of the house would be 
there, only too glad to pour into tlie ear of the curious 
boy the tales of tragic interest which had been enacted 
within and around its walls. 

A mile from Warwick, at Blacklow-hill, was the 
scene of another startling tragedy. There, in 1312, 
the favorite of Edward II., Piers Gaveston, was be- 
headed by the barons. Conspicuous among the objects 
that would here rivet the attention was the ancient 
statue of Guy at Guy's Cliff, the famous " Black Dog of 
Arden," by whose hand the butchery was perpetrated. 

Only twelve miles away was the scene of the great 




rtn Casiie. 



majesty." With these things in mind, let us see if we 
do not get some new light on the origin of that 
exquisite passage in the speech of Oberon, in A Mid- 
summer-Mghfs Dream, already referred to (II. i.). 

Obe. My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest 
Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's hack 
Uttering such duleet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song 
And certain stars ^ot madly from their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Piick. I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not, 
Flying between'the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal throned by the west, 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, 
And the imperial votaress pa.ssed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
XX 



battle of Evesham, where, in 1265, Edward I. defeated 
the barons under Simon de Montfort. The tomb of 
King John was at Worcester, only twenty miles away. 
Coventry, eighteen miles away, was the seat of the 
famous Black Prince. There were the famous lists 
where, according to Shakespeare's own description 
(Richard II., I. iii), the quarrel first began between the 
houses of York and Lancaster. There, too, was 
something still more attractive to a young poet. The 
Coventry Mysteries, the most famous of their kind in 
England, were then in full acti\'ity, and the people of 
the rural counties were hardly less attracted to them 
than are the people of Germany now to the Passion 
Plays of the Oberammergau. All mid-England thronged 
to see these remarkable open air theatricals, — the 
germ from which in less than twenty years Shake- 
speare's own theatre was to spring. 
A two days' walk would bring one from Stratford 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



to Sliiewsbury, where the Hotspur Percy was slain, 
and tlie Scotch Earl Douglas taken, and minute touches 
in Shakespeare's description of the tight show that 
liis eye was tlioroughly tamiliar with the scenery of 
this great battle-field. 

One day's walk down the Avon brings you to the 
scene of the great battle of Tewksbury, — the crown- 
ing struggle of a terrible sixteen years' war. In that 
battle, as Margaret so piteously says to Richard, 
"Thou slewest Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury." 
(Richard III., I. iii.). 

The battle of Bosworth Field was fought witliin 
thirty miles of Stratford. Burton, writing in 1624, 
says the inhabita^s then living around the plains of 
Bosworth Field "nave many occurrences and passages 
[of the battle] yet fresh in memory, by reason that 
some persons thereabout, which saw the battle fought, 
were living within less than forty years." Forty 
years from Burton's date takes us back to the six- 
teenth year of William Shakespeare. Why should 
not he, the boy-dramatist, like Scott, the boy-novelist, 
have gathered knowledge and caught inspiration from 
the lips of these old narrators? The battle of Bos- 
worth Field was, in Shakespeare's day, the Waterloo 
of English history. Burton again, in another place, 
speaking of this battle, identifies the spot "by a little 
mount cast up, where the common report is, that at 
the first beginning of the battle Henry Earl of Rich- 
mond made his parsenetical oration to his army (Rich- 
ard III., V. iii.); [also] by divers pieces of armor, 
weapons, and other warlike accoutrements, and by 
many arrow-heads new found, whereof about twenty 
years since [1604] great store vrere digged up, of which 
some I have now in my custody, being of a long, 
large, and big proportion, far greater than any now 
in use; as also by relation of the inhabitants, who 
have many occurrences and passags. = yet fresh in 
memory." Let it be remembered in this connection 
that of the ten historical plays, no less than eight 
are associated in many of their battle-fields with the 
localities which have been named, and with which 
Shakespeare was from boyhood perfectly familiar. 
Of these plays, four, namely, Richard II., Ilenrij IV., 
Part I., Henry IV., Part II., and Henry V., consti- 
tute a connected tetralogy, showing the rise of the 
House of Lancaster. The remaining four, namely, 
Henry VI., Part I, Henry VI., Part II., Henry VI., 
Part III, and Richard III., constitute a second 
tetralogy, showing the rise of the House of York. 
The wars described in these eight plays agitated the 
English nation for full a century. Tlie memory of 
them was still fresh in the minds of the English people 
at the time when Shakespeare's boyhood began, being 
about as far removed from him as the events of the 
American Revolution are from us. The battle-fields 
of these fierce wars and the monuments of them on 
every side of him were a part of the educational forces 
to which his young mind was subjected. 

No one who has read Romeo and Juliet is likely to 
forget the amiable Friar Lawrence. The picture of 
this kind-hearted old man has all the marks of a por- 
trait, the original of which may be traced with no 
great violence and probability. Twelve miles from 
Stratford, at Evesham, were the ruins of the famous 
Abbey of the Benedictines, which had been robbed and 
dismantled by Henry VHL, in 1539. More than one 
hundred and fifty inmates of this monastery were 
turned loose upon the world. Many of these men 
doubtless were still living, sheltered in the cottages of 
old servants and retainers of the monastery, and 
nothing is more likely than that young Shakespeare 
came in contact witli more than one of these meek 
and peaceful old men. "The Infinuarist of a monastic 



house, who had charge of the sick brethren, was 
often in the early days of medical science their only 
physician. The book knowledge and the experience of 
such a valuable member of the conventual body would 
still allow him to exercise [these] useful functions when 
thrust out into the world ; and the young poet may 
have known some such kindly old man, full of axio- 
matic wisdom," who unconsciously sat for his portrait 
of Friar Lawrence. It is observable of all Shake- 
speare's pictures of monks, that they are drawn in the 
spirit of charity, and show the benevolent and kindly 
side of their character. The expelled Benedictines of 
Evesham, living in a serene and peaceful old age before 
his eyes, would naturally prompt to such a view. 

Shakespeare's knowledge of archery and other field 
sports often comes out in his writings. In the Venus 
and Adonis, for instance, the practised huntsman 
appears as unmistakably as in Scott's Lady of the 
Lake. The painting of the hare-hunt, in tlie Venus 
and Adonis, is for minute accuracy unequalled in all 
English literature. So in the Merchant of Venice, he 
shows his familiarity with archery. (I. i.) 

In mv school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 
1 shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way with more advised watch, 
To tind the other forth, and by adventuring both 
I oft found both. 

The ancient sport of archery was revived in Eng- 
land with much ceremony in 1580, Shakes])eare being 
then sixteen years old. A short distance from Strat- 
ford, about a mile from the little village of Bidford, 
was still standing twenty-five years ago an old crab- 
tree, known as Shakespeare's Crab-Tree, and cele- 
brated partly by the tradition that he was one of a 
party who accepted a challenge from some Bidford 
topers to try which party could drink the most ale, 
but more certainly by the tradition that under this 
tree were many games of archery, in which Shake- 
speare and other Stratford boys took part. 



CHAPTER VL 

THE STOET OF niS DEEE-STEALING, HOW FAE IT IS TO BB 
CEEDITED. 

THERE is another somewhat circumstantial tradition 
of Shakespeare's youth, which may be exaggerated 
in many of its details, and yet must have had some foun- 
dation in truth, — enough at least to add to the convic- 
tion that wlien a boy he was addicted to boyish sports 
and boon coui[)anions. "He had," says Rowe, one of 
the earliest of the biographers, 1709, "by a misfortune 
common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill com- 
pany, and amongst them, some that made a frequent 
practice of deer-stealing engaged him more than once 
in robbing a park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy 
of Ohai'lecote near Stratford. For this he was pros- 
ecuted by that gentleman, as he thought, somewhat 
too severely; and, in order to avenge that ill usage, 
he made a ballad upon him ; and though this, prob- 
ably the first essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it is 
said to have been so very bitter that it redoubled the 
prosecution against him to that degree tliat he was 
obliged to leave his business and his family in War- 
wickshire for some time, and shelter in London." 

Rowe speaks of the ballad as being lost, but some 
later antiquarians succeeded in gathering fragments of 
it from the lips of two or three extremely iiged per- 
sons who had portions of it in memory. The first 
stanza, at least, has been clearly made out from two 
xsi 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



independent sources. The ballad may possibly not 
have been Sbalcespeare's, but there is no doubt of its 
liaving come down to us by direct oral tradition, reach- 
ing back very nearly to Shakespeare's day. 

To understand the malicious poem upon Sir Thomas's 
name, it should be remembered that in the language 
ot' heraldry the word luce (Lat. liicius, O. Fr. lus) 
meant a pike, a kind of tish, and that three white luces 
or pike, interlaced, were in the quarterings of the coat- 
of-arms of the Lucy family. The balladist, whoever 
he was, quibbles upon the rustic pronunciation of the 
word "1-o-u-s-e," which was also sounded "luce," and 
thus brings out the provoking idea which so nettled 
the provincial diguitary. The stanza is as follows: 

A Parliament member, a justice of peace, 
At home a poor scare-crow, at London au ass ; 
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volk miscall it. 
Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it. 

He tuiuks himself great. 

Yet an ass in his state 
We allow by his ears but with asses to mate. 
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volks miscall it. 
Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it. 

Shakespeare certainly at no period of his life was 
above this sort of quibble, and in his Merry Vr'ices of 
Windsor (I. i.) he uses almost exactly the same ex- 
pression, so that readers have very generally believed 
that Sir Thomas sat for the picture when the dramatist 
gave us his inimitable portrait of Justice Shallow: 

Slen. All his ancestors that come after him ... 
May give the dozen white luces in their coat. 

Wia(. It is an old coat. 

Kvans. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well ; 
It agrees well, passant ; it is a familiar beast to man. 

Charleeote, with its ample parks and its noble man- 
sion and its worthy surroundings of every kind, was 
in the immediate vicinity of Stratford, and doubtless 
was one of the objects that helped to fill the mind of 
the young bard with images of beauty, whether the 
story of his youthful escapade there be true or not. 



CHAPTER VII. 

HIS MARRIAGE — PAINFUL SURMISES R.\ISED IN REGARD 
TO IT BY RECENT DISCOVEKIES — QUESTIONABLE CHAR- 
ACTER OF THE TRANSACTION HAPPINESS OR UNUAP- 

PINESS OF HIS MARRIED LIFE, THE ARGUMENTS PRO 
AND CON — TUB ROMANCE CONNECTED WITH THE NAME 
AND MEMORY OF ANNE DATIIAWAY. 

WIIAT I have given thus far in regard to tlie per- 
sonal history of Shakespeare is, 1 am constrained 
to say, though extremely probable, yet, with oue sin- 
gle exception, devoid of absolute certainty. Truth to 
say, from the register of his baptism to his nineteenth 
year, we have not one fact strictly persoual to himself 
which we can affirm on direct and positive evidence. 
The second fact of his life for which we have authentic 
documentary evidence is his marriage. The date of 
his marriage is involved in the same difficulty as the 
date of his birth. The reason, of the uncertainty as 
to the exact date is that the marriage register has not 
been found. But not many years ago a legal docu- 
ment was brought to light which fixes the date within 
a day or two. In the year 1886, there was discov- 
ered in the Consistorial Court of Worcester, the 
county adjoining to Wai'wickshire, a document relat- 
ing to Shakespeare, which on examination proved to 
be bis marriage license. In this document, bonds are 
given by two of his neighbors to indemnify the 
Bishop for licensing the marriage with only once pub- 
sxii 



lishing tlte hunns. This feature of the license seems 
to imply haste, and, taken in connection with some 
other circumstances, makes it certain that the mai-i-iage 
itself took place very soon thereafter, in all probability 
the same day. The marriage license is dated Novem- 
ber 28, 1582, Shakespeare being then a little over 
eighteen years and seven months old. 

Under head of May 26, 1.583, two days less than 
six months, the parish register of Stratford contains 
this entry: Baptized, Susannah, daughter to William 
Shakespeare. 

Connected with this marriage is another circum- 
stance, also accredited by public documents, frtun 
which countless conjectures have been drawn, accord 
ing to the teeming fancies of readers. The Stratford 
register says that Shakespeare's wife was buric< 
August 8, and lier tombstone says that she died 
August 6, 1623, aged sixty-seven years. Now, h:;i' 
Shakespeare lived till August, 1023, he would hav- 
been aged but fifty-nine years, or nearly eight year 
younger than his wife. In other words, the passionat^ 
and imaginative boy of eigliteen was married to oU' 
in the full and matured womanhood of twenty-six. 

In connection with this we are reminded also tha 
in Shakespeare's will, which is very minute, mention- 
ing and providing for all the other members of his 
family, and even some of his neighbors and of his 
(li-amatic associates, his wife's name, in the original 
draft of the will, did not once occur, the one item in 
which it does occur being an interlineation, showing 
it to have been an afterthought, and bequeathing her 
merely his "«ec(wi(£-best bed with the furniture." 

Nor is there in all his writings a line or a word 
which can be certainly .iffirmed to have been inspired 
by her, unless it be that significant thought in Twelfth 
Night (II. iv.): 

Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself; so wears she to him, 
So sways she level in her husband's heart, — 

— words of warning which some critics have been 
wicked enough to hint might have been suggested by 
his own bitter experience. 

It is but just to say, before dropping this disagree- 
able pai't of the subject, that there are many plausible 
theories for mitigating and even reversing the ordinary 
judgment upon this transaction. The evidence is com- 
plete that the ceremony of Hand-fasting, or Troth- 
plight, duly made before competent witnesses, was 
then popularly considered as nearly, if not quite, 
equivalent to formal marriage; and parties thus be- 
trothed lived together openly, and without scandal, 
as man and wife, before the formal marriage ceremony 
in church took place. Shakespeare himself, in Winter's 
Tale, speaks of illicit intercourse before "Troth-plight" 
in the same manner as of illicit intercourse before 
marriage, putting the two on an equality. The chari- 
table presumption, say those who admit this view, is 
that Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway were thus troth- 
plighted, and considered man and v.-ife, months before 
their formal marriage. Certain it is that no breath of 
scandal on this acooimt has reached us from the gos- 
sips of his own time. The marriage license that has 
been referred to, it is further to be noticed, is attested 
by the seal of Richard Hathaway, the father, showing 
his presence and assent to the transaction. There is, 
moreover, documentary evidence to show that this 
Richard Hathaway and John Shakespeare, the father 
of William, were persomd friends, doing neighborly 
acts for each other in the way of business; that 
Richard Hathaway, Jr., the dramatist, two years the 
senior of Shakespeare, and his associate in literary iiuJ 
dramatic work, was in all probability Shakespeare's 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



lnotlier-in-law ; furthermore, Jack Sandells and John 
Ricluirdson, Shakespeare's bondsmen, on the marriage 
license, were neif^liliors and friends of the Hathaways; 
and finally, the Shakespeares and the Ilathaways seem 
from various circumstances to have lived on the most 
neighborly terras. 

As to the omissions of the will, it is to be remarked 
that the "lest bed" in such a family was usually an 
heir-loom, and went, according to English custom, to 
the heir-at-law; that the ''secon<i-best bed" was 
doubtless the one connected with the bridal ceremony 
and the married life of the parties ; and finally, that 
by English law the wife had her widow's portion, and 
was tims amply provided for without any special 
K-gacy in the will. Still, the one awkward fact re- 
maJus, and the union, it is feared by many, was an ill- 
as>orted one, and as such was a misfortune, even 
though not a crime. 

In this connection, too, it must be added that a por- 
tion of the sonnets seem to reveal to us some dark 
passages in Sliakespeare's London life, and from this 
the inference has been made that he was driven to 



been on the part of the injured wife that strong desire, 
which we know her to have expressed, to be buried 
in the same grave with him. 

Anne Hathaway, the name of the young woman 
who so early gained such an ascendancy over the 
youthful poet, was, according to a very general tradi- 
tion, possessed of great personal beauty. There is 
indeed no direct contemporary record to this effect. 
But the tradition is at least an innocent one, and is 
not contradicted by any adverse testimony. 

Of the sonnets, there are two or three at least that 
are redolent of this spring-time of life, and which I for 
one can hardly help believing were written by him 
before leaving Stratford, and were ins])ired by this 
Stratford beauty. One of these, in a half playful, 
half passionate vein, is a continued parody or pun on 
his own name of '■ Will." 

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy ' Will,' 
And ' \A*iU ' to boot, and • Will ' in overplus; 

More than enough am 1 that vex ihee ?till. 
To thy sweet wiU making addition thus. 

Wilt thou, whose will is larjje and spacious. 
Not ouee vouchsafe to hide my will in thine T 




Anne Hathaway's Cottage 



seek in forbidden ways the companionship and solace 
that he did not find by his own hearth-stone. That he 
did not, however, by the fascinations of the capital, 
become seriously alienated from his Stratford home is 
as clear as day, and is among the important facts bear- 
ing upon this vexed question. He never became a 
Londoner, as did Jonson and the other dramatists of 
the day. All the pet names given him by his contem- 
poraries connect him with his country home. He is 
ever "the sweet swan of Avon," "thebard of Avon," 
not of the Thames. Every year, during his long 
sojourn in London, he made his annual visit to Strat- 
ford. His children ai'e baptized, married, and buried 
there. His earnings, year by year, are invested there. 
It hits even come to light that among his investments 
was a purchase of land at Shottery, the seat of the 
Hathaway Cottage, which certainly "does not look as 
though the place had become distasteful to him. 
Everything in fact that we certainly know of the 
history of the man shows that Stratford •ind its sur- 
roundings, the residence of his wife and the scene of 
his youthful love, continued to the last to be the 
home of his .affections. Had there been any such 
alienation as has been imputed, there would not have 



Shall will in others seem ripht gracious. 

And in my will no fair accept:aice shine? 
The sea, all water, yet receive.s raiu still 
And in abundance addeth u< his store; 
So thou, heing rich in ' Will ■ add to thy ■ WiU ■ 
One will of mine, to make thy large ' Will ' more. 
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill ; 
Think all but one, and me in that one ' Will.' 

SoilTUt cxxxv, 

Another sonnet, in like youthfid vein, differing so 
widely from the deep tragedy that pervades others of 
his sonnet.*, is addressed to some one playing on the 
virginal, an instrument of music then in use, the keys, 
called "Jacks," being of wood. 

How ofl. when thou, my music, music play'st, 

I'pon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 

The wii-y concord that mine ear confounds. 
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap 

To kiss the tender inward of thv hand, 
Whil.'st my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, 

At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! 
To be so tickled, thev would change their state 

And .situation with those dancing chips. 
O'er whom (which) thy fingers walk with gentle gait. 

Making dead wood more blest than living lips. 
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this. 
Give them thy fingers, me' thy lips to kis.s. 

Soniiet cxxvlil. 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



This sonnet, whether addressed to Anne Hathaway 
or not, is at least a refutation of the theory that all 
the sonnets were inspired by a male friend. The sen- 
timents here expressed are surely not those of man to- 
wards man, but of a man towards a woman. 

Anne Hatha way's cottage, at the little village of 
Shottery, a mile and a half across the green fields 
from Stratford, still remains, and in it the "second 
best bed with the furniture," bequeathed by her hus- 
band. -Nothing more picturesque is to be seen in all 
the country round. 

The next entry in the Stratford register with which 
this story is concerned is the following: Baptized, 
February 2, 1585, Hamnet and Judith, son and daugh- 
ter of William Shakespeare. Shakespeare's wife bore 
him only these three children. Hamnet, the only son, 
died at the age of twelve. The daughters, Susannah 
and Judith, were both married. Judith was married 
to a Stratford man, Thomas Quiney, and had three 
sons, who however all died without issue. Susannah, 
the oldest daughter, and the chief inheritor, was mar- 
ried to Dr. Hall, an eminent physician of Stratford. 
She had one daughter, Elizabeth, who was twice mar- 
ried, the last time to Sir John Barnard, but she like- 
wise died without issue. No lineal descendant of 
Shakespeare, therefore, now exists. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

WHAT LED SHAKESPEARE TO THE PLATERS AND TO 
LONDON. 

MANY conjectures and surmises have been given as 
to the cause of Shakespeare's leaving Stratford for 
the metropolis. The real cause I take to be that stated 
brietiy by Aubrey, the earliest of all the biographers 
(1670). "This William," says Aubrey, "being natu- 
rally inclined to poetry and acting, came to London." 
Let us see if some light cannot be thrown upon this 
brief paragraph. 

Among the fiscal accounts of Strafford have been 
several entries which may be serviceable in this matter. 
These entries are charges of public money expended 
by the authorities for certain theatrical performances 
at different times, from 1569 to 1580, that is, fi-om the 
fifth to the seventeenth year of William Sliakespeare. 
In 1569, when his father John Shakespeare was chief 
magistrate or Bailiff, there was a payment of £9 to the 
Queen's Players, and of 12(f. to the Earl of Worces- 
ter's Players. In 1573, the Earl of Leicester's Players 
received 5«. S>d. In 1570, my Lord of Warwick's 
Players had a gratuity of 17s., and the Earl of Wor- 
cester's Players one of 5s. 8(?. In 1577, my Lord of 
Leicester's Players received 1.5s., and my Lord of Wor- 
cester's Players 3s. id. In 1579, my Lord Strange's 
men, at the commandment of the Bailiff, 5s., and the 
Countess of Essex's Players 14s. dd. In 1580, the Earl 
of Derby's Players, at the commandment of the Bailift', 
8s. id. 

These entries .ire explained by the following passage 
in a book by R. Wiltes, 1639, who gives his own age 
at that time as seventy-five, and who must therefore 
have been born in the same year with Sliakespeare. 
Wiltes is describing what he had seen in a country 
town near Stratford when he was a boy. His descrip- 
tion, in connection with the foregoing entries, is almost 
as satisfactory as if it had been said in express terms 
that the same thing was seen by Will. Sliakespeare, 
another boy, in another town of merry England, "all 
in the olden time." The title is: 



"Upon a Stage-Plat wmcn I Saw when I was a 
Child." 

" In the city of Gloucester, the manner is (as I think 
it is in other like corporations) that when Players of 
Interludes come to town, they first attend the Mayor, 
to inform him what nobleman's servants they are, and 
so to get license for their playing; and if the Mayor 
like the actors, or would show respect to their lord 
and master, he appoints them to play their first play 
before himself and the aldermen and common council 
of the city ; and that is called the Mayor's Play, when 
every one that will comes in without money, the Mayor 
giving the players a reward as he thinks fit, to show 
respect unto them. At such a play my father took 
me with him, and made me stand between his legs, as 
he sat upon one of the benches, where we saw and 
heard very well. The play was called 'The Cradle 
of Security,' wherein was personated a king or some 
great prince, with his courtiers of several kinds, 
amongst which three ladies were in special grace with 
him ; and they, keeping him in delights and pleasures, 
drew- him fi-om his graver counsellors, hearing of ser- 
mons, and listening to good counsel and admonitions, 
that in the end they got him to lie down in a cradle 
upon the stage, wliere these three ladies, joining in a 
sweet song, rocked liim asleep, that he snorted again, 
and in the mean time closely conveyed under tlie 
clothes wherewithal he was covered a vizard like unto 
a swine's snout upon his face, with three wire chains 
fastened thereunto, the other end whereof being sever- 
ally holden by these three ladies, who fell to singing 
again, and then discovered his face, that the spectators 
might see that they had transformed him, going on 
with their singing. Whilst all this was acting, there 
came forth of another door, at the fartliest end of the 
stage, two old men, the one in blue, with a sergeant of 
arras, his mace upon his shoulder, the other in red, 
with a drawn sword in his hand, and leaning with tlie 
other hand upon the other's shoulder ; and so they two 
went along in a soft pace, round about by the skirt of 
the stage, till at last they came to the cradle, wlien all 
the Court was ill the greatest jollity; and then tlie 
foremost old man with his mace struck a fearful blow 
upon the cradle, whereat all the courtiers, with the 
three ladies and tlie vizard, all vanished ; and the deso- 
late prince, starting up barefaced, and fiuding himself 
thus sent for to judgment, made a lamentable com- 
plaint of his miserable case, and so was carried away 
by wicked spirits. 

" This prince did personate in the gest the wicked 
of the world; the three ladies. Pride, Covetousness, 
and Luxury; the two old men, the End of the AVorld 
and the Last Judgment. This sight took such impres- 
sion in me that when I came towards man's estate, it 
was as flesh in my memory as if I had seen it newly 
acted." 

Now if R. Wiltes, born in 1564, saw when a child 
this exhibition in the town of Gloucester, I do not find 
it at all difficult to believe that when, in 1569, John 
Shakespeare, Bailiff of Stratford-upon-Avon, ordered 
the payment of 9s. to the Queen's Players for the ex- 
hibition of a Merry Interlude, his son Will, then five 
years old, stood in like manner between his father's 
legs, as he sat upon one of the benches, and there saw 
a like notable "gest; " and that he continued to wit- 
ness the other exhibitions of a like kind which occurred 
from time to time in his native town during the wliole 
period of his boyhood. 

The inference which these records suggest is strength- 
ened by others of a later date. The first direct evi- 
dence that we have of Shakespeare's being in London 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



is a list of certain persons in that city, engaged as 
players and as proprietors of the Play House. In this 
company, of which Shakespeare is one, occur the 
n.'iraeg of several other actors from the same county of 
Warwick, and one other at least from Stratford itself. 
Thus, then, it was. The great dramatist found, 
even in these rude exhibitions, something congenial. 
Ile^ound in these wandering and clumsy theatricals 
tlie elements of his own glorious day-dreams. His 
soul was touched, rudely it may be, but on that chord 
which yielded its deepest and sweetest music. To 
.join his fellow-townsmen who had already embarked 
in this business, and to seek by it in the great metropolis 
the means of living and of fame, was certainly one of the 
most natural and probable of all possible results. It 
was instructive. His leaving Stratfcd for London at 
the time he did needs no further explanation. It re- 
quires no fable of deer-stealing and prosecution, no 
interposition of paternal misfortunes, no fiction of 
domestic disquietudes and treasons. Shakespeare 
found himself among the players for the same reason 
that the birds in spring-time find themselves among 
tlie branches. He became a dramatist under a law as 
generic as that which draws sweetness from the 
.lEolian harp wh"en kissed by Zephyrus, or that which 
opens the throats of the feathered tribes when vernal 
airs and genial skies warm them into melody. It was 
nature herself prompting her favorite son to his ap- 
propriate work. The strolling players and the men-}- 
interludes, at the little town of Stratford-upon-Avon, 
were to Shakespeare the mirror of Merlin, revealing 
to himself the secret of his own wonderful powers. 
The powers were there. They needed only an occa- 
sion to put them in motion. 



actors attached themselves to the service of some 
nobleman, and, as his servants, they were by law free 
from arrest. One company, known as the Earl of Lei- 
cester's Players, early acquired special distinction, and in 
1574, through his influence, obtained a special charter 
from the Queen. The leading proprietor in this com- 
pany was James Burbage, a Warwickshire man. This 
James Burbage was, in Shakespeare's boyhood, the 
man of greatest mark in the theatrical world. He 
was the pioneer in the building of play-houses, the 
first house ever built in England specially erected for 
theatrical purposes being that put up by liim in 1577, 
in Shoreditch, on ground formerly belonging to Holy- 
well Priory. It was in the open fields on the north 
side of London, and just outside the city limits. This 
building was known simply as the Theatre. After 
occupying it more than twenty years as a play-house, 
Burbage pulled it down, carried the materials to the 



CHAPTEPv IS. 

UNCERTAINTY AB0t7T THE TIME OF SnAKESPEABE's AD- 
TENT IN LONDON — FIRST FOUND THERE IN CONNECTION 
WITH THE LOKD CHAMEERLAIN's PLAYERS — SKETCH OF 
THE HISTORY OF THIS COMPANY — THE ELDER BUR- 
BAGE, HIS THEATRICAL ENTERPRISES ATTITUDE OF 

THE CORPORATION OF LONDON TOWARDS THE PLAYERS, 
ITS EFFECT UPON THE LOCATION OF THE PLAY HOUSE 
— NOTICES OF THE THEATEE, THE CURTAIN, THE GLOBE, 
THE BLACKFRIARS. 

ONE of the riddles of literature is that so little 
should be known of the man who is beyond ques- 
tion the greatest genius that literature has to boast of; 
and the riddle is all the more perplexing from the fact 
tliat this man lived in tlfe very focus of English civil- 
ization, at one of its most illustrious epochs, and that 
he has been dead only about two centuries and a half. 

The exact date of Shakespeare's going to London is 
not known. The probability is that he went about 
the year 1586, four years after his marriage, he being 
then twenty-two years old. and his youngest cliild not 
yet two years old. He died in 1616, and the last four 
or five years of his life are known to have been spent 
in his native village, after his retirement from the 
metropolis. This would make his London career 
cover a period of about a quarter of a century. 

The first notices we have of Shakespeare in London 
are in connection with the company of actors known, 
first .as the Lord Chamberlain's men, and afterwards as 
the King's Players. Some account of this company 
therefore is the first thing in order. Strolling actors 
were at that time liable to be t.aken up as vagrants. 
To relieve them from this penalty the better class of 




Old Globe Theatre, 1S93. 

other side of London, on the south bank of the Thames, 
and there, in 1599, with these materials, built the play- 
house known as the Globe. He had also, some three or 
four years before, near the north bank of the Thames, 
opposite Southwark, erected still another play-house, 
known as the Blackfriars, being built upon a part of 
the foundation of the old mon.astery of the Black 
Friars, which had been demolished in the reign of 
Henry VIIL 

This James Burb.ige had a son Richard, who was 
confessedly the greatest actor of his da.y. and one of 
the greatest of all time. He was about the same age 
as Shakespeare, and was the leading man in the com- 
pany of players to which Shakespeare belonged. They 
l)layed cliietly in the buildings just described, put up 
by the elder Burbage, namely, the Theatre, the Black- 
friars, the Globe. The principal actors in this com- 
pany were Richard Burbage, William Shakespeare, 
Lawrence Fletcher, Augustine Phillipps, Johnlleminge, 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



Henry Condell, "William Sly, Robert Armin, and 
Richard Cowley. This company, varying a little from 
time to time as to its constituency, yet remaining sub- 
stantially the same, was at first under the protection 
of the Lord Chamberlain, and its members were 
known as his men or his servants. But on the acces- 
sion of James, 1603, he took them under his own 
special protection, and they were known thenceforth 
as the King's Players. All of Shakespeare's plays 
were brought out by this company. 

The Burbages, father and son, were in particular 
intimately associated with Shakespeare all through his 
theatrical career, and the younger of them is one of 
those attectionately remembered by Shakespeare in 
his will. Another man for a time of this company, 
though he appears afterward to have gone over to a 
rival company, was Thomas Greene, of great celebrity 
as a comic actor. He is generally believed to have 
been a Stratford man, and to have been directly in- 
strumental in introducing Shakespeare to the com- 
pany. Still another member of this company, John 
Heminge, is said to have been from Shottery, the 
residence of Anne Hathaway, near Stratford. He re- 
mained with the company to the last, and was one of 
the editors of the first Folio. 




Richard Burbage. 

To imderstand the tlieatrical history of this period, 
it must be borne in mind that while both Elizabeth 
and James, and the court generally, looked witli favor 
upon actors and acting, the city of London, under the 
influence of the Puritan element in the church, dis- 
countenanced stage plaj-ing, and did everything in 
tlieir power to suppress it. Hence nearly all tlie early 
play-houses were built in places contiguous to the 
population, but outside the limits of the corporation 
and beyond its jurisdiction. There were three snch 
play-houses on the north side of the city, in wliat 
was then open country, in the neigliborhood of Shore- 
ditch. These three were: 1. The Theatre (Burbage's 
already named), 2. Tlie Curtain, 3. The Fortune. 

Two others, already mentioned, and belonging to 
the Burbages, were The Blncl-friars, on the north 
bank of the Thames, and within tlie corporation limits, 
and The Globe, on the south side of the Thames, in 
the suburb known as Southwark, and sometimes as 



the Bankside. The Blackfriars, according to doca- 
ments tirst brought to light by Mr. Halliwell, in 1874, 
was built in 1506, and the Globe in 159!). Shakespeare's 
theatrical career began at the old theatre in Shore- 
ditch, outside of the city on the north, and continued 
there for the first ten or twelve years; it was thuu 
divided for a time between that theatre and the Black- 
friai-s; and finally, for the last twelve or fifteen years, 
was divided between the Blackfriars and the Globe. 



CHAPTER X. 

BKOIXNING OF SHAKESPEAEe's CAREER, ni3 RANK AS AS 
ACTOR — VERY RECENT DOCUMENTS ON THIS SUBJECT 

— IX WHAT MANNER HIS CAREER AS A DRAMATIST 
BEGAN — SOCIAL HUMILIATIONS OF THE ACTORS AND 
THE DRAMATISTS AT THAT TIME — EVIDENCES THAT 
SHAKESPEARE FELT THIS KEENLY — IIIS SOCIAL HABITS 

— " WIT-COMBATS " BETWEEN HIM AND BEN JONSON, 
AT THE MERMAID — ONE REASON WHY SUCH OBSCU- 
RITY EXISTS IN REGARD TO THE DATE OF THE COM- 
POSITION OF THE DIFFERENT PLAYS — HIS INTEREST 
IN PREVENTING THE PUBLICATION OF THE PLAYS — 
CHARACTER OF THE EARLY QUARTOS — THE TRUE 
EDITIO PRINOEPS. 

THE evidence is conclusive that Shakespeare began 
his theatrical career as an actor, and that he took 
parts both in his own plays and in others. Some of 
the parts taken by him, as that of the Ghost in his 
own Ilamlet, and that of the old man Adam in As 
You Like It, are pretty well ascertained. It is also 
known that he played in Ben Jonson's Every Man in 
his Humor. 

The earliest authentic mention of Shakespeare as a 
player is in March, 1594, four years earlier than any 
authentic mention of him in this capacity heretofore 
supposed to exist. In the document just uneartlK-d 
by Halliwell, and published in 18T4, of the authenticity 
of which there has been thus far no question, Shake- 
speare is named as one of the Lord Chamberlain's ser- 
vants who had acted two comedies before her majesty 
Queen EMzabetb during the preceding Christmas sea- 
son, that is, in December, 1593. This document, then, 
shows Shakespeare, at the end of seven years from the 
time of his supposed advent in London, to have alreiidy 
risen to such consideration in the theatrical world as 
to be one of the three most eminent actors of the 
day, specially invited to play before her majesty on 
that occasion, Kempe and Burbage, the two others 
associated with him, being the acknowledged sover- 
eigns of the stage. The document is interesting also as 
showing the exact amount paid for their services, viz., 
£20 eciual to £100, or $500 now. The whole entry 
is worth (jnoting. It is in these words: "To William 
Kempe, William Shakespeare, and Richard Burbage, 
servants to the Lord Chamberlain, upon the Council's 
warrant, dated at Whitehall, 15 March, 1594, for two 
severall comedies or interludes showed by them before 
her Majesty in Christmas time last past, namely, upon 
St. Stephen's day and Innocent's day, £13 6s. Sd., and 
by way of her majesty's reward £6 13s. 4d., in all £20." 

In regard to his ability as an actor, Chettle, writing 
while Shakespeare was still on the boards, 1592, tes- 
tifies that "he Ts excellent in the quality which he 
professeth," and Aubrey, writing half a century after 
Shakespeare's death (1670), says "he did act exceed- 
ingly well." If in this respect he did not come up to 
the consummate ability of his friend, the younger 
Burbage, who was indeed the Garrick of his day, ho 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



yet fvidentlv was an actor of no mean ability, and his 
])ractical c-xperience on the stage contributed hirtjely, 
witliout iloulit, to- that masterly knowledge of stage- 
effect which is so conspicuous in his plays. 

There is a well-autlienticated tradition that Taylor, 
one of the Blackfiiars' company, who acted Hamlet, 
■was instructed in the part by Shakespeare himself; 
also, that LowUie, who acted Henry VHI., was like- 
wise instructed in it by Shakespeare; and, finally, that 
ISetterton, who, half a century later, became famous 
as a personator of these two parts, was aided therein 
by the stage traditions in regard to the manner of 
presenting them introduced by Shakespeare himself 

The evidence, furthermore, is conclusive that for 
many years Shakespeare was engaged both as a writer 
for the stage and as an actor. All his predecessors 
and most of his contemporaries were at once players 
and writers. Such was the case with Marlowe, 
Greene, Lodge, Peele, Nash, Munday, Wilson, Field, 
Heywood, Webster, and Ben Jonson. It was not 
nntil some time later in the history of the drama that 
the business of author and actor became di.stinct. All 
the early dramatists were actors, and took part in 
acting their own plays. 

It is further probable that Shakespeare began the 
business of dramatist in the same manner as his pre- 
decessors, namely, as a "playwright." That is, he 
began, not by composing original plays, but by tinker- 
ing up and improving plays already extant. The 
drama, about the time that he began authorship, seems 
hardly to have been considered a part of literature. 
The person who prepared a play for the stage was not 
looked upon as an author. It was all one to the 
audience whetlier that which pleased them was orig- 
inal or borrowed. Tlie actor sometimes came in for 
a share of personal regard, but no one ever thought 
of the writer. It can hardly be doubted that Shake- 
speare, while enjoying his theatrical success, felt keenly 
the humiliating social position to which his profession 
at this time subjected him. It is absurd to suppose 
that such a genius as Shakespeare's, did not know its 
own value. Read the fifty-lifth sonnet: 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhj'me : 
But you shall shine more bright in these conttMits 

Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time. 
"When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 

And broils root out the work of masonry. 
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick (ire .shall burn 

The living record of your memory. 
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 

Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find room 
Even in the eyes of all posterity 

That wear this world out to the ending doom. 

Bearing in mind this his sublime consciousness of 
his own greatness and of the assured eternity of his 
lines, how infinitely touching is the pathos with which, 
in another sonnet (111th), he refers to the social 
humiliations to which his profession subjected him. 

O. for my sake do you with Fortune chide. 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 

That did not better for my life provide 
Than public means which public manners breeds. 

Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
And almost theute my nature is subdued 

To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 

The feeling thus experienced, as he looked upon the 
great and noble wlio came to his jilay-house merely 
to be amused, is not at all in contiict with the fact 
that he enjoyed heartily his life, such as it was, though 
it did not give him social intercourse with the titled 
ones about hira. We can well believe the traditions 
of the merry-makings at the Falcon and the Mermaid, 
and of the wit-combats of which Fuller speaks, 1662, 
between Sliakespeare and Ben Jonson. "Many," says 



Fuller, " were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben 
Jonson; which two I beheld like a Spanish great 
galleon and an English man-of-war." Master Jonson, 
like the former, was built far higher in learning; solid, 
but slow in his performances. Shakespeare, with the 
early dramatists, prepared a piece for the stage purely 
as a matter of business. They took, or they made, 
whatever was likely to gain the end — to draw an 
audience. Shakespeare doubtless soon found that the 
less he took and the more he made, the more accept- 
able the preparation became to the public. Hence he' 
passed by a natural transition from what has been 
technically called a "playwright," to a writer of orig- 
inal plays. Another thing also is probable, and indeed 
is evident from recorded facts, that his plays be- 
came gradually so important to the company to which 
he belonged, that he di'opped entirely the office of 
actor, and confined his attention exclusively to writ- 
ing. At what time precisely this change took place 
has not been ascertained. All that we know certainly 
is that during the early part of his theati'ical career 
he was an actor, afterwards he was both actor and 
wi'iter, while for many years before his death he was 
connected with the stage only as a writer. The story 
of his having began by holding the horses of those at- 
tending the theatre is now generally discredited. If 
the thing did occur, it must have been at the theati'e, 
in Shoreditch, to which Shakespeare was first attached. 
As this theatre was out in the open fields, many of 
the play-goers comin? frorn t^^ -;^y -„inti<i irniili iLo 
place on horse-back, and so the holding of the horses 
would become a considei'able business. 

The date of the composition of the several plays is 
involved in great obscurity. A discussion of the sub- 
ject would involve many dry details cjuite unsuited 
to a sketch like this. One general remark, however, 
may be made, bearing upon this point. It is doubtful 
whether any one of the plays was published under 
the author's own inspection and authority. It was to 
the interest of Shakespeare and his company to keep 
the plays in manuscript in the theatre, as the main 
part of their stock in trade. The printing of them for 
pei'sons to read lessened their value as a means of 
attracting people to the play-house. The fact, there- 
fore, of the plays not coming out during the author's 
life, and under his own direction, is proof rather of his 
thrift, than of the neglect and reckless indifference to 
which it has been generally ascribed. In 1623, seven 
years after his death, two of his friends and fellow- 
actors published his plays in a large folio volume, from 
the original copies then in the theatre. This publica- 
tion is regarded as the true Editio Princeps, and as the 
chief authoi-ity in determining the text. A consider- 
able number of the plays were published separately 
during his life. These were printed in small 4to pam- 
phlets, and are known as the Early Quartos. Their 
publication, howevei', is generally believed to have 
been surreptitious, without the supervision or consent 
of the author. 

The f:ict that the plays were kept in the theatre as 
a part of the theatrical property has had the additional 
effect of making it next to impossible to fix a definite 
time for the composition of each. We know from a 
comparison of styles, as well as from contemporary rec- 
ords, that certain of the plays were written earlier, and 
others were written later. But even when a play had 
been once produced in the tlieatre, there is no proof 
that Shakespeare did not continue to alter and amend 
it from year to year. The proof indeed is just the 
other way, and the general conclusion now is, that all 
the plays were touched up from time to time, and that 
many of thera, particularly those first written, were 
rewritten again ahd again. 

xxvii 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



CHAPTER XI. 

EEI^TIONS OF SHAKESPEAEE TO THE EARL OF SOUTn- 
AMPTON— CHARACTER OF TIII3 NOBLEMAN TRADI- 
TION OF THE GIFT OP £1,000 — CONNECTION OF THE 

DAVENANTS WITH THE STORY THEIR SPECIAL MEANS 

OF KNOWI.EDGE ON THE SlIBJECT. 

THE first works of Shakespeare published, and the 
only ones certainly known to have been published 
under his own supervision and authority, were the 
Venus and Adonis, 15'J3, and the Liicrece, 1594, Shake- 
speare at this latter date being thirty years old. Both 
yioems are dedicated to a youthful admirer of Shake- 
speare's, the young earl of Southampton, then in his 
twenty-first year. The earl is described by his con- 
temporaries as a man of brilliant parts, possessed of 
great learning and accomplishments, and a munificent 
patron of letters. Testimonies to this effect in the 
shape of dedicatory odes and epistles are found scat- 
tered all through the literature of the period. The 
poets of the day looked up to him as llie English 
MiBcenas. Brathwayt, in the dedication of the Schol- 
ar's Medley, calls him " learning's best favorite." Flo- 
rio, in his World of Wordi, speaks of him as one " in 
wliose pay and patronage I have lived some years; " 
" To me and many more, the glorious and gi-acious 
sunshine of your honor hath infused light and life." 
The form of literature to which he was especially de- 
Ti)t<'.d wiij t.liH drama. This we know from a contem- 
porary record by Rowland Whyte, who says of South- 
ampton and his companion Lord Rutland, " They pass 
away the time in London merely in going to plays 
every day." In connection with this, we may observe 
that his mother by a second marriiige became the wife 
of Sir Thomas Henrage, Treasurer of the Chamber. 
This office brought Sir Thomas, and through him his 
step-son, the young earl, into intimate association with 
actors aud dramatists. Some brief reference to the 
affection of this brilliant nobleman for men of letters 
seems necessary to explain the intimate relations which 
grew up between him and Sliakespeare. In the dedi- 
cation of tlie Venus and Adiinis, the language is that 
of distant but respectful compliment. The dedication 
of the Liicrece, only a year later, speaks unbounded 
admiration and affection. This cliang« in the tone of 
tlie two documents is remarkable, and is supposed to 
liave been caused by an extraordinary act of generos- 
ity on the part of the young nobleman. The tradi- 
tion is that the earl at one time made the poet a gift 
of £1,000 (equivalent to £5,000 now) to enable him 
to complete a " purchase which he had a mind to." 
There is no inherent impossibility, and no very great 
improbability, in such a piece of generosity, and tlie 
tradition is clear and precise. If this thing ever did 
take place, its occurrence in the interval between the 
publication of these two documents gives special mean- 
ing and emphasis to both — the first dedication being 
that which prompted the mind of the generous young 
nobleman to make the gift, the second being the nat- 
ural outpouring of affection for so great an act of kind- 
ness. 

All this, probable as it is, we mnst still remember is 
pure conjecture. The tradition is given by Rowe, and 
Rowe gives it on the authority of Sir William Davo- 
uant, 1670, about half a century after Shakespeare's 
death. Shakespeare was intimate with the Davenants, 
and was godfather to their son, William, the celebrated 
Sir William Davenant of the next generation. Shake- 
speare used to stop at their house, the Crown Inn, in 
Oxford, in his annual journeys between Stratford and 
London, the older Daveuaut, who was an inukeei)er 
and vintner, being a great admirer and friend of the 
xiviii 



poet. Tliese facts are expressly affirmed by Anthony 
A. Wood, the careful antiquarian of Oxford, who him- 
self knew the Davenants personally. Wood says, the 
"mother [of Sir W^illiam] was a very" beantif ol woman, 
of a good wit and conversation;" "the father . . . 
was a very good and discreet citizen, yet an admirer 
and lover of plays and playmakers, especially Sliake- 
si)eare, who frequented his house in^iis journeys be- 
tween Warwickshire and London." The Davenants 
then must have been well acquainted with Shake- 
speare's affairs, and are competent witnesses to any 
important facts in his history. Rowe's statement is as 
follows : " There is one instance so singular in the 
munificence of this patron of Shakespeare's, that if I 
had not been assured that the story was handed down 
by Sir William Davenant, who was probably very well 
acquainted with his [Shakespeare's] affairs, I should not 
have ventured to have inserted; [to wit,] that my Lord 
Southampton at one time gave him a thousand pounds 
to enable him to go through with a piu'chase which he 
heard he had a mind to." 



CHAPTER XIL 

Shakespeare's genius fully recognized by ms con- 
temporaries — EVIDENCES ON THIS POINT: ((() EX- 
TRAORDINARY NUMBER OF EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS 
PUBLISHED DURING BIS LIFE-TIME; (I) NUMBER OF 
QUOTATIONS FROM HIM IN CONTEMPORARY WORKS OF 
ELEGANT EXTRACTS; (f) NUMBER AND EXTRAORDI- 
NARY CHARACTER OF NOTICES OF HIM BY CONTEM- 
POP.ARY WRITERS HOW THE CURRENT NOTION ORIGI- 
NATED ABOUT HIS NOT BEING KNOWN OK RECOG- 
NIZED BY HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 

IT has been a common opinion that Shakespeare's 
genius was not recognized by his own generation; 
in fact, that he lived and died comparatively unknown. 
That his genius is now better understood and ai)preci- 
ated than it was two hundred and fifty years ago, I 
admit. It is also true that he is no longer thought to 
have been, as the wits of Queen Anne's day thought 
him, a sort of inspired idiot, abounding in genius, but 
wanting in art. Yet, while a broader criticism aud a 
more extensive research have undoubtedly added to our 
knowledge of him, it would be a great mistake to suj)- 
poso that he was not both well known and highly 
appreciated in his own day. 

And, first, let us see what was done in the actual 
publication of his works while he was still living. 
From 1593, when the Venus and Adonis first appeared, 
to 161G, the time of his death, scarcely a year passed 
without the appearance in print of one or more of his 
works, some of them i-eaching as high as six editions 
within twenty-one years. The whole number of edi- 
tions of separate works, copies or records of which 
have come down to us, was at the time of his death 
no less than sixty-five. Now even in this day of cheap 
publications and of universal rushing into print, an 
author who, at fifty-two, notwithstanding studious and 
interested endeavors on his part to keep his chief works 
out of the hands of the printers, sliould yet find on 
the bookseller's catalogues more than sixty editions of 
one or another of them, might surely seem to be not 
altogether a stranger to the public. Jt is hardly an 
exaggeration to say that Tennyson and Longfellow are 
not better known to the book-trade than was Shake- 
speare, mutatis 7nutandis, at the time of his death. 

Secondly, in the books of elegant extracts published 
at that time, and containing selections from standai'J 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



pix'ts, Shakespeare is even thus early quoted. Thus, 
l,'tii/l<jinV3 ParHassm, or, 77ie Choysest Floxcers of our 
Modern Poets, 1600, has no less than ninety extracts 
from Shakespeare. Bel - Vedere, or Garden of the 
31ijses, also in 1600, has several extracts from Shake- 
speare. Love's Martyr, in a new edition, 1601, has an 
aijpenilix of new poems, "done by the best and eliief- 
est of our modern writers," — the same being chielly 
Chapman, Marston, Ben Jonson, and Shakespeare. Eng- 
Ittnd's Helicon, a Collecti-on of Pastoral Poems (IGli) 
contains three extracts from Shakespeare. This kind 
of incidental testimony it is impossible to gainsay. It 
is hard to conceive of a contemporary popularity more 
unmistakable. 

Thirdly, although it was not the custom then, as it is 
now, for everybody to gossip on paper about authors, 
yet let us see whether Shakespeare and his works are 
not in point of fact mentioned in every variety of way 
by those who lived at the same time with him, who 
were conversant with his writings, and who knew the 
man himself personally. I will mention only a few of 
the very earliest, from 1591 to 1598. 

The earliest of all is a passage in Spenser, not indeed 
naming Shakespeare, yet so evidently referring to him 
as to deserve citation. It is, I am aware, a matter of 
dispute whether the passage referred to was meant for 
Shiikespeare, and many Shakespearians, those too of 
tlie very highest authority, reject the passage alto- 
gether. Yet, after considering carefully the argu- 
ments, for and against, I cannot resist the conviction 
tliat in penning these lines Spenser did have Shake- 
speare in his mind. The passage occurs in Spenser's 
poem, The Tears of the Muses, 1591, Shakespeare hav- 
ing then been five years in London. Spenser, who 
during that same period had been living at Kilcolman 
Castle, Ireland, came in 1590 to London to attend to 
tlie printing of the first three books of the Faerie 
Qneene, and while there was likely to learn something 
o( the new poet, and perhaps to make his acquaint- 
ance. Nothing certainly could be more probable than 
that Spenser, during this temporary soj6urn in tin- 
metropolis, should embrace the opportunity of fre- 
quenting the play-house, where all the wits of tin- 
day and all his friends among the nobility made daily 
resort. On his return to Ireland, this poem, the Tears 
of the Musea, was published, suggested apparently by 
what he had seen in London during his late visit, and 
bewailing what he considered the low estate of litera- 
ture and the arts. In the poem, each of the Nine 
Muses in turn makes lament over the low condition of 
that particular art over which she presides. Among 
the rest, Thalia, the Muse of Comedy, bewails the de- 
generate state of her branch. In this lament occur the 
lines referred to : 

And he. the man whom Nature selfe had made 
To mock ht-r selfe and Truth to imitate, 

With kindly counter under Mimick shade, 
OtLT pleasant WUly. ah ! is dead of late : 

With whom all joy and jolly merriment 

Is also deaded, and in dolour drenl. 

After a few more lines, expressing her scorn for the 
baser sort of dramatists who were flooding the stage 
with their vile productions, she goes on to say : 

But that same gentle spirit, from whose pen 
Large strcames of honnie and sweete Nectar flowe. 

Scorning the boldnes of such base borne men. 
Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe. 

Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 

Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell. 

Here Thalia speaks of some dramatic writer who 
had raised high the expectations of the public, but 
who is "dead of late," that is, who is so vexed at the 
scurrility and ribaldry prevaihng that he ceases writing 



for the stage, resolving to sit idle for the time, rather 
than be mixed up vrith such biise-born men. As there 
was no other dramatic writer in 1591 to whom these 
lines could possibly apply, and as the phrase " our 
pleasant Willy" points so clearly to William Shake- 
speare, it is hard to i-esist the conclusion that Shake- 
speare was meant, that he had thus, as early even as 
his twenty-seventh year, won emphatic recognition 
from the author of this Faerie Queene. Among the 
plays known to have been written prior to 1591, are 
Love's Labour's Lost, Comedy of Errors, and Two Oen- 
tlemen of Veron-a, all in the comic vein, and all there- 
fore suited to bring their author under the notice of 
Thalia, the Muse of Comedy. 

Three years later, that is, in 1594, Spenser again 
visited London, and on returning to Ireland wrote 
another poem, Colin Clout's Come Home Again, cele- 
brating in pastoral verse, and, as was his wont, under 
assumed names, the various persons he had met in and 
near the court. Astrophel is Sir Philip Sidney, the 
Shepherd of the Ocean is Sir Walter Raleigh, and sf> 
on. Among these descriptions is one generalh' sup- 
posed to refer to Shakespeare, though the reference is 
by no means so clear as in the former passage. The 
lines are the following: 

And there, though last not least, is AicnoN ; 

A gentler sheplieard may no where be found, 
Whose Muse, full of high thoughts inveutiuu, 

Doth lite him.selfe heroically sound. 




Edward Spenser. 

Poets have in all ages been regarded as genus irri- 
tahile, — a waspish race. All the accounts, however, 
which we have of Shakespeare, concur in representing 
him as, on the contrary, a man of amiable disposition 
and conciliatory manners. It is not a little remarkable 
tliat all his contemporaries and those of the age imme- 
diately following (except one little outpouring of spleen 
which I shaU notice presently), speak of him, when 
they refer to him at all, in terms not merely of admi- 
ration, but of tender affection, — a man not only to be 
reverenced, but to be loved. Milton, whose ei)ithets 
are never given at random, speaks of '^sweetest Shake- 
speare " and '■'■my Shakespeare." Leonard Digges 
speaks of "our Shakespeare." ITis fellow-act<irs, 
lleminge and Condell. in bringing out the first Folio, 
speak of "our Shakespeare." Ben Jonson says "Sweet 
xzix 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



Swan of Avon," "my Sliakespeare," '■^my gentle Shake- 
speare." Spenser, in the passage first quoted, speaks 
of " our pleasant Willy," and "that same ^e»<i« spirit." 
So here, when in speaking of Aetion he says, a "gentler 
shepheard may no where be found," it seems but natural 
to infer that he means the same genial, love-inspiring 
spirit. 

Another expression deserves notice. The Muse of 
Aetion, it is said, does "like himself heroically sound." 
This seems to carry a pl.ain reference to Shakespeare's 
name, which in that day was often printed as two 
words joined by a hyjihen, Shake-speare, and as such 
considered significant, and played upon according to 
the fancy of his friends. Thus Ben Jonson translates 
the name into " Shake-a-Lance " and " Shake-a-Stage ; " 
Greene calls him a "Shake-scene;" Fuller refers to 
the "wariike sound of his surname, whence some may 
conjecture him of a military extraction, — Ilasti-mbran^, 
or iS/ial-c-speare;" and finally the coat-of-arms devised 
for him by the Herald's otfice bears the crest of a fal- 
con hrandishing a spear. These things look certainly 
as if Spenser was aiming at the same mark when he 
speaks of a poet whose Muse does like himself heroic- 
ally sound. Notice further the difference between the 
kind of praise now bestowed and that given three 
years before. Then the qualities spoken of were the 
"honey" and the "nectar," the "joy" and the "jolly 
merriment." Kow, his Muse is "fuU of high thoughts' 
invention." This too is supposed to be explained by a 
comparison of dates. In 1501, Shakespeare had written 
little, if any thing, but comedy, with possibly the 
Veniis and Adonis, and some of "his sugred sonnets 
among his friends." But now, in 1594, three at least 
of his great tragedies had been put upon the stage, 
namely, Eichard II., Kichard III, and Romeo and 
Juliet. Well then might Spenser speak of the heroic 
sound of his name and of his high thoughts' inven- 
tion. 

Shakespeare's own admiration for the poet-lau- 
reate, found expression in a remarkable sonnet, pub- 
lished in the Passionate Pilgrim, and addressed to a 
friend who was equally an admirer of Bowkind, a 
famous English musician of that day : 



If music and sweet poetry agree, 

As they must ueetfs, the sister and the brother, 
Then must tlie love be great 'twixt thee and me. 

Because thou lovest the one, and 1 the other. 
Doirtand to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 

Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; 
i<penser to me. whose deep conceit is such 

As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound 

That Phoebus' tute, tlie queen of music, makes; 
And I in deep delight am chiefly drowned 

Whenas Aimself to singing he betakes. 
One god is god of both, as poets feign ; 
One Itnight loves both, and both in thee remain. 



After Spenser, the next writer, chronologicallj', who 
refers to Shakespeare is Robert Greene. This occurs 
in a tract published in 1592. Greene was quite noto- 
rious in his day. He wrote chietly for the stage, and 
was charged with various excesses in private life. 
In a fit of repentance, near the close of life, he wrote 
a tract called A Groafs Worth of Wit ; Bought with 
a Million of Repentance. It was addressed to " those 
gentlemen his quondam acquaintance who spend their 
wits in writing plays, and more particularly to Mar- 
lowe, Lodge, and Peele." He urges these writers to 
cease writing for the stage; to take warning from his 
experience; and, if nothing else would move tliein, to 
be assured that the actors and the public were very 
unstable in their likes and their dislikes, and would 
soon abandon them for some new favorite. His 
words are: "Base-minded men, all three of you, if by 

JCXX 



my misery ye be not warned ; for unto none of you, 
like [unto] me, sought those burrs to cleave; those 
pu|)pets [the actors] I mean, that speak from our 
mouths, those antics garnished in our colors. Is it 
not strange that I, to whom they all have been be- 
holding; is it not like that you, to whom they all have 
been beholding, shall (were ye in that case that I am 
now) be both at once of them forsaken? Yes, trust 
them not; for there is an upstart crow, beautified with 
our feathers, that with liis Tyger's heart tcrapt in a 
Player^s hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast 
out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an 
absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the 
only Shake-scene in a country." 

Here Greene is in ill temper with some young up- 
start, who, at first only a player, has presumed to 
write also for the stage, and who is obviously supplant- 
ing Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele. From the date, 1592, 
and (Tom what we know of the other dramatic writers 
then living, the new "upstart" could have been none 
other than Shakespeare, and this inference derives 
additional strength from the epithet which Greene 
gives him, "the on\y, Shal-e-scene in a country." 

Thus the great dramatist, now only twenty-eight 
years old, and only six years in London, is already be- 
ginning to supersede his predecessors and contempo- 
raries, and to excite in consequence their jealousy and 
^atred. One of the epithets applied to him is es- 
pecially instructive — -Johannes Factotum, literally, a 
John do-everything, or, in good English idiom, a Jack- 
at-all-trades. Now the whole tenor of Shakespeare's 
writings, as well as all the traditions concerning his 
life, go to establish the conclusion that Ire was remark- 
able for his common sense and his practical talents. 
His transcendent genius did not prevent his attending 
to ordinary business in an ordinary way — did not hinder 
him from being shrewd at a bargain and thrifty in the 
management of affairs. It is easy to see that these 
qualities, in connection with his genius as a writer, 
would naturally give him in a short time the chief 
control of the theatre to which he was attached. The 
disparaging epithets of Greene mark the precise time 
(a critical point in the history of any rising man) 
when, from superior business talents as well as from 
superior genius, the actual management of aftairs had 
gone into his hands, but his superiority had not yet 
been fully recognized. He was still one who could be 
taunted hy his declining rivals as an "upstart," — one 
who imagined himself able to write as good blank 
verse as any of his contemporaries — one who w,<is 
" in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a coun- 
try " — one who thought he could be writer, player, 
manager, and what not — in fact, a very and " absolute 
Johannes Factotum." 

Greene's GroaVa Worth of Wit led incidentally this 
same year to a notice of Shakesjjeare by Henry Ghet- 
tle, another dramatic writer of the period. Chettle had 
been instrumental in tlie publication of Greene's pam- 
phlet, and finding that injustice had been done therein 
to some of the parties attacked, he published a tract of 
his own, called Kind-Harfs Dream, intended to make 
reparation. In it occurs the following jiassage, refer- 
ring to Shakespeare : "Myself have seen his demeanor 
no less civil than he excellent in the quahty [which] he 
professes; besides, divers of worship have reported 
his uprightness of dealing, which argues his honesty, 
and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his 
art." The character which Chettle here gives of Shake- 
speare is precisely that already suggested, namely, that 
he was a man of genius, possessed of good tetuper, 
thrift, and common sense. 

I have dwelt a little upon these four passages, Spen- 
ser 1591, Greene and Chettle 1592, and Spenser again 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



1594, because they are the first of all, and because, ob- 
scure as they are in some respects, they yet show how 
early Shakespeare became a man of mark. The other 
iiiitances will be quoted more briefly. 

This same Henry Cbettle a few years later refers to 
Shakespeare again, under the name of Melicert, taking 
him to task for not sounding the praises of Elizabeth, 
at the time of her death. 

Nor doth the silver-tonged ifdicert 

Drop from his honied muse one sable teare, 
To mourn her death that graced his desert, 
And to his laies open'd her royail eare; 
bhepheard, remember our Ettzabeth. 
Anu slug her rape, done by that Tarquin, Death. 

Henry Willobie, an Oxford man, in a volume called 
fVillofiie, His Avisa, published in 1594, the very year 
that the Lucrece was published, thus mentions the new 
poem: 

Though CoUatine have dearly bought 

To high renowne. a lasting life. 
And found — that most in vaine have sought 

To have — a fair and constant wife. 
Yet Tarquyne pluckt his glistering grape, 
And Sltake-speare paints poore Lwcrece rape. 

Gabriel Harvey, wlio figured largely in those days as 
a literary critic, and who was much mixed up with 
the athiirs of Spenser and Sidney, published in 1592 four 
letters " especially touching liobert Greene and other 
jiarties by him abused." In the third letter is a para- 
graph addressed to one of the parties thus abused by 
Gieene. The circumstances of the publication make it 
wellnigh certain that the person thus addressed was 
Shakespeare. The passage is so accepted by Dr. In- 
gleby, one of the most careful and exact of Shake- 
spearian scholars. Harvey's words are : " Good sweete 
Oratour, be a devinc poet indeede ; and use heavenly 
eloquence indeede; and employ thy golden talent with 
amounting usance indeede; and with heroicall c.antoes 
honour right vertue, and have brave valour indeede ; as 
noble Sir Philip Sidney, and gentle Maister Spencer 
have done, with iinmortall Fame ; and I will bestow 
more complements of rare amplifications upon thee 
then ever any bestowed uppon them; or this Tounge 
ever affooi"ded." 

Six years later, 1598, Harvey wrote: "The younger 
sort take much delight In Shakespeare's T'enws and 
Adonis; but his Lucrece, and his tragedy of Hamlet, 
Prince of Benmarke, have it in them to please the wiser 

SOl't." 

Drayton, in his Matilda, also of 1594, gives the fol- 
lowing allusion to the new poem: 

Lucrece, of whom proud Rome hath boasted long, 
Lately reviv'd to live another age, 

And here arriv'd to tell of Tarquin's wrong, 
Her chaste denial, and the tyrant's rage, 
.\cting her passions on our stately stage. 

She is remember'd. all forgetting me, 

\kI I as fair and chaste as ere was she. 

In a work called Polimanteia, 1595, the following 
expression occurs: "All praise the Lucrece of sweet 
Shakespeare." 

The Return from Parnassus, a play acted by the stu- 
dents of Cambridge, 1606, contains remarks on sev- 
eral contemporary poets — Spenser, Constable, Lodge, 
Daniel, Watson, Drayton, Davis, Marston, Marlowe, 
Sli/tkespeare, and Churchyard. Of Shakespeare the fol- 
lowing is said: 

Who loves Adonis^ love or Lvcrere' rape. 
His sweeter verse contains heart-robbing life ; 
Could but a graver subject him content, 
Without love's foolish, lazy languishment. 

In the prose part of the play, the following dialogue 
occurs between the actors, Kemj^and Burbage. 



"liemp. Why, here 's our fellow Shakespeare puts 
them all downe — aye, and Ben Jonson, too. O! that 
Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow ; he brought up Hor- 
ace, giving the poets a pill; but our fellow Shake- 
speare hath given him a purge that made him beray 
his credit. 

'' Burbar/e. Its a shrewd fellow, indeed." 
John Weever, in his Book of Epigrams, composed ia 
1595, has a sonnet addressed 

Ad Gulielmum Shake^eare. 

Honie-tong'd Shakespeare, when I saw thine issue, 
1 swore Apollo got them, and none other. 
Their rosie-ttiinled features cloth'd in tissue. 
Some heaven-born goddesse said to be their mother. 
Kose-checkt Adonis with his amber tresses, 
Faire fire-hot Venus charming him to love her; 
Chaste Lucretia. virgine-like her dresses, 
Prowd lust-stung Tarqubic, seeking still to prove her; 
Romea, Richard, more whose names 1 know not, 
Their sngred tongues and power-attractive beauty 
Say they are sainls, althogh that Sts they shew nut, 
For thousands vowe to them subjective dutie : 
They burn in love, thy childre, Shakespear hat the, 
Go, wo thy Muse! more Nympliish brood beget them. 

These various extracts, I may remark in passing, are 
quoted, not for their value as poetry, hut for their value 
as evidence, and in this respect there seems no possibil- 
ity of giiinsajing their force. 

In 1598, Richard Barneiield writes: 

*' And Shakctpeare, thou whose hony-flowinp Vaine 
tl'leasing the world) thy praises doth obtame, 
VVhose I enus and who.se Lucrece tsweete and chaste) 
Thy name in fame's immortall Booke have plac't. 
Live ever you, at least in Fame live ever; 
Well may the Bodye dye ; but Fame dies never." 

In this same year are other incidental notices, either 
of Shakespeare himself, or of some of his writings. 
But I must omit these notices in order to dwell more 
at length upon the most important of all, the testi- 
mony of Francis Meres. Meres was a clergyman, 
"Master of Arts in both universities," "an approved 
good scholar," and a compiler of school-books. His 
testimony is the more valuable both because of its ful- 
ness and explicitness, and because, from his very occu- 
pation as a compiler, he would be more likely than 
almost any other kind of writer to be a reflector and 
representative of public opinion. Meres's book, ciJled 
Palladis Tamia, or Wifs Treasury, was published in 
1598. It was a text-book for schools, giving a brief 
account of the chief English poets, comparing them 
with the corresponding Gi'eek, Latin, and Italian poets. 
In this work, after enumerating the great ti-agic poets 
of Greece and Rome, Meres says we have in English 
Marlowe, Peele, Watson, Kyd, Shakespeare, Drayton, 
Decker, Ben Jonson (the names are given in chrono- 
logical order). Again, in like manner, our writers of 
comedy are given — Lily, Lodge, Gasooyne, Greene, 
Shakespeare. Nash, Heywood, etc. After quoting the 
Greek and Latin poets who had excelled in lyric po- 
etry, he says, the best among our lyric poets are Spen- 
ser, Daniel, Drayton, Shakesjieare, etc. In like manner, 
those famous for elegy are Surrey, Wyatt, Sidney, 
Raleigh, Dyer, Spenser, Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, 
and so on. Referring to the exegi monumentum of 
Horace, he says, ■we have in English like enduring 
monuments in the works of Sidney, Daniel, Drayton, 
Shakespeare. He even quotes Shakespeare as one of 
those by whom the language had been improved: 
"The English tongue is mightily enriched and gor- 
geouslie invested in rare ornaments and resplendent 
(hlabilimonts by sir Philip Sidney, Spencer, Daniel, 
Drayton, Warner, Shakespeare, Marlow, and Chap- 
man." Some of Meres's particular expressions are re- 
markable. "As the soule of Euphorbus was thought 
to live in Pythagoras, so the sweete, wittie soule of 
xxxi 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



Ovid lives in mellifluous and hony-tongued Shake- 
speare; witnes his Venus and Adonis, liis Lucrece, hia 
sugred Sonnets among his private friends, &c." 

"As Epius Stolo said, that the Muses would speak 
with Plaiitus' tongue, if they would spe^k Latin; so 
I say, that the Muses would speak with Shakespeare's 
fine-filed phrase, if they would speake English." 

"As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for 
Comedy and Tragedy among the Latines, so Shakespeare 
among ye English is the most excellent in both kinds 
for the stage : for Comedy, witnes liis Getleme of 
Verona, his Errors, his Love's labor's lost, his Love's 
Vibour^s wonne, his Midsummers-night dreame, and his 
Merchant of Venice; for Tragedy, his Richard the 2, 
Richard the 3, Ilenry the 4, King John, Titus Andron- 
icus, and his Romeo and Juliet." 

Here, then, in 1598, we have Shakespeare, after a 
career of only twelve years in the metropolis, quoted 
publicly in a text-book as among the great English 
authors whose works alone are a monument '^csre pe- 
rennius ;" his name placed conspicuously in four suc- 
cessive lists of writers who have distinguished them- 
selves severally in Comic, Tragic, Lyric, and Elegiac 
poetry, and in still another list of those who by the 




elegance of their writings have enriched and beautified 
the language, his name, too, occurring in these various 
eulogies more frequently than that of any other English 
writer, even Spenser and Drayton, who, in this respect 
come next, standing at considerable distance away; 
and, lastly, we find quoted by name, besides the Venus 
aiid Adonis, the Lucrece, the Sonnets, no less than 
twelve of his great dramas, the whole coupled with 
the significant judgment of the critic (after naming 
all the great lights of English literature down to that 
day, except Chaucer) "that the sweet witty soul of 
Ovid seemed to live in mellifluous honey-tongued 
Shakespeare, and that if the Muses should ever deign 
to speak English, they would speak with Shakespeare's 
fine-filed phrase." 

To say, after this, that Shakespeare was not known 
or recognized in his own day, is as absurd as it would 
be to say the same of Spenser, Sydney, Raleigh, and 
Ben .Jonson. What admirer of Shakespeare even now 
could well speak of him in higher terms of praise than 
zxxii 



did this Francis Meres in 1598? All this, too, be it 
remembered, when he was, as it were, only at the be- 
ginning of his career, and with eighteen years of the 
most productive and most conspicuous part of his life 
still before him. Was either Longfellow or Tennyson, 
with all the prestige of university honors and influence, 
and with all the machinery of modern book-making 
and advertising, better known or more fully recognized 
at the age of thirty-eiglit than was Shakespeare at 
that age? Could either of them at that age have been 
ranked as best of English writers, in each of the four 
classes of Lyric, Elegiac, Comic, and Tragic verse? — or, 
in each of these styles, have been safely placed in com- 
parison with tlie greatest of Grecian and Roman wri- 
ters ? Ben Jonson, who was as CMnpetent to speak of 
Shakespeare as would be Longfellow to speak of Ten- 
nyson, — even more competent, for Jonson and Shake- 
speare were intimately acquainted personally, wrote 
for the same stage, lived iu the same city, dined at the 
same tavern, where they had those famous " wit-cora- 
bats " of which Fuller speaks — Jonson, in the lines 
prefixed to the first Folio, speaks of Shakespeare in 
terms, not only of the greatest affection, but of the 
most exalted eulogy, — speaks not only of his unpar- 
alleled genius, hut of his consummate art; and 
extols him as surpassing, not only Chaucer, Spen- 
ser, Marlowe, and all other English writers, but 
even the ancients whom Ben worshipped, — sur- 
passing even Aristophanes, Terence, and Plautus 
in comedy, xEschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles in 
tragedy ! 

The strange hallucination that Shakespeare was 
unknown among his contemporaries may have 
come in this way. Soon after his death, all stage- 
plays were at a discount under the sway of the 
Puritans. On the overthrow of the Common- 
wealth and the incoming of the Stuarts, French 
notions of taste were in the ascendant. The stage 
was indeed revived, -but it was that of France, not 
the good old English drama. Then again with 
William of Orange and Queen Anne came the reign 
of Classicism. And so, for one cause and another, 
for a full century after the close of the great 
Elizabethan period, Shakespeare, it is admitted, 
was under a cloud. Even so late as 1793, Stee- 
vens, one of the great Shakespearian editors of 
the last century, could write of the Sugared Son- 
nets, whose praises the men of Shakespeare's own 
day could never tire of sounding, that it was not 
within the omnipotence of an Act of Parliament 
to compel people to read them, and he actually 
refused to print them in his extended edition of 
Shakespeare's works, I'egarding those wonderful 
lyrics as so much worthless rubbish. " We have not 
reprinted the Sonnets, etc., because the strongest Act 
of Parliament that could be framed would fail to com- 
pel readers into their ser'vice." 

In his own day, however, Shakespeare was the ac- 
knowledged sun of the literary firmament. We of the 
present century have but revived and raised some- 
what the estimate in which the English peojJe held 
him two liundred and fifty years ago. 

Before dismissing this topic, it is worth while to no- 
tice, in these many references to Shakespeare by his 
contemporaries, how uniformly he is mentioned in 
terms of affection. This would seem, as before ob- 
served, to indicate the possession on his part of an 
amiable and obliging disposition, and gives plausibility 
to the tradition handed down by Aubrey, showing the 
origin of the friendship between Shakespeare and Ben 
Jonson. "His acquaintance with Ben Jonson," says 
Aubrey, "began with a remarkable piece of humanity 
and good nature. Mr. Jonson, who was at that time 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



altogether unknown to tba world, had offer'd one of 
Lis plays to the playert, in order to have it acted ; 
arnd the persons into whose hands it was put, after 
having turn'd it carelessly and superciliously over, 
were just upon returning it to hiiu with an illnatur'd 
answer, that it would be of no service to their com- 
pany, when Shakespear luckily cast his eye upon it, and 
found something so well in it, as to engage him first to 
read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. 
Jonson and his writings to the publick." 

We no longer "damn him with faint praise," after 
the f;ishion of the time of Alex. Pope, nor give him 
half-hearted, patronizing commendations, after the 
fashion of the time of JJr. Sam. Johnson, but rather, 
like the renowned scholar and dramatist of Shake- 
B{>eare's own day, look up to him with admiring, almost 
ittloring wonder, as the most exalted of the Dli Majores 
oi' the dramatic art, the very Jupiter Olympus of the 
jKjetic pantheon, in whose presence the greatest even 
of the great Greek and Roman masters are content to 
stand at a respectful distance! Such was the trumpet- 
note of praise sounded by Rare Ben Jonson, in Shake- 
speare's own day, two centuries and a half ago. Ilave 
we even at this day gone much beyond it? 

I have not tlms far referred to the Shakespeare-Ba- 
oon theory. The whole question seems to me to be 
contained in a nutshell. Stripped of verbiage, it is 
simply this: could the Creator who gave the world 
Dante and Homer have made a man of equal or even 
greater genius in Stratford-upon-Avon? Granted the 
genius, and all the other conditions of the problem are 
easy enough. Whoever had the genius to conceive 
tliese plays, would, in Shakespeare's surroundings, 
have had all the needed opportunities for educa- 
tion and acquired knowledge exhibited in the plays. 
The advocates of the Bacon theoi-y quietly assume, 
in the face of all th^^WWjl accumulated e\'idence 
to the contrary, that Shakesjfeare was without edu- 
cation and without the m«8(R of acquiring knowledge. 
Tliey go back to the old exploded notion of Queen 
Anne's day, that Shakesp^ire was a man of clown- 
isli ignorance, and that the plays, if by him, were 
the product of an inspired idiot. I could understand 
the argument, if applied to a man in the condition of 
John Bunyan. But Shakespeare was a man of letters. 
He had ample means of being such, and he was ao- 
c*pted as such by the men of letters with whom he 
lived in familiar, daily intercourse. .Besides, it is little 
less than monstrous to suppose that the greatest poetry 
uf all time, and such an immense body of it, was the 
product of one whose acknowledged writings, enor- 
mous likewise in quantity, show no evidence of spe- 
daJ poetic gifts. Bacon's genius lay in the domain of 
science and philosophy, not of song, the few poor spec- 
imens of verse he has given only showing how much 
he was out of his element in that species of composi- 
tion. We might as well suppose Aristotle capable of 
writing the Iliad, Wickclirte the Canterbury Tales, 
John Hampden the Paradise Lost, or John Stuart Mill 
tlie Idylls of the King, as suspect tlie author of the 
Novum Organum capable of the Midsummer- KighV a 
I)ream, Lear, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, and Macbeth. 
If these wondrous creations were not by the Bard of 
Avon, assuredly they were not by the author of In- 
ttauratio Magna and De Augmentis Scieiitiarum. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

BKLATIONS OF SHAKKSPEAEB AND ni8 COMPANY TO 
QUEEN ELIZABETH AND KING JAMES. 

THE company to which Shakespeare belonged was 
under the patronage of Hunsdon, the Lord Cham- 
berlain, a kinsman and favorite of Queen Elizabeth, 
who had given the Lord Chamberlain use of the sjilen- 
did palace of Somerset House, in which palace, it can 
hardly be doubted, the Cliamberlain's company often 
played for the amusement of the Queen and Court. 
Shakespeare's plays, and Shakespeare him.self, were 
well known to Queen Elizabeth. Indeed, one of the 
best authenticated traditions in regard to him is that 
the comedy of the Merry Wives of Windsor was writ- 
ten at her express suggestion. The refraining of 
Shakespeare from adulation, considering how grateful 
it was to the ears of the royal maids, speaks also 
trumpet-tongued for his manly independence. Blue 
eyes, blonde complexion, and golden hair, all pre- 
dicable of Elizabeth herself, had become, by a sort 
of legal presumption, the only types of female love- 
liness. Yet in the face of this, the dramatist has 
the courage, perhaps, considering the imperious tem- 
per of the Queen, we might call it the audacity, to 
admire a regular brunette: He thus writes to some 
sweetheart : 

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me. 

Knowing thy heart torments me witli disdain, 

Have put on blacic, and loving mourners be, 

Looking with pretty ruth upon mv pain. 

And truly not the morning sun ol neaven 

Better becomes the grey cheeks of the East, 

Nor that fnll star that ushers in the even 

Both half that glory to the sober West, I 

As those two mourning eyes become thy face : ■ 

O, let it then as well beseem thy heart 

To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, 



f^fv^eui,, 



^fjc^r^^ 



Shakeepeare'3 Signature. 



Then will I swear beauty herself is black 
And all they foul that thy complesiou lack. 

Sonnet cxxsil. 

Spenser, or Sidney, or Raleigh, would as soon have 
cut otF his right hand as to express admu-ation for such 
a woman. 

Shakespeare, in this as in many other matters, was 
wiser than his time; he well knew that in the age t.i 
come his one delicate aUusion to the Maiden Queen, in 
the passage in Midsinnmer's-Night''s Dream, already 
quoted, would be counted of greater worth than all 
the open flatteries poured out by his contemporai'ies 
witli .such lavish profusion. 

Elizabeth was fond of theatrical exhibitions, and it 
was probably inconsequence of this inclination of hers 
that the play-houses, which at different times, under 
the influence of the Puritan party, were ordered to be 
closed by the authorities of the city of London, were 
yet enabled to continue tlieir performances, with little 
interruption, to the close of her reign. 

On the accession of James, the Puritan party re- 
newed their efforts to suppress the play-houses, and at 
first met with some success; but soon after reaching 
Loudon, the new monarch changed his mind and took 
the Lord Chamberlain's Players (Shakespeare's com- 
pany) under his own protection, allowing them hence- 
forth to be called the King's Players, and giving theni 
a royal license with special privileges. The date of 
this license is 1603, and the name of the players, as 
given in it, are Fletcher, Shalcespeare. Burbage, Phil- 
lipps, Heminge, Condell, Sly, Armin, Cowley, — nine, 
Shakespeare being second on the list. We note also, 
that in a list of the comedians who represented the 
dramatis personir at the performance of Ben Jouson's 
Every Man in His Humor, at the Blackfriai'S, in 15^S, 
Shakespeare's name heads the list. 
xxxiii 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



The first occasion, apparently, on which tliis com- 
pany played before King James was when the Earl of 
Pembroke, Dec. 2d, 1003, gave, at his seat at Wilton, 
a great entertainment to the King. An entry of the 
fiscal accounts of that date show that £30 (=£150) 
was paid on that occasion to John Heminge "on 
behalf of liis Majesty's Players of the Globe," to 
I)erform at the festival before the King; and we know 
from another source that both Pembroke, who gave the 
entertainment, and his brother, the Earl of Montgom- 
ery, were great admirers and favorers of Shakespeare. 

Ben Jonson speaks expressly of the favor with 
which both Elizabeth and James regarded Shake- 
speare: 

" Those flights upon the banks of Thames, 
That so did talie Eliza and our James," 

There are two traditions on this subject which it 
may be well to notice here. The first is that on one 
occasion, during the progress of the play,* her Majesty 
purposely dropped her glove in such a way as to oblige 
the poet to stop his acting and pick it up, — which he 
did, saying (as a king, in character;, 

" And though now bent on this hi^h embassy, 
Yet stoop we to take up our cousin's glove. 

The other tradition, pretty well authenticated, is 
that " King James I. was pleased with his own hand 
to write an amicable letter to Mr. Shakespeare." John 
Davies, of Hereford, a contemporary poet, seems to 
have thought the dramatist not unworthy of such 
royal companionship. In a poem. The Scourge of 
Folly, 1607, Davies says: 

To OUT English Terence, Mr. WiV. Shakespeare, 
Some say, good Will, which I, in sport, do sing, 
Hadst thou not plaid some kingly parts in spurtf 
Thou hadst bin a companion for a king. 
And beene a king among the meaner sort: 
Some others raile; but, raile as they thinl^e fit, 
Th'ou hast no rayling, but a raigning wit : 
And honesty thou sow'st, which they do reape. 
So, to increase their stocke, which they do keep. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

BHAKESPEARE's PECUNIARY AFFAIRS — HIS ESTRAORDI- 
KARY BUSINESS THRIFT — AC0UMULATIO.\ OF PROP- 
ERTY AT STRATFORD — AMBITION TO BE A RETIRED 

COUNTRY GENTLE.MAN EVIDENCES OF HIS TACT IN 

BUSINESS MANAOEMENT — EVIDENCES OF HIS KINDLY 
DISPOSITION AND CONCILIATORY MANNERS. 

THERE are other evidences of Shakespeare's pros- 
perity besides those drawn from the annals of the 
Blackfriars and the Globe. In 1596, John Shakespeare 
and wife recovered by law, e\'idently by the aid of mo- 
ney received from London, the estate of Asbies, the 
m.arriage portion of William's mother, which Iiad been 
alienated during the period of the father's pecuniary 
misfortunes. In 1596, again, the grant of arms to 
John Shakespeare by the herald's office was consum- 
mated evidently through influence put forth in London. 
In 1597, the poet bought the principal dwelling- 
house in Stratford, an old mansion formerly belonging 
to the Olopton family, and called the Great House. 
Shakespeare, on acquiring tliis property, fitted it up 
for his own residence, and changed its name to the 
New Place. 

•The royal party in those days sat upon the stage, near where 
our proscenium bo.xe.'^ now are. 
t Had you not been an actur. 



From a document dated 24 Jan., 1597-8, we learn 
that Shakespeare's influence with Lord Treasurer Bur- 
leigh is invoked by the Stratford burghers, to aid them 
in getting from the government some abatement of 
taxes, as well as a portion of the government grant 
for the relief of certain cities and towns that had 
suffered by the plague or by fire. From the same 
document we learn that "he is willing to disburse 
some money on .some odd yard land or other at Shot- 
tery," the birthplace and early home of his youthful 
sweetheart, Anne Hathaway. In Feb., 1598, in an 
inventory of corn and malt in Stratford, taken in 
apprehension of scarcity, William Shakespeare is 
entered as possessing ten quarters, being the third 
largest holder in his ward. In this year also we find 
him selling a load of stone to the corporation of 
Stratford. In October of the same year he is assessed 
in the parish of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, showing 
him to be a property holder in London, his rates being 
l,ii. 4d. In this same month, too, Richard Quiney of 
Stratford, [father of the Quiney who afterwards mar- 
ried Shakespeare's youngest daughter,] writes to his 
•• loving good friend and countryman, Mr. William 
Shakespeare," asking tlie loan of £30, — showing that 
the poet was not only a property holder but a money- 
lender. Four years later, 1602, Shakespeare, for and 
in consideration of the sum of £320 of current Eng- 
lish money, purchased 107 acres of arable land in the 
parish of old Stratford, the negotiation being con- 
ducted by his brother Gilbert. Later in the same 
year he bought a house in Walker Street, near New 
Place, Stratford; and later still, for the sum of '£60 
(§1500), "one messuage, two orchards, two gardens, 
and two barns, with their appurtenances." Thre« 
years later, 1605, he luade his largest purchase, buy- 
ing the unexpired leas e jt^."^ portion of the tithes of 
Stratford, Old Stratfo#^*i^fcopton, and Welcombe, 
for the sum of £440. •'Siakdspeare's annual income 
from these tithes, as we^fan from another document, 
was £120 (j. €. $3000 nowj.^Later still, 1612, he bought 
a house, with ground attjished, near the Blackfriara 
Theatre, London, for the sum of £140. We find him 
also, 1604, bringing an action against Philip Rogers, in 
the Court of Stratford, for£l 15s. 10(Z. being the price 
of malt sold to him at different times; and, again, 1609, 
instituting process for £6 debt and 24s. damages and 
costs, against Jolin Addcnbrock of Stratford, — all 
these things showing clearly that " poetry and act- 
ing " did not make the man of genius negligent in 
matters of business. 

Now, putting together these various facts, we find 
that the dramatist was steadily advancing in fortune 
as well as in fame, and that, at the end of twenty 
years from the time of his going to London, he had, 
by a steady pursuit of his profession, risen to be a man 
of mark in the theatrical world. Every step in his 
history, so far as we are able to trace it, shows that 
he gained his success, not by sudden and capricious 
flights of genius, but by hard work and persevering 
industry. As his writings show him to have been one 
of the greatest of geniuses, so his life shows him to 
have been one of the most industrious and methodical 
of workers. He chose one profession ; he pursued it 
without intermission for a period of thirty years; he 
pursued it in connection with the same company ; he 
pursued it in the same place. He rose, not by a bound, 
in consequence of some particular performance dashed 
off in a heat and a hurry, which is the vulgar idea of 
genius, but step by step, year by year, slowly, steadily, 
surely, triumphantly. He produced, in the twenty- 
five years devoted mainly to authorship, no less than 
thirty-seven great plays, or an average of one and a 
half plays a year, the latest plays ever the best, each 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



succeeding year showing a higher style of workman- 
ship, an ever-growing productiveness and power. He 
is another proof, if any were needed, that one would 
not go far astray in defining genius to be an enormous 
capacity for labor, or, as Longfellow puts it, "the in- 
finite capacity of taking trouble." 



CHAPTER XV. 

PROBABLE PERIOD OF HIS WITHDRAWAL FROM THE STAGE 
AND FROM LONDON — STATE OF HIS AFFAIRS AND OF 
niS FAMILT AT THE TIME OF HIS RETIREMENT. 

IT is not certainly known at what time Shakespeare 
ceased to appear on the stage as an actor. The 
year 1604, however, is generally regarded as the prob- 
able time. The growing iin])ortance and poiiularity 
of his plays and his continued increase in wealth make 
it improbable that he continued to act later than the 
date named. The last record of his name in the com- 
pany of the King's Players is on April 9, 1604, when 
he stands second on the list, the only one above him 
being Burbage, who had for a long time stood at tlie 
head of his profession as an actor. The general belief 
is that Shakespeare ceased to appear as a player soon 
after this, in other words, when he was forty years 
old, and had been eighteen years in London. This 
may be considered as the culminating point in his 
personal history. 

I have already expressed the opinion that Shake- 
speare possessed an unusual degree of common sense, 
that he was amiable, condliatory, and prudent ;^ in 
short, that he had that flj^^^ qualities which tit a 
man for business, wliile ^^^Bp vulgarly thought to 
be incompatible with genn^^Kiis is a class of quali- 
ties which it is difficult to^^v. Of indiscretion tlie 
proofs are generally positi\^^^d tangible. But ]jru- 
dence and discretion in t^r management of affairs 
must be established by negative evidence. It is cer- 
tjiiniy, however, no unmeaning circumstance that dur- 
ing tlie whole period that Shakespeare exercised a 
controlling influence in the theatrical company, its 
affairs were managed, not only with thrift, but with- 
out those (juarrels and jars for which the profession 
in all ages has been notorious, and also without those 
onuses of offence which the other theatres were per- 
petually giving to particular individuals or classes, 
civil, political, or religious. It is noticeable also that 
almost immediately after Shakespeare's withdrawal 
from the management, the company were beset with 
difficulties, and numerous complaints were lodged 
against them for oSences against morals, manners, or 
taste. Thus, December, 1604, John Chamberlain writes 
of a certain tragedy by the King's Players, in which 
kings and princes are brought upon the stage, " I hear 
that some great councillors are, much displeased with 
it, and so it is thought it shall be forbidden." Again, 
160.5, the Mayor of London complains that "Kempe, 
Armyn, and otliers, at the Blackfriars, have not for- 
borne to bring upon their stage one or more of the 
worshipful Aldermen of the City of London, to their 
great scandal, and the lessening of their authority." 
Again, in 16u6, it is complained that they brought 
upon the stage the Queen of France in a manner very 
offensive to the French ambassador; also, "They 
brougiit forward their own king [James] and all his 
favorites in a very strange fashion; they m.ide him 
curse and swear, because he had been robbed of a 
bird, and beat a gentleman because he had called off 



the hounds from the scent. They represent him as 
drunk every day." In consequence of these irregu- 
larities, three of the players were arrested, and the 
performances were prohibited. These indiscretions 
and difficulties among the King's Players, occurring 
in quick succession after Shakespeare had ceased to 
be of the company, speak trumpet-tongued of those 
which did not occur during the eighteen years that he 
was in the management. 




es I. of England and VI. of Scotland. 



After ceasinf.: to be an actor, Shakespeare's connec- 
tion with thestage was that only of a writer of plays, 
and tliis connection he continued to the end of his life. 
This, however, did not necessarily require his residence 
in London. Even while living in London, he was wont, 
according to Aubrey, " to go to his native county once 
a year." Various documents show that he early con- 
templated the project, which he finally executed, of 
retiring from London, to spend the close of life in his 
native village. We Lave already seen how regularly, 
from year to year, he invested in and around Strat- 
ford the money accnmnlated from his professional 
labors. At least seven years before he ceased being an 
actor, and fifteen years before retiring from London, 
he had become a property-holder in his native town. 
The \inage tradition, in the generation after his death, 
was that Shakespeare, "in his elder days, lived at 
Stratford, and supplied the stage with two plays every 
year, and for it had an iillowance so large that he 
spent at the rate of £1,000 a year." This, doubtless, 
is an exaggeration, certainly as to the amount of 
money spent. At the same time, the tradition obvi- 
ously had some foundation in truth. He had already, 
some years before, bought the largest and finest resi- 
dence in Stratford, that built by Sir Hugh Clopton in 
the reign of Henry VII., and known as "The Great 
House," and afterwards as "The Kew Place;" and 
there is good reason for believing that his style of 
living there was that of a " fine old English gentleman, 
all of the olden time." 

The time when Shakespeare retired entirely from 
London is not known. The most probable conjecture 
is that which places it in 1612, when he was forty- 
eight years old, and after a city life of twenty-six 
years. His father, mother, and two younger brothers 

XXXV 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



were now deiul. Gilbert, however, the brother nest 
younger than William, was still living. His sister 
Joan had been raarriej [to a Mr. Ilart, of Stratford] 
and was also still living, as were also her husband and 
several children. His wife also, now fifty-six years 
old, was still living. Ilis oldest daughter, Susanna, 
had been married some five years before to an eminent 
physician of Stratford, Dr. Jolin Hall, and had one 
cJiild four years old. His youngest daughter, not long 
after to be married to Thomas Quinej, vintner and 
wine merchant of Stratford, was still at home. It is 
not at all unlikely that both daughters, with the son- 
in-law and the grandchild, all lived together in the 
Gre;xt House, and that the other house belonging to 
him in the village was occupied by his brother Gilbert, 
who had looked after the poet's property during his 
absence in London. 

When, therefore, the great dramatist retired from 
the metropolis, crowned with honor and laden with 
wealth, he was not in the condition of most even suc- 
cessful adventurers, who after a life of distant toil and 
struggle seek to spend its close among the green fields 
which had gladdened their eyes in childhood. They 
return ordinarily too late, when their own faculties 



Chancel of Stratford Chnreh, 
Willi Shakespeiire'a Tomb oud Biial. 

of enjoyment are exhausted, and most of the friends 
of childhood are gone. Shakespeare, in 1612, was still 
in the prime of life and in the full vigor of his facul- 
ties. He had about him a large family circle, and 
cliildren and children's children were around his 
hearth-stone. The popular tradition, minute docu- 
mentary evidence, his whole recorded career, his 
whole character, go to show that liis last days were 
eminently peaceful and serene. The thought con- 
tained in the 14fith Sonnet, the nearest approach we 
have in any of his writings to an expression of his 
own personal feelings on the subject of religion, might 
well befit this period of his life, though written some 
years earlier: 

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful eRrth, 
Leagued with these powers that thee arny, 
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lea.se. 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess 
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? 
xxxvi 



CHAPTER XVI. 

A SERENE StmSET — THE PORTRAITS OF SnAKKSPEARE. 

SHAKESPEARE died, after a short illness, April 23, 
1616, aged exactly fifty-two. During the quarter 
of a csntury that he had been embarked upon the great 
ocean of metropolitan life, he had no doubt often been 
vexed and agitated. His profession was one peculiarly 
fitted to produce disquiet and perturbation. But agi- 
tation, while it upturns and dislodges the feeble plant, 
makes the hardy to send its roots more deeply and 
firmly into the soil. The soul that is well balancetl 
acquires only additional compo.sure and self-posses.sion 
from conflict. The conflict of life in which Shake- 
speare had been engaged had not only been eminently 
successful as to all external circumstances and rela- 
tions, but had left him calm, contented, and peaceful 
within, ' From a meridian of intense activity and 
splendor, he went, hke Chaucer before him, gracefully 
and composedly to his long repose : 




So fades a summer's cloud away, 
So sinlis the gale when storms are o'er, 

6o gently shuts the eye of day, 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

Of the portraits of Shakespeare there are three 
at least which have good evidence of being taken 
from life. These are the Stratford bust, tlie 
Drueshout engraving, and the oil painting known 
as the Chandos portrait. 

The bust was made apparently from a cast of 
the features taken after death, and was executed 
soon after that event ; how soon we do not know, 
but certainly before 1623, for it is referred to in 
the First Folio^ publislied in that year. Shake- 



speare is buried ic 
Avon, near thei 
there is a slab ' 
inscription so oft! 
written by Shakes^ 



.church of Stratford-ui)on- 
^cn* of the chancel, and 
tomb, with the quaint 
Rted, and said to have been 
he himself: 



Good fr^i^Hr Jesus sake forbeafe 
To digg n^^Bst enoloased heare : 
Bles(4.De yeiMii yt spares thes stones, 
And curst be he yi moves my bones. 

To the right and left of him in the chancel, are 
the»tombs of several other members of his family : 
bis wife, bis oldest daughter Susanna, his son-in- 
law. Dr. Hall, and Thomas Nash, who married his 
grand-daughter Elizabeth. On the north wal\ 
of the chimcel, and facing these tombs, and at 
an elevation of a little more than five feet, is an 
ornamental niche or frame-work of stone, con- 
taining the bust already mentioned, nearly life- 
size and extending down to the middle of the per- 
son. The poet is represented sitting, as if in the act 
of composition, his iiands resting on a cushion, one 
holding a pen, the other a sheet of paper, while his 
eyes are looking, not at his work, but straight forward 
tow.nrds the spectator. The hands and face are of 
flesh color, the eyes a light hazel, the hair and beard 
auburn ; the doublet or cloak was scarlet, and covered 
with a loose black gown without sleeves; the ujiper 
part of the cushion was green, the under part crimson, 
and the tassels gilt. This Stratford bust is of great 
value, as having been made so eai-ly, and as haviug 
in all probability been cut from some autlientic like- 
ness. As a work of art, however, it is open to obvi- 
ous criticisms. The skull has the smoothness and 
roundness of a boy's marble, and about as much in- 
dividuality of expre.ssion. The eyes and eyebrows are 
unduly contracted, the nose has evidently been short- 
ened by an accident of the chisel, the cheeks are puffy 
and spiritless, the moustaches are curled up in a manner 
never found except in some city exquisite, the collar 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



looks like two pieces of block-tin bent over, and finally 
tlie expression of tlie eyes, so far as they have any ex- 
pression, is simply tliat of easy, well-conditioned good 
nature, not overburdened with sense or intellect. 

In conjunction with this bust should be taken the 
picture lately discovered, and known as the Stratford 
portrait. It is the 
property of the 
town, and is ex- 
hibited among the 
other curiosities 
at the Shake- 
speare Uouse. 
No one who has 
seen the bust can 
look upon the pic- 
ture without be- 
ing satisfied at the 
first glance that 
the two are con- 
nected. But was 
the picture made 
from the bust, or 
the bust from the 
picture? Strat- 
ford people 
strongly insist on 
the latter, believ- 
ing firmly that 
the picture was 
taken from life, 
and was the orig- 
inal of the bust. Critics and scholars outside of 
Stratford take, for the most part, the opposite view. 
"Whichever theory is true, the picture without doubt 




The Stratford Bust. 



is of great value, and is 
keeping in the s.ame rov 
BO closely connected. 

Next to the Stratford b" 
tioity as a portrait of Shakj 
Martin Droeshout prefix©' 
the plays, that of 162:3 




Uy placed for perpetual 
he bust to which it is 

n the matter of authen- 
are, is the engraving by 
first folio edition of 
^^ nerally known as the 
Droesliout portrait. WhaCportrait was used by him 
in making this engraving of Shakespeare is entirely a 
matter of conjecture. The probability is that it was 
stime co.arse daub by the actor Burbage, who had some 
pretensions as a painter, and who would be very likely 
to make a picture of his distinguished fellow-actor. 
If such a picture were hanging somewhere about the 
theatre, nothing would be more natural than for the 
actors, Heminge and Condell, in bringing out an edi- 
tion of their friend's plays, to nse for the engraving 
tJiis picture with which they were familiar. All this, 
however, is pure conjecture. What more concerns us 
is to know that Ben Jonson has testified in the strong- 
est manner to the correctness of the likeness. His 
words, printed on the page facing the engraving, are 
as follows : 

This Figure, that thou here scest put. 

It wa-s for t;entle Shakespeare cut; 

W'hereiu the Grauer had a strife 

with Nature, to out-doo the life; 

O. could he but haue drawne his wit 

As well in brasse, as he hath hit 

His face; the Print would then surpsuse 

All. that was ever writ in brasse. 

But. since he cannot. Reader, looke 

Not on his Picture, but his Booke. 

That the original from which the engraving was made 
must have been poor and biild as a work of art is mani- 
fest on the slightest inspection. This, however, is by no 
means incompatible with its having been a faithful 
likeness. The work of the engraver corresponds in 
this respect to the work of the painter. The engrav- 
ing is to the la.st degree hard and stiff; it evidently is 



the work of one whose aitn was to make a likeness 
rather than a work of art. 

In comparing the face and head thus presented with 
those of the bust, we observe that wliile there are 
great differences, both in detail and in the general im- 
pression, it is easy to see the same man underlying 
both. There is the great distance between the eyes 
and the amplitude of forehead, so noticeable in all the 
likenesses. The flesh of the face is not so full and 
pufty as in the bust. The nose, not chopped ofl' as in 
the bust, is however as straight as a stick, instead of 
having that delicate aquiline formation observable in 
one portrait which I shall show you. The beard is 
shaven from the chin, but a few hairs are sprouting 
on the under lip, and there is a very light moustache. 
The forehead is high and bold, as in all the portraits, 
and the hair hangs in long, smooth locks over the ears 
and the back of the head. The costume is evidently 
some theatrical display put on for the occasion and 
smacking very much of the stage-tailor. There is a 
doublet buttoned up to the chin, and a plaited lawn 
ruft' standing out all round in a most uncomfortablo 
and ungraceful position, and apparently stiilened in 
the edges and elsewhere with wire. One feature, the 
most noticeable of all, is the projection of the fore- 
head. In all the other likenesses, without exception, 
the forehead, with its noble expanse, recedes gradually 
and evenly. But in the Droeshout engraving, the fore- 
head is like some jutting cliff, projecting over, almost 
overhanging, the brow, in a way that is hardly less than 
monstrous. This misshapen character of the forehead 
may without difficulty be accepted, not as a part of the 
likeness of the poet, but as part of the unskilful etch- 
ing of the engraver. Jt certainly looks not unlike a 
huge goitre transferreCf from the throat to the brow. 

Of the painted likenesses of Shakespeare none ranks 
so high as that known as the Chandos portrait. The his- 
tory of the picture is tolerably complete. It belonged 
originally to John Taylor, painter, brother of Joseph 
T.aylor, a player in Shakespeare's company. It was 
left by will by Taylor to Sir William Daven.ant. From 
Davenant it passed in 1668 to John Otway, from him 
to Betterton the actor, from Betterton to Mrs. Barry, 
from Mrs. Barry, through two other hands, to tlie 
Duke of Chandos, from whom it takes its n.iiiio. It 
wa-s finally bought in 18-18, at public sale, by the Earl 
of EUesmere, and by him presented in 1856 to the Ka- 




The Chandos Portrait. 

tional Portrait G.allerv, where it now is. Its .antlien- 
ticity is undoubted, though it bears evident signs of 
having been touched up and tampered with. The pic- 
ture is of life size, in oil, on canvas. The nose is 
straight and long, as in the Droeshout engraving, but 
is thinner, and more delicately formed. There is not 
the same distance between the eyes, nor the same 
xxxvii 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



breadth of forehead, that is to be seen in the Droes- 
liout, though the forehead is still ample and strikingly 
noble. There is more general softnesss than in any of 
the other portraits. The picture is decidedly artistic, 
and the artist apparently, to some extent, sacrificed 
literal likeness to artistic eifect. The complexion is 
dark ; there is a pinkishness of color about the eyelids ; 
the lips are inclined to be full and sensuous; the ear 
th.at is visible is tricked out with a ring; the hair, 
a dark auburn, that in the Droeshout is plaited and 
smoothed down, hangs here in easy, nnstudied profu- 
sion on the sides and back of the head, while most of 
the lower part of the face is covered with a soft heard 
of the same color. No lines of deep thought are in 
the face, no furrows on the brow. There is an equal 
show of softness, almost of effeminacy, in the cos- 
tume. The dress, so far as it can be made out, is of 
black satin, and the collar is of line plain lawn, folding 
over easily but simply. 




The Droeshout Portrait. 

At the first glance, on looking at the Chandos por- 
trait and then at the Droeshout, one can hardly believe 
them to be representations of the same person. Yet, 
on placing them side by side, and deliberately tracing 
the lines of each, one after the other, the substantial 
identity of the two is clearly established. 

In addition to the three portraits which I have 
named, to wit, the Stratford bust, the Droeshout en- 
graving, and the Chandos painting, there are many 
others of varying authority and celebrity. Of these I 
shall mention but two, the Terra-Cotta bust, and the 
German Death-Mask. 

In 184.5, in tearing down an old tea-warehouse in 
London, the foundations were laid bare of the famous 
Duke's theatre, built by Sir William Davenant, in 1662, 
in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Among the curious articles 
thus brought to light was a beautiful terra-cotta bust, 
which on exatnination proved to be beyond question a 
likeness of Shakespeare, yet having a character of its 
own quite independent of all the other acknowledged 
likenesses, and carrying us back to within at least 
forty-six years fiom the time of his death. This bust, 
after having been for some years in possession of its 
finders, Mr. Clii't and liis distinguished son-in-law. 



Prof. Owen, of the British JMuseura, was finally bought 
by the Duke of Devonshire, and by him presented (6 
the Garrick Club of London, in whose possession it 
now is. The work is highly artistic in its style, in the 
position of the head and person, and in the character 
and arrangement of the costume. It has the refine- 
ment of the Chandos painting without its effeminacy, 
is more intellectual than the Stratford bust, but not so 
massive or robust as the Droeshout engraving. 

It remains to say a few words of the German Death- 
Mask. The history of its discovery, which is some- 
what curious, will be given as briefly as possible. 

Count Francis von Kesselstadt, who died at Mayence, 
in 18-13, the last of his line, had a valuable collection 
of curiosities and works of art, which had been for 
several generations in possession of the family, and 
which at his death were sold at auction in Mayence. 
Among the articles then sold was a small oil painting, 
which is known to have been in the possession of tlie 
family for more than a century, and which in the 
family traditions was invariably regarded and spoken 
of as a portrait of Shakespeare. It bore indeed an 
inscription to that effect. Den Traditionen nach, Shaie- 
speare. The picture came, in 1847, into the possession 
of Ludwig Becker, court painter of Darmstadt, and 
after his death into the hands of his brother, the pres- 
ent possessor. Dr. Ernest Becker, private secretary 
of the Princess Alice of Darmstadt. It represents its 
subject as lying in state after death, on a bier, with a 
wreath round the head, covering in jiart ftie baldness 
of the crown, and with a candlestick, and the date 
1637, dimly seen in the background. From certain 
peculiarities in its appearance, Mr. Becker and other 
artists and antiquarians who were consulted, came to 
the conclusion tliat it had been jiainted from a death- 



mask, and he according 
on the subject, lie fi| 
cast of some kind had 
Kesselstadt family, buti 
choly appearance, it had ; 
and what had become ofi 



it a!)Out making mqun-ies 
kl that a plaster of Paris 
In the possession of the 

Ton account of its melan- 
leived little consideration, 

I no one seemed to know. 



After two years of fruitless search, he at length, in 
1840, found the lost relic in a broker's shop in Mayence, 
among rags and articles of the meanest description. A 
comparison of this cast with the picture convinced Mr. 
Becker, on artistic grounds, that the two were related 
to each other, and were representations of the same 
person. On the back of the cast is an inscription, the 
letters and figures being in the style common two cen- 
turies and a half ago, and the inscription having in all 
respects the appearance of being cotemporary with the 
cast. An examination of the cast, while in England, 
by experts at the British Museum, showed that the in- 
scription had been. cut at the time the cast was made. 
A microscopic examination by Prof. Owen showed also 
that the hairs still adhering in the plaster were huniar^ 
hairs. The inseriiition on the back of the cast, in 
deeply cut letters, is as follows : 

t A" Dm 1616 

The cross is the usual mark in such inscriptions to sig- 
nify "died." The letters A° Dm are the familiar ab- 
breviations for Anno Domini. It is then clearly a cast 
of some one who died in 1616, the year of Shake- 
speare's death ; it is also, in the opinion of the Beckers, 
clearly connected with the Kesselstadt picture. Tliis 
cast, then, of 1616, it is claimed, is the original from 
which was painted the picture of 1637, which picture 
is, according to the Kesselstadt tradition, a portrait of 
Shakespeare, and has in fact a very strong likeness to 
hun. 

Further, it is known that the Stratford bust, which 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



gives uuinistakable evidence of having been produced 
from a cast, was made iu London, by a "tomb-malier," 
as lie is called, by the name of Gerard Johnson, and 
tliat this Johnson was a Hollander, a native of Am- 
sterdam. 

Thus far we have terra firmaxmii&x our feet. Wliat 
follows takes us into the region of conjecture. The 
conjecture is that the tomb-maker, Johnson, having 
completed the bust, laid aside the cast upon his shelf 
among piles of similar disused materials, and that 
some acquaintance of his from the father-land, poking 
aliout among the rubbish, saw this striking etiigy, 
and learning its origin begged or bought it, and carried 
it away with him into Germany, where, in course of 
time, it found a lodgment in the Kesselstadt family. 
Such was the theory put forth by Ludwig Becker 
on bringing the mask and the picture to England, 
in 184'J. Mi". Becker, in 1850, sailed for Melbourne 
to join an Australian exploring expedition, and left 
the mask and picture, with the documents relating 
to them, in charge of Prof. Owen of the British 
Museum, where, in consequence of Mr. Becker's 
death in Australia, they remained for several years, 
and were then returned to the brother, Dr. Ernest 
Becker, of Darmstadt, in whose possession they 
now are. 

Of the opinions expressed in regard to this mat- 
ter by the many eminent men who investigated the 
question while the mask was in England, I quote 
OTily two, as given me by Prof. Owen. The late 
Baron Pollock, after examining the mask, and 
weighing carefully, as a man of liis professional 
habits would do, the evidence by which its claims 
were supported, said: "If I were called upon to 
charge a jury in regard to this point, I would in- 
struct them to bring in a^p^^t for the claimant." 
Lord Brougham did not ^reiWUsposed to go quite 
so far. He would neithefltaMjpt nor condemn, but, 
like a canny Scot, gave as l^fTerdict, " no/i liquet.^'' 

The Kesselstadt picture, though its chief value 
lie.s in its connection with the mask, is yet not 
without some curious interest on general grounds. 
Artists and critics all agree in referring it to the 
age named in the inscription, 1637. It is in the 
style of the Vandyke school of art, then prevalent 
in England, and was, in all probability, the work of 
some pupil of Vandyke's. Besides the evidence of 
its age from the style and the date, there are 
equal testimonies in the costume, — the open work 
at the seam of the pillow-case, the folds of the 
white linen sheets, the cut and collar of the shirt, 
— aU pointing to the age of Shakespeare, — nearly 
all to be seen of almost exactly the same fashion 
and pattern, at this very day, at Ann Hathaway's 
cottage, where the old-fashioned bedstead and its 
furniture are still preserved, just as they were two 
centuries and a half ago. 

The mask or cast creates immediately in the mind 
of the beholder, even when nothing has been said to 
him in regard to its claims, the impression that it rep- 
resents some remarkable man. The experiment has 
been frequently made, and uniformly with this result. 
It was exhibited, without a word of explanation, to 
Herman Grimm, the celebrated art critic of Berlin. 
'"At the very tirst glance," says Grimm, "I thought 
to myself that I had never seen a nobler countenance." 
'• What a noble, clean-cut, aquiline nose ; what a won- 
dei'fully shaped brow ! I felt that this must have been 
a man in whose brain dwelt noble thoughts. I in- 
ipiired. I was told to look at the reverse of the mask. 
There, on the edge, out in figures of the 17th century, 
stood A. D. 1616. I could think of no one else who 
had died in this year except one who was born in the 
year Michael Angelo died, — Shakespeare.'''' 



Another impression, that one can hardly fail to re- 
ceive from the mask, is the absence of any marked 
nationality in the features. The same thing is true of 
the well-known mask of Dante, in Florence; there is 
nothing Italian about it. So there is nothing distinc- 
tively English in this cast which claims to be the death- 
mask of Shakespeare. It gives us, as do his writings, 
the idea of a generic man, — a representative of the 
human race rather than of any distinct nationality. 
Another characteristic of the mask, equally marked, is 
the exceeding fineness and delicacy of the lines which 
make up the countenance. Grimm notices this pecu- 
Uarity. No one, in fact, can fail to observe it wlio 
looks upon the mask. 

While the mask differs, in one respect or another, 




Monument at Stratford. 

from every recognized likeness of Shakespeare, there 
is no marked feature in any one of them which cannot 
be found in the mask. The variation in each case 
being easily explainable by the personal peculiarity, 
caprice, or unskilfulness of the particular artist. Thus 
the bust represents a round, full-faced man, decidedly 
puffy in the cheeks, while in the mask the fiice is thin 
and spare, and wears a thoughtful and rather melan- 
choly look. Now it is well known that the flesh after 
death always falls away, giving this character to tlie 
face. So universal is this result that artists, in mould- 
ing a bust, or painting a picture, from a death-mask, 
always make allowance for the falling away of the 
flesh, and fill it out to the supposed fulness of lile, 
either from conjecture, or from some photograph, or 
other evidence of the ordinary condition of the face 
1 in health. Gerard Johnson, in undertaking to supjily 
xxxix 



THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 



tliis siip;>ose(l falling off in the flesh, simply overdid 
the inatter, and gave us a portly, jo\nal Englishman, 
instead of the thoughtful author of Hamlet and Lear. 
Underlying the superabundant fulness of flesh, how- 
ever, the eye can easily trace in the bust all the essen- 
tial lines of grace and thought to be seen in the mask. 

The bust, as compared with the mask, is noticeable 
for the shortness of the nose, and for tlie extraordinary 
distance (one and a quarter inches) between the nose 
and the mouth. John Bell, the sculptor, asserted on 
anatomical grounds, that the maker of the bust had 
met with an accident at the point of the nose, and 
then, instead of doing his work over again, he had cut 
away enough of the lower part of the nose to give the 
feature the requisite amount of nostril. The bust cer- 
tainly has the appearance of having undergone some 
such manipulation. 

Another point, in which the mask and the bust 
differ, is the distance between the eyes, and also be- 
tween the eyebrows. The unoccupied space in the 
centre of the forehead, between the beginning of the 
ridge of hair on one side and the beginning on the 
other, is larger than I recollect to have seen in any 
human being. A corresponding width exists between 
•■.he two eyes, the distance from the centre of one eye 
t-o the centre of the other being two and three-quar- 
ter inches. This feature gives to the face, as seen in 
the mask, au amplitude of forehead that is truly majes- 
<,io, and one, when looking at it, cannot lielp feeling, that 
he understands better than he did before, where those 
g)-eat creations of genius came from, that have so long 
tilled him with amazement. The bust-maker, on the 
contrary, through inadvertence, or possibly mistaking 
certain accidental irregularities of the plaster for a 
cvintinuation of the hair, has run the brows more 
closely together, and then, to maintain consistency, 
has in like manner brought the eyes more closely 
toether, to make them correspond with the brows. 
The efiect of the narrowing of the forehead is further 
heightened by the fulness and puffiness of the cheeks 
already described ; and the result of the whole is to 
give us the impression of a merry, good-natured farm- 
er, instead of the majestic thinker that looks at us 
from the m.ask. And yet we can see how, through 
inadvertence, misconception, and unskilfulness, the one 
might have grown out of the other. 

The mask has met with a slight accident, the tip 
of the nose on one side having crumbled, or having 
been broken, marring a little the nostril on that side. 

The featui-es as revealed by the. mask have a manly 
beauty, of the intellectual type, that is very noticeable, 
and that lias called forth spontaneous admii-ation from 
all who have looked u[)on it. There is also an inde- 
scribable expression of sadness that no one fails to 



notice. Mrs. Kemble, on seeing it, bur.st into tears. 
(Trimm suggests in this connection another idea, 
namely, that in the first moments after death the dis- 
guises of life disappear, and the real character comes 
out in the countenance. "Though life," he s,iys, 
''may pi-ove deceptive on this point, not so death. It 
is as if, in the first moments after death had laid his 
sovereign and soothing hand upon man, tlie features 
reassumed before our eyes, as final imprint, that 
which they enclosed as the actual gift of ci-eative 
nature, namely, tlie very sum and substance of life. 
Strange resemblances, wonderful confirmations of 
character, I'eappear in these first moments after the 
last moments." 

Some of the hairs of the moustache, eye-lashes, and 
beard are seen in the mask, having adhered to the 
original concave shell and been thence transferred to 
the convex mask. These hairs, on examination willi 
a glass, are found to be of a reddish brown, or aubui'n, ' 
corresponding in this respect with what we know 
historically to have been the actual color of Shake- 
speare's hair. If the mask be what is claimed for it, 
we have here literally a bit of Shakespeare himself. 

The eyes are closed, and the left eye shows a slight 
defect fr-'m some cause. The moustache is rather 
full, and in the sliape now frequently worn, the ends 
hanging down diagonally to the right and left, so as to 
cover the corners of the mouth. The "tomb-maker," 
in the Stratford bust, has curled them up in a way 
which alters the whole expression of the face, giving 
it a gay and jaunty air. The rest of the beard is 
shaven, except a small tnft imder the chin, of the rut 
now called an "imperial." The nose is thin, delicate, 
slightly aquiline, and the profile altogether is extraor- 
dinarily beautiful. The boldness of the outline, as 
one looks at the mask uyi^file, raises the expectation 
of a narrow face and fceaiWfcstead of the broad, com- 
manding face and forji^y which meet the eye on 
turning the mask, and loMnng at it full in front. 

The impression which these various likenesses make 
upon the mind of the observer, especially the impres- 
sion made by the mask, is that of majesty and force: 
what a noble face this man had ! how worthy of the 
noble thoughts to which he has given utterance 1 We 
feel instinctively like applying to him the words whicli 
he has himself put into the mouth of Ilamlot, when 
addressing his father's portrait : 

See what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
Hyperion's curis; the front of Jove himself; 
Ail ej'e like Mars, to tlireaten and command ; 
A station like the herald Mercury-. 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
A combination and a form imleed. 
Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
To give the'world assurance of a man 1 




Sliakespeare's House R 




OF THE 

PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS. 




ed in 1623, 



THE TEMPEST. 

See Pago 1. 

N this comedy, Shakespeare is thought 
by able critics to have iriven us his most 
tinished literary com]ic>sition, and one 
W' in wliich the great i)oet has expressed 
liis highest and serenest vi^ v of life. 
One of his latest productions, first pub- 
suurce of the story lif the play can 
with any certainty be pointed out. Malone supposes 
it to have been written in the year 1611, and proha'ily 
produced in the latter part of 161'2 for the first time. 
Shakespeare, who was fond of music, makes admirable 
use of this art in The Tempest. Indeed, the serious 
parts of the drama are well suited for an opera. 

SCENE. —The sea with a ship, afterwards 
an uninhaljited isle. 

In a cave hewn out orthe solid rock lived the aged 
Prospero and his good and beautiful daughter, Miran- 
da. This home was on an island, and thither Miranda 
had come with her father when she was hardly three 
years old. The cave in which they resided was 
divided into several cells, one of which, serving as 
Prospero's study, was provided with a number of 
books on astrology and magic, the knowledge of which 
Pi-ospero had made exceedingly useful since his ar- 
rival on this island, which had been enchanted by the 
witch Sycorax, who died there shortly before his coming. 
Prospero by his art released many good spirits which 
the sorceress had imprisoned in the trunks of giant 
ti'ees, because the spirits had refused to obey the 
wicked behests of the old encliantress. These liber- 
ated spirits were, after his coming, the instruments of 
the obedient will of Prospero. Ariel was the most 
jironiinent, who, gentle as he otherwise was, bore a 
deep-seated grudge towards the monster Caliban, the 
son of Sycorax. Calil>' '.i was found by Prospero dur- 
ing one of his excu''\,ris through the island, and was 
brought by him to .ne cave, where Caliban was t.aught 
to speak, but, owing to his perverted nature, little good 
and useful eouiil he learn, and therefore wasenijdoyed 
to do the more menial work, such as carrying wood 
and water. Ariel's duty was to compel the monster to 
perform these services. Ariel, invisible to all other 
eyes but those of Prospero, would often torment and 
harass Caliban. By the aid of these powerful spirits, 
Prospero ruled the winds and the waves of the sea. 
Thus lie raised a violent storm, in the midst of which 
he showed his daughter a large ship, which he told 
lier was full of human beings like themselves. Mi- 
r.anda begs lier father to have mercy on their lives. 
The father soothes her .agitation, antl informs her that 
no person of the ship's company sh.all be hurt, that all 
transpiring would be done on behalf of his dear child. 



lie now relates to her the cause of their inhal'i! ing this 
island. "I was Prince of Milan," said he, "and you a 
Princess and 'only heir. My younger brother, whose 
name was Antonio, I intrusted with all my atfairs of 
state, and devoted myself in retirement to profound 
study. My brother, deeming himself the duke, with 
the aid of the King of Naples, a powerful prince and 
deadly foe of mine, effected my downfall. Knowing 
that they durst not destroy us because of the strong 
love of my people, they carried us on board a shij), 
and when some leagues out at sea Antonio forced botli 
of us into a small boat without sail or m.ast. But a 
faithful lord of my court, named Gonzalo, had secretly 
hidden water and provisions on board, and also some 
inv.aluable books. Our food lasted until we landed on 
this island, and ever since ray pleasure has been to in- 
struct my darling child. This tempest I have raised 
so that by this accident the King of Naples and yc r 
treacherous uncle might be brought to tliis shore." 

Prospero having concluded his narrative touched 
iliranda with his magic wand, and she fell fast asleep. 
At this instant Ariel appears and gives a vivid Hlc- 
count of the tempest to his master. Of the ship's crew 
not one soul has perished, and the vessel, invisible to 
them, is safely moored in the harbor. Meantime Fer- 
dinand, the "duke's son, reaching the island, meets 
Miranda. They mutually express surprise, and fall in 
love. Ariel, bidden by his master, now brings the 
king, Antonio, and the noble Gonzalo before Pros- 
pero, who embraces his brother and forgives him his 
past treachery. Prospero then dismisses Ariel from 
his service, buries his wand and books in tlie earth, 
vowing never henceforth to make use of the magic 
art. He then returns with the king, his brotlier, 
Gonzalo, Ferdinand, and Miranda to his native land, 
where, soon after their arriv.al, the nuptials of the hero 
and heroine, Ferdinand and Miranda, are celebrated, 
and "honor, riches, marriage-blessing" await them. 



The characters in this play, while real and living, 
are conceived in a moi-e abstract way, more as types, 
than in any other work of Shakespeare. Prospero is 
the embodiment of the highett wisdom and moral at- 
tainment; he is the great enchanter, and altogether 
the opi)03ite of the vulgar magician, ''rt'ith the com- 
mand over the elemental powers which study has 
bi'ought to him, he possesses moral grandeur and 
command over himself. He sees through life, but 
does not refuse to take p.art in it. Gonzalo is liuman 
common sense incarnated. All th.at is meanest and 
most despicable appears in the wretched consi>irators. 
Miranda is framed in the purest and simplest type of 
womanhood, while Ariel is a being of life and joy 
knowing no human affection; in Caliban is his opjio- 
site, a creature of the passions and appetites. There 
is a beautiful spii-it of reconciliation and forgiveness 
presiding over all, like a providence, 
xli 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 

See Page 18. 

THERE was no eJition of this comedy until 1623, 
but according to Malone as well as Ohalmei's, it was 
wntten in 1595. Though tliis play furnishes fewer 
occasions for music than some others, yet musicians 
are employed in the plot as well as musical allusions. 
Shakespeare in this play introduces all the musical 
terms in use in his time; as, a tune, a note, sing out, 
too sharp, too flat, harsh descant, the mean base, etc. 

SCENE. — At times in the cities of Verona 
and Milan, or on the frontiers of Mantua. 

V.ilentine aud Proteus were two younir sentlcinen, 
who lived iii the city of Verona, between wlicim a 
firm friendship subsisted. They pursued their studies 
together, and passed tlieir leisure hours in each other's 
company, except when Proteus visited a lady whom 
he loved; and these visits to Julia and' his passion for 
her, were the only points on which the two gentlemen 
differed. Valentine, who w.as not in love, often wearied 
to hear his friend so incessantly t.alking of his Julia, 
and occasionally woidd taimt Proteus for his passion- 
ate and idle fancies. One morning, Valentine came to 
Proteus and informed him that they must separate 
for a time, as he was going to Milan. Proteus, how- 
ever, tried to induce his friend not to leave him; but 
without avail. The two friends parted with vows of 
unalterable friendship. After his companion had left, 
Proteus wrote a letter to Julia, which he intrusted 
her maid Lucetta to deliver to her mistress, ^ulia, 
though loving Proteus as much as he did her, acts 
coquettishly, refuses to accept the letter, and orders 
lier maid to leave the room ; but being curious to 
know the contents of the missive, calls Lucetta in 
again, and asks her what o'clock it is. Lucetta, who 
knew that her mistress rather desired to see the letter, 
without heeding the question, again presents the re- 
jected epistle. Julia, incensed at this presumption on 
the part of her servant, tore the missive in pieces and 
threw them on the floor, ordering Lucetta out of the 
room. 

When Julia found herself alone, she gathered the 
fragments up and began to piece them together, and 
made out the words, " love-wounded Proteus," but 
she could not make out the whole, and mortitied at 
her own perversity in destroying such sweet and lov- 
ing words, she pens a much kinder letter to Proteus 
than she had ever done before. While Proteus was 
in raptures over his letter, he was interrupted by the 
appearance of Antonio his father, who .asks him what 
letter he was reading, and is tokl that it is one he re- 
ceived from his friend Valentine, at Milan. His father 
desires to read the news, but the son, greatly alarmed, 
assures him that there is nothing new, further than 
Valentine is well beloved by the Duke of Milan, who 
greatly benefits him with favors, and desires his friend 
Proteus to be the partner of his fortune. Antonio, 
deeming the advice of Valentine very worthy of at- 
tention, resolves to send the son at once to Milan, to 
spend some tiiJie there in the Duke of Milan's court. 
Proteus, knowing how peremptory was the will of 
his father, bid Julia a mournful farewell. They ex- 
changed rings, and mutually promised to keep each 
other forever in remembrance. Pi'oteus set out on 
his journey, and, arriving at Milan, found his friend 
Valentine really in favor with the duke; and more- 
over Valentine had become as ardent a lover as Pro- 
teus ever was. The lady of his love was Silvia, 
daughter of the duke, and his love was returned, 
though they concealed their affections from the duke, 
xlii 



who intended his daughter should marry the courtier 
Thurio, whom Silvia despised. While these two rivals 
were, one day, on a visit to Silvia, the duke himself 
entered the room, and informed them of the arrival of 
Proteus, who soon thereafter made his entrance, and 
was introduced by liis friend to the fair Silvia. Val- 
entine imparted to him in confidence the whole history 
of his love, how carefully they had concealed it from 
the duke, and that, despairing of ever obtaining the 
father's consent, he had urged Silvia to leave the palace 
that very night and go with him to Mantua. Then he 
showed Proteus a ladder of ropes, by help of which 
he intended to aid Silvia to get out of one of the win- 
dows at dark. Upon hearing this confidential recital, 
strange to say, Proteus resolved to go and disclose the 
plan to the duke. The duke, after hearing the intelli- 
gence, resolved to frustrate Valentine's intentions, and 
by artifice makes Valentine betray the secret himself, 
and after upbraiding him for his ingratitude, banished 
him from the court and city of Milan. While Pro- 
teus was thus treacherously betraying his friend, 
Julia, who is inconsolable over the absence of her 
lover, resolved to dress herself and her maid Lucetta 
in men's clothes, and thus set out for Milan. Here she 
was hired by Proteus as a page, who, not knowing 
that she was Julia, sent her with letters and presents 
to Silvia — even sending her the very ring she gave him 
as a parting gift at Verona. Silvia, utterly amazed at 
this, rejects the suit of Proteus and refuses the ring, 
and Julia (disguised as the page Sebastian) pi-aises 
Silvia and confides to her that Proteus had a love in 
Verona, who, as she knew, fondly loved him. Valen- 
tine, who hardly knew which course to pursue after 
his banishment, was set upon by robbers, who prevail 
on him to become their captain, threatening, if he re- 
fuses their offer, they would kill him. Valentine ex- 
acted of them a promise ne?* to outrage women or to 
rob the poor. Silvia, to avoid a marriage to Thurio, 
at last resolved to follow Valentine to Mantua, whence 
she presumed him to have fled, and in company with 
Eglamour, an old courtier, sets out on her journey, 
but on reaching the forest where Valentine and the 
banditti dwelt, was seized by one of the robbers, who 
intended to take her before their captain. Proteus, 
who liad heard of Silvia's flight, pursued her to the 
forest, and still accompanied by Julia, his page in dis- 
gui.se, appears at this moment. While Proteus was 
rudely pressing Silvia to marry him, all were amazed 
by the sudden appearance of Valentine. 

Julia, having thus proved, by her disguise of the 
page, the insincerity of her lover Proteus, produces 
in an affected mistake the rings he has made presents 
of to herself and Sih-ia, and at the same time dis- 
covering her sex, exposes his duplicity to his second 
mistress. Proteus, who now realizes that the page 
Sebastian is no other than Julia, and thrilled with this 
proof of her constancy and true love for him, took 
again his own dear mistress and joyfully resigns all 
pretensions to Silvia to Valentine, who so well deserved 
her. Proteus and Valentine while enjoying their 
happy reconciliation, were surprised by the appearance 
of the Duke of Milan and Thurio, who came there in 
pursuit of Sihaa. Thurio, when sternly rejected by 
Silvia, drew back in trepidation, leaving Valentine, his 
rival, in full possession of lady Sylvia. The lovers and 
the duke return to Milan, where the nuptials are eon- 
ducted with all due pomp and ceremony. 



Shakespeare has in this play settled down in the field 
of Italian story, which is to be hereafter the scene of 
his greatest triumphs. The Two Gentlemen of Vero- 
na and its incidents were great favorites with Shake- 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



speare, as is evident by his use of them in after plavs. 
The heroine of the drama is without doubt Julia ; she 
suffers most, she loves most, and she says tlie best 
tilings. The hero Valentine is a most generous, frank 
fellow, with o touch of dulness withal, as he cannot 
understand, for instance, Silvia's love messages when 
she gives hiiu back his own love-letter; Speed has 
to explain it to him. There seems a contradiction in 
Silvia's character in her giving Proteus her picture; 
it looks like yielding to coquetry, but as Julia.does not 
seem to feel it so, perhaps we cannot complain. Notice 
the quick Italian turn for intrigue in Proteus, and in 
the duke's instantly forming the phrn to entrap Val- 
entine. 



THE MERRT WIYES OF WINDSOR. 

See Page 35. 

THIS is the only Shakespearian comedy which is en- 
tirely without serious characters and situations; 
nevertheless, it shows an earnest intention and demon- 
stration — although jocosely carried out — to prove 
the sacredness of wedlock. Queen Elizabeth, whose 
ear was perpetually tussailed by fulsome panegyric, and 
who encouraged all sorts of silly shows, May games, 
and buftbonerie-s, was not insensible to Shakespeare's 
talent; and having been much delighted with the 
diaracter of Falstaflf, as delineated in the first and 
second parts of Henry the Fourth, advised, or, per- 
haps we may rather say, commanded, the bard to por- 
tray the fat knight in love. Such is the tradition of the 
origin of the play, some incidents of which may liave 
pleased the daughter of llenry VIII., although they 
are somewhat repulsive to modern taste and delicacy. 
According to Chalmers, this comedy was written in 
1596, while Malone asserts 1001 as the proper date. 

SCENE. — At Windsor, or near to it. 

Falstaff, the droll hero of the trilogy of Henry IV. 
and v., is unable, on account of his limited income, to 
defray the costs of his extravagant tastes. lie hits 
upon the odd idea, which is doubly amusing from his 
age and physical defects, of trying his luck in love, and 
thus replenish his empty purse. lie writes love-letters 
to Mrs. Page and to Mrs. Ford simultaneously, llis 
followers, Nym and Pistol, angry at him, resolve to in- 
form the husbands of this shameful conduct. Both 
ladies having received letters of the same import, show 
them to each other, and mutually agree to retaliate 
upon Falstaff. As a mediator, they choose their tal- 
ented friend Mrs. Quickly, who informs Falstaff that 
both ladies accept his suit, and expect to see him. 
Page has implicit confidence in his wife's fidelity, but 
Ford does not trust his wife, and disguising himself, as- 
sumes the name of Brook, asking Falstaif's assistance 
in his designs upon Mrs. Ford. He learns from Fal- 
staff that this lady had promised to meet him. Just 
as the knight is about to enjoy the company of Mrs. 
Ford, Mrs. Page informs him that the injured husband 
is on his way hither, having half the inhabitants of 
Windsor at his back. The unlucky lover is hastily 
thrown into a clothes-basket and covered with a quan- 
tity of dirty linen. lie is carried to a bleachery and 
there thrown into a shallow ditch. But, despite this 
involuntary bath, Falstaff is not yet the wiser, and 
runs again into the trap set for him. In Ford's house 
he is found again liv the jealous husband. The ladies 
this time dress him up in the garb of an old woman, 
who is known as the disreputable sorceress, or old 
witch of Brentford. Ford, who had forbidden this 
hag to enter his threshold, drives Falstaff, after giving 



him a severe thrashing, from his abode. Mrs. Ford 
now imparts to her liusband tlie whole affair, cures 
him of his jealousy, and, in compimy with Mr. and Mrs. 
Page, prepares the third practical joke at Falstaffs ex- 
pense. A rendezvous at night is planned, under the 
oak of the fabulous hunter, Berne, where, according 
to a popular superstition, fairies and elves carrj' on their 
revels at midnight. Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page, in pur- 
suance of their plan to revenge on Falstaff his attempt 
on their chastity, decoy him, under pretence of an am- 
orous meeting, into Windsor Park at midnight, where 
he is attacked by Evans and all the kin and kindred of 
the family. Ford and Page, who are dressed as gob- 
lins, torment him with torches, and pinch and plague 
him in various other ways. Falstaff is represented 
ludicrously disguised, having a buck's head forced on 
his head, and seated beneath the o.ak with his mis- 
tresses, who affect surprise at their being discovered. 

In juxtaposition, and yet distant from the story of 
seduction and deception, a case of elopement is enacted 
in the play, as a counterpart of the former in its sub- 
stance, particulars, and final result. Mr. and Mrs. 
Page have a marriageable daughter, Anne Page, for 
whose hand and heart three lovers woo — Squire Fen- 
ton, whose love is good and true, is responded to by 
Anne; and Slender, the cousin of the country Justice 
Shallow, a dunce wifli an annual rent of £30U, who is 
the favorite of Anne's father, and last, the dandified 
French Doctor, Caius, who is favored by Mrs. Page. 
Under Heme's oak, where Anne is enacting the queen 
of the fairies, Slender, according to the father's plan, 
is to elope with the daughter; hut the mother, having 
planned a like affair, wants her to elope with Dr. 
Caius. The shrewd Anne apparently accedes to each 
plan, but on her part plots and prepares with her lover 
a different understanding, in consequence of which 
Slender indeed elopes, according to the plan of the 
father, with a fairy dressed in white; Dr. Caius, after 
the plan of the mother, with one in a green garb; but 
neitlier of the two have Aime Page, nor even another 
girl, but only disguised boys. Fenton and Anne, how- 
ever, gain their purpose, and reach the church, from 
which they return husband and wife. The jiarents 
yield, with great resignation and heartiness, to the 
inexitable, and after a general reconciliation, from 
which even the fat and guilty Falstaff is not excluded, 
the comedy closes. 

In Falstaff, bubbling over with humor combined with 
that consummate conceit which makes his character 
so ineffably droll, we have a picture that only Shake- 
speare could draw. Falstaff is the representative, in 
his idleness and self-indulgence, of the debauched pro- 
fessional soldier of the day. But this lewd court 
hanger-on, whose wit always mastered men, is out- 
witted and routed by the Windsor Wives: "Wives 
may be merry, and yet honest too," is the healthy 
moral. The play has no pathos about it: it is only 
merry; but, nevertheless, it is admirably constructed. 
The "double plot works through it without a hitch ; 
and the situations are comically first-rate, though we 
confess the tone is lower than in both Shakespeare's 
earlier and later works. There are no grandees in the 
play; it seems a play of contemporary manners and a 
direct sketch of English middle-class life. The sweet- 
ness of "sweet Annie Page" runs all through it. She 
is the young English girl of Shakespeare's admiration 
— not seventeen, pretty, brown-haired, small-voiced, 
whose words are few, but wliose presence is every- 
where felt. True to her love, she is ready-witted, 
and dutiful to her parents, only disobeying them for 
the higher law of love. Her real value is shown by 
the efforts of those three lovers to get her. Fenton is a 
• xliii 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



gay, wild young fellow; he meant to inairy for money, 
liut is won tVom it by love. lie is frank and I'esolute. 
Slender is a well worked-up character; and those are 
inimitable scenes with Annie Page. The admixture 
of the German, the Frenchman, and tlie Welshman, 
points to considerable freedom of intercourse in Queen 
Elizabeth's day. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

See Page 56. 

A DRAMA deriving its name from an old adage, for 
the argument of the play is to show the triumph 
of grace and mercy over the punishment of justice, 
since no man is so secure against transgression as to 
set himself up as judge over his fellow-creatures. This 
comedy is founded upon George Whetstone's The Uis- 
torie of Promos and Cassandra, which appeared in 
print in 1578. Malono thinks it was written in 1603, 
while Clialmers thinks the date of its writing is 1604, 
when Shakespeare was in his fortieth year. Though 
tliis play has less music in it than some of Shake- 
speare's productions, yet at the beginning of Act IV. a 
song from the poet's own Pasnionate Pilgrim is sung. 

SCENE.— City of Vienna. 

Under the mild government of the Duke of Vienna, 
the laws had lost all their wonted vigor; intrigue and 
immorality became general among the young people 
of the metropolis because these vices could be prac- 
tised with impunity : especially was the marriage vow 
no longer kept sacred. At this juncture the duke re- 
solves suddenly on a governmental change in the ad- 
ministration of the land from mildness to great severity, 
and, for the purpose of more thoroughly carrying out 
this plan, he determines to absent himself for awhile 
from his dukedom, meantime leaving the government 
in the hands of Angelo, Lord Deputy, during his 
absence. Angelo is instructed to watch over the exe- 
cution of the laws with strictness. The duke, di.sguiscd 
as a monk, meanwhile secretly observes Angelo and 
his conduct from the neighborhood of the city. A 
young nobleman, named Claudio, is taken in custody 
on the charge of seducing a lady named Juliet, and 
sentenced to be beheaded under the severe laws of the 
new regime. Claudlo's sister, the beautiful and vir- 
tuous Isabella, a novice under probation, appears 
before the Lord Deputy and beseeches him to spare 
the life of her beloved brother ; but in vain : the law 
must h,ave its course; her suit is rejected. But it so 
happens, that the charming interceiKi-, by her dazzling 
beauty as well ashy hei- innocence and virtue, intiames 
the passions of Lord Angelo, and he demands, as the 
price of the forfeited life of her brother, the virtue of 
the sister, who of course with utter scorn rejects his 
advances. Isabella then visits her brother in prison, in- 
forms him of the ill success she has met with and of 
the baseness of Angelo. She admonishes him to fortify 
himself with courage and resignation to endure his ap- 
proaching fate. But the terror of death overpowers 
the hitherto courageous Claudio, and he entre,ats his 
sister to yield to Angelo's desire, to save her brother's 
life. Tliis cowardly request Isabella refuses with 
horror, and vehemently upbraids Claudio. Neverthe- 
less, Isabella is induced, by the urgent entreaties of the 
duke (who, in the disguise of a fri.ar, is present), to 
seemingly promise Angelo, but in lier place, and at 
midnight, to send the former mistress of tlie Lord 
Deputy to him. This lady is Mariana, the betrothed of 
Angelo, and one who had been deserted by him on 
account of the loss of her marriage dower (but who 
xliv 



retained her old love for her truant lover). According 
to the customs in vogue at the time, those betrothed 
were considered very much as if wedded. Mariana 
takes no offence at this proposed midnight meeting, 
and when she departs from Angelo, who has mistaken 
her for Isabella, she reminds him of his promise by 
saying, " Kemember now my brother!" Meanwhile, 
however. Lord Angelo, fearing an exposure hereafter 
from Claudio. had already given new orders for hia 
execution. The unfortunate man is only saved from 
liis doom by the intercession of tlie disguised duke 
himself, who persuaded the provost to put off the exe- 
cution, and to deceive Angelo by sending him the head 
of a man who had died that morning in prison. Fi- 
nally, the duke appears in his true character, forgiving, 
rewarding, and punishing. Angelo, who sincerely re- 
pents of his intended misdeeds, but which wickedness, 
without merit on his part, had been frustrated, receives 
forgiveness ; but has to make atonement for his wrongs 
towards Mariana by marrying her. Claudio is induced 
to marry .Juliet, the lady whom he had seduced. Isa- 
bella, the heroine, the true and good, does not re-enter 
the convent, but, the duke falling in love with her, is 
made the Duchess of Vienna; and bestowing hai)i)i- 
ness and blessing all around, henceforth shines by the 
duke's side as his noble wife. 



In the character of Isabella we have a beautiful por- 
traiture of a noble Christian woman, steadfast and 
true, firm in strength and energy, and among the 
highest type of women Shakespeare lias drawn — 
equal or superior to Portia, the wife of Brutus, Corde- • 
lia, or Volumnia. The scene in court, and the trial, as 
it were, before the duke, and the exposure of Angelo, 
are graphically portrayed. There is a tone of deep 
and serious feehng running all through the play — its 
dealing with death and the futiu'e world, tlie weight 
of refiection, the analysis of Angelo's character, the 
workings of conscience, the lovely saintliness of Isa- 
bella, although we must look on her as no liard re- 
cluse, but as " Isabel, sweet Isabel ! with cheeks of 
roses, gentle and fair." She believed that the son of 
her heroic father was noble, like herself ; and wlien 
she found he was willing to sacrifice her honor for his 
life, lier indignant "take my defiance, die, perish," was 
tlie fit answer to her brother's base proposals, which 
brings tiie blood tingling in sympathy to the reader's 
cheek. In Angelo we have a terrible analysis of 
character, a self-revelation to any man who has striven 
for purity, lias fancied himself safe, and in the hour of 
trial has failed. Claudio is the type of the self-indul- 
gent, life-enjoying man of the world, to wliom death 
has the greatest terrors. His words on "after death" 
are among the most poetical in Shakespeare. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 

See Page 78. 

TITE Mennechmi of Plautus have furnished our 
poet the matter for this lively, entertaining, and 
ingeniously executed play, which is so full of a witty 
spirit. It is one of his earliest dramatic efforts, and 
perhaps was written before the year 1591, though 
Maloue fixes the date at 1593. In the Comedy of 
Errors music has no mention. 

SCENE. — Ephesus. 

Various and prolix disputes and contentions between 
the cities of Syracuse and Ephesus caused, in retalia- 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



tion fi>r the precedent set by the former city, the 
eiuiotment of a cruel law, according to which all 
inTeri'Onrse between these two places was abolished, 
and any inhabitant of Syracuse seen in Ephesuswas 
juini.-.hed with death and confiscation of his estate if 
he were not able to pay a ransom of one thousand 
marks. Ignorant of this law, ^Egeon, an aged mer- 
chant of Syracuse, is found in the streets of Ephesus, 
arrested, and by the duke condemned to be executed. 
Upon the question, what has induced him to visit 
Ephesus, he relates that his wife had borne him twins, 
who had so extraordin.ary a resemblance to each other 
that he had purchased of their poor parents two twin 
brothers, whom he had biought up to attend upon his 
own sons. Suffering shipwreck -iEgeon had been 
separated from his wife, with their older son and his 
comrade. The younger son, who, after be had grown 
to manhood, had been afflicted with an irrepressible 
longing to go in search of his lost mother and brother, 
was still engaged in this search ; both sons he now 
deemed lost to him, since for seven years he had sought 
for them on all seas, but in vain, and it was thus he had 
cxane to Ephesus. The duke, influenced by a feeling of 
jiify, grants /Egeon one d.iy to procure the thousand 
marks for his ransom, .^geon's sons, of exact form 
and size and bearing the same name — that of Antipho- 
liis — were at this time in Ephesus with their servants 
the Droraios, who were also counterparts of each 
other. The younger Antipholns had just arrived with 
his Dromio; the older brother, however, had already 
lived twenty years in the city, baring, as a coura- 
geous soldier, once saved the duke's life, and had in the 
course of time become a rich and highly respected 
merchant. He married a rich heiress of Ephesus 
named Adriana, whose beautiful and wise sister Lnciana 
re.sided with them. The twins and their followers, 
who bear such striking resemblance to each other, 
cause many vexatious and entangling mistakes, and 
thus, quite naturally, many very comically amusing 
scenes are enacted, and errors upon errors follow. One 
bewitching mistake confounds tlie other. The errors 
which are occasioned by confounding the two gentle- 
men and their servants with each other, cause the 
Antipholns of Syracuse to believe that he is under the 
influence of m.igicians, and therefore seeks refuge in a 
cloister, whose abbess, .^Emilia, charitably grants to 
him a place of refuge. Adriana, who presumed the 
fugitive to be her liusband, complains to the duke of 
the conduct of the abbess, who refuses to give up the 
fugitive, who is deeme<l insane,- before his cure is 
ert'ected. One word draws another, until it becomes 
finally apparent that the jealous Adriana is the wife 
of the Ephesian Antipholns, whom she had often tor- 
tured with her silly suspicions. After confessing her 
behaviour to the alibess, the hitter seriously ex[K)Stn- 
lates with her. Meanwhile, evening comes and /Egeon 
IS to be executed, when opportunely at this juncture 
the twin pairs, and those with whom they have been 
confounded, all meet in the vicinity of the convent. 
The penetration of the duke at once solves this mys- 
tery of errors. The excellent abbess is none other 
thim ^Emilia, the long lost wife of ^Egeon and the 
loving mother of the two Antipholns. The noble 
duke now pardons ^'Egeon, witliout the payment of 
ransom; Adriana is permanently cured of her jealous- 
ies, while Antipholns of Syracuse marries her sister 
the good and fair Luciaua. 



death, the mother's love and suffering, and the re- 
uniting of the family at the end of the iday. He has 
al-so presented the beautiful element of the affection 
of Antipholns of Syracuse for Luciana — the first intro- 
duction of that serious and tender love which is never 
after absent in Shakespeare's plays. The sweetness of 
Luciana in dissuading her sister from jealousy, in her 
advice to Antipholns of Syracuse, her sister's supposed 
husband, in Scene 2 of Act III., before she consents to 
her suitor's love, is very beautiful in its tender thouglit- 
fulness. Adriana, though jealous and shrewish, really 
does not mean to be, and truly urges that lier love is 
the cause. The contrast between the two brothers of 
Syracuse and of Ephesus is finely marked. The An- 
tipholus of Ephesus was a man without a father's or a 
mother's training, and with no purpose in life like his 
brother. He is a brave soldier, but h.is no true view 
of love and maniage; he has taken a wife, yet con- 
sorts with a courtesan. Antipholus of Syracuse, brought 
up under a father's watchful care, is a far better type 
of a man. The search for his lost twin brother has 
given him a purpose in life ; and although his temper is 
somewhat too. unrestrained and he beats liis servant 
too often, yet he reverences women, and declines the 
opportunity to avail himself of the mistake of his 
unknown brother's wife. Of the two Diomios, the 
Syracusan seems to have been the better. He is 
more humorous and cool and takes his troubles better 
than his master. The noble and pathetic figure 
of ^Egeon forms a fine background to the play, his 
long search for his wife appealing to all hearts. This 
drama forms a fine acting play, the humor being 
brought out most comically. 



In the Comedy of Errors^ which commentators be- 
lieve to be either the first or the second written of the 
dramas of Shakespeare, he has exquisitelj' brought in 
the pathetic element in .Egeon's story and threatened 



MUCH ADO ABOUT XOTKIXG. 

See Page Oa. 

THE more serious parts of the m.iterial on which this 
comedy is founded, were known to the reading pub- 
he of England, at the time of our poet, through various 
works, such as the episode of Ariodant and Genevra, 
in Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, which already then ex- 
isted in two English translations. The nearest resem- 
blance to this play is a novel of Bandello, entitled, 
" Timbreo di Cardonia, and Felicia Leonata." The 
other comical parts of the play, and the pei-sons rep- 
resented therein, seem to be altogether Shakespeare's 
own creation. According to Slalone, the play was 
written in 1600; while Chalmers reports it a year 
earlier, that it was printed in quarto, and was entered 
at Stationers' Hall, August 23, 1600, under the name of 
Benedick and Beatrice. There is much music in the 
play, especially in the masquei-ade. Act II., Scene 2, 
and several songs are introduced. In the last Act, 
Scene 8, the epitaph and song are beautiful, and well 
calculated for music. 

SCENE. — Messina. 

Leon.ato, the Governor of Messina, has an only 
daughter, named Hero, who lives with his niece, Bea- 
trice, in her father's palace. Beatrice is a lively, mirth- 
ful, and witty girl, the verj' counterpart of the sedate 
Hero. Returning fiom a happily ended war, appear 
as tlie guests of Leonato, Don Pedro, Prince of Arra- 
gon. with his favorites, Olaudio and Benedick, all old 
friends and acquaintances of the governor and his 
family. Claudio sues for the quiet Hero, wins her 
love, .and, through the mediation of the Prince, obtains 
the consent of her father. Benedick and Beatrice, 
both animated by a spirit of tlioroughly inexhaustible 
xlv 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



Iiuinor, begin a. real contest of wits, incessantly teas- 
ing each other, and both to all appearances utterly 
forswearing love and matrimony. By an amusing 
plot, however, botli, while deeming themselves unob- 
served, are made witnesses to pre-arranged conversa- 
tions, from the purport of which it is intended to con- 
vince them that Beatrice is insijired with love for 
Benedick, and 15enedick is madly in love witli Beatrice. 
Both are deceived by the trap set for them ; but nothing 
novel is produced thereby; they only obtaining the 
knowledge how their atfairs are situated. The Prince 
of Arragon had also brought vvitli him to Messina his 
bastard brotlier, Don Jolin, a man discontented with 
himself and all the world, full of venom and rancor, 
who seeks pleasure in making miscliief. He slanders 
tlie pure, innocent, and chaste Hero, as being a com- 
mon strumpet, and proposes to convince the Prince 
and Claudio of the truth of his assertion by ocular 
proof. In the course of tlie night preceding the nup- 
tials, Margaret, Hero's attending gentlewoman, clad in 
her mistress's garments, is induced to hold an inter- 
view with her lover, Borachio, one of Don John's 
followers, which might have been proof of Hero's 
guilt, had it really been she who had conversed witli 
him. Claudio, whom the cunning rascal has induced 
to be a witness to this midnight meeting, becomes 
naturally enraged, and with youthful impetuosity, with- 
out further investigation of the charges, resolves on 
a terrible revenge. Tlie marriage of Claudio with 
Hero is about to be solemnized, but is prevented by 
tlie arlitices of Don John. In tlie church, in the pres- 
ence of all witnesses, Claudio denounces the innocent 
Hero as an impure woman, and charges her with un- 
chastity. Hero faints at the terrible accusation, lier 
father is distracted, and tlie bridal company breaks up 
in confusion. 

But virtue finally is vindicated. Boracliio, that fol- 
lower of Don John wlio so vilely has aspersed the 
diaracter of the noble Hero to Claudio, relates the 
circumstance to his comjianion Conrade; his story is 
overheard by the watch, who rusli forward and take 
them both, the rogues, into custody. They are taken 
by the watchman to. prison, are examined by the 
inimitable Dogberry, and the Sexton, wlio is constable 
of the night. The testimony of the watchman [iroves 
their connivance in the plot with Don John against 
Hero. The miscreant, Don John, who has attempted 
to escape, is retaken, and cast into prison, as a 
well deserved punishment. Hero, being supposed by 
Claudio to be dead (in consequence of the shock given 
at her intended wedding), had now her character fully 
cleared. Claudio, as an atonement for his error, agrees 
to marry Leonato's niece, Beatrice. The lady is ac- 
cordingly introduced, veiled, but proves to be Hero 
lierself. The marriage of the two lovers, with that 
also of Benedick and Beatrice, who continues her 
mirth to the very end, happily concludes the drama. 



This play is radiant with the most brilliant wit and 
the richest humor, and sparkles throughout with the 
poet's keen fun and i-aillery, retlected through Dogberry, 
and Verges' belief in him, with the merry passages be- 
tween Beatrice and Benedick. We cannot help feeling 
acutely, though, the needless pain caused to Hero, 
which might have been so easily avoided or lessened, 
but " when the fun is fastest the sorrow must be sad- 
dest." Claudio is a fine manly fellow, but a trifie too 
suspicious and too easily misled, without sifting charges 
against his atlianced wife more thoroughly. Beatrice is 
the sauciest, most piquant, sparkling, madcap girl that 
Shakespeare ever drew, and yet she is a loving, deep- 
naturcd, true woman, too. Sharp sayings flow from her 
xlvi 



with the humorous ones. Of course she says she don't 
want a husband : what girl of her ty])e ever acknowl- 
edges she does? What does she want with a husband ? 
In this mood she meets Benedick, and, sharp as he is 
among men, he cannot stand u]) to her. She over- 
whelms him with her quick repartees. But when 
she really finds she loves, how changed she is. When 
sweet Hero sinks under the cruel blow, unable to de- 
fend herself, how grandly Hashes out the true and no- 
ble nature of Beatrice, worthy daughter of the gallant 
old Antonio, She knows Hero's fiure heart. Evi- 
dence, so called ! suspicion ! what are they to her. 
"O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!" When she 
gives henself to her lover — witty as she is to the last 
— we know what a jewel the man has gained. Tl;e 
brightest and sunniest married life we see stretching 
before them, comfort in sorrow, doubling of joy. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 

See Page 113. 

AROJIANCE or a drama from which our poet 
might have gleaned the material for this ]>lay, is 
thus far not known. The argument on which this 
comedy rests is the important contra,st between the 
fresh and youthful, ever new blooming reality of lift; 
and the abstract, dry, and dead study of the strictly 
]iedantic life, Shakespeare wrote the play, according 
to Malone, in 1594; according to Chalmers, in 1592, 

SCENE,— Laid in Navarre, 
The young and kind-hearted Ferdinand of Xavarre 
conceived the somewhat fantastic idea of spending, in 
company with three knightly followers, Birou, Longa- 
ville, and Dumain, three years in strict seclusion from 
the outer world. In pursuance of this aim, tliey have 
sworn a sacred oath, especially binding themselves to 
abstain from all social intercourse with women, and to 
devote themselves to the study of wisdom and learn- 
ing. Their plan, however, is forthwith defeated by the 
arrival of the fair Princess of France, with her attend- 
ing ladies — Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine. This 
party, on account of pressing aftairs of state, request 
an immediate audience, which cannot be denied. All 
these knights of wisdom and abstinence fall in love 
with these ladies, who are just as amiable as they are 
good and subtle. A quick encounter of contending 
wits ensues, during which the gentlemen tease and de- 
ride each other for breaking their vow, each at the 
same time trying to justify himself, but all aiming to 
win the hearts of the fair French Ladies. The latter, 
on their part, try to cleverly defend themselves by 
vicing with one another in witty retorts, and by clev- 
erly ridiculing the courtiers for their foolishly conceived 
but quickly violated plan of affected sti'Uggle after wis- 
dom. Intermingled in the play, as the most amusing 
and diverting contra.sts, are the comical episodes be- 
tween two bombastic atid learned pedants, Holofernes 
and Nathaniel, as well as the ]>ranks of the arrant 
knight and braggadocio, Armado, a youthful and 
haughty page, who acts the part of a privileged fool. 
The entire jilot of the story and of the actors is sud- 
denly interrupted by the announcement of the death 
of the sick and aged father of the Princess of France; 
and the drama closes with a very earnest lesson, and 
that, though expres.sed by the king in a jesting mood, 
is exacted by the ladies (though in another shape) as 
an expiation and for repentance. A duetto between 
Spring and Winter (Cuckoo and Owl) makes a charm- 
ing epUogue, which in a poetic form sheds a light over 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



the sense and meaning of tlie whole. The finale of the 
comedy thus reverts back to the beginning. 



The London wits of the day, with their assumed 
conseuuence and abounding conceit, naturally aifiused 
the Stratford-bred Shakespeare, and parts of this, his 
first written play, were designed to give them a covert 
reproof, and to show them they could be beaten at 
their own weapons, by a country lad, too, and that all 
their city cleverness, on which they so much prided 
themselves, was as nothing beside good heart and 
work. Tlie best speech in the play is, of course, 
Biron's, on the effect of love in opening men's 
eyes and making the world new to them. How true 
tJiis is every lover since can bear witness. But still 
tliere is a "chatBness" about it very ditFerent from 
the humility and earnestness of the lovers who figure 
in most of Shakespeare's other plays, e.xcept, perhaps, 
that of the worthy Benedick. The fair Rosaline, too, 
in her witty passages, reminds us of Beatrice. 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 

See Page 133. 

THE comedy of Midsummer-NighVs Dream is the 
most extravagant, yet the mo«t artistic, the most 
amusing, and withal tlie most thoughtful, the most 
poetical, and nevertheless the liveliest, which the 
[iliaritasy of a poet ever created for the glorification of 
phantasy itself. The greatness of the author's genius 
revels nowhere so much as here, where he gives his 
imaginatioa full play, and raises his fancy to a flight 
above mankind, and beyond the limits of the visible 
world. Two songs all u Jed to in the last scene of this 
play are lost. Malone asserts that this drama was 
written in 1592, while Chalmers has reasons for stat- 
ing lOUS as the date. 

SCENE. — Athens, and a -wood not far from it. 

Oberon, king of the fairies, beseeches his wife, Ti- 
tania, to grant to him her beautiful adopted boy as a 
page; and upon Titania refusing this request, he seeks 
to revenge himself by welting her eyes with the sap 
of a flower while she is sleeping. This lotion has the 
magical power of causing her to become exceedingly 
enamored with the first being she beholds on awaken- 
ing. The pei-son whom her eyes first observe is a 
weaver of Athens, named Bottom, a rough and en- 
tirely illiterate man, and who has, at this time, come, 
with several other mechanics, to the grove, where 
Oberon and Titania were holding their fairy court. 
These artisans had entered the wood to have a re- 
hearsal for the play of Pyramm and TTiisbe, which 
they design to act at the nuptial festivities of Duke 
Theseus of Athens, who was soon to be married to 
llilipolyta. But before Titania's awakening, Pnck. a 
serving spirit to Oberon, who was ever ready for fun 
or frolic, had, by magic, adorned the weaver. Bottom, 
with the head of an ass. At the time this is taking 
place, a young pair, Lysander and Hermia, in love 
with each other, had likewise hied themselves to this 
enchanted grove, having fled from Athens on account 
of the cruelty of the father of Hermia, and the strict- 
ness of the laws of Athens, which forbade their union. 
The.v are overtaken at night by Demetrius, a lover, 
whose suit for Hermia the f.ather of this lady fiivors, 
and by Helena, a youthful friend of Hermi.a, who loves 
Demetrius, but finds her love rejected. Oberon, the 
fairy king, feels pity for fond Helena, and commands 
Puck to wet the eyes of the flint-hearted Demetrius 



with the same magic fluid which had already proved so 
etticacious on his queen, Titania. Puck, by some mis- 
take, enchants instead Lysander, but finding out his 
error, also enchants Demetrius. The consequence is, 
that both Lysander and Demetrius, on awakening, fall 
in love with Helena, whom they both perceive at the 
same moment. As a result, Helena now thinks the 
declarations of both these suitors malicious mockery, 
while Hermia, who, meantime, had arrived upon the 
scene, is inconsolable to discover herself thus so sud- 
denly deserted by the hitherto faitliful Lysander. 

Meantime Titania has yielded to the wish of Oberon, 
and the latter, joyful over the reconciliation vyith his 
wife, removes the magic spells from Lysander and 
Bottom ; only Demetrius' spell will not leave him, or 
rather the spell she supplied by the magic which the 
devoted fidelity of Helena imparts to him, whose love 
he now rewards in turn with his love. The Duke 
Theseus, of Athens, whose marriage is also about to 
be celebrated, obtains the consent of Hermia's father 
to her union with Lysander, and thus it happens that 
three marriage ceremonies take place, on which occa- 
sion the artisans enact their very jovial and grotesque 
play of Pyramus and Thisbe, which they have so 
faithfully and anmsingly rehearsed. Congratulations 
and lairy dances conclude the nuptial feasts and the 
drama. 

The finest character in the play is undoubtedly The- 
seus, and in his noble words about the artisans' play, 
the true gentleman is shown. Theseus is Shake- 
speare's early ideal of a heroic warrior and man of 
action. His life is one of splendid achievement and 
joy ; his love is a kind of hapjjy victory ; his marriage 
a triumph. But his wife's character is poor beside his. 
There is not much marked difi'erence of character be- 
tween the lovers Demetrius and Lysander, nor is there 
much distinction between Helena and Hermia, except 
that in person Helena is the taller of the two and the 
gentler in disposition. Thcmgh the story is Greek, yet 
the play is full of English life. It is Stratford that has 
given Shakespeare his out -door woodland life, his 
clowns' play, and the clowns themselves — Bottom, 
with his inimitable conceit, and his fellows. Snug, 
Quince, etc. It is Stratford that has given him all 
Puck's fairy lore — the pictures of the sweet country 
school-girls, seemingly parted and yet with a union in 
partition. There is exquisite imagery running through 
the play — a wonderful admixture, though it be, of deli- 
cate and aerial fancy beside the broadest and coarsest 
comedy. 



THE MERCHANT OF TENICE. 

See Page 150. 

IN this play our bard celebrates the idea of a univer- 
sal philanthropy, in the first place, as a Christian 
charity, but more especially in its tenderest and must 
gentle emanations, as friendshi]), connubial love, as 
well as grace and mercy, in opposition to the strict 
tenet of the law. George Chalmers fixes 1597 as the 
date of this comedy, while Malone reports 1598 as the 
exact time of its appearance. The musical elements 
of this interesting drama are lieautiful, numerous, and 
celebrated. In it is found the initial of a well-known 
and now proverbial eulogium on modulated sounds: 
"The man who has no music in his soul," etc. 

SCENE. — Partly in Venice and at Belmont. 
A rich and fair heiress named Portia, who lives at 
Belmont, near Venice, is, according to the last will of 
xlvii 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



her father, proliibited from marrying, except the suitor 
■ttlio comes to woo should correctly choose one of three 
caskets — one of them gold, one of silver, and one 
of lead. ■ The latter contains the portrait of the 
fair lady; and the suitor fortunate enough to choose 
the casket containing Portia's picture, is to be Portia's 
husband. Bassanio, a young nobleman of Venice, is 
so fortunate, and carries oti' tlie prize. But he is 
scarcely betrothed to his love, when he receives news 
from Venice telling him that his noble-hearted friend 
Antonio, whose generous means furnished him for his 
successful journey to Belmont, is comjjletely ruined 
by the wreck of ships at sea, and that the bond which 
Antonio, in over confidence, had given to the .Jew Shy- 
lock on Bassanio's account for a sum of money, could 
not be met when due. Shylock now insists literally 
on the cruel penalty provided as a forfeit — a pound of 
Antonio's tiesh to be cut from any part the Jew 
pleased to take it. Bassanio, supplied by his bride 
with ample means, and presented with a ring which 
he vowed to her he never would part with, hastens 
towards Venice to the rescue of his friend. Portia, 
his spirited lady love, meanwhile, procures for herself, 
by the aid of a renowned lawyer, who is a friend of 
lier family, letters of introduction, and thus fortified, 
and in the disguise of a Doctor of Laws, is introduced 
to the Duke of Venice as a lawyer who would be 
able, even in such a difficult case as that now pending 
between the merchant of Venice and tlie Jew Shylock, 
to decide in strict accord with the laws of Venice, and 
yet, withal, in the interest of human equity. By 
virtue of Portia's ingenious sagacity, Antonio, the un- 
fortunate merchant who had become security for her 
luisband Bassanio, is rescued from liis cruel persecutor. 
In her disguise as an advocate of law, Portia refuses 
every offer of reward, but requests and finally obtains 
from the unwilling Bassanio that ring which she had 
given to him on his departure from lier, under the 
most solemn vows never to part with it. The same 
scene is likewise enacted by her waiting-maid Nerissa, 
who is in the disguise of an attending clerk, and who 
is betrothed to Bassanio's friend and com|)anion Gra- 
tiano. Portia and her waiting maid now hasten to 
their home. They arrived at Belmont before their 
liusbands, whose embarrassment on account of tlieir 
having parted with their rings, the pledges of their 
love, causes great railing and merriment, until finally 
the entire intrigue is explained. Through the play 
is interspersed the suit, elopement, and marriage of 
Jessiga, the daughter of Shylock, who, converted to 
Christianity, becomes the wife of Lorenzo, a young 
Venetian for whom Portia, in her role as counsellor of 
law, obtains the legal right to inlierit the fortune of 
his unwilling father-in-law, Shylock. Cruel and re- 
pulsive as the character of the latter appears in the 
story, the thoughtful reader cannot lielj) but some- 
times pity him as one of the persecuted Jewish race, 
a race oflten embittered and driven to desperation by 
the remorseless cruelty practised towards them by the 
peoples and laws of the Middle Ages. 

To understand the plot of this play, which is com- 
plicated, by three points, we have, first the main ]K)int 
in the history of the forfeited bond ; then a secondary 
plot, the affair of the three caskets, and, as a final epi- 
sode, the elopement of Jessica and Lorenzo. 



women that the poet shows us first in gloom and then 
brings into the sunshine of love. She is gloomy, natu- 
rally, at the momentous chance that her fate hangs on, 
until it gives her tlie man she loves. She has wit and 
humor, and good judgment, too. She is unselfish, for 
she allows her husband to leave her so soon to save 
his friend. Note her quick insight and wit ; on the 
call for action, her self-reliance ; the admirable hand- 
ling of her case in court ; the reserving of her power 
to the last, hoping to raise Shylock to the nobleness 
she would have him reach. See how the, essence of 
all the virtues of woman is in her sfieech for mercy, 
which will echo through all time. In the trial scene 
she keeps her happy, roguish humor, chaffing her hus- 
band about giving her up. and insisting on his ring 
(this latter scene is remarkably effective on the stage). 
No woi'ds can praise Portia too highly. Jessica, " the 
most beautiful pagan and most sweet Jew," is ro- 
mantic and impulsive. Love is her ruhng passion, as 
greed is that of her father's. 

Antonio is a noble gentleman. There is a beautiful 
and touching unselfishness about him, as note his 
message to Bass.anio, who was a fine enough fellow, 
but far inferior as a character to the woman whose 
love he won. In Shylock, we have the embittered 
hate of ages of cruelty and oppression flaming up to 
strike when chance allowed it. 



A true and noble woman the poet portrays in Portia. 
In the language of Jessica, "the rude world lias not 
her fellow," and to this all who have studied the play 
will agree, echoing the words of Mrs. Fanny Kemble, 
when she says, " Shakespeare's Portia, then, as now, is 
my ideal of a perfect woman." She is one of those 
;clviii 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 

See Page 170. 

THE materi.il of this play the poet gleaned from the 
story entitled " Rosaliiide, Euphues Golden Legacie, 
etc.," which its author, Thomas Lodge, wrote at sea, 
on a voyage to the Canary Islands. The drama was 
written in 1600, when Shakespeare was thirty-six 
years old. There are various remarks on music and 
several songs embodied in this comedy. 

SCENE. — Is laid first near Oliver's house; 

after-wards in the usurper's court, and in 

the forest of Arden. 

A French duke, who had been deposed and banished 
by his younger brother Frederick, withdrew with a few 
faithful followers to the forest of Arden, leaving his 
only daughter Rosalind at the court of the usurper as 
a companion of the latter's only daughter Celia : these 
ladies love each other like sisters. This affection 
which subsisted between them was not in the least 
interrupted by the disagreement between the fathers, 
and becomes not the less tender when Rosalind falls in 
love with the brave Orlando, who, in a wrestling match 
with a hitherto unexcelled athlete, wins the victory in 
the presence of the assembled court ; but Orlando 
having learned from Adam, liis father's aged steward, 
of the deadly enmity of his older brother Oliver, seeks 
safety in flight. Adam affectionately accompanies him, 
and proffers Orlando the money he has saved. But the 
faithful servant, through infirmity and fatigue, is un- 
alile to proceed far on the journey. Orlando cheers 
his drooping s])irits and urges him to go forward. The 
older brother, Oliver, was charged by the usurping 
duke with having aided the flight of Orlando, and the 
duke orders him to arrest and bring back the fugitives. 
Rosalind, having been banished from her uncle's court, 
left it clad in the disguise of a p.age, and chance led her 
towards the forest of Arden. Celia, the usui-ping 
duke's daughter, loving Rosalind tenderly, accompa- 
nied her in lier flight in the garb of a sliepherdess. 
More for the i)urpose of pastime and sport than for 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



protection, the two ladies entreat the clown Touch- 
stone to flee with thera. Arrived at the forest of 
Arden, they purchase froiu a shepherd his estate with 
liouse and herd, and still disguised live there for a 
time as brother and sister, when they are agreeably 
surprised by the arrival of Orlando, who has joined 
the followers of the banished duke, Rosalind tlien 
hoars from Orlando's brother Oliver an account of 
< Miando being wounded, and, seeing the bloody hand- 
kerchief which he has sent her as a proof of his at- 
taclnnent, faints in the arms of Celia. Rosalind, after 
having assured herself of the love and constancy of 
the knightly Orlando, fully bestows her affections on 
him, and with the consent of her father, to whom 
she has made herself known, is wedded to hira. The 
contrite Oliver, who owes his life to the valor and 
courage of bis brother Orlando (who rescued him twice, 
V, bile travelling through the country, from the fangs of 
a serpent, and again from a lion while asleep in the 
forest of Arden), marries the fair Celia, with whom 
lie has fallen in love at first sight. Meantime. Duke 
Frederiek, becoming alarmed at the large number of 
his subjects who are leaving for his brother's support, 
marches at the head of an army to the Arden forest 
to annihilate the followers of the deposed duke. At 
the outskirts of the forest, however, the usurper is 
met by a pious hermit, who beseeches him to desist 
from his cruel undertaking. Stung by his conscience, 
he voluntarily restores the dukedom to his brother, 
and resolves to spend tlie remainder of his life in a 
religious house. A messenger proclaiming this re- 
solve is sent by the now penitent duke to his brother, 
who again ascends his throne, while all the banished 
courtiers return to, the city and are restored to their 
former dignities— all but the melancholy Jaques, 
who, disgusted wilii worldly show, goes into retire- 
ment. - ^^^'"'^ 



liis story goes back to the old Robin Hood spirit of 
England, to the love of country, of forest, and of adven- 
ture. Rosalind's ri[)pling laughter comes to us from the 
far-off woodland glades, and the wedded couple's sweet 
content reaches us as a strain of distant melody. Miss 
Baillie says of Rosalind : "The way in which she de- 
lights in teasing Orlando is essentially womanly. There 
are many women who take unaccountable pleasure in 
causing pain to those they love, for the sake of heal- 
ing it iifterwards." Rosalind is fair, pink-cheeked, and 
impulsive; what she thinks she must speak out, true 
■woman as she is. There is a great want iu her life; 
but she meets Orlando, and the want is tilled by love. 
It was she who planned this country expedition, and, 
though she could tind it in her heart to cry like a 
woman, she feels she must comfort poor Celia as the 
weaker vessel. But sad as she is, she needs only the 
news of Orlando's nearness to throw off her melan- 
choly instantly, and to jump into the liveliest of gay 
h'.iMiors; and tlie deliciously sprightly fun of her chaff 
of Orlando is unsurpassable. Orlando is a fine young 
fellow with whom we all must sympatliize; there is 
siuh a charm in his manliness, and there is, too, a fresh- 
ness about him and the energy of a healthy, active life. 
Oliver is a poor creature: but whitewashed, and re- 
formed, we believe he made a good husband to Celia 
"the tender and true." The melancholy Jaques gets 
olf some immortally excellent things of the [)liiloso- 
pbizing kind, as note his exquisite words on the 
'"Seven Ages of Man." Touchstone's fun with Corin 
tlie shepherd and William is most amusing; to quote 
Miss Baillie again: "lie is undoubtedly slightly cracked; 
but then the very cracks in his brain are chinks which 
let in the light." 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 

See Page 190. 

THIS comedy is founded on an old play, the autlior 
of which is unknown, although even the dialogue 
is partly kept intact in our poet's production. But 
the change Shakespeare wrought is so complete that 
the play must be acknowledged as only his. It origi- 
nated in l-5yG, or possibly a few years earlier. 

In The Taming of the Shrar no other use is made of 
music than to introduce minstrels at the wedding. 

SCENE. — At times in Padua and in Petru- 
chio's country-house. 

The plot of the drama is as follows : A lord on his 
return from the chase finds a drunken tinker, named 
Sly, asleep on a bench before an ale-house. For the 
sake of sport, the lord orders him carried to his own 
rooms, wliere Sly is dressed in costly garments and 
placed in one of his finest beds. When the drunkard 
wakes he finds himself surrounded by the attending 
servants, who succeed in making him believe tb.it lie 
is a nobleman who had for many years sutfered from 
insanity. Upon the introduction of a train of pl.ayers. 
Sly becomes convinced that he is really a lord, and 
they are ordered to entertain him with the enactment 
of a comedy, the purport of which is about the follow- 
ing:— 

A rich gentleman of Padua, named Baptista, has 
two daughters, Katharina (Kate) and Bianca; but the 
ftitber refuses to listen to the suitors of the younger 
daughter until Katharina, the older sister, is married. 
Katharina's fiery temper has caused her to be known 
as the Shrew, and herloud-tongued scolding frightened 
every suitor away. The wooers of Bianca, although, 
as rivals, much inclined to look at each other with un- 
favorable eyes, yet agree to make common cause, and 
that each endeavor to procure a husband for Katha- 
rina. In this they are fortunate in finding a gentleman 
named Petruchio, himself heir to rich estates, and who 
has come especially to Padua for the purpose of form- 
ing a suitable marriage. By virtue of his burlesquely- 
tender actions, he determined to break Kate's haughty 
temper, and by an afiectation of continued violence 
frighten her into submission to his will. Grumio, 
Petruchio's servant, comically assists him in this ef- 
fort. Katharina, finding at last opposition vain, be- 
comes the dutiful wife, and Petruchio, finding her 
obedient to his most absurdly assumed whims, pro- 
fesses his affection and drops the part of the tyrant. 

Meanwhile Lucentio, a nobleman of Pisa, has suc- 
ceeded, under the guise of a teacher, in gaining access 
to Bianca, and has used the hours ostensibly devoted 
to instruction for the purjiose of exchanging declara- 
tions of love, while his servant, Tranio, assuming his 
master's name and address, attends to all further atl'airs 
which are necessary to forward the intentions of Lu- 
centio. To make this certain, the presence of Lucen- 
tio's father, by the .scheme of Tranio, is to be repre- 
sented by a travelling schoolmaster; but at this critical 
moment the real father of Lucentio arrives quite unex- 
pectedly at Padua, and meets on the street the servant 
of his son in the latter's dre.ss. Tranio has the temer- 
ity not to recognize the father of his master as such, 
and is about to be taken to prison by an officer of 
the law, when Lucentio, who me.inwhile had been s-e- 
cretly married to Bianca, ojiportunely appears with his 
bride by his side, and effects a general reconciliation. 
Gremio, the oldest of Bianca's rejected suitors, is satis- 
fied with receiving an invitation to be the guest at the 
festivities in honor of the wedding; Hortensio. the 
younger lover, seeks consolation by marrying a young 
xlix 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



willow, and takes formal lessons from Petriichio in tlie 
art of Taming the Shrew. Petruoliio's young wife, the 
fiery Katharina, carries finally the prize away as the 
most submissive wile of the three, and, because of her 
amiability and goodness, receives from her father a 
largely increased dowry. 



The fair Kate, the shrew, stands boldly ont in marked 
individuality. She has been brought up a spoiled 
child, strong-willed, and overindulged by her father's 
weakness and her sister's gentleness. Then she may 
be said to have a grievance, for she is not to be mar- 
ried, while her mild sister is. She is soured by neg- 
lect, and bullies her sister from envy. Petruchio comes; 
he admires her, and she likes liim, too, as the first man 
who has had the nerve to overrule and attempt to con- 
trol her. She is bewildered by his assurance and cool- 
ness, while conscious that she has forfeited, by her 
childish bad temper, a woman's right to chivalrous 
courtesy, and she feels she has no right to complain 
of her lover's roughness. As a woman, too, she likes 
the promise of finery, and decides to marry him ; even 
has learned, by this time, to love him, as note liuw 
she cries when he comes late. Having got liiin, she 
is baulked of the wedding feast (cruellest of all blows 
for a bride). Under the influence of the wedding, she 
is so tender, at first, that we almost regret that Pe- 
truchio bad not taken advantage of this tenderness, 
and tried taming by love; but then, if he liad, we 
should have lost some of the very best scenes of the 
play. However, Kate decides to stand up for her 
rights, and how she is defeated and humbled, and 
finally gives up the effort, becoming the model wife, 
the story relates. 

Petruchio really makes himself, for effect, worse 
than he is. He is one of those determined men that 
like the spice of temper in a woman, knowing the 
power in him to subdue. He teases and tantalizes 
Kate in such a pleasant, madcap fasiiion, that we like 
him, although, probably, he tries lier too far and too 
severely. No doubt they proved a happy couple. 
Kate could obey Petruchio with a will, for he had 
fairly beaten her at her own game, and won her 
respect. Grumio is an excellent comic character, one 
of the best of the kind from Shakespeare's pen. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 

See Page 810. 

M ALONE supposes tliis drama was composed in 
the year lUUti. The story was originally taken 
from Boccacio, but came more immediately to Shake- 
speare from Painter's " Giletta of Narbon," in the first 
volume of the " Palace of Pleasure." Of this comedy 
there is no edition earlier than the first folio. The 
music of this play consists of flourish of cornets, 
marches, and sound of trumpets. 

SCENE. — Partly in France and Tuscany. 

Helena, a gentlewoman, the daughter of an eminent 
deceased physician, lives with the widowed Countess 
Ilousillon, whose son she passionately loves. The young 
Count Bertram of Rousillon has to obey the command 
of his liege lord, and moves to his court. The 
king suffers from a disease which baffles the skill 
and the medicines of the physicians, so that they, as 
well as the king himself, despair of a cure. Helena, 
however, has with the inheritance from her father 
come in possession of an almost infaUible remedy. 
1 



Encouraged by the countess, to whom she had confided 
her love, she journeys to Paris, and succeeds in induc- 
ing the king to confide in her method of curing liim. 
She agrees to suffer condign punishment in case she 
shall not succeed in restoring the king's health ; on 
the otlier hand, should she cure the monarch, he 
promises that she shall be man-ied to the man of her 
choice, and besides receive a rich dowry. Under her 
ministering care the king recovers entirely, and chooses 
the young Count of Rousillon for her spouse, who, de- 
spite all unwillingness and resistance at first, finally 
yields to the behests of his sovereign, and is married to 
Helena. Bertram has no affinity for his young wife, 
and moreover considers their marriage a mesalliance, 
flees from Helena soon after the marriage ceremony 
is over, and hies himself to Florence, where he enters 
the service as a soldier — meanwhile informing Helena 
by letter that .she should never again see him in 
France, nor greet him as her liusband, until she could 
wear on her finger the ring which he claims to have 
inherited from his ancestors as a family relic, and could 
nurture a child of his paternity on her breast. 
Despite these two seemingly impossible conditions, Hel- 
ena does not despair in her hope and love. Without 
his knowledge, she follows her truant lord, reaching 
Florence in disguise, where, with the assistance of the 
chaste daughter of an honest widow named Dianii, 
she is soon in a condition to demand the fulfilment 
of her husb.and's strange conditions, and returns to 
France simultaneously with Bertram, where she has 
been announced as dead. As soon as the count is con- 
vinced of the truth of her assertions, he is thrilled with 
manly emotion at such enduring love, and, in rapture 
over her high-spirited devotion, clasps Helena in his 
arms, henceforth bestowing all his affection on her. 
The uimiasking and punishment of a villain named 
Parollcs, a foUower of Bertram, forms a diverting en- 
tertainment and an embellishment to the scenes, an epi- 
sode of which calls to mind some of the parts of Fal- 
stati"s experience. 



In this play the object of Shakespeare was no doulit, 
covertly, to teach a lesson to the English people on the 
pride of birth, in the poor, lowly-born Helena, richest 
and highest in the noblest qualities, and proring also 
how much true love could take a woman thi-ough 
unspotted and unsmirched. Coleridge calls Helena 
"Shakespeare's loveliest character;" and Mrs. Jameson 
says: "There never was, perhaps, a more beautiful 
picture of a woman's love, cherished in secret, not 
self-consuming in silent langnishment, not desponding 
over its idol, but patient and hopeful, strong in its own 
intensity, and sustained by its own fond faith. Her 
love is like a religion — pure, holy, deep. The faith of 
her affection combining with the natural energy of her 
character, believing all things possible makes them so." 
Quick as she is to see through Parolles, she cannot see 
through Bertram, for love blinds her eyes. How beau- 
tiful is the confession of her love to Bertram's mother; 
and what a fool Bertram appears in leaving his sweet, 
unselflsh young wife, and how his brutal letter only 
brings out by contrast her truth and nobleness. How 
earnestly she wants to save him. She knows the ur- 
gence of his "important blood," and takes advantage 
of it to work a lawful meaning in a lawful act, and so, 
without disgrace, fulfils the condition her husband's 
baseness has made precedent to her reunion with him. 
Shakespeare has, indeed, proved in the character of 
Bertram (one who prides himself on his noble birth) 
its worthlessness, unless beneath a noble name rested 
a noble soul. Bertram, to speak mildly, is a snob, a 
liar, and a sneak, and it requires all the love of the 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



lower-liom lady, of God's own make, to lift Lim to a 
level that obtains any of our regard. lie lias physical 
courage, but of moral coui-age he has none, and is un- 
able to judge men. 



'nVELFTH NIGHT ; or, WlLiT YOU WILL. 

Sec Page 333. 

THE sources which our poet made use of for this 
comedy are found in the novel entitled "Apollo- 
nius and Silla." According to some, he is said to have 
probably used two Italian comedies of similar name, 
namely, "Gl'inganni" and "Gliugannate." Twelfth 
Night.v}a& written in 1599; but there is no edition of 
an earlier date than the first folio, in 1623. This com- 
edy opens with a beautiful eulogium on music, which 
]irevails throughout. The use of Erirati, in the same 
manner as at present, seems to have been well known 
at this time, as appears in Act I. 

SCENE. — Laid in a city in Illyria, and the 
sea-coast near it. 
Sebastian and his sister Viola were twins of the most 
remarkable resemblance to one another. Having both 
escaped the danger of perishing bj' shipwreck, Viola is 
rescued by the captain and taken to the coast of Illyria. 
Through the aid of her benefactor, the maiden, dressed 
in male attire, enters into the service of Duke Orsino. 
Intimate acquaintance with this handsome and excel- 
lent man intlaijaes the susceptible heart of Viola with 
the fire of a first love. But the duke loves Olivia, a 
rich and fair young countess. Viola, in her disguise 
as a page, introduces herself to Olivia, on behalf of her 
master, Orsino, who passionately loves Olivia, who is, 
however, in mourning for her brother; and, unable to 
return the duke's affection, refuses at first even to listen 
to Viola's message, but no sooner sees her than, igno- 
rant of her sex, she falls in love with the page ; for- 
getful of the vow of entire seclusion from the world, 
Olivia unveils herself before Viola (Cesario), confess- 
ing her feelings, which, of course, are not returned. 
Viola, now perceiving the danger of her disguise, hast- 
ens from the presence of Olivia, with the emphatic 
declaration that she would never love a woman. 
Meantime her brother, who too had been saved by the 
captain of a vessel, arrives likewise in Illyria. Ills 
benefactor, who had at a former time during a naval 
engagement inflicted great damage on the lUyrians 
(had oven caused the death of tlieir duke), is of course 
in imminent peril among these people. His liberty, his 
property, yes, even his life, are in jeopardy, and notliing 
but the love for his protege could have caused him to 
land. A rnflBan who courts Olivia, and is jealous 
of the supposed rival Cesario, whom he deems the fa- 
vorite of the countess, attacks Viola, and Antonio, con- 
founding her with Sebastian, hastens to her relief. Of- 
ficers of the law appear upon the scene of the tumult, 
and, recognizing Antonio from his taking part in the 
naval combat, take him off to prison. After Viola's de- 
parture from the scene of the trouble, Sebastian, who 
is in search of Antonio, appears, and is himself attacked 
by Viola's adversary. The countess, who having now 
interceded with the duke, mistakes Sebastian for Or- 
sino's page, and as such loads him with caresses. Se- 
bastian, astonished at his good fortune and struck 
with her beauty, falls in lore at first sight. A priest 
at hand solemnizes the marriage ceremony without de- 
lay. Viola, who makes herself known as Sebastian's 
sister, by her womanly charm, spirit, and faithful love, 



wins the heart of the duke, and on the same day she is 
made the "mistress of her lord " and lUyria's duchess. 



Viola is the true heroine of the play. She is sad 
for her brother's supposed death ; but she is thankful 
for her own escape, and looks disaster fuU in the 
face, taking practical steps for her future life. The 
duke wants sympathy, and she gives it to him ; she 
knows the duke loves music, and she gives it to him to 
cheer him in his love-lorn state. Xote the real love 
that Viola describes, and the fancied love the duke 
feels for Olivia. That is a touching scene between 
Viola and the duke, where the music makes her 
speak in so masterly a way of love ; and where Viola, 
in answer to the duke's fancied greatness of his love, 
gives him such hints of her own far greater affection 
for him, that no man not blinded by phantasm could 
have failed to catch the meaning of her words. Then 
comes that scene when the man she adores threatens 
her with death, and she will take it joyfiilly from 
him whom she declares then she loves more than life, 
and finally the reciprocation of her love by the duke. 
The duke has a fanciful nature; he is a dreamy, musi- 
cal man. Still, he is not to be desi)ised. His is a rich, 
beautiful, artistic nature, fond of music and flowers, 
and his love once obtained makes him a husband ten- 
der and true. The comic characters of the play are 
Shakespeare's own. The self-conceit of ilalvolio is 
refreshing. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 

See Page 251. 

THE plot is taken from the " History of Dorastus 
and Fawnia," by Thomas Green, and was written, 
according to Chalmers, in 1601, and according to Ma- 
lone in 1604; and first appeared in the folio of 1623. 
Sehlegel, the great German translator and Shake- 
spearian scholar, says that the title of this comedy 
answers admirably to its subject. It is one of those 
histories which appear framed to delight the idleness 
of a long evening. There are two somewhat absurd 
songs, some other musical illusions, and a pedler's 
song woven into this drama. 

SCENE. — Sometimes in Sicllia and at times 
in Botiemia. 
Polixenes, King of Bohemia (a country we must 
imagine in this play to extend to the sea-coast), is on 
a visit to the court of his lifelong friend Leontes, King 
of Sicilia, and after a sojourn of nine months at last 
resolves to depart. The urgency of Leontes to induce 
his friend to continue his visit somewliat longer being 
without avail, he requests his queen Ilermione to try 
her fortune in accomplishing that end ; and the queen 
really succeeds in persuading the guest to defer tlie 
return to his own country for another week. But 
suddenly in the king's heart a suspicion now arose by 
reason of this success wrought by the persuasive elo- 
quence of his wife, and he became at once inflamed by 
such a violent fit of jealousy tliat he even seeks to take 
his noble friend's life. By an honorable confidential 
friend, whom he sought to employ as a tool to can-y 
out his revenge, Polixenes is jirevented from further 
designs upon the King of Bohemia. But Leontes is 
still jealous of his wife, and with Polixenes enters her 
apartment and demands the delivery of his only son, 
ilamillius. Ilermione remonstrates, .and is oi'dered to 
jirison; wliile there she is delivered of a daughter, 
Perilita. The infant is brought by Paulina, wife of 
Antigonus, a lord of his court, to its father, but is 
U 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS. 



ordered out of liis sif!;lit. The oracle to whose de- 
cision the case is submitted, declares tlie queen inno- 
cent, and prophesies that Sicilia's crown will remain 
without an heir until the abandoned child is found 
again. At the same time- tlie death of the crown 
prince is announced, upon which news the queen 
faints and is taken away for dead. Thus ends the first 
three acts in the drama. 

Tlie fourth act is ushered in by a prologue, and is 
laid sixteen years later in Bohemia. The ship in which 
Antigonus, the Sicilian lord, carried the infant princess 
out to sea, had been driven by a storm upon the coast 
of ]5ohemia, where the child was left by him, dressed 
in rich clothes and jewels, with a paper pinned to its 
mantle with the name Perdita written thereon. An- 
tigonus never returned to Sicily, for he was torn to 
pieces by a bear as he was going back to the vessel. 
The deserted baby was found by an old shepherd, wlio 
took it home to his wife, who nursed it carefully. Per- 
dita, the banished infant of Leontes, bi-ouglit up to 
womanhood as the shepherd's daughter, gains the af- 
fections of Florizel, the son of the King of Bohemia. 
The king Polixenes attends the sheep-shearing (a 
rustic festival) in disguise, at which the h)ving pair 
are both present, discovers himself, and forbids their 
intimacy. 

C'amillo, a courtier of Sicily, who had been sojourning 
at Polixenes's court, ])roposes to Florizel and Perdita 
that they shall go with him to the Sicilian court. To 
this proposal they joyfully agreed, taking with them 
the old shepherd, the reputed father of Perdita, who 
has still preserved Perdita's jewels, baby-dothcs, and 
the paper which he had found ]jinned to her garments. 
They all arrive, at the court of Leontes in safety, who 
receives them with great cordiality. The king had 
bitterly repented of his former jealous frenzy, and is 
now entirely satisfied at having found his long-lost 
child. Polixenes, King of Boliemia, in pursuit of his 
son, arrives also in Sicily, and now everything that 
was obscure is cleared up, and Queen Hermione, be- 
lieved to be dead, returns from her place of seclusion, 
and the play ends in transports of joy and happiness. 



the story is told of Sicily, we see all through that (ha 
great poet lias English scenes in Ids mind's eye. The 
lovely country around Stratford is always before him 
as he writes. 



• In the Winter's Tnh, we see the contrast between 
town and coimtry. The play is fragi-ant with Perdita, 
■with her primroses and violets, so happy in the recon- 
ciliation of her father and mother, so bright with the 
sunshine of her and Florizel's young love. So long as 
men can think, Perdita shall brighten and sweeten their 
minds and lives. There is something so ineffably touch- 
ing in the lost and injni-cd daughter meeting the injuring 
father .and forgiving him. Above all rises the figure 
of the noble, long-sufl'ering wife, Hermione, foi-giving 
the cruel and unjust, though now deeply rei)entant, 
husband who has so cruelly injured her. She is among 
the noblest and most magnanimous of Shakespeare's 
women; without a fault, she sutlers, and for sixteen 
years, as though guilty of the greatest fault. If we 
contrast her noble defence of herself against the shame- 
less imputation on her honor with that of other hero- 
ines in like case. — the swooning of Hero, the ill-starred 
sentences of Desdemona, the pathetic ajjpeal, and yet 
submission of Imogen — we will see how splendidly 
Shakespeare developed this one of his finest crea- 
ti(jns. When Camillo's happy suggestion that Florizel 
should take Perdita to Sicily and Leontes has borne 
fruit, and Shakespeare brings the father and daughter 
together, and then brings both into unison beforeits 
with the mother, though so long dead, the cliuuix of 
])athos and delight is reached ; art can no further go. 
Paulina is a true lover of her mistress, and a lovely 
character in her earnestness and courage. Although 
lii 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN. 

See Page 375. 

IN more than one respect this tragedy is not only 
the ])rologue, but the basis of the entire dramas of 
Shakespeare which treat upon the history of England. 
It appears to have been written in 159(5, but not pub- 
lished till 1G2.S. It was founded on the old play en- 
titled TTie Trouhlesome Eeigii of King John. Tlie 
action of this present tragedy occupies a space of about 
seventeen years, beginning at the thirty-fourth year 
of King .Jolm's life. There is no music in this play 
but trumpets and the din of war. 

SCENE.— Sometimes in England and France. 

After the demise of Richard, surnaraed Cmtir (h Lion, 
John wrung the English crown from the weak liands 
of his nephew Arthur, whose claims were supported 
by King Philip of France. But in the hope of incor- 
porating England with his kingdom by the plan, the 
French monarch is prevailed to sanction a marriage 
between the dauphin and a niece of King John, and 
is about to withdraw his aid from Arthur, when the 
arrival of the Cardinal Pandulph, the pope's legate, 
prevents him consummating the agreement, and tlie 
dogs of war a;e again unloosed. Constance, mother 
of xirthur, having in vain endeavored ,to interest the 
French king and the legate in behalf of her son's 
claim to the crown, appeals in paroxysms of desjiair 
to heaven, and denounces Artliur's uncle, John, the 
usurper of the tlii'one and her son's rights. 

Philip of France in a decisive engagement is de- 
feated, and the captured Arthur is handed over bj' his 
uncle to the keeping of a certain Hubert, chamberlain 
to the king. John, feeling insecure from the su])erior 
claim of Arthur, orders Hubert to put out his eyes in 
jji-isdn. Hubert, moved to pity by the youth and inno- 
cence of the victim, spares him. But on quitting him, 
the prince, in dread of another attempt, leaps from the 
ramparts, and is found dead by Pembroke. A number 
of discontented barons resolve to free themselves fi-om 
the yoke of the tyrant, and to this end invite the 
Dau])liin of France to as.sume the Englisli crown, with 
the sanction of the pope. On the arrival of the 
dauphin, John is compelled to yield an ignominious 
abdication by abjectly placing his royalty at the di.^- 
posal of the cardinal, wlio then endeavors to .stay the 
advance of the dauphin. His intercession proves, 
however, unsuccessful; and hostilities are about to be 
resumed, when the news of the loss of a French trans- 
port having a large number of troops on board, together 
with the news of tlie desertion of an English reserve' 
force, causes the ardor of the French prince to cool, 
and inclines him to make peace. Meantime, King 
John is poisoned by a monk, and his son Prince Henry 
succeeds to the throne. The departures from history 
which Shakespeare in this play introduces, are all de- 
signed in the interest of dramatic art, and not with the 
pretext of adhering to strict historic truth. 



The character whicli stands foremost in Xj«<7 Jo7m 
is Constance, with that most touching expression of 
grief for the son she has lost. Deserted and betrayed, 
she stands alone in her despair, amid false friends 
and ruthless enemies — an eagle wounded, but defiant. 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS. 



Considered as a dramatic picture, the grouping is 
wonderfully tine. On one hand, the vulture-like am- 
bition of the mean-souled and cowardly tyrant John; 
on the other, the selfish, calculating policy of Philip; 
between them, balancing their passions in his hand, 
is Cardinal Pandulph, the cold, subtle, heartless le- 
gate; the fiery, reckless Faulconbridge ; the princely 
Lewis; the still uuoonquered spirit of old Queen 
Elinor; the bridal loveliness and modesty of Blanch; 
the boyish grace and innocence of young Arthur; the 
noble Constance, helpless and yet desperate — form an 
assemblage of figures that, taken altogether, cannot be 
surpassed in variety, force, and splendor of dramatic 
and picturesque eti:ect. 



THE TRAGEDY OF KING RICHARD II. 

See Page 295. 

TIIE principal source from which Shakespeare drew 
the argument of this play was Holinshed's His- 
tory of England, and he has here adhered to this in- 
formation. Without detriment to this its practical 
source, he has followed history literally, with an al- 
most perfect fidelity. Inasmuch as the first edition 
of this tragedy appeared in 1.597, there is good reason 
to believe that it was written in 1596. Here we have 
music in abundance. Military instruments are admi- 
rably described. All instruments played with the bow, 
in Shakespeare's time, were fretted except violins, and 
this is made obvious in this historical drama. 

SCENE. — Dispersedly in England and Wales. 
Henry Boliugbroke, Duke of Hereford, eldest son to 
John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster, denounces 
Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, as a traitor, and, 
among other accusations, charges him with abetting 
the murder of th6 Duke of Gloucester, the king's uncle. 
Norfolk, the accused duke, denies the charge, and offers 
to prove his innocence by single combat. The king 
consents to this, and orders the adversaries to ap- 
pear on a certain day at Coventry. They arrive there 
punctuiiUy, ready for the encounter; but just at the 
moment when the signal for commencement is to 
be given, King Richard protests. Knowing that his 
own skirts are not clear of the taint of his uncle's 
deatli, hence afraid of the consequences of tlie dnel, 
whatever the result of the latter may be, and also se- 
cretly dreading the adversaries, he banishes both no- 
bles, having first assembled the lords of his realm and 
received their assent. Thomas Mowbr.ay, Duke of 
Norfolk, is sentenced to perpetual b.anishment, while 
the Duke of Hereford is exiled for ten years, which 
term the king reduces, out of regard for the aged .John 
of Gaunt, to six years. The king also commands them 
while abroad never to have verbal intercourse with 
each other, as he is afraid of their mutual explanations. 
Soon after Bolingbroke's departure, his father, the 
Duke of Gaunt, dies, and the king perpetrates the 
injustice of confiscating the estate of the deceased 
duke, thus cheating the banished Henry Bolingbroke 
out of his inheritance. Enraged over this undeserved 
rolibery, 15olingbroke awaits a good opportunity to re- 
turn to England for the ptirpose of dethroning King 
Richard. He knew how to ingratiate himself with the 
army :md the English people, being either related by 
blood with all the great families, or connected by the 
bonds of friendship with them. Richard meanwhile is 
living in great luxury, surrounded by worthless favor- 
ties, anil influenced by them to tyrannize over his people, 
who grow bitterly discontented. Richard having gone 



to Ireland to avenge the death of the viceroy, Count Le 
Marche, who had been slain by the Irish during an in- 
surrection, Bolingbroke makes good use of his ab- 
sence, having heard of it previously; and, taking the 
name of Duke of Lancaster, returns to England, land- 
ing near Ravenspurgh, in Yorkshii'e. The Duke of 
Northumberland and his valiant son Henry Percy 
(Hotspur'), having been instdted by Richard, at once 
join Bolingbroke's forces. Discontented men pour 
in from all quarters, and soon swell the forces of Lan- 
caster to an army of 60,000 soldiers. Even Langley, 
Duke of York, who had been left by Richard as regent 
in London, offers no resistance, being himself too weak, 
and, moreover, having been deceived by Bt)linglirc^ke, 
who represents that he had merely returned to have 
his banishment and the wrongful sequestration of his 
estates annulled. Bolingbroke, emboldened by con- 
tinued additions to his army, now enters London at 
the head of his troops, where he is hailed by the peo- 
ple as their deliverer from a justly hated tyranny. 
Other cities follow the examine of the metropolis. 
Richard, having heard of Bolingbroke's return from 
banishment and his attempt to usurp the crown, lands 
on the coast of Wales, from his Irish expedition, and 
receives the news of his rival's progress and the danger 
to which himself and his followers are now exposed. 
But he can learn nothing but misfortune; for his fa- 
vorites. Bushy, Green, and Earl of Wiltshire, had al- 
ready been executed, the Earl of Salisbury's army is 
scattered, his own troops are weak and inclined to 
desert, the people embittered, and the regent, York, 
though thus far a neutral, " neither as friend nor 
foe," had gone over to Bolingbroke. In this despe- 
rate dilemma, Richard appeals to the victor, and invites 
him, through the agency of the Duke of Northumber- 
land and the Archbishop of Canterbury, to visit him at 
Flint, near Chester. The duke receives Richard, who 
with humbled face appears. Seated u|)on two misera- 
ble horses, Richard and Salisbury accompany Boling- 
broke to London. Richard is dethroned and con- 
demned to perpetual imprisonment. Bolingbroke as- 
cends the tlirone under the name of King Henry IV. 
The old Duke of York becomes a firm friend to the 
king; the Duke of Aumerl^, son of the Duke of York, 
continuing the firm friend of Richard, notwithstanding 
his deposition, comes to visit the old duke, his father, 
with a paper so carelessly concealed on his person, 
that York, doubting his loyalty to Bolingbroke, seizes 
it, and finds a treasonable plot to restore Richard to 
the throne. The father vows to immediately inform 
the king, but the son hiinself and his mother intercede 
and obtain the king's pardon. Richard dies in the 
fortress of Pomfret by the hands of assassins, whose 
leader. Sir Pierce of Exton, without equivocation, asserts 
that he had been induced by Henry IV. to commit the 
murder. This charge is afterwards denied by the king. 
Nevertheless, King Henry resolves, in atonement of tlje 
bloody deed, to take a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and 
with this vow, uttered at the coffin of his predecessor, 
ends the tragedy. 

No doubt one of the motives which inihiced tiie 
great poet — a sincere patriot, a lover of his country, 
and a keen observer of the times — to take up the role 
of the historical plays, of which Richard IL is one, 
was to point out the great dangers to the state, and 
to the sovereign, of unworthy favorites. The degen- 
erate son of tlie Black Prince, the flower of warriors, 
is pictured by Shakespeare as a mere royal sham . — a 
king in words only — for .act effectively he cannot. 
His nobles quarrel in his very presence; and the con- 
temptible meanness of his nature is shown in his ina- 
bility to take the reproof of the noble, dying Gaunt, 
liii 



THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 

It is not until his death that we feel any pity for the ; his intention to have him embowelled, but is no sooner 
weak and dethroned king. In Bolingbroke, the poet i gone than the knight jumps to his feet, and, cougratu- 
liits drawn the wily and astute leader, prompt to seize lating himself on his narrow escape, insures his safety 
and turn to his own advantage the ei'rors of his rivals, by immediate flight. 

In this drama we have the headlong valor of Hot- 
spur, the wonderful wit of Falstaff, the noble rivalry 
of Henry Percy and Henry, Prince of Wales. King- 
doms are striven for; rebels are subdued. Through 
every scene beats the full strong pulse of vigorous man- 
hood and life. The whole jilay is instinct with action. 
Every character lives, and what magnificent creations 
they are. Hotspur, Glendower, Henry and his son 
Prince Hal, Liouglas, Poins, Lady Percy, and Mrs. 
Quickly. In comic jjower, though, Shakespeare culmi- 
nates in Falstuff, and who can say enough of him? He 
is the very incarnation of hutnor and lies, of wit and 
self-indulgence, of shrewdness and inunorality, of self- 
possession and vice, without a spark of conscience or 
of reverence, without self-respect — an adventurer 
preying on the weaknesses of other men ! Yet we 
all enjoy him, and so did Shakespeare himself Fal- 
stati''s most striking power is seen when that doughty 
knight is cornered. Look at the cases of Poins; of 
Prince Hal's eii)0sure of his robbery; of his false ac- 
cusation of Mrs. Quickly; his behavior in tJie fight 
with Douglas, and liis claiming to have killed Hotspur. 
His alfrontery is inimitable. He is neither a coward 
nor courageous. Like a true soldier of fortune, he only 
asks which will pay best — fighting or running away 
— and acts accordingly. He evidently had a sort of 
reputation as a soldier, and was a professed one, ob- 
taining a commission at the outbreak of the war. 

The power of the barons was at that time too great, 
and turbulence consequently followed. But a strong 
king is now on the throne — no fine sentiments fol- 
lowed by nothingness, no piously weak morahzing 
with him. What Henry has won he will keep, let who 
will say nay. Henry acts generously, for he oft'ers 
peace even to the arch-rebel Worcester, his bitterest 
foe. It is refused, and then having doffed his easy 
robes of peace, and crushed his old limbs in ungentle 
steel, he orders only Worcester and Vernon to execu- 
tion. "Other oflenders he will pause upon." His 
real character, his astuteness and foresight, are shown 
in his talk with Harry, when he contrasts himself 
with Richard the Second. No wonder such a king 
regretted the heir he feared to leave behind him, little 
then knowing the stuff his son was made of. This 
son, Prince Hal, Henry of Agincourt, is Shakespeare's 
hero in English history. See how he draws him by 
the mouth of his enemy Vernon; how modestly he 
makes him challenge Hotspur; how generously treat 
that rival when he dies; gives Douglas his freedom, 
and gives to Falstaff the credit of Hotspur's deatli. 
And Hotspur we cannot help liking, with all his hot- 
headedness and petulance. But he believes too much 
in himself, and all must give way to his purposes. 
He is too aggressive. 



See Page 316. 

THE author that Shakespeare follows in this histor- 
ical drama is again the chronologist Ilolinshed. So 
far as the comical scenes with Falstaff and his follow- 
ers go, the play was perhaps already known in 1588 as 
a favorite, though weak and rude popular play, under 
the title of The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth. 
The tragedy, however, was written in 1-597, entered in 
Stationers' Hall in February 25, 1597, and printed in 
quarto form in the following year. Falstaff furnishes 
the funniest music in this play. 

SCENE.— Entirely in England. 

The first part of the play covers a period of but ten 
months, viz., from the battle of llolmedon, on Septem- 
ber 14, 1402, until that near Shrewsbury, which was 
fought July 21, 1403. After the deposition and death 
of the unfortunate Richard, we find Henry IV.'s atten- 
tion drawn to the invasion of the Scots, who, under 
their heroic leader, Archibald, Earl of Douglas, threaten 
the borders of England, but are defeated and beat- 
en back by the celebi'ated Henry Percy, surnamed 
Hotspur. The report of this victory has scarcely 
reached the ears of the king, when he, despite all the 
customs and usages of the times, insists upon the de- 
livery of some of the prisoners made by his victorious 
general, Percy, and especially insisted on having the 
body of the gallant Douglas. Enraged at this claim. 
Hotspur liberates all his captured prisoners without a 
ransom, and, in conjunction with his relations and 
followers, plans an insurrection against his new lord, 
whose ascent to the throne they had so recently effected. 
After a treaty with the Scotch and Welsli leaders, tlie 
insurgents march on Shrewsbury, where the king, 
leading his men in person, advances on them. A de- 
cisive battle ensues, in which Hotspur is slain by the 
hands of Prince Henry, and the insurgents suffer a 
total defeat, all their leaders being taken captive. 
Worcester and Vernon suffer execution, but Douglas is 
set free without ransom and permitted to return to 
Scotland. The earnest and tragical scenes of the play 
are in bright contrast with the comical parts, and these 
latter are interspersed on the following basis. Henry 
IV. is apprehensive of his son Henry, Prince of Wales, 
because the latter is a young num of remarkable talents ; 
but the suspicion is entirely ill-fnunded, since tlie prince 
has never acted in conflict witli the duties and luve due 
from child to parent. The prince does not feel alto- 
gether at ease at court, and, perhaps for prudential rea- 
sons, seeks to avoid meeting his cold-hearted father. 
Desirous of becoming acquainted with the life and do- 
ings of the people, even of the lowest orders, he sur- 
rounds himself with a band of jt>vial, careless characters, 
who under the lead of their princely leader perpetrate 
the wildest tricks and follies, even going so far as to 
commit criminal acts. The principal scapegrace, both 
as to physical appearance and intellectual calil)re in 
this company, is Sir John Falst;tff, the most amusingly 
entertaining character that author has ever described. 
Among the funny scenes, Falstaff, having joined the 
royal army, in a skirmisli with Douglas pretends to 
be slain. Prince Henry, recognizing his jolly old com- 
panion seemingly among the dead, ludicrously avows 
liv 



THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IT. 

See Page 339. 

HOLIXSHED'S Chronicles has also been the source 
from which the poet delineated this second 
part of Henry IV. The time covered by this histor- 
ical drama extends over the last nine years of this 
king's reign. This part wa,s probably written imme- 
diately after the first part of the i>lay had been finished, 
tliat is in 1598. It was entered at Stationers' Hall, 
August 23, 1600. 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



SCENE. — WTiolly in England. 

After the death of the ardent and heroic Percy 
(Hotspur), tlie insurgents lose all energy ; and although 
Scroop, Archbishop of York, uses his clerical influence 
for the success of their cause and thus effect an in- 
crease of their numerical strength, yet all the leaders 
of the insurgents, with the exception of Mowbray, are 
more inclined to seek redress for their wrongs by a 
capitulation, than to hazard farther their fortunes in 
battle. On the other hand, the leaders of the king's 
array. Prince John of Lancaster and the Earl of West- 
moreland, do not incline to risk a decisive battle, and 
hence they invite the ringleaders of the insurgents, 
when both armies are confronting each other near 
Gaultree forest, to hold a conference. This leads to a 
compromise, according to which the insurgent vassals, 
by authority of the king, receive the assurance that 
their troubles shall be redressed, and at the same time 
a disbandment of the troops is stipulated for both 
sides. The royal troops, however, receive secret 
orders of a treacherous import, not only to keep to- 
gether, but to pursue the disbanded insurgent array, 
and to annihilate it. This they do, and Archbishop 
Scroop and his fellow-conspirators are witliout delay 
led off to execution. 

Meantime the king's strength is failing him, and even 
the news of the destruction of his enemies does not 
tend to restore him. Feeling the approach of death, 
Henry orders the crown to be placed on his pillow. 
Prince Henry, during one of the king's fainting spells, 
supposing him dead, takes the crown to try it on; but 
the king recovers, and commands the diadem to be re- 
stored to its place, upbraiding the son for his precipi- 
tancy; although the dying king is so well satisfied with 
the innocence of his motives for the action, that he 
fully excuses the prince. The king soon after this in- 
cident died, and the son having succeeded to the 
throne, on his return from liis coronation was rudely 
saluted by Falstaff, who presumed on the former vi- 
cious intimacy. Falstafl:', however, was sternly reproved 
by the new monarch and discarded. 



There is a quieter tone pervading this second part: 
it hardly has the freshness and vigor of the first. 
Indeed, it would be difficult to keep up the first iin- 
pressions of FalstafF and the impetuous valor of Hot- 
spur. Even Shallow cannot malie up for them. The 
king leads, not at the head of his army, but in his quiet 
progress to the grave. The most striking speech in 
the play is that of Henry the Fourth's on sleep. The 
lower rank of the people come more to the front in 
this play ; and we have more prominence given than 
before to the low tavern life and the country squire 
and his servants. Though the hand of sickness is on 
tlie king, yet "Ready, aye ready," is still his word; and 
as soon as Hotspur is beaten, another army marches 
against Northumberland and the archbishop, whose 
two separate rebellions Shakespeare has put into one. 
How strong is the wish of the old king for the re- 
demption of his son, Prince Hal, from tlie slough in 
which he is wallowing. And in the king's last speech 
to his gallant heir we see the man's whole nature — wily 
to win, strong to hold, a purpose in all he did. For 
Prince Hal we have one unworthy scene, two credit- 
able ones. The shadow of his father's death-sickness is 
on him, and he goes in half self-disgust to his old, loose 
companions ; but there is not much enjoJ^nent in his 
forced mirth ; he feels ashamed of himself, and soon 
loaves Falstad" and his old life forever. He now deeply 
feels the degradation of being FalstafTs friend. On 
hearing of the war again, the prince changes at a 



touch and is himself. The next time wo see him in 
his true self is at his father's sick bed, where again he 
wins to him his father's heart. When Prince llal be- 
comes king, his treatment of his brothers, the Chief 
Justice, and Falstaff, is surely wise and right in all 
three cases. One does feel, though, for Falstaff; but 
certainly what he ought to have had, he got — tho 
chance of reformation. What other reception could 
Ilenry, in the midst of his new state, give in public to 
the slovenly and debauched old rascal wlio thrust him- 
self upon him, than the rebuke he so well administered. 
In the second part, Falstaff has his old wit and humor, 
and his slipperiness when caught; but we have him 
now as more of the sharper, the clieat, and the preyer 
on others. The scenes with Slrallow and Silence, and 
the choice of soldiers, are beyond all praise. We can- 
not help noting the use the old rascal intended to 
make of his power over the young king. Justice now 
overtakes the rogues. Falstaff' dies in obscurity and 
poverty ; Njiu and Bardolph are hung in France ; 
Pistol is stripped of his braggart honor. Poins alone, 
the best of the set, vanishes silently, so that the whole 
wild set breaks up and disappears, leaving the woi'ld 
to laugh over them and their leader forever. 



THE LIFE OF KING HEXEY Y. 

See Page 364. 

ON the writings of the chronologist Holinshed tliis 
drama is also founded. Shakespeare truthfully 
celebrates this, his favorite hero, as the ideal king and 
warrior ; and history itself grants to the master of dra- 
matic art that in this opinion he is entirely justified. 
The year of the composition of this history is alluded to 
in the prologue to Act V. of the play, viz., 1599. One 
cannot mention the year without tlie thought of that 
great contemporary of Shakespeare, Edmund Spenser, 
burnt out of the Irish house he has lo\ingly described, 
losing there one of his children, and dying miserably in 
a tavern in King Street, Westminster, on January 1.3, 
1598, leaving behind him these last lines of his unfin- 
ished Faerie Queene as the subject of his last thoughts, 
as his last prayer on earth : — 

" For all that moveth doth in Change delight: 
But thenceforth, all Khali rest eternally 
With Him that is the God of Sabaoth hight. 
1 that great Sabaoth God, grant me that Sabaoth's Bight ! " 
Book VII., Canto Vlll., stanza ii. 

One likes to think of the two poets knowing, hon- 
oring, and loving one another, of Shakespeare's follow- 
ing Spenser to his grave in the Abbey, near Chaucer. 
There is manifest allusion to the different parts of mu- 
sic in the first act. 

SCENE.— In England and France. 
The incidents represented in this drama reach from 
the first year of Henry V.'s ascension to the throne to 
liis marriage with Katharine, and are spread over a pe- 
riod of six years. Henry had scarcely come into pos- 
session of tlie English crown, when he prepared ways 
and means to carry out and fulfil liis dying father's in- 
junctions, and by conquests abroad seeks to obliterate 
the stain which tarpislies his title to the crown on ac- 
count of his father's usurpation. In pursuance of this 
plan, he renews an old and outlawed claim to the 
crown of France, and, for the purpose of enforcing his 
right, makes preparation by gathering and equipping a 
large army. The French court, intimidated by such 
a claim and warlike demonstration, basely attempted 
the capture and assassination of the English monarch 
Iv 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



tlirough bribing tliree powerful noblemen who are in- 
timately connected with lleni-y. This plot is discov- 
ered, and the conspirators are executed. Henry, hav- 
ing invaded France on her breach of treaty, marches 
with his troops to Ilartleur, summoning that city by 
herald to surrender, but being answered with contempt 
and defiance, he determines to take the town by storm, 
in which he succeeds. Afterwards, at the great battle 
of Agincourt, King Henry encounters the French army, 
which outnumbered him six to one, and gains a splen- 
did \'ictory, which breaks the power of the French, al- 
though the culmination was not really reached until 
the capture of Rouen, Jan. 16, 1419. The King of 
France is now compelled to yield to the severe condi- 
tions which the victor imposes, namely, to acknowl- 
edge Henry as heir to the French crown, and to give 
him his daughter, the Princess Katharine, for his wife. 
In this play Sir John Falstati' does not appear in action, 
but, according to Mrs. Quickly's description, meets a 
quiet and gentle death, after a prolonged illness. 



There is but brief play of the tender passion in this 
drama, which is fairly resonant with the clash of con- 
tending armies, of fierce alarums, wounds, and death. 
There are some exceedingly fine scenes, as, mark the 
touching picture of the dying York and Suftblk, and 
tlie humility with which King Henry after the battle 
of Agincourt, on bended knees, ascribes the credit of 
the victory alone to God. 

Henry is the true warrior ; Shakespeare's ideal king, 
evidently. See the good humor and self control with 
which the king receives the dauphin's insolent mes- 
sage (sting him though it does), and his strong resolve 
to win or die ; and see the devotion of all his thoughts 
and energies to carry out this resolve. See how he 
convicts traitors out of their own mouths, and sends 
them to death, not for his personal wrong, but for 
seeking England's ruin. Note Henry as tlie soldier; 
the splendid patriotism and rhetoric of his speeches 
drives the warm blood to our cheeks as we read. How 
humble he is wlien victory is his, and how well he 
merits it by his foresight, skill, and valor. As a lover, 
the character of the king comes out well — no grand 
words, no pretence, but just a plain, blunt soldier, with 
a good heart. We can hardly realize that such a man 
was the father of that miserably weak creature, Henry 
the Sixth. 



THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 

See Page 389. 

HAKESPEARE, in producing this work, was per- 



s 



haps indebted only to the Holinshed Chronicles, 
which, however, was handled with poetical freedom, 
witliout binding himself to dates regarding the liistori- 
cal facts. It was written in 1597, as Malone informs 
us, but according to Chalmers in 1593. The play is 
ushered in with solemn music. 

SCENE. — Partly in England and France. 

The drama opens with the scene of Henry V.'s 
body lying in state previous to being solemnly buried 
at Westminster. The crown of England has scarcely 
been transferred from the head of the conqueror of 
France to that of his son, yet a tender child, when the 
French, animated by the spirited courage and valor of 
the maid Joan of Arc, seize the favorable opportunity 
to reconquer their old possessions and to take the 
oath of allegiance to Charles, their hereditary prince. 
Ivi 



Meantime, the quarrels of the dakes of York and 
Somerset, disputing the claims of the rival houses of 
York and Lancaster, appeal to Warwick, Suffolk, and 
their followers, then present, in confirmation of their 
respective claims. The lords thus appealed to de- 
clining to answer, Plantagenet, Duke of York, bids 
those who agree with him to approve it by plucking a 
white rose. Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, adopts for 
the same purpose, as his emblem, the red rose, that the 
partisans of each might be known. These troubles 
form the embryo of that interminable series of fierce 
internecine wars which shortly tliereafter drenched the 
kingdom in blood. The heroic Talbot, Earl of Shrews- 
bury, and his son, John Talbot, near Bordeaux, with 
their little army of soldiers, were by the united armies 
of the enemy overpowered and sacrificed to the per- 
sonal jealousies of the English nobility, who failed to 
send reinforcements. The extraordinary .success which 
attended the French armies under Joan of Arc, sur- 
named the Pucelle, in raising the siege of Orleans and 
everywhere repulsing the English, made the latter 
attribute her victories to magic. On being captured 
by the English under the Duke of Y'ork, she was, with 
a cruelty that marked the ferocity of the age, burned 
as a witch. Meantime, King Henry VI. is induced, by 
the artful suggestions of the Earl of Suffolk, to ask 
for the hand of Margaret, daughter of Reignier, Duke 
of Anjou. An alliance is formed quickly with her 
father, and the duke is sent to France to accompany 
the princess to England. With the consummation of 
this fatal marriage for England concludes the drama. 



In the play of Henry the Sixth, Shakespeare deals in 
three parts with a weak king, Henry the Sixth ; in one 
part with a strong king, Richard the Third. The sub- 
ject is a splendid one for the dramatist. On the one 
side is the narrative of individual love ; on the other, 
the overthrow of a kingdom and a throne. The love 
of Guinevere and Lancelot of old is reproduced in 
the guilty love of Margaret and SutTolk, leading to the 
bloody wars of Y'ork and Lancaster, which filled Eng- 
land with civil war and lost her the realm of France. 
The fair Margaret was turned by ambition into " the 
she-wolf of France." Her pride was so overweening, 
that it caused her to level the noble Humphrey, the sole 
support of her husband's throne, and thus makes room 
for all the angry turmoils of the nobles and the de- 
signs of the bad and crafty Gloucester to work their 
way. 

And then the ruined queen, bereft of husband, love, 
child, throne, has nothing left to console her, but 
waits grimly for the overthrow of her enemies, chuck- 
ling over the villanies of Richard and the storm that 
is gathering to overwhelm him at Bosworth Field. 
The characters of the far-seeing Exeter, the noble 
Talbot, that splendid soldier, the gallant Salisbury and 
the generous Bedford, stand out among a host of trai- 
tors, or worse, that figure on the scene. The cruelty 
of the English and the indifference of the French to 
that splendid woman, Joan of Arc, appear in bold 
and sad relief. There is noble material for tragic po- 
etry here. On the side of Lancaster the chief personal 
force lies in Queen Margaret. The great Duke of 
Y'ork dies, but his place is filled by the portentous fig- 
ure of Gloucester, so terrible by his energy, his disre- 
gard of moral restraint, and his remorseless hatred to 
all who are opposed to him. Henry VI. is the feeblest 
of Sliakespeare's English kings. Possessed of that 
negative kind of saintliness which shuns evil, but 
shunning courageous effort also, he becomes the cause 
or occasion of almost as .much evil as if he were ac- 
tively criminal. 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY YI. 

See Page 410. 

SCENE. — In various parts of England. 

THE second part of this tragedy, considered by 
itself, comprises the period intervening between 
the marriage of the king to Margaret and the first 
battle of the St. Alban's, covering a period of ten 
years. Scarcely have the nuptial ceremonies between 
King Henry and Margaret of Anjou been celebrated, 
when the new queen develops a plan to obtain un- 
limited control over her husbjnd, and by the aid of 
several powerful nobles, especially by that of her lover 
Suffolk and of Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winches- 
ter, to force the Duke of Gloucester from his position 
of Regent. Their first attack is aimed at the wife of 
Gloucester, the ambitious Eleanor Cobham, who is 
accused of witchcraft, sentenced to recant in public 
and to endure an imprisonment for life. Immediately 
upon this, the virtuous Duke of Gloucester himself is 
taken in custody, and charged with high treason. All 
this is done against the will and desire of the king, 
who entertains no suspicion against the Regent, whose 
accusers, becoming aware that their evidence of guilt is 
insiifflcient, cause the Regent's assassination, and on 
the day set for his trial he is found dead in his bed. 
The Duke of Suffolk is accused by the popular voice 
of having murdered the Regent, which obliges the 
king to send Suffolk into banishment. He was after- 
wards taken at sea by pirates, and in a little cockboat 
beheaded. Meantime, Salisbury and Warwick, who, 
from the first dispute in the Temple-garden, became 
convinced of PLmtagenet's claim to the crown, having 
had first removed from him the "attaint of blood," and 
reinstated in the dukedom of York, now salute him 
as king. The scene of the terrible end of Cardinal 
Beaufort, uncle to Henry VI., is graphically delineated 
in the third act. A prey to the keenest remorse, the 
wretched prelate is represented on his death-bed. 
The king, with his nobles, pay him a visit; but the 
cardinal, disregarding all, raves incoherently about his 
crimes. At the moment of his death, the king de- 
mands a sign of his hope; but instead of giving it, he 
grins, gnashes his teeth, and e.xpires, leading Henry 
horror-struck. Meantime, the government of Ireland 
is intrusted to the Duke of York, who, before his 
departure, in order to test the feelings of the popu- 
lace, induces an Irishman, a bold commoner, named 
Cade, to announce himself as a descendant of Edmund 
Mortimer, and to aspire to the latter's pretensions to 
the crown. 



THE THIRD PART OF KING HENTIY YI. 

See Page 434. 

SCENE.— During part of the Third Act in 
France; during the rest of the play in Eng- 
land. 

THE play begins with the Duke of York's trium- 
phant entrance into the city of London, where he 
wrests fr.om the weak Henry an acknowledgment of 
his inherited right to the throne, and between them 
the agreement is consunmlated that the duke, as Re- 
gent, shall rule over England with the fullest sway, 
while Henry VI. shall, during his lifetime, remain in 
undisturbed possession of the throne and royal digni- 
ties. The opposing factions, however, soon cause a 
breach of this contract. The Duke of York, defeated 
in a battle near Wakefield, in Yorkshire, and captured, 



is cruelly treated by the revengeful Queen Margaret, 
who places a paper crown upon his head and taunts 
him, and while offering a handkerchief dipped in the 
blood of his recently murdered son, asks the duke to 
dry his tears with it. Soon after this scene the Duke 
of York is murdered. The powerful assistance ren- 
dered by the Earl of Warwick, surnamed the "King- 
Maker," now gives the vanquished hosts of York 
strength to turn the tide of war and to defeat their 
adversaries near Towton, in Yorkshire, and Duke 
Edward is raised to the throne. King Henry flees to 
Scotland, but is afterwards captured and ]ilaced in the 
Tower. Queen Margaret and her son go to Paris to 
obtain possible aid from the King of France, whose 
willingness to aid them is much weakened by the 
presence of Warwick. The latter had received from 
his liege lord orders to sue for the hand of the 
Princess Bona, King Lewis's sister. Suddenly a mes- 
senger arrives from England, bearing the news of 
Edward's marriage to the beautiful widow, Lady Eliza- 
beth Grey. Enraged at this insult, Warwick concludes 
a treaty with Margaret and Lewis, and dethrones Ed- 
ward, who escapes to Burgundy. Here he obtains 
troops, which enable him soon to effect a landing at 
Ravenspurgh. The people of England flock to the 
standard of King Edwai'd, — who, from his social and 
kindly manners, has always been a favorite with the 
populace, — and look upon Wai'wick and his allies as 
favoring the cause of the nobles. The city of London, 
too, espouses the side of Edward, and furnishes men 
to swell his constantly increasing arnij'. Finally, in 
the decisive battle of Barnet, Warwick suffers com- 
plete defeat, and dies on the field. Prince Edward and 
his mother. Queen Margaret, being taken prisoners in 
the still more conclusive battle of Tewksbury, where 
the remnant of the Lancasterian power is really anni- 
hilated, are brought before the victorious Edward, 
who roughly charges the prince with rebellion, but is 
so forcibly answered by the royal youth, that Glouces- 
ter, Clarence, and their followers assassinate the prince 
almost in the king's presence. The imprisoned king, 
Henry VI., is afterwards murdered in the Tower by 
the duke, Richard of Gloucester (afterwards Richard 
III.). W'ith an expression of Gloucester's intended 
villany upon the offspring of Edward, and the banish- 
ment of Queen Margaret by Edward IV., the tragedy 
is concluded. 



THE TRAGEDY OF KING RICHARD HI. 

See Page 458. 

THOSE deep mines of historical wealth, the Chron- 
icles of Hall and Ilolinshed, furnished Shake- 
speare with the data for this play, which w.as entered 
at Stationers' Hall, by Andrew Wise, October 20, 1597, 
and published in a quarto volume the same year, 
though it was probably written in 1593. The length 
of time comprised in this drama is about fourteen 
years, covering the last eight years of King Richard's 
life — beginning with Clarence's imprisonment, 1477, 
and ending with Richard's death at Bosworth Field, 
1485. 

SCENE. —England. 

The threatened extinction of the honse of Lancas- 
ter, as well as the failing health of King Edward, 
impel the ambitious Richard, Duke of Gloucester, to 
begin his struggle for the throne by thrusting aside 
the Duke of Clarence, his older brother, whom he 
causes to be murdered in the Tower. King Edward 
died soon after this event, after having seemingly 
Ivii 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



reconciled liis blood-relations and followers with the 
brothers and cousins of his wife, the Queen Elizabeth, 
and having :4)pointed his only living brother, Kichard, 
Duke of York, as guardian over his minor children, 
first conferring on him, during the minority of the 
Prince of Wales, the office of Protector and Regent. 
Richard, however, upon the deatli of his royal brother, 
immediately takes the two young sons of Edward — 
the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York — away 
from the control of the relations on their mother's 
side. Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, and has these un- 
h^ppy noblemen, under the charge of high treason, 
executed. A like fate meets Lord Hastings, whom, 
having proved himself utterly averse to Gloucester's 
plans of usurpation, he denounces as guilty of trea- 
son and sorcery at the Council table, and procures an 
immediate condemnation and execution. Through 
tlie powerful assistance and connivance of the Duke of 
Buckingham, who insidiously spreads a report of the 
illegitimate birth of the late King Edward, as well as 
of his two sons, Richard succeeds in having the crown 
formally offered to him, which offer he accepts, and 
with hypocritical reluctance. The sons of Edward, 
having been placed in the Tower, are, soon after the 
coronation of Richard, and by liis order, murdered by 
his creatures, Deighton and Forrest, who execute 
their cruel task at midnight by suffocating the royal 
boys. 

The king's next crime was the poisoning of his wife, 
so that he might be free to marry the oldest daughter 
of his brother Edward, Princess Elizabeth. Bucking- 
ham having opposed the murder of the sons of Ed- 
ward, soon becomes a thorn in Richard's side, and he 
punishes that nobleman by a refusal to fulfil the 
promises that had been made him prior to Richard's 
ascending to the English throne. This duplicity on 
the part of the king causes Buckingham's defection, 
for which lie is arrested and at last executed. 

Richai-d III. is interrupted in his schemes of vio- 
lence and murder. Heniy, Duke of Richmond, lands 
with a large army near MiU'ord-haven, and is march- 
ing towards London, when on the way thither he 
meets the army of Richard, who meets the death 
of a warrior in the battle of Bosworth Field. The 
crown now comes to the victor, who rules under the 
name of Henry VIL, and by his marriage to Eliza- 
beth, daughter of Edward IV., unites in firm and 
enduring amity the houses of York and Lancaster, and 
thus forever settles the fierce quarrels and bloody con- 
flicts between the rival races of the White and of the 
Red Rose. 



It may be here stated that the ancestors of Shake- 
speare are said to have fought at the battle of Bos- 
worth Field, and derived their warlike name from 
military services rendered to the cause of Richmond 
in that famous action. 

Shakespeare lias most powerfully depicted the con- 
tending motives and feelings in the character of Rich- 
ard III. His depressing and insulting his victims with 
the zest of grim humor, and his delight in gulling fools 
and in his own villany, are admirably and frequently 
brought out. Villain as he is, he has the villain's 
coolness, too. He never loses temper, except when he 
strikes the third messenger. Richard is a skilful gen- 
eral, looking to things himself, and prompt to take 
proper measures. lie dies a soldier's death, and in 
the last and effective battle-scene, where, unhorsed, he 
so gallantly fights on, we almost admire liim. The 
action of the play covers fourteen years — from Henry 
YI.'s murder. May 21, 1471, to Richard III.'s death, 
August 22, 1485. 

Iviii 



THE LIFE OF KING HENKT YIH. 

See Page 486, 

NOT published until 164.3, wlien it appeared in 
folio form. It is the Epilogue to the historical 
cvcle of the bard's dramas, and was probably written 
in 1601. 

SCENE. — Chiefly in London and "Westmin- 
ster; once at symbolton. 
This historical dr.ima comprises a period of twelve 
years, commencing in the twelfth year of King Henry's 
reign (1521), and ending with the christening of Eliza- 
beth in 1533. The Duke of Buckingham (son of the 
same duke who had been executed by order of the 
tyrant, Richard III.) becomes unfortunately entangled 
in personal disputes with Cardinal Wolsey, who, under 
the reign of Henry VIL, had obtained great influence 
and power, and now finds means and ways to bribe 
several intimate attendants of his rival, and thus to 
convict the duke of treason. Soon after this, Henry 
meets, at a grand masquerade given by Wolsey, Lady 
Anne Bullen, and, struck with her beauty, imme- 
diately singled her out from all the ladies pre^nt, 
and falls violently in love with her. Anne BuUen's 
charms enhance tlie scruples he had long pretended 
to feel as to the legality of his marriage to Queen 
Katharine, his deceased brother's widow. Cardinal 
Wolsey fears the connection of his monarch with an 
Englisl) woman, who is suspected, moreover, to favor 
the doctrines of the Reformation ; considering this 
affair also as prejudicial to his own dignity and that 
of the Pope, he sends a message to the Pope, to whom 
Queen Katharine had appealed, to delay the decree of 
divorce. This letter, and a statement of the immense 
possessions and wealth of the Cardinal, by a singular 
mistake, fall into the hands of the king, who, enraged 
at this treachery, immediately divests Wolsey of all 
his worldly pomp and olfices, and the fidlen favorite is 
only saved from being found guilty of treason by his 
sudden death. The new queen, Anne Bullen, is non- 
crowned with great state and ceremony, wliile Queen 
Katharine dies heart-broken at her divorce from the 
king. Meantime, a conspiracy is jilauned against 
Archbishop Cranmer, to whom the king is indebted 
for the ecclesiastical consent to the divorce. Cran- 
mer meets his royal master, to whom he had been ac- 
cused by enemies who had been eagerly plotting his 
destruction for favoring the doctrines of the Reforma- 
tion. The prelate, glad of the opportunity, kneels, 
pleads his cause, and so well satisfies the king of his 
innocence, that he raises him, and restoi'es him to more 
than his former share of favor. The play closes with 
the ceremony of christening Prince.ss Elizabeth, the 
afterwai-ds famed Queen Elizabeth of England. 



Written, as this play was, at a period treading close 
upon Shakespeare's life, — in the reign of the great, 
but at times irascible d.aughter of Henry VIII., Queen 
Elizabeth, — we can well understand how Shakespeare 
was obliged to temporize and sacrifice the opinions 
and unities largely to policy. The strongest sympa- 
thies which have been awakened in us by the play 
run opposite to the course of its action. Our sym- 
pathy is for the grief and goodness of Queen Katha- 
rine, while the course of the actor requires us to enter- 
tain, as a theme of joy and compensatory satisfaction, 
the coronation of Anne Bullen, and the birth of her 
daughter, which are in fact a part of Katharine's in- 
jury, and would seem to amount to little less than the 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



triumph of tlie wrong. This defect mars the Wect of 
the play as a whole. The scenes in the gallery and 
council-chamber are full of life and vigor, and are, 
besides, picturesque and historical. Note that scene 
between Gardiner and Cranmer. Cardinal Wolsey is 
drawn with superb power. Ambition, fraud, and vin- 
dictiveness have made him their own, yet cannot 
quite ruin a nature possessed of noble qualities. In 
the fate of Cardinal Wolsey our second interest cen- 
tres; and his soliloquy upon his downfall from power 
is among the finest the poet ever wrote. The open- 
ing of the play — the conversation between Bucking- 
ham, Norfolk, and Abergavenny — has the full stamp 
of Shakespeare's genius upon it, and is full of life, 
reality, and freshness. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 

See Page 510. 

A TRAGIC comedy, founded on Chaucer's "Epos 
Troilus and Creseide." The play was written in 
1()02, and entered in Stationers' Hall, February 3, 
1()U3, but not printed till 1609. 

■ SCENE.— Troy, and the camp of the GreekB 
in front of that city. 
Calchas, a Trojan priest, treacherously leaving the 
cause of his country, is taking part with the Greeks, to 
whom he becomes of great service. As a reward for 
these services, he demands the exchange of an eminent 
Trojan, named Antenor, for his daughter Cressida, who 
lives under the protection of her uncle Pandarus, in 
Troy, where her beauty and charms have made a deep 
impression on the heart of Prince Troilus, a son of 
Priam the king, Cressida has already accepted the 
suit of her lover, and was betrothed to him, when her 
happiness is interrupted by the arrival of Diomedes, 
who is ordered by her father to have her exchanged, 
and brought back to him. The lovers, on parting, 
swear eternal fidelity, and Troilus soon finds an oppor- 
tunity to reach the camp of the Greeks. Here lie 
learns the sad news of the unfaithfulness of his be- 
trothed, who had already transferred her love to Dio- 

. medes, and convinces himself, by obvious proof, of her 
defection. Meantime, Andromache and Cassandra, 
the wife and sister of Hector, alarmed at the yirognoa- 
tics they have had of his fate, write, entreating him 
not to go to battle, Andromache making his infant 
join in their prayers to dissuade him. But affirming 
his vow to the gods, his honor, and his fame, he 
resists, rushes to combat, and is slain by Achilles. 
Troilus now vows to avenge the death of his brother 
Hector on the Greeks, and by such vengeance to stifie 
his grief. With a terrible curse against the pandering 
Pandarus, the drama is concluded. 



This is the most paradoxical and variously inter- 
preted of all the dramas of Shakespeare. This heroic 
comedy, tragic-comedy, or parody, as some have 
termed it, is not merely written as a pleasant satire 
on ancient knighthood and heroism, but is perchance 
wrought out to serve a counterpart to Falstaffianisra, 
with the intent of quieting or soothing the noble he- 
roes of the Itith century with the dubious consolation 
that knighthood among the ancients was of no finer 
quality. The principal idea is rather intended to show 
the deeply founded and effective contrast existing be- 
tween the spiritual and intellectual formation of the 
ancient Greeks, as compared with the modern aim of 



Christianity. The play points to the fact that the Trojan 
war — as extolled by Homer — in so far as its real issue 
was concerned, turned simply upon the recapturing of 
an adulterous woman who had eloped with her para- 
mour, and whose immoral conduct can b}' no means be 
excused on account of Paris's ideal beauty. In thif play 
the moral is rendered prominent, that the kidnapping 
of Helen did not deserve the great Greek war of re- 
taliation, since the honor of the people had not been 
more impugned by the action of Paris than by that 
of Helen. Thus the play causes the moral conviction 
of the reader to revolt against such an aim, and this 
effect of the drama becomes the lasting impression. 
The love-story of the faithful Troilus, and the false 
and lustful Cressida, which gives its name to the play 
(albeit it is not its real turning-point), serves only as 
a modified repetition of the history of Menelaus and 
his faithless spouse, Helen, and hence presents as all 
the more conspicuously glaring the crime that led to the 
famed Trojan war. 



CORIOIANUS. 

See Page 536. 

SHAKESPEARE derived his material from Plutarch's 
" Life of Coriolanus," which he read in North's 
translation. This tragedy was neither entered at Sta- 
tioners' Hall nor printed till 1623, but probably writ^ 
ten in 160U or 1610. 

SCENE. — In the city of Rome and the ter- 
ritories of the Volscians. 
Cains Marcius, a scion of one of the oldest and 
noblest families of Rome, who, after his father's early 
death, is educated by his mother, Volumnia, had 
already while a youth shown his valor as a warrior 
in the battles against banished Tarquin. Every war 
brought him fresli public acknowledgments of his 
merit and honor. Thus he had attained great dignity 
and renown, when a dispute between the senate and 
the people occurred, caused by the severe oppressions 
of the patricians and wealthy citizens, which the senate 
sustained. Owing to the humorous eloquence of 
Menenius Agrippa, however, the people were quieted, 
after granting them five tribunes and reiiresentatives 
in the\senate-chamber. The people are now willing 
to serve as soldiers, a duty they had hitherto refused. 
But the patricians are at first discontented with the 
innovati(m, which is especially very violently opposed 
by Marcius. A war with the Volscians gives him 
occasion to renew his valorous deeds. The general, 
Cominius, who praises the greatness of his military 
exploits before the soldiers, gives him the name Corio- 
Innus. for the victories he attained near Caroli. Soon 
after this occurrence, he is a candidate for the Consu- 
late, but, against all precedent, he imprudently, in a 
speech, derides the people, and they withdraw their 
votes from him. Highly incensed at this defection, he 
assails the populace in an oration before the .senate, 
i demanding the abolishment of the tribunal. The 
' peojile, embittered and enraged at this, threaten to 
throw him from the Tarpoin rock, but he is rescued 
by the patricians. Failing to conciliate the plebeian 
faction, he is banished from Rome, and, burning with 
rage, vows the destruction of the city. He joins the 
Volscian forces, and by their prince, Aufidius, is made 
commander-in-chief of their army, then about to be 
led against his own countrymen. His mother, urged 
by the imperilled Romans, is prevailed upon to go with 
lier kinsmen to tiie camp of the Volscians, to pacify, 
lix 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



if possible, her son. Listening to her entreaties, Co- 
rioUinus resolves to retreat, and thus Rome is spared. 
But the VoLsoians, fired by Tullus, are now displeased 
with Coriolanus, and call him to account for his action. 
He is about to defend himself in public, when Tullus, 
fearing the impression of his eloquence, under the 
tumult of his followers, assassinates him. His corpse 
is buried by the Volscians with all the honors due his 
noble memory. 

Coriolanus is among the finest of the group of 
Shakespeare's Roman plays. The hero lived in the 
early days of Rome, in those pure, old, austere times 
when the great city had driven Tarquin from his lust- 
ful throne ; for it was against that monarch that Co- 
riolanus had won his first garland of oak by over- 
whelmingly defeating him. How nobly the pure white 
figure of Volumuia rises, clad in all the virtues that 
made the noble Roman lady. See how she over- 
comes her mother's righteous indignation against her 
townsmen's injustice to her gallant son; and how w'ith 
happy victory won she returns to Rome to give the 
proud city its life! 

Coriolanus is in many respects a noble character 
and among the " flower of warriors ; " but his pride is 
overweening, and that flaws and ruins the jewel of his 
renown. Treated with ingratitude, base and outra- 
geous though in his case it was, he cannot put his 
country above himself. His grip is on her throat, when 
his wife, Virgilia, stirs his mother to appeal to him, and 
in that scene in tlie Volscian camp, Coriolanus, who 
has thought himself above nature, cannot resist their 
appeals. His wife, mother, and boy prevail. Corio- 
lanus is himself again, and takes death, as he should, 
at the hands of his country's foes. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 

See Page 564. 

THIS play is the tragedy represented by human 
depravity in its most vindictive form — a thirst 
for revenge. Wlience the poet gleaned the material 
for this play has not been accurately ascertained. 
It was one of his first attempts at a drama, and was 
written as early as 1587, though some say 1589, when 
Shakespeare was scarcely twenty-five years of age. A 
great many editors and critics have supposed the play 
spurious, for the color of style is wholly different from 
that of Shakespeare's other plays, but nevertheless the 
evidence is now strong in favor of its genuineness. 

SCENE. — Rome and the adjoirung country. 

Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman general, victorious 
in the war against the Goths, retui-ns, crowned with 
honors, to Rome, bringing back with him, as captives, 
Tamora, the queen of the Goths, with her sons, Alar- 
bus, Chiron, and Demetrius. Of his own twenty-four 
sons, but four were left to him ; the rest suffered death 
for their country on the battle-field. Through An- 
dronicus's valor, Saturninus is raised to the vacant 
throne of the Empire. The emperor marries the cap- 
tured queen of the Goths, and is by her goaded to 
bloody deeds of revenge against Titus, who had 
ordered the slaying of her son Alarbus as a sacrifice 
for the fallen sons of Rome. Tamora now instigates 
her wicked sons, Demetrius and Chiron, to murder 
Bassianus, brother to the emperor and husband of 
Lavinia, daughter of Titus Andronicus, whose dead 
body they remove ; and still further urged on to dia- 
bolical deeds by Aaron, a Moor (who is beloved by 



Tamora), they deprive Lavinia of her chastity, cnt off 
her tongue and both her hands. Thus mangled, the 
widowed Lavinia alarms her young nephew by follow- 
ing him and being unable to speak. The miscreants 
themselves report the cruel deed to the emperor, and 
charge two sons of Titus with the crime of having 
murdered Lavinia's husband. Titus, in the anxiety to 
save his sons, is insidiously advised by Aaron to cut 
off his own hand, which he sends as an expiatory sac- 
rifice to the emperor. The latter returns his hand, 
accompanied by the heads of Ijis already executed 
sons. The great afflictions suffered by Titus weaken 
his reason. 15y means of a staff held in the stump of 
her !irm, Lavinia writes the names of the murderers 
of her husband in the sand, and causes thus the form- 
ing of a plan of revenge between her father, her 
uncle Marcus, and her now only brother, Lucius. 
Meantime, the empress bears a child. This illegal 
issue of the Moor, Aaron, by the empress, iss, to avoid 
detection by her husband, the emperor, sent by its 
mother to be murdered. Demetrius and Chiron, the 
ready instruments of her crime, i)rofess immediate 
compliance, and draw their weapons to dispatch it, 
but Aaron snatches his infant from its nurse, and 
vows vengeance to any one that touches it. To further 
conceal the foul deed, the Moor kills the nurse, and 
hastens with his child to the Goths. This same 
course is taken by Lucius, who now, like a second 
Coriolanus, advances against Rome at the head of a 
Gothic army. Dire punishment overtakes Saturninus 
and Tamora, who are slain ; the latter had, however, 
before her execution, a thyesteic meal set before her — 
that is, the flesh of her own slain sons were served up 
for the repast. Aaron is buried alive ; Titus (a second 
Virginius) stabs his own outraged daughter, and is 
himself slain by the hands of Saturninus. Lucius, the 
son, and Marcus, the brother of Titus Andronicus, 
press a kiss of love upon the pale lips of the mur- 
dered hero. Lucius, the favorite of the people, is 
proclaimed Emperor of Rome, and rules wisely and 
well the lately terribly disturbed empire. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 

See Page 584. 

ONE of the earlier productions of our poet, and one 
of the most celebrated of his dramas, this [ilay 
appeared first in print in 1597, and had, up to the year 
1609, been published in four editions, each issue with 
improvements and additions. It was written, without 
doubt, in 1592. 

SCENE. — For the greater portion of the 
play, in Verona; in the Fifth Act, once at 
Mantua. 

Between two patrician houses of Verona, the Capu- 
lets and Montagues, existed from time immemorial a 
deadly feud. The family of Montague had an only 
son, named Romeo; that of Capulet but one daughter, 
named Juliet. Romeo's outward demeanor and edu- 
cation were the model of noble manhood, while Juliet's 
form and features were in unison with the ])urity of 
her mind, the ideal of noble womanhood. Tliey did 
not know each other, when it happened that the old 
Capulet prepared a festival for his friends, and Romeo, 
the young heir of the Montagues, introduces himself, 
disguised, with some gay friends, his cousins Benvolio 
and Mercutio, who are also in disguise, to this grand 
entertainment of their enemies. Here obtaining a 
sight of Juliet, Romeo falls at once in love with her. 



TEE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



An interesting dialogue takes place between the lovers, 
which is inteiTUpted by Juliet's nurse. Tybalt, a fiery 
kinsman of Juliet's, having discovered liomeo, vows 
revenge on the intruder. The interview, however, 
has succeeded in producing the most ardent passion 
between Romeo and Juliet, and the latter endeavors to 
aecure the interest of her nurse, of whom she makes 
eager inquiries about her lover, but is tantalized by 
the nurse with the most provoking garrulity. The 
mutual impression the lovers have, is so ardent that 
ali'eady, on the following day, a secret marriage is the 
consequence, at which Friar Laurence, confessor of the 
two, is induced to officiate, because he hopes that by 
this marriage, sooner or later, a reconciliation betwe'en 
tlie two rival houses may be effected. Immediately 
after this ceremony, a duel is provoked by Tybalt, the 
fierce cousin of Juliet, with Mercutio, the gallant kins- 
man of Romeo. Mercutio is slain ; and Romeo, who 
had endeavored to prevent this duel, allows himself, 
by his momentary passion, to be drawn into a conflict 
with Tybalt, in which he kills the latter. A tumult 
ensues, the heads of the Capulets and Montagues, with 
the prince, arrive at the scene, and the latter, not fully 
aware of the provocation, orders the banishment of 
Rumeo. Romeo having ascended to Juliet's chamber 
window, holds a stolen interview, and swearing eternal 
constancy, prepares to depart by the way he came. 
During this scene between the lovers, the nurse calls 
Juliet, who alternately answers her, and tenderly takes 
leave of her lover. Romeo, by the advice of the good 
Fi-iar Laurence, hies to Mantua. Juliet, inconsolable 
over this separation, weeps bitterly. Her parents think 
that the death of her cousin Tybalt is the cause of her 
tears, and resolve to marry her to the kinsman of the 
prince. Count Paris, who now sues for her hand. 
Juliet, to avoid marrying Count Paris, and to preserve 
her faithfulness to Romeo, swallows an opiate fur- 
nished her by Friar Laurence, the effect of which is to 
produce the temporary semblance of death, and is 
found by her nurse and others in this trance on the 
morning of the intended nuptials. Dnive;'sal grief 
follows, and Friar Laurence, with a view to moderate 
it, and to prove his friendsliip for Romeo, recommends 
the immediate interment of Juliet's body. Meantime, 
the messenger sent by Friar Laurence is not admitted, 
because he had tarried in a pest-house, and returns 
home without seeing Romeo, while Balthasar, Romeo's 
servant, although enabled to communicate with his 
master, only informs him of Juliet's death and burial, 
not being aware of the rest. Romeo, in his despair, 
procures a deadly poison, returns to Vei'ona, where lie 
visits Juliet's tomb at midnight, unacquainted, from 
the miscarriage of the friar's note, with her i-eported 
death being but a trance. Count Paris, the intended 
husband selected by Juliet's parents, meets Romeo; 
they quarrel, fight, and Paris falls. Romeo takes a 
final leave of his seemingly dead mistress, and swal- 
lows the poison. At this moment. Friar Laurence 
arrives, to await Juhet's awakening. Slie, on learning 
the melancholy catastrophe, kills herself, and dies in 
the arms of Romeo. The friar previously requests 
her to follow him into a convent, but is frightened off 
by approaching footsteps. Juliet, imprinting an affec- 
tionate farewell kiss on the lips of the dead Romeo, 
takes his dagger and stabs herself. Meanwhile, Paris's 
page has summoned the guards, who, on seeing what 
had taken place, call the prince, the Capulets and the 
Montague families to the scene, while other attend- 
ants bring Laurence and Romeo's servant thither. The 
prince investigates the tragedy, and Fi-iar Laurence 
rehearses the details of the melancholy story. His 
statement is corroborated by the page and Balthasar, 
and also by a letter from Romeo to his father. Over 



the bodies of their unhappy children, the deadly 
enmity of the Capulet and Montague families ceases, 
and they are finally and effectively reconciled by the 
great grief that has overwhelmed them. 



This drama is among the most powerful of the great 
poet in strong delineation of passion and richness of 
fancy. In Juliet we have the first striking figure of 
Shakespeare's youthful conception of womanhood. 
The glorious figure of girlhood, clad in the beauty of 
the southern spring, stepping out for scarce two days 
from the winter of her grand but loveless home into 
the sunshine and warmth of love, and then sinking 
back into the horrors of the charnel-house and the 
grave, is one that ever haunts the student of Shake- 
speare. The deeper and richer note of love which 
the great bard has struck becomes deeper and richer 
still in Romeo and Juliet. Fierce Tybalt; gay, fiery 
Mercutio ; gallant Benvolio ; tender, chivalrous Ro- 
meo — we see them all in fancy as they move under 
the intense blue of the Italian sky. The day is hot; 
the Capulets are abroad; Mercutio's laugh rings down 
the street; his jewelled cap flames in the sunlight. 
Such sights and sounds as these crowd on the mind's 
ej'e as we read and think. "Passion lends the lovers 
power," as the old song says. It is the time of the 
affections and warm youthful blood. But these vio- 
lent delights have violent ends, and Juliet, "ill-divining 
soul," prepares us for the end that awaits the delicious, 
passionate love of the garden scene. Far above any- 
thing Shakespeare had yet written stands this and the 
lovers' subsequent meeting and parting. The charac- 
ter of Juliet, too, is the guiding star of the play — far 
above Romeo, whose sentimental weeping for Rosa- 
line, and grief when he hears of the order for his 
banisliment, call forth a well-deserved reproach froiu 
Friar Laurence. Tlie Nurse, so thoroughly a charac- 
ter, is the first and only figure of the kind in Shake- 
speare (except, perhaps, Mrs. Quickly). The fussy, 
bustling, hot-tempered old Capulet is a capital figure, 
too. The play is "young" all through, not only in its 
passions, but in its conceits and its excess of fancy. 

The time of the action of tlie play is live and a half 
days. The ball is on Sunday night ; the lovers are 
married on Monday, and pass the night together. 
Juliet drinks the sleeping draught on Tuesday night, 
and on Wednesday, instead of marrying Paris, is found 
seemingly dead and entombed. She sleeps more than 
forty-two hours. On Thursday Romeo returns, and 
poisons himself before Juliet wakes before the dawn 
of Friday. She stabs herself, and the families are 
roused from their sleep to come to the tomb, as pre- 
viously related. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 

See Page 608. 

IT has not yet been decided as conclusive whet 
Shakespeare obtained his basi^- for tliis ti-ag^ 
from North's English translation of Pliitarcli, or fr 
Paynter's older work, entitled "Palac of Plensn 
nor is the date of its composition stated as cei'Uiin. 
was probably written in 1605. 

SCEKE3. — Athens and the contiguous •vi'ooclB. 

Timon, a noble citizen of Athens, equally Tvi\r vned 
for his patriotic love for the cause of his fatherland, 
as on account of his immense wealth, is charitable 
beyond prudence, without aim or measure. Sur- 
rounded by a crowd of parasites, he is distributing to 
Ixi 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



one of them a rich jewel, nearly the last remains of 
his wealth. Ilia friend, Apemantus, the cynical philoso- 
pher, warns him of the consequences of such prodi- 
gality, but his advice is not listened to. When reduced 
in fortune, he knocks at the door of his friends, who 
formerly had been his daily guests, but finds, as might 
be expected, closed doors and deaf ears. Filled with 
bitter rage, he once more invites these false friends for 
the last time, but places before them, in covered 
dishes, nothing but lukewarm water, a fitting symbol 
of their friendship, and, with terrible curses, throws 
tiie vessels at their heads. Abandoned and treated 
with the blackest ingratitude by those he had enriched 
and benefited, Tiraon spurns the hated city of his resi- 
dence, and, renouncing human society, seeks the shelter 
of the forest, where he becomes an inveterate misan- 
thrope. All invitations for a return to Athens he re- 
jects ; neither Flavins, his honest steward, who offers 
to divide his savings with him; nor Alcibiades, his 
general, who offers to revenge him ; nor the senators 
of Athens, who offer him the highest office of honor, 
were able to change him. In this seclusion from the 
busy world, he draws from his bitter experience the 
motives of the people who come thus to meet him — 
not moved by pity or even curiosity, not for the pur- 
pose of consolation or atonement, but for the selfish 
and covetous reasons of thirst for gold, for it was 
rumored in Athens that, while digging roots, he lu^d 
found a treasure which a miserly fellow had once bur- 
ied. Still a prodigal with his gold, not for charitable 
purposes, but animated by evil intentions, Timon meets 
all who visit his retreat only to bribe and excite, and 
so to lead to the destruction of the hated human race. 
A warrior under Alcibiades at last finds Timon's grave, 
and reports the inscription, written by himself, wit- 
nessing to the loathing he felt for mankind until death. 



JULIUS cj:sar. 

See Page 637. 

AMONG the materials used by Shakespeare in this 
play were North's translation of tiie biographies 
of Julius Csosar, Marcus Antonius, and Brutus, by Plu- 
tarch; perhaps Appian and Dio Cassius were not un- 
known to him. It was probably written in 1602, soon 
after the completion of Hamlet. 

The political moral of the tragedy is, that the most 
unstatesmanlike and politically immoral policy is that 
which is not in keeping with the strictest requirements 
of the laws of right and equity. A treacherous or 
cruel deed, even carried out from noble or patriotic 
motives, cannot escape the Nemesis of retribution. 

SCENE. — In the city of Rome; after-wards 
at Sardis, and near Philippi. 

Julius Cicsar, renowned for many gallant deeds, 
anu' for his brilliant victories loved by the Roman no- 
bility as well as by the people, after vanquishing the 
younger Pompey in Spain, thought that the time had 
now come t,o carry out the ambitious desire, so long 
entertained, of making himself the absolute ruler of 
the Roman Empire. On his return to Rome, conten- 
tion was caused by the display made of the vanquished 
prisoners — an ostentation which had not been previ- 
ously attempted — and the magnificence of this tri- 
umphal imarch could not altogether drown the dis- 
pleasure-; nevertheless, the Romans vied in showing 
CiEsar honors, which almost amounted to adoration. 
In fact, CsBsar was already a monarch, and his ad- 
mii'ers urged him now to assume the name and the 
Ixii 



crown of an emperor. As Coesar was now oB the eve 
of his departure for the war against the Partliians, bis 
partisans endeavored to spread the rumor that, accord- 
ing to a prophecy contained in the book of Sibyl, only 
a king or emperor could be victorious over that people. 
At the Lupercalian festival, Antonius, approacliing 
CeBsar, oflers him the crown, which is three times re- 
jected by Cffisar, and, amid deafening applause of the 
fjeople, the crown is returned to the cai)itol. Cajsar, 
however, in opposition to this act, displaces the two 
tribunes who had, in different parts of the city, de- 
prived the columns erected in his honor of their royal 
mantle, and imprisoned several citizens who had called 
hira king. This strange conduct at last awakened the 
anger and suspicion of some of the prominent Romans 
against Ciesar's seeming ambition. At the instigation 
of Cassius, a conspiracy was formed. All was soon 
ready for execution, and it was resolved that Brutus 
should be the leader, because his mere presence would, 
so to say, sanctify and strengthen the justice of any 
action. Brutus was a true Roman in that luxurious 
and corrupt epoch of Roman history. Even the love 
and honor which Ca;sar had once bestowed on him he 
forgot, in his patriotic hope to redeem Rome, and by 
his leadership gained to the conspiracy many of the 
noblest Romans. Without any offering of sacrifice or 
vow, the sacred league was formed, that CiEsar at 
the festival of the Ides of March (the 15th) should be 
slain. Of the Roman ladies, Portia, the wife of Brutus 
and Cato's spirited daughter, was the only one who 
had knowledge of the conspiracy. On the fatal day, 
the assassination of Ctesar is enacted in the senate- 
chamber, Casca giving the first thrust. After having 
received twenty-three wounds, the last of which 
Brutus inflicted, Ca>sar falls. Cassius had urged that 
Mark Antony should also be slain, but the humane 
policy of Brutus saves him. Mark Antony weeps over 
Ciesar's fall ; and having obtained permission to make 
a funeral oration over the dead body, seizes the oppor- 
tunity to so artfully work on the passions of his audi- 
tors, the turbulent Roman populace, as to cause a riot, 
leading at length to a civil war, in which he gains 
supreme power. His further attempts, however, to 
follow the example of Julius Cajsar are frustrated, and 
he is compelled, against his will, to acknowledge Oc- 
tavius Cicsar and the influential Lepidus as triumvirs in 
the government, whose first act was that bloody proscrip- 
tion, from which even Cicero the great orator is not ex- 
empted, but falls a victim. After being present at the 
execution of those of their enemies who had lingered in 
Rome, Oetavius and Antonius embark for Macedonia 
to pursue Brutus and Cassius, who, after the news had 
been imparted to them that Portia had committed 
suicide by swallowing burning coals, venture, on tlie 
day of Cassius's birthday, the decisive battle of Philippi. 
Mark Antony seems on the point of gaining the last 
great battle against the conspirators, and' dismay seizes 
them ; Brutus, their great leader, to avoid falling into 
the victors' hands, and impressed with the fate de- 
nounced against him by Ca?sar's ghost, which had 
appeared to him the preceding night in his tent, com- 
mands his page Strato to let him fall on his sword, and 
thus dies. His corpse receives an honorable burial at 
the hands of his victorious enemies. 



Julius Cajsar is not the real hero of this play, but 
Brutus is; yet Ca3sar's spirit rules, as Cassius and 
Brutus before their deaths acknowledge. Cicsar's 
murder is the centre and hinge of the play. Tlie 
death of the great soldier overcomes his conquerors; 
for though his bodily presence is weak, his spirit rises, 
arms his avengers, and his assassins proclaim his might. 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



Sliakespeare has made the Cajsar of his ])lay not the 
brave ami vigoroua subduer of Britain and the Goths, 
but Cffisar old, decaying, failing both in mind and 
lx)dy; his long success had ruined his character and 
turned his head. The character of Brutus is that of 
one of the noblest of men the poet has drawn — if not 
the noblest. Brutus believes himself the man to set 
the times right ; but as honor calls him he must act. 
He is no judge of men; he cannot see that Cassius is 
playing on him as on a pipe; he misjudges Antony, 
and allows him to make that most effective appeal at 
Ctosar's funeral to the passions of the fierce Roman 
mob ; he always takes the wrong steps in action ; he 
li:is his faults, too, as see his ungenerous upbraiding 
of Cassius about getting gold wrongfully, when he, 
Brutus, had previously asked for some of it ; and how 
his vanity gives way to Gassius's appeal to him in the 
scene after Cajsar's death. That is a glorious scene 
between Brutus and his wife — pure soul to soul; no 
thought of earthly dallying between them. 



MACBETH. 



See Page 647. 

HOLIXSITED'S Chronklcs, formed on the " History 
of Scotland" by the Scotch chronologist, Hector 
15oethiu3, forms the basis to the plot of this tragedy, 
which was written in 1G0(). 

SCENE. — Principally in Scotland. At the 
end of the Fourth Act, in England. 
The throne of Duncan, king of Scotland, is threat- 
ened by one of his vassals, who is aided by the Nor- 
wegians. But this danger is averted by the lustrous 
valor of his cousins, Macbeth and Banquo. generals of 
the army. On their return from the last decisive 
victory, these othoers meet, upon a lonesome heath, 
tliree witches; the first greets Macbeth as Thane of 
Glamis, the second as Thane of Cawdor, while the 
tliird hails him with the prophetical announcement: 
"All hail, king that shall be hereafter!" Nor does 
Banquo go away without a prophecy, for the witches 
say that his sons after him shall be kings in Scotland. 
The early fulfilment of the first two prophecies excite 
in Macbeth's breast the hope that the other will be 
fulfilled, and that he will ascend the throne of Scot- 
land. Macbeth, without delay, had informed his wife 
of all that had happened, who is not only an ambitious 
wora.an, but withal an unfeeling and unscrupulous one, 
and consequently a person ever ready to do anything, 
however wrong, to accomplish her designs. Lady 
Macbeth is told by her husband that King Duncan is 
aliout to visit the castle, and she at once resolves to 
murder the king. Duncan, who on his journey is 
accompanied by Malcolm and Donalbain, his sons, and 
a numerous train of nobles and attendants, comes to 
honor, by his presence, the heroic Thane, is met en 
route by Macbeth, who has hastened to welcome him. 
The king's arrival causes great rejoicing ; he makes 
valuable presents to the attendants and also to Lady 
Macbeth, his kind hostess, whom he presents with a 
valuable diamond. Being tired with his day's travels, 
Duncan retires early to sleep. At midnight the mur- 
dei-ers hie to their terrible work. Macbeth w^avers; 
but his wife knows how to banish all his scruples, and 
taunts him bitterly until he nerves himself for the 
bloody deed, and kills the sleeping king with the 
dagger of one of the king's officers on guard, in order 
to draw the suspicion on them. At morning dawn the 
Woody deed of the previous night is discovered. 
Although Macbeth and his lady are pretending the 
deepest sorrow and distress, and the formei-, in feigned 



rage, rushes to King Duncan's room and stabs the two 
officers on whom he endeavored to cast suspicion, all 
doubt who the real perpetrators are. Malcolm and 
Donalbain flee; Macbeth is crowned king, and thus the 
prediction of the weird sisters is literally fulfilled. 
Macbeth, after usurping the crown, to secure himself 
in the possession of it, caused Banquo to he assassi- 
nated by the hands of hired murderers, and celebrat«« 
his success by a grand banquet. He is alarmed in tlie 
midst of it by the appearance of Banquo's ghost ! The 
queen and nobles, to whom the spectre is invisible, 
express amazement, and vainly strive to soothe him. 
Macduff, the Thane of Fife, hastens away and seeks 
refuge in England with Malcolm ; but Macbeth storms 
his castle and murders pitilessly Lady Macduff and her 
children. Remorse and the dangers that menace her 
hushaud's throne having thrown Lady Macbeth into a 
dangerous condition, rest becomes a stranger to her 
harrowed mind ; she walks in her sleep, and in that 
state discloses the secret of the king's murder to her 
physician and her attendant, and at last kills herself. 
The entire country is in revolution ; one after another 
desert Macbetli's failing cause, and the weird sisters 
drive him finally, by their mischievous oracles, into a 
state bordering on insanity. They tell him he need 
not fear any harm to his person until Birnam wood 
should come to Dunsinane ; nor could any one born of 
a woman cause danger to him. But in the attack upon 
Macbeth's stronghold the wood really advances to- 
wards Macbeth's castle. The English soldiers, while 
on their march, passed through these woods of Bir- 
nam, and, in order to conceal their numbers, carried 
green boughs and twigs in leaf before them. This is 
the significance of the prediction of the weird sisters ; 
and a foe not born of woman arises indeed against 
him- — in Macduff, who was not born of woman, in 
the ordinary manner of man, but was prematurely 
taken from his mother. The finale is reached wlien 
Macbeth falls in a struggle with the avenging Mao- 
duff; and Duncan's oldest son, Malcolm, ascends the 
throne as legal heir and king of Scotland. 



Machetli is a play of conscience, though the work- 
ings of that conscience are seen far more in Lady Mac- 
beth than in her husband. The play is designed to 
show, too, the separation from man as well as God, 
the miserable, trustless isolation that sin brings in its 
train. Before the play opens, there must have been 
consultations between the guilty pair on Duncan's 
murder, and wlien the play opens, the pall of fiendish 
witchcraft is over us from the first. The fall of the 
tempted is terribly sudden. Lady Macbeth has a 
finer and more delicate nature than Macbeth, but 
having fixed her eyes on the attainment by her hus- 
band of Duncan's throne, slie accepts the inentabl« 
means; yet she cannot strike the sleeping king, wlio 
resembles her father. She sustains her husband un- 
til her thread of life suddenly snaps under its load of 
remorse. The real climax of the play is in the second 
act rather than the fifth, and no repentance is mixed 
with the vengeance at its close. The only relief is the 
gallantry of Macbeth, the gratitude of Duncan, and 
the picture of Macbeth's castle, so pleasantly put into 
Duncan's and Banquo's mouths. Macbeth liad the 
wrong nature for a murderer — he was too imagina- 
tive. The more blood he shed, which he thought 
would make him safe and liardened, did but increase 
Ills terrors. But he resolves to know the worst, and 
after his second visit to the witches, the courage of 
desperation takes the place of the feebleness of the 
guilty soul, and finally he faces and meets his own 
death with a coolness almost admirable. 
Ixiii 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 

See Page 666. 

MANY books and essays have been written concern- 
ing this tragedy of all the tragedies of Shake- 
speare; some of the critics, in their analysis of the 
play, vary materially, especially in the understanding 
of the principal character. According to the general 
acceptation of modern critics, Shakespeare designed 
to delineate his religious, moral, artistic, and dra- 
matic acknowledgment of faith, and wrote this drama 
for the exaltation of the dramatic art upon the stage, 
as an educator as much entitled to serve the highest 
interests and aims of humanity as any other educa- 
tional influence. 

The source from which Shakespeare gathered his 
material, was probably the novel entitled the " Ilys- 
torie of Hamlet," by the Danish author, Saxo Gram- 
maticns. This drama was written, according to iJr. 
Drake and Chalmers, in 1507, while Malone fixes the 
date in ICOO, and it appeared first in print, in a quarto 
edition, in 1604. 

SCENE. — Elsinore, Denmark. 

Prince Hamlet, the son of King Hamlet, of Den- 
mark, after receiving the news of the sudden death 
of his father, leaves Wittenberg, where he had been 
in pursuit of learning, and returns to the residence 
at Elsinore. In addition to the deep mourning 
caused by the great loss he had sustained in his 
father's death, he is, moreover, exceedingly affected 
by his mother's speedy remarriage. The queen, who 
had been loved with tenderness by King Hamlet 
during the thirty years of their married life, and who 
simulated, at the funeral of her husband, the most 
frantic grief, had, nevertheless, but a few brief weeks 
tliereafter, celebrated her nuptials with Claudius, the 
brother of the late lamented king. Prince Hamlet's 
uncle, Claudius, was a prodigal and a hypocrite, who 
bad also contrived to accomplish his election as king 
of Denmark. Hamlet, from this hasty and unseemly 
marriage, and other scandalous incidents which had 
transpired at the court, had long suspected a secret 
crime, and over this he brooded in a melancholy 
which alarmed his friends. Hamlet, moreover, from 
Horatio, and some officers who were devoted to him, 
learned that the ghost of the departed king had ap- 
peared to them on the portico, before the palace, at 
midnight. Prince Hamlet, on hearing this report, ac- 
companies the guard on the following night, and he, 
indeed, discerns in the apparition, which also appears 
to him at midnight, the spirit of his father, who 
informs him that liis sire had not died a natur.al death, 
but had been stealthily poisoned by his brother Clau- 
dius, the now reigning king. The ghost asks Hamlet to 
revenge the murder, but to spare his mother, who had 
been induced to commit adultery by the ignoble 
usurper. Hamlet vows revenge, and at once resolves 
on a plan to carry out this intent. But his righteous 
revenge is delayed by diflSculties. since he does not 
design to commit murder or any other crime, and, 
moreover, respects the injuncti<m concerning his 
mother, whom he did not wish to harm. 

Hamlet, closeted with his royal mother, upbraids her 
with her incestuous m.arriage to his uncle, and his j 
father's murder. His father's ghost, at this moment, ' 
appears to him. The queen, to whom the spirit is 
invisible, seeing Hamlet gaze on and converse with 
empty air, thinks his mind is disordered, and dis- 
plays the greatest consternation. During this inter- 
view Hamlet hears a noise behind the arras, and 
Ixiv 



thinking it to be the king, thrusts his sword through 
the hangings, only to find he has killed Polonius, who 
was eavesdropping. Hamlet now resolves to act like 
one whose mental faculties had become clouded, and 
in this completely succeeds, to all others but his 
friend Horatio. In this affected aberration of mind, 
Hamlet leads the entire court at his will to carry out 
his purpose of judge and avenger; and he also finds 
in this affectation of insanity the means of advising 
his beloved Ophelia to remain single. By a theatrical 
performance before the court, he succeeds in convict- 
ing the king of his crime. Ophelia's mind, distracted 
with the slights of Hamlet and the death of her father, 
gives way, and in pursuit of her insane amusements she 
is drowned. Laertes, Ophelia's brother, is instigated 
by the usurping uncle to fight with Hamlet, and how 
this act of revenge not only causes the death of tlie 
criminal king, but also the poisoning of the queen, 
of Laertes, and Hamlet, the drama fully unfolds. 



In judging of the character of Hamlet, we must get 
rid of the absurdity of supposing him a man of de- 
cision and action, whose hesitation was due only to 
want of conviction of his duty. 

While we all admire his brilliant intellectual gifts 
of wit, sarcasm, reflection, his courage and his vir- 
tues, we must still find him infirm of purpose in his 
diseased view of God's earth and its inhabitants, and 
of life, with his shirkings of duty. But in his uncer- 
tainties about the mysteries of death and of the future 
world Hamlet but typifies each one of us at some time 
or other in our lives. And this is the secret of the at- 
traction of Hamlet over us. How powerfully drawn 
is the scene where Hamlet, rising to nobleness and 
strength, upbraids his mother for her disgraceful adul- 
tery .and treason to his noble father's memory, which 
Hamlet has felt to his inmost soul. And against his 
mother and her sin all the magnificent indignation of 
his purity and virtue speak. We forget his blood- 
stained h.ands in the white-heat intensity of his words. 
In his second interview with Ophelia, he turns to her 
at first with gentle words and affecti*!, which are 
curdled into bitterness and brutality by her offer to 
return his gifts and by seeing her father behind tlie 
arras. 

Horatio, with his fortitude, his self-possession, his 
strong equanimity, is a strong contrast to Hamlet ; and 
Laertes, who takes violent measures at the shortest 
notice to revenge his father's murder, is another con- 
trast in a different way; but then Laertes is the young 
gallant of the period, and his capacity for action arises 
in part from the absence of those moral checks of 
which Hamlet is sensible. Polonius is owner of the 
sh.allow wisdom of this world, and exhibits this gro- 
tesipiely while now, on the brink of dotage, he sees, 
but cannot see through, Hamlet's ironical mockery of 
him. Ophelia is sensitive and affectionate, but the 
reverse of heroic. She fails Hamlet in his need, and 
then in her turn becoming the sufferer, gives way un- 
der her afflictions. We do not honor, we commiserate 
her. 

But whatever vacillation shows in the character of 
Hamlet, his grand, over-mastering purpose of revenge 
for his murdered father never leaves him. Polonius, 
Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, Opheli.a, all whom he thinks 
plotted .ag.ainst him, are by his means dead; and then 
comes the end — the erring queen dying by her guilty 
husband's means, and he shortly following her; La- 
ertes reaping the due reward of treachery, though 
forgiven by Hamlet before dying, and — then the 
death of "that man in Shakespeare we feel most 
pity for." 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



KING LEAR, 

See Page 696. 

THE legend of King Lear and his three daughters 
existed in the medieval ages, in the Latin and 
French versions, and is also found in Iloliushed's 
Chronicler of England, whence Shakespeare obtained 
the material for this drama, written in IGuiJ. 

SCENE. —The Kingdom of Britain. 

Lear, King of Britain, having reached his eightieth 
year, conchnled to resign his crown, and to divide his 
dominion between his three daughters — Goneril, wife 
of the Dulie of Albany; Regan, the wife of the Duke 
of Cornwall; and Cordelia, for whose hand and heart 
the King of France and the Duke of Burgundy are 
wooing. The old king questions his daugliters as to 
which of thom has the greatest love for him, and while 
Goneril and Regan, in the most exaggerated terms ex- 
press their affection, Cordelia, scorning the fulsome 
meanness and hypocrisy of her sisters, declares in clear 
and simple words her childish love for her father. 
Lear, who had always been a fiercely passionate man, 
feels so embittered at the seeming calmness of her re- 
ply, that he rejects and disinherits his formerly favorite 
daughter, and divides his realm between the two elder 
daughters equally. He reserves for himself merely 
the maintenance of his title as king, and a hundred 
knights as attendants. With each of his daughters he 
is to alternately live one month at a time with his 
knightly guard. The Earl of Kent, who naturally 
raises objections against this precipitate action of 
the king, is banished fr(}m the kingdom. Cordelia, 
althougli disinherited and spurned by her father, and 
now rejected by the Duke of Burgundy, is neverthe- 
less chosen as the wife of the King of France, solely 
on account of her virtue, merits, and charms. But 
the real characters of Goneril and Regan soon mani- 
fest themselves. They begin to treat their aged father 
with coldness, and they not only suflEer, but order, more- 
over, that the servants'fail to show the respect due to 
the old king. These unnatural daughters furthermore 
demand the entire dismissal of his guard of one hun- 
dred faithful warriors. Lear flies from Goneril and 
Regan, but only as it were from one trouble to a 
greater, for each sister endeavors to vie with the other 
in mockery and derision. This is too hard for the 
weak old man to bear. In his despair he becomes in- 
sane, and leaves the court at night during a violent 
rainstorm, his daughters closing the door on him. But 
the faithful Kent, in the disguise of an attendant, and 
his fool, accompany Lear through the dismal darkness, 
until the Earl of Gloucester meets them, who had dis- 
carded his son Edgar on account of the slanderous 
accusations by Edmund, his bastard son. In a hovel 
upon the field the earl found his son Edgar, in a 
disguise as poor Tom, and here the poor old king 
with his two faithful friends at last found refuge. 
Through the aid of Gloucester and Kent, King Lear is 
securely brought to the town of Dover, where Cor- 
delia lands with an army from France, for the purpose 
of reinstating her father upon the throne. Goneril 
and Regan, meantime, fall in love with Gloucester's 
bastard son Edmund, and Regan is poisoned in a fit of 
jealousy by her sister, while her husband, the villan- 
ous Cornwall (who had deprived the Earl of Glouces- 
ter of his eyes, for the latter's intercession for the aged 
king), dies by the hand of one of his own servants. 
Goneril ends her accursed career by committing sui- 
cide. Cordelia's army is outnumbered and defeated 
by Edmund's soldiers, and Cordelia and her father are 
captured. After CordeUa had been strangled by an 



assassin hired by Edmund, the latter meets his well- 
deserved fate in a duel with Edgar. Lear dies while 
tenderly clasping in his arms the corpse of Cordelia, 
but Edgar, Kent, and the Duke of Albany remain to 
again firmly estabhsh the much harassed kingdom of 
Britain. 

Lear is especially the play of the breach of family 
ties — the play of horrors, the unnatural cruelty to 
fathers, brothers, and sisters of those who should have 
loved them dearest. Lear, as he is first presented to 
us, is so self-indulgent and unrestrained, so fooled to 
the top of his bent, so terribly unjust, not only to 
Cordelia, but to Kent, that we feel that hardly any 
punishment is too bad for him. Stripped of power 
by his own rash folly, his own fool teaches him 
what a fool he has been. When he has come to him- 
self, cut off the fiatterers who surrounded him, and 
realizes the consequences of his own folly, our sympa- 
thy for him melts into tender pity. The pathos of his 
recognition of Cordelia, his submission to her, and 
seeking her blessing, his lamentation over her corpse, 
are exceeded by nothing in Shakespeare. Note the 
wonderful power of this last scene — the poor old 
king, bending with piteous lamentations over the dead 
body of his murdered daughter, trying to raise her to 
life, and, failing, relapsing into the dread torpor of de- 
spairing insanity. Cordelia is the sun above the depths 
shown in the natures of her sisters Goneril and Regan. 
The noble and long-suffering Kent is a fine character. 
Edgar and Edmund are a contrasted pair; both are 
men of penetration, energy, and skill — Edgar on the 
side of good, Edmund on the side of evil. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF TENICE. 

See Page 72%. 

BASED upon a romance contained in the Italian collec- 
tion of " Ilecatomithi," by Giraldi Cinthio, this trag- 
edy was written in 1612 and first entered at Stationers' 
Hall, Oct. 6th, 1621, being printed in the following year. 

SCENE. — During the First Act in Venice ; 
during the rest of the drama at a seaport 
to'wn in Cyprus. 

Othello, a courageous Moor, and able commander-in- 
chief in the service of the republic of Venice, wins 
the love of Desdemona, a noble Venetian lady, and only 
daughter of the Senator Brabantio. The marriage 
secretly concluded between them is not acknowl- 
edged by the father, who deems the aftinity of his 
daughter for a Moor, celebrated though he might be, 
as inexplicable and unnatural, and that only by spells 
and witchcraft could the fair Desdemona have been 
seduced to marry Othello, without the consent of her 
parent. At this juncture the services of the gallant 
Moor are needed by the repuljlic of Venice to repel 
the invasion by the Turks of the island of Cyprus. 
Othello, accompanied by Desdemona, his wife, Cassio, 
his lieutenant, and lago, his ensign, with lago's wife, 
Emiha (the latter acting as attendant to Desdemona), 
accompanies the party. A storm scattered the Turkish 
fleet ; but another tempest is rising against the peace 
of Othello, stirred up by a devil in the form of a hu- 
man being. lago entertains a deadly hati'ed against 
Othello, partly because he accuses him of having had 
in the past an illicit connection with his wife Emilia, 
and partly because Othello had preferred Cassio and 
had appointed him to a vacancy of a higher rank; 
whereas lago believes he, from his bravery and knowl- 
edge, was fairly entitled to that place. lago therefore 
Ixv 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



plans a terrible revenge whereby he wishes to destroy 
the Moor, Desdemona, and several others. During a 
festival ho induces Cassio, who happened to be officer 
of the guard, to partake of wine. A quarrel is tluis cun- 
ningly contrived, Oassio giving great offence, and even 
using his drawn sword. The alann-bell is sounded, 
which brings the general to the scene, and Cassio 
loses his lieutenancy. The unfortunate officer, brought 
to despair by the loss of his position, his unhappiness 
still further enhanced by the displeasure of his gen- 
eral, applies to Desdemona, who, through her womanly 
sympathy, becomes his warm defender and intercessor, 
tlie more because he during her courtship had acted as 
tlie bearer of the missives between herself and Othello. 
Cassio, while beseeching his high-spirited patroness to 
intercede for his reinstatement, at the approach of the 
Moor quickly withdraws from her presence ; lago cun- 
ningly uses the fatal movement by ingeniously devised 
hints, which &waken the jealous feelings of Othello; 
and in further explanation of this conduct beguiles 
Othello, by telling him that a woman who had de- 
ceived her old father in such a clever way, could also 
be easily induced to betray her husband. Desdemona 
having received from Othello a handkerchief, the gift 
of the Moor's mother to her son, is asked for it by 
Othello. This handkerchief had been stolen from her 
for the purpose of exciting her husband's jealousy. 
Innocent how she had lost it, Desdemona apologizes, 
but Othello, believing this to be but a confirmation of 
lago's charges against his wife's chastity, becomes en- 
raged, and quits her with fierce injunctions to seek the 
handkerchief immediately and bring it to him. Wild 
with jealous frenzy, and resolved on her death for her 
supposed infidelity, Othello enters his wife's chamber at 
midnight, awakens her, charges her with having loved 
Cassio, and, notwithstanding Desdemona's protestations 
of innocence, smothers her while entreating for mercy. 
Immediately upon this tragedy Desdemona's inno- 
cence is brought to light, by the explanations of 
lago's wife Emilia, for which her husb.and fatally 
stabs her. Othello's anguish on realizing that he was 
the murderer of his innocent and trusting wife, who 
had ever been tenderly faithful to him, was so great 
that he fell upon his sword, and died pressing a last 
pai'ting kiss on the lips of his dead wife. 



The magnificent third act of this play is thought by 
many commentators to be Shakespeare's masterpiece. 
Othello has a free and noble nature, naturally trust- 
ful, with a kind of grand innocence, retaining some of 
his simpleness of soul amid the subtle and astute Ve- 
netian politicians. All that he tells of himself wins 
our hearts, like Desdemona's, to him. Of regal de- 
scent, no boaster, but a doer, he has no self-distrust 
when dealing with men. He commands like a full 
soldier. Although he tells a " round unvarnished 
tale," yet we see in it proof of that imaginative power 
which, imposed on by the satanic lago, was the cause of 
all his sorrow. There is no character in Shakespeare's 
plays so full of serpentine power and serpentine poison 
as lago — " honest lago." Othello has every manly 
virtue, and his love is so devoted that he can give up 
war for it. The first note of coming discord is struck 
by lago's " I like not that," and the first real suspicion 
is in Othello's " By heaven, he echoes me." But 
when, owing to lago's insinuations, jealousy has once 
taken hold of Othello's mind — he only knowing till 
tlien woman's nature through the followers of the 
c«rap — imagination works with terrible rapidity. 
The liglit of love which lit his face when he before 
met Desdemona, when he yielded to her first en- 
treaties for Cassio, leaves him never to return. Des- 
Ixvi 



deraona's ill-starred answers, coupled with lago's cun- 
ning promptings, hurry on poor Desdemona's death. 
Thun comes the disclosure of the dnpe he has been; 
and the kiss with which he dies, shows where his love 
still was, and pleads for him. A noble nature "per- 
plext in the extreme." Cassio, notwithstanding his , 
moral weaknesses, has a chivalrous nature, and has an 
enthusiastic admiration for his great general and the 
beautiful lady, his wife. Emilia may be compared to 
Paulina, in the Winter^s Tale. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 

See Pago 748. 

PLUTARCH'S fife of Antony was the source from 
which Shakespeare gleaned the historical data for 
this tragedy, which was entered in the Stationers' 
book May 2, 1606, and was, according to the conjec- 
ture of Malone, composed in the same year. It was 
not, however, printed till the folio of 1623. 

SCENE. — In different parts of the Roman 
Empire. 

After the pitched battle of Philippi, where the last 
remaining force of the republic under Brutus and 
Cassius met with utter defeat, upon the division of the 
Roman territories ensuing, Asia fell to the ])ossession 
of Mark Antony, who ruled that country as an auto- 
crat with unlimited power, and became a slave to his 
love for pomp and display. In this condition he is 
mastered by an irresistible love for Cleopatra, the 
widowed Queen of Egypt. At Tarsus he met her for 
the first time, and, spellbound by the power of her 
charms, was induced by her to follow her to Alexan- 
dria, where he idled away his time amid pleasures and 
festivities. Bad news from Rome awaljens him from 
the intoxication of his amorous pleasures, and he, 
with heavy heart, tears himself away from Cleopatra, 
and hastens back to Italy. Here a reconciliation takes 
place, not only between himself and Octavius, but also 
between the triumWrs and SextusPompei«s (Pompey). 
To strengthen this renewed friendship, Antony married 
Octavia, the beautiful sister of Octavius Caesar, wfto 
accompanied her husband to the seat of his govcrn- 
.ment in the eastern provinces of Rome. Meantime, 
Pompeius had, despite all agreement, again renewed 
hostilities, and as Lepidus (who had supported Oo- 
ta's'ius in this engagement) now demanded an increase 
of power, he deprives him also, without raising a 
sword, of his army and dignity. These successes of 
Octavius alarmed Mark Antony, who sends his wife 
from Athens to Rome as a mediator, while he himself 
goes to Egypt, and at Alexandria commences the 
former life of luxurious pleasure in company with 
Cleopatra. A breach between Mark Antony and Octa- 
vius Ca3sar now becomes unavoidable, and f he fortunes 
of war must decide between them. Antony, with 
Dioraed, his general, takes a last farewell of Cleo- 
patra preparatory to a battle with Ca.-sar, who is 
now encamped before the walls of Alexandria. An- 
tony recommends Diomed to the queen's sjiecial favor, 
who promises to reward him. An attendant brings 
Antony's helmet, and a slave puts on his sandals, while 
the Queen of Egypt, presaging his fate, is loth to part. 
Antony for the last time tries the fortunes of war, at 
first with some show of success, but is soon deserted 
by the fleet, which consists chiefly of Egyptian vessels, 
and, being also defeated on land, flies in despair to 
Alexandria, under the delusion that Cleopatra had 
betrayed him. The latter, to escape his ill-humor, 
goes lierself to a temple, and is announc(?d as having 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



Antony, on hearing the sad news, falls on his 
but not being killed, and learning that Cleo- 
iis still alive, causes himself to be carried to 
-'lii', w 'hat he may die in her arms. Octavius extends 
to Cleopatra his protection and sympathy, but sends 
his friend, Proculeius, to keep strict guard over her, 
hoping to take the young queen to Rome to grace his 
triumph; but Cleopatra, acquainted with the defeat 
and death of Antony, and anticipating her own treat- 
ment from the conqueror, applies asps to her bosom 
and dies. Charmian, her faithful maid, follows her 
mistress's example, but before dying has time to relate 
to Caisar's guards, who are breaking in, the tragic 
death of Egj-pt's queen. 



Nowhere else does Shakespeare appear a greater 
master of a great dramatic theme. In Julius Ciesar 
we are prepared for any outbreak on the part of Mark 
Antony — by the wildness of his blood and want of a 
noble purpose in his ordinary pursuits, by his selfish- 
ness and unscrupulousness, too ; by liis proposal to 
sacrifice Lepidus. And though the redeeming quaU- 
ties of his nature might be thought to be shown in his 
love for Ca3sar, his appeal to the people for revenge, 
and his skill in mauiiging them ; yet in liis'develop- 
ment lust and self-indulgence prevail, and under their 
infiuence he loses judgment, soldiership, and even 
the qualities of a man. His seeming impulse towards 
good in his marriage with Octavia lasts but for a tinie 
— all her nobleness and virtue cannot save him. He 
turns from this gem among women to the luxurious 
Egyptian, and abides by his infatuation even when he 
knows he is deceived. How powerful is the story 
wrought out of the great soldier sinking to his ruin 
under the gorgeous colorings of the Eastern skies and 
the varying splendors of the lustful queen ! " She 
makes hungry, where most she satisfies." To Cleo- 
patra it is hardly possible to do justice here. The 
wonderful way in which Shakespeare has brought out 
tlie characteristics of this sumptuous, queenly harlot, 
goes tar beyond all his previous studies of women. 
The contrast between her and the noble Roman lady 
Octana, to whom her wavering husband bears such 
favorable witness, is most marked and most interest- 
ing. Enobarbus, who sees through every wile and guile 
of the queen, is, as it were, the chorus of the play. 



CYMBELINE. 

See Page 775. 

CYMBELINE, the king from whom the play takes 
its title, began his reign, according to Holinshed, 
in the nineteenth year of the reign of Augustus Cwsar, 
and the scene of the tragedy commences about the 
twenty-fourth year of Cymbeline's reign in Britain, 
t. «., in the sixteenth year of the Christian era. This 
play was written, according to Malone, in 1605, and, 
according to Chalmers, in 160fi. 

SCENE. — In Britain and in Italy. 

Cymbeline's first wife died when his three children 
(two sons and a daughter) were very young. Imogen, 
the eldest of these children, was brought up in her 
father's court, but the two sons were stolen out of 
tlieir nursery during their infancy, and no trace of 
what had become of them, nor by whom they had 
been abducted, could be discovered. Cymbeline was 
again married. His second spouse w.is a wicked, ])lot- 
frnnr «r.,nvin nnil f-rfrpinely crucI to her Stepchild Imo- 



gen, and yet, despite this hatred, desired her to marry 
Cloten, a son of her own by a former husband ; since 
by this means she hoped, at the death of her husband, 
to place the crown of Britain upon the head of Cloten, 
her own offspring. She was aware that if the lost 
children were not found, the princess Imogen would 
be the sole heir of the king. But this design was 
spoiled by Imogen herself, who married, without the 
consent or even knowledge of her father or the queen, 
an accomplished gentleman named Posthumus, whose 
father had died a soldier's death in the wars for Cym- 
behne, and his mother, soon after his birth, died also 
for grief at the loss of her husband. Imogen and 
Posthumus grew up at court, and were playfellows 
from their infancy. When Cymbeline heard" of this 
marriage, he banished Posthumus from his native land 
forever. The queen, wlio pretended to pity Imogen 
for the grief she suffered at losing her husband, otTered 
to procure them a private meeting before Posthumus 
set out on his. journey to Rome, whence he intended 
to go. The young couple took a most affectionate 
leave of each other. Imogen gave her husband a dia- 
mond ring, which h.id been her mother's, and Posthu- 
mus promised never to part with this ring; he also 
fastened a bracelet on the arm of his wife, which he 
prayed she would preserve carefully as a token of his 
love, and both vowed eternal love and fidelity. 

Imogen remained a solitary and sad lady in her 
father's palace, and Posthumus reached Rome, where 
he fell into company with some gay young men of dif- 
ferent nations, each one of them praising the ladies of 
his own country, and his own love. Posthumus, who 
praised his own dear Imogen as the most virtuous and 
constant woman in the world, offended by this speech 
a gentleman named lachimo, who felt aggrieved that 
a lady of Britain should be so praised above the re- 
fined Roman ladies, his countrywomen. 

Posthumus, having wagered with lachimo his ring 
against a sum of gold, tliat the chastity of his wife 
Imogen was invulnerable, the artful Italian, who had 
journeyed to Cymbeline's palace in Britain, contrivee 
to hide himself in her bed-chamber, and thus furnishes 
himself with particulars in describing her person and 
her apartment, and, as a further evidence, by stealing 
her bracelet, in order to induce Posthumus to give 
him the ring. Returning from Britain with tlie tokens 
he has stolen, lachimo claims from Posthumus the 
forfeit of his wife's infidelity. Posthumus at first 
doubts, as does his friend Philario, but lachimo's 
proofs are so strong, that he at length yields to their 
force, gives him indignantly the ring, and vows ven- 
geance on Imogen. Posthumus, now convinced of his 
wife's inconstancy, employs his servant Pisanio to 
pair to Britain for the purpose of murdering her ; 
Pisanio, in the full belief of Imogen's innocence, 
vises her to disguise and absent herself for a time fi 
her father's court, and wait till her truth can be m ,. 
apparent. Wandering in pursuit of this advice, i--. 
became very tired, and a kind Providence stranj 
directed her steps to the dwelling of her long- 
brothers, stolen in infancy by Belarius, a former 
in the court of Cymbelipe. Belarius, banished 
alleged treason, had brought the princes up in a foi 
where he lived concealed in a cave. At this ca\ 

was Imogen's fortune to arrive, and she entereu 

once. On looking about, she discovered some meat, 
which she began to eat. Her two brothers, who had 
been hunting with their reputed father, Belarius, by 
this time had returned home, and discovering the fair 
wanderer, imagined there was an angel in the cave, so 
beautiful did Imogen look in her boy's apparel. Imo- 
gen now addressed them, and begged pardon for her in- 
trusion, oflfering money for what she had eaten, which 
Lsvii 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



they refused to accept. They invited her (or rather 
him, as slie is introduced by the name Fidele,) to re- 
main until rested sufficiently to pursue the journey. 
When the brothers again were going out to hunt, Fi- 
dele could not accompany them, because she felt indis- 
posed. No sooner was Imogen left alone than she 
recollected the cordial which Pisanio had given her, 
drank it, and instantly fell into a death-like sleep. The 
phial containing this drug had been given to Pisanio 
by the queen, who hated him, she having ordered lier 
physician to give her some poison, but knowing her 
malicious disposition, the physician gave her a drug 
which would cause a person to sleep with every ap- 
pearance of death. When Belarius and Imogen's two 
brothers returned to the cave, they discovered that 
Fidele could not be awakened i>y any noise; deeming 
her dead, they carried her to a shady covert, and de- 
parted very sorrowful. Imogen had not been long 
left alone, when she awoke. Shaking oft' the leaves 
and flowers thrown on her, she arose, and began to re- 
sume her weary pilgrimage, still in her masculine attire, 
to seek her husband. Meantime a war had broken out 
between the Roman emperor and Cymbeline ; and a 
Eoman array, having landed to invade Britain, had 
advanced into the forest where Imogen was journey- 
ing. She was captured, and made page to Lucius, 
the Roman genei-al. Posthumus came with this army, 
not to fight on their side, but in the cause of the king 
who had banished him. A great battle ensued, which, 
owing to the extraordinary valor of Posthumus and 
the two long-lost sons of Cymbeline, proved a great 
victory to the Britons. When the battle was over, 
Posthumus surrendered himself to the officers of Cym- 
beline. Belarius, Imogen, and her master, Lucius, 
being taken prisoners, were brought before the 
king. Belarius, with Polydore and Cadwal, were also 
brought before Cymbeline, to receive the rewards for 
the great services they had rendered. Belarius chose 
the occasion to make his confession, and is forgiven. 
Cymbeline, overjoyed in having recovered his two 
sons, is reconciled with Posthumus and Imogen, and 
grants the life of the Roman general Lucius at his 
daughter's request. Even the treacherous lachimo, 
who was among the captives, was dismissed without 
punishment, ivfter acknowledging his villany, and con- 
fessing how he had obtained the diamond ring found 
glittering on his finger. 



Imogen is a character it is almost impertinence to 
praise. She has all Juliet's impetuous aff'ection ; but 
she is wiser far, and stands far above Posthumus. 
Compare her receiving lachimo's assertions of Post- 
humus's infidelity with Posthumus receiving those 
against her. Note her noble indignation against 
lachimo's base proposals to her, in which the prin- 
cess, as well as the wife, speaks; and then how clev- 
erly the villain pacifies her by praising her husband. 
Great is the pathos of her words over the lost brace- 
let. Then comes the meeting with her unknown 
brothers after she has heard her husband's slander ; 
and then her seeming death. But she rises again, 
milike the unhappy Juliet, to relive her hfe more 
truly than before — the queen, the life, the wife, of 
the husband she has lifted to hei-self, the sister of 
those gallant brothers, the daughter of the father, of 
whose comfort she was a great part. Posthumus's 
faith in Imogen is of the half-romantic kind ; he 
does not understand the value of the woman he has 
won, and hence the sudden overthrow of that faith. 
Cloten is the aristocratic fool, thick-witted and vio- 
lent, and with all the coarse conceit of a high-born 
boor. 

Ixviii 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 

See Page 803. 

THE story on which this jilay is formed is of great 
antiquity. Shakespeare probably gleaned it from 
Lawrence Twine's novel, entitled "The Pattern of 
Painfull Adventures," published in 1567. That he also 
knew the treatise based on the same matter, viz., 
"Confessio Amantus," by Gower, appears already from 
the role of the chorus, which Shakespeare convej'S to 
this ancient English poet for the elucidation of the 
plot and the connection of the various scenes. The 
English poet Dryden, in the prologue to his tragedy, 
"Circe" (1677), calls "Pericles the first work born to 
Shakespeare's muse." This tragedy was entered at 
Stationers' Hall, May 2, 160S, by Edward Blount, one 
of the printers of the first folio edition of Shake- 
speare's works ; but it did not appear in print until 
the following year, and then it was published not by 
Blount, but by Henry Gosson. 

SCENE. — In various countries. 

Antiochus, king of Antioch, desirous of having his 
daughter remain unmarried, and thus in his own keep- 
ing at the palace of his court, causes her suitors to 
be slain if they are unable to solve a riddle which he 
submits to them. In this way the great beauty of the 
young princess, who is presumed to be a virgin, be- 
comes a fatal snare to the lives of numerous wooers, 
who, while burning with ardent love for her, rashly 
undertake the great task of trying to untangle the 
puzzle. At last the enigma is solved by Pericles, 
Prince of Tyre, who at once resigns all his claims on 
the fair girl, since he has learned with horror, from 
the solution of the riddle, that king ami princess — 
father and daughter — lived together in incest. Not- 
withstanding this refusal to marry the princess, Peri- 
cles is invited by Antioch to remain as a visitor at 
his court for some time. But the Prince of Tyre con- 
cluded not to stay, since it had been intimated to him 
that this invitation was merely extended to consum- 
mate his murder, Antiochus fearing the circulation 
of the report of his nefarious conduct and that of his 
unchaste daughter. Pericles hastened away to Tyre, 
but even in that city he does not feel secure against 
the persecution of Antioch, and, fearing that his pres- 
ence at home might embroil the people of his country 
in war, resolves to go abroad for pleasure, meantime 
intrusting his government to the care of Helicanus, a' 
lord of his court and one of his most faithful advisers. 
Pericles goes to Tarsus, where he soon becomes be- 
loved, and moreover ingratiates himself with the 
people by rendering them aid in a terrible famine, by 
supplying them with stores of provisions for their 
relief. Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, prevails on 
Pericles to settle in his country, but Pericles declines, 
and on resuming his travels he is driven by a storm at 
sea to the coast of Pentapolis, where he, as victor in a 
tournament, wins the hand of the fair Princess Thaisa, 
daughter of King Simonides. After staying a year at the 
court of his father-in-law, Pericles starts on his return 
home, having previously heard the news of Antioehus's 
demise. The sea, never a friend to Pericles, treated 
him badly, for scarcely had the vessel set sail when 
another gale nearly wrecked the ship. The young 
wife of Pericles, who accompanied him, was terribly 
frightened by the fierceness of the tempest, and during 
its prevalence was confined and delivered of a d.augh- 
ter, who, being born at sea, received the name Marina 
— that is, " the sea-born." Thaisa while in childbed 
is aflBicted with spasms and convulsions, and in this 
state, taken for dead, Is placed in a well-sealed casket 



THE PLOTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 



' thrown in the sea, hecause the storm, which was 
racing with unabated violence, worked on the 
rstitioiis sailors, who did not think the sea would 
me calm again so long as a dead body was on 
board. The waves drifted the casket towards the 
shores of Ephesus, where Ceriinon, a noble physician 
of great renown, soon succeeded, by means of his 
science and art, in reviving the apparently dead Thaisa, 
and restoring her again to life and vigor. Thaisa now 
enters the temple of Diana as a priestess to serve that 
goddess. Meantime, her husband, Pericles, filled with 
a consuming melancholy, had intrusted his daughter 
to the care of Cleon and his wife Dionyza, and left 
Tarsus for his home in Tyre. Marina grew up at the 
palace of her foster-parents, and when she had re,ached 
her fourteenth year, by her matchless beauty and 
unequalled mental gifts, provokes the jealousy and 
envy of her foster-mother, whose daughter, Philoten, 
was entirely obscured by the brilliant charms of 
Marina. Dionyza, determined to rid herself of such a 
rival, hires an assassin, who is just in the act of mur- 
dering the fair Marina when he is deprived of his victim 
by the sudden interference of some pirates, who wrest 
Mai'ina from his clutches and escape with their fair 
prize to Mitylene, where they sell her to the keeper 
of a brothel. But the virtuous Marina knows not 
only how to keep herself pure and undefiled in the 
house of lust and sin, but also how to so impress her 
vicious tempters th.at they desist from their immoral 
practices. Through the intercession of the governor 
of Mitj'lene, Marina obtains her liberty, and by virtue 
of her many talents is enabled to maintain herself 
until she is found by her father, who, driven by melan- 
choly and despair, had again set out on his travels, and 
by a strange chance reached Mitylene, whence father 
and daughter embark for Ephesus. Here, visiting the 
temple of Diana, father and daughter have the inex- 
pressible joy of tindiug in the high-priestess the long- 
lost wife and mother. 

The drama concludes with Pericles and Thaisa bless- 
ing the nuptials of their daughter and Lysimachus, 
the governor of Mitylene, and giving the crown of 
Tyrus as a wedding-gift to the happy couple. Cleon 
and Dionyza, the wicked foster-mother of Thaisa, met 
with a sad but deserved fate at the hands of their own 
outraged people, who, enraged at their ingratitude 
towards Pericles — the friend of the citizens in their 
great extremity — set fire to the palace, which was 
burned with all its occupants in one general funeral pyre. 



SHAKESPEARE'S POEMS. 

See Page 838. 

BESIDES the thirty-seven plays eont,ained in this edi- 
tion, Shakespeare wrote the following poems, which 
were at first published separately. In Venusand Adonis, 
entered in the Stationers' register, and printed in 1503, 
we have the s.ime luxuriance of fancy, the same inten- 
sity of passion as in Eomeo and Juliet, unlawful as the 
indulgence in that passion is. From whatever source 
came the impulse to take from Ovid the heated story 
of the fierce hist of the heathen goddess, we cannot 
forbear noticing how, through this stifling atmosphere, 
the great poet has blown the fresh breezes of English 
meadows and woodlands. No play has fuller evidence 
of Shakespeare's intimate knowledge and intense de- 
light in country scenes and sights. This poem was 
printed six times during Shakespeare's life, and was 
dedicated by Shakespeare, when twenty-nine years of 
age, to the young Earl of Southampton. The Rape of 
Lucrece followed, 159-1, and was also dedicated to 
Southampton, as " the first heir of my invention," who, 
according to Sir William d'Avenant's statement, pre- 
sented tlie poet with the sum of £1000, so he might 
make some purchase. If the incident is accepted as a 
fact, it is honor.able to the liberality as well as the culti- 
vated taste of the Earl of Southampton, and shows that 
the "poor Warwickshire lad" met with a munificent 
patron at an early stage of his literary career. The 
Passionate Pilgrim was printed in 1599; A Lover's 
Complaint, not dated; and a collection of Sonnets 
appeared in 1009. That some of these sonnets existed 
in 1598 we now know. They are so evidently intensely 
autobiographic and self-revealing, so one with the 
spirit .and inner meaning of Shakespeare's growth and 
life, that we cannot take them in any other way than 
as the records of his loves and fears. Shakespeare 
admirers are so anxious to remove any seeming stain 
from the character of tlieir ideal, that they deny that 
these sonnets are life pictures, forgetting how great is 
the difterence between our times and those of Queen 
Elizabeth, and that an intimacy now thought crim- 
inal was then, in certain circles, nearly as common as 
hand-shaking is with us. "There are some men who 
love for 'love's sake,' .and loving once love always; 
and of these was Shakespeare," says a distinguished 
author. "They do not lightly give their love, but 
once given, their faith is incorporate with their being." 
Lsix 




CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER 

In which the Plays of Shakespeare are supposed to have been written, ac- 
cording to the arrangements of 

CHALMERS, MALONE, AND DR. DRAKE. 

Chalmers and Malone reject Titus Andronieus and Pericles 
as spurious. Dr. Drake does not notice the former play, but, 
on the authority of Dryden, admits the latter as genuine, and 
supposes it to have been produced in ISGO. The dates which 
they severally ascribe to the remaining plays are as follows: 



The Comedy of Errors 

Love's Labour's Lost 

Romeo and Juliet 

Henrt VL, First Part . . . . 
ITexry VL, Second Part .... 
Henry VL, Third Part . . . . 
The Two Gentlemen of Verona . 

Riodard III 

RiOIIARD II 

The Merrt Wives of Windsor . . 

Henry IV., Fiiwt Part 

Henry IV., Second Part . . . . 

Henry V. 

The Meeoiiant of Venice .... 

•Hamlet 

Kino John 

A Midsummer-Night's Dream . . 
The Taming- of the Shrew . . . 
All 's Well that Ends Well . . 
Much Ado about Kothinq . . . 

As You Like It 

Troilus and Cressida 

Ti.MON of Athens 

The Winter's Tale 

Measure foe Measure 

King Lear 

Cymbeline 

Macbeth 

Julius Cesar 

Antony and Cleopatra . . . . 

coriolanus 

The Tempest 

Twelfth Night; or, What Tou Will 

Henry VHI 

Othello 



Chalmer.s. 


Malone. 


1591 


1592 


1592 


1594 


1592 


1596 


1593 


1589 


1595 


1591 


1595 


1591 


1595 


1591 


1595 


1593 


1596 


1598 


1596 


1601 


1596 


1597 


1597 


1599 


1597 


1599 


1597 


1594 


1597 


1600 


1598 


1596 


1598 


1594 


1598 


1596 


1599 


1606 


1599 


1600 


1599 


1599 


1600 


1602 


1601 


1610 


1601 


1611 


1604 


1603 


1605 


1605 


1606 


1609 


1606 


1606 


1607 


1607 


• 1608 


1608 


1609 


1610 


1613 


1611 


1613 


1607 


1613 


1603 


1614 


1604 



1591 
1591 
1593 
1593 
1592 

1595 
1595 
1596 
1601 
1596 
1596 
1599 
1597 
1597 
1598 
1593 
1594 
1598 
1599 
1600 
1601 
1602 
1610 
1603 
1604 
1605 
1606 
1607 
1608 
1609 
1611 
1613 
1602 
1612 



Ixs 



THE TEMPEST. 



DBAMATIS PERSONS. 



Alonso, King of Naples. 

Sebastian, his brotlier. 

Prospero, tlie riglit Duke of Milan. 

Antonio, liis brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. 

Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples. 

Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor. 

Adrian, ) , 

Francisco. } ^'^^- 

Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. 

Trinculo, a Jester. 

Stephano, a drunken Butler. 

Master of a Ship. 

[For an Analysis of the 



Boatswain. 

Mariners. 

Miranda, daughter to Prospero. 

Ariel, an airy Spirit. 

Iris, 



presented by Spirits. 



Other Spirits attending on Prospero. 
SCENE — A ship at Sea; an island. 
ly, see Page XLI.] 




^CT I. 



SCENE I. — On a s/ojj at sea: a tempestumis iioise 
of thunder eind liyhtning heard. 

Enter a Ship-Master and a Boatswain, 

3Inst. Boatswain ! 
Boats. Here, master : what cheer ? 
Mast. Good, speak to the mariners : fall to 't, 
yarely, or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. 

[Exit. 
Enter Mariners. 

Boats. Heigh, my hearts! clieerly, cheerly, my 
hearts! y are, yare ! Take in the topsail. Tend to 
the master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy 
wind, if room enough ! 

Emei- Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, 
Gronzalo, and others. 

Alan. Gooil 'i^atswain, liave care. "Where 's the 
master ? Play the men. 

Boats. I pray now, keep below. 

Ant. Where' is the master, boatswain ? 

Boats. Do you not hear him ? You mar our 
labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the. storm. 

Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 

Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! AVliat cares 
these roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : 
silence ! trouble us not. 

Oon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. 

Boats. None that I more love than myself. You 
are a counsellor ; if you can command these ele- 
ments to silence, and work the peace of the present, 
we will not liand a rope more ; use your authority : 
if you cannot, give tlianks you have lived so long, 
and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mis- 
chance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good 
hearts ! Out of our way, I say. [Exit. 

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : me- 
thinks he hath no drowiiing mark upon him ; his 
complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good 
Fate, to his hanging : make the rojie of his destiny 
our cable, for our o^\^l doth little advantage. If he 
be not bom to be hanged, our case is miserable. 

[Exeunt. 



He-enter Boatswain. 
Boetts. Down with the topmast ! yare ! lower, 
lower ! Bring her to trj' with main-course. [^4 cri/ 
trjthin.] A plague upon this howling! they are 
louder than the weather or oiu- ollice. 

Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
Yet again ! what do you here ? Shall we give o'er 
and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ":' 

Scb. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blas- 
phemous, incharitable dog ! 

Boats. Work you then. 

Ant. Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent 
noisemaker! We are less afraid to be dro\raed 
than thou art. 

Gon. I '11 warrant him for dro'wning'; though the 
ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky 
as an luistanehed wench. 

Boats. Lay her a-liold, a-hold ! set her two courses 
oft to sea again ; lay her off. 

Enter Mariners vet. 

Mariners. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! 

Boats. Wliat, must our mouths be cold '? 

Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let 's assist 
For our case is as theirs. [them, 

Seb. I 'm out of patience. 

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunk- 
ards : 
This wide-chapp'd rascal — would thou mightst lie 

drowiiing 
The washing of ten tides ! 

Gon. Jle '11 be hang'd yet, 

Though every drop of water swear against it 
And gape at widest to glut him. 
[^l confused noise irithin : ' Jlercy on us ! ' — 
' We split, we split ! ' — ' Farewell my wife and chil- 
dren ! '— [split ! '] 
'Farewell, brother!' — 'We split, we split, we 

Ant. Let 's all sink with the king. 

Seb. Let 's take leave of him. 

[Exeunt Ant. and Seb. 

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 
sea for an acre of barren groimd, long heath, brown 
furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I 
would fain die a dry death. [Exeunt. 



ACT I. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE II. 



SCENE II. — Tht island. Before Prosperous cell. 

Enter Prospero and Miranda. 
Mir. If by your art, my clearest father, you have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. 
The sky, it seems, would poiu- down stinking pitch, 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek. 
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered 
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, 
Wlio had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish 'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere 
It .should tlie good sliip so have swallow'd and 
Tlie fraughting souls within her. 

Pros. Be collected : 

No more amazement : tell your piteous heart 
There 's no harm done. 
Mir. O, woe the day! 

Pros. , No harm. 

I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who 
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better 
Tlian Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 
And thy no greater father. 

Mir. More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

Pros. 'T is time 

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from me. So : 

[Lai/s down his mantle. 
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou' thine eyes; have 

comfort. 
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch 'd 
Tlie very virtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with sucli provision in mine art 
So safely ordered that there is no soul — 
No, not so much perdition as an hair 
Betid to any creature in the vessel 
Whicli tliou lieard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. 

Sit down ; 
For thou must now luiow farther. 

Mir. You have often 

Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd 
And left me to a bootless inquisition, 
Concluding ' Stay : not yet.' 

Pros. The hour 's now come ; 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; 
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
A time before we came unto this cell ? 
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not 
Out tlu'ee years old. 
Mir. Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pros. By what ? by any other house or person ? 
Of any thing tlie image tell me that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mir. 'Tisfaroff 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 
That ray reinembiance warrants. Had I not 
Four or five women once that tended me ? [is it 
Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how 
That this lives in thy mind ? AVhat seest thou else 
In the dark backward ami abysm of time? 
If thou remenilicr'st aught ere thou earnest here. 
How thou earnest here tliou mayst. 
Mir. But that I do not. 

Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year 
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and [since, 

A prince of power. 
Mir. Sir, are not you my father ? 

Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said thou wiist my daughter; and thy father 
Was Duke of :MiUui ; and thou his only heir 
And princess no worse issued. 
Mir. O the heavens ! 

2 



Wliat foul play had we, that we came fi-om thence ? 
Or blessed was 't we did V 

Pros. Both, both, my girl : 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence, 
But blessedly help hither. 

Mir. O, my heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen that I have turn 'd you to. 
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther. 
Pr. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio — 
I pray tliee, mark me — that a brother .should 
Be so perfidious! — he whom next thyself 
Of all the world I loved and to him i)ut 
The manage of my state; as at that time 
Tlirough all the signories it was the first 
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed 
In dignity, and for the liberal arts 
Without a parallel; those being all my study, 
The government I cast upon my brother 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported 
And rapt in secret studies. "Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me ? 
Mir. Sir, most heedfully. 

Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
How to deny therii, who to advance and who 
To trash for over-topping, new created 
The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em. 
Or else new fonn'd 'em ; having both the key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state 
To wliat tune pleased his ear ; that now he was 
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, [not. 
And suck'd my verdure out on 't. Thou atteud'st 
Mir. O, good sir, I do. 

Pros. I pray thee, mark me. 

I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 
To closeness and the bettering of my mind 
With that which, but by being so retired, 
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awaked an evil nature ; and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood in its contrary as great 
As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
But what my power miglit else exact, like one 
Who having into truth, by telling of it, 
Made such a sinner of his memory. 
To credit his owni lie, he did believe 
He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution, 
And executing the outward face of royalty, 
AVitli all prerogative : hence his ambition growing- 
Dost thou hear ? 
Mir. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 

Pros. To have no screen between this part he 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be [iilayVl 
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library 
Was dukedom large enough : of temporal royalties 
He thinks me now incapable; confederates — 
So dry lie was for sway — wi' the King of Naples 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage, 
Subject liis coronet to his crown and bend 
The dukedom yet unbow'd — alas, poor Milan ! — 
To most ignoble stooping. 
Mir. O the heavens! 

Pros. Mark his condition and the event ; then tell 
If this might be a brother. [me 

3/(7-. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
Good wombs have" borne bad sons. 

Pros. Now the condition. 

This King of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; 
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises 
Of homage and I know not how much tribute, 
Should pri'sentlv extirpate me and mine 
Out of the dukeilom and confer fair Milan 
With all the honours on my brother: whereon, 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight 



ACT I. 



THE TE3IPEST. 



SCENE II. 



Fated to the purpose did Antonio open 
Tlie gates of itilan, and, i' tlie dead of darkness, 
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me and thy crying self. 

Mil-. Alack, for pity I 

I, not remembering how I cried out theu, 
Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint 
That wrings mine eyes to 't. 

Pms. Hear a little further 

And then I '11 bring thee to the present business 
Which now 's upon 's; without the which tliis story 
Were most impertinent. 

Mir. Wherefore did they not 

Tliat liour destroy us ? 

Pros. Well demanded, wench : 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, 
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business, but 
With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
lu few, they hurried us aboard a bark, 
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepared 
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us. 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh 
To the winds whose pity, sighiug back again, 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Mir. Alack, what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Pros. O, a cherubin 

Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile, 
Infused with a fortitude from Iieaven, 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt. 
Under my burthen groan 'd ; which raised in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against vhat should ensue. 
Mir. • How came we ashore i* 

-Pi-os. By providence divine. 
.Some food we had and some fresh water that 
A noble Keapolifeji. Gonzalo, 
OuL'oiViii'^'iiiii'iVr, eing then appointed 
Master of this design, did give us, with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries, [ness, 
Wliicli since liave steaded much ; so, of liis gentle- 
Knowing I loved my books, he fm-nish'd me 
From mine own library with volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

Mir. Would I might 

But ever see that man ! 

Pros. Now I arise : [Pesumes his mantle. 

Sit still, and hear the last of oux sea-sorrow. 
Here in this island we arrived; and here 
Have I, thy sciioolmaster, made thee more profit 
Than otiier princesses can that have more time 
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful, [you, sir, 
Mir. Heavens thank you for 't ! And now, I pray 
For still 't is beating in my mmd, your reason 
For raising this sea-storm ? 

Pros. Ivnow thus far forth. 

By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, 
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore ; and by my prescience 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star, whose influence 
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes 
AVill ever after droop. Here cease more questions : 
Thou art inclined to sleep ; 't is a good dulness, 
And give it way ; I know thou canst not choose. 

[Miranda sleeps. 
Come away, servant, come. I am ready now. 
Approach, my Ariel, come. 

IMer Ariel. 
Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come 
To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly, 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
On the cml'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task 



Ariel and all his quality. 

Pros. Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform 'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? 

Ari. To every article. 
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
I flamed amazement : sometime I 'Id divide. 
And burn m many places ; on the topmast. 
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
Then meet andjoin. Jove 'slightnings, the precursors 
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
And sight out-running were not ; the fire and cracliS 
Of sulpliurous roaring the most mighty Neptune 
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble. 
Yea, his dread trident shake. 

P ros. My brave spirit ! 

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
Would not infect his reason ? 

Ari. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of the mad and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners 
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, 
Then all atire with me: the king's son, Ferdmand, 
With liair up-staring, — then like reeds, not hair, — 
Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, ' Hell is empty, 
And all the devils are here.' 

Pros. Why, that 's my spkit ! 

But was not this nigh shore V 

Ari. Close by, my master. 

Pi-OS. But are they, Ariel, safe 'i 

Ari. Not a liair perish 'd ; 

On their sustaining garments not a blemish, 
But fresher than before : and, as thou badest me. 
In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle. 
The king's son have I landed by himself; 
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs 
In an odd angle of the isle and sitting, 
His arms in this sad knot. 

Pros. Of the king's ship 

The mariners say how thou hast disposed 
And all the resto' the fleet. 

Ari. Safely in harbour 

Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once 
Tliou cairdst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the stin-\ex\l Bermoothes, there she 's hid : 
The mariners all under hatclies stow'd; 
Who, witli a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, 
I liave left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet 
Which I dispersed, they all have met again 
And are upon the Mediterranean flote. 
Bound sadly liom.e for Naples, 
Supposing tliat they saw the king's ship wreck'd 
And his great person perish. 

Pros. Ariel, thy charge 

Exactly is perform 'd : but there 's more work. 
What is the time o' the day ? 

Ari. Past the mid season. 

Pros. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six 
Must by us both be spent most preciously, [and now 

Ari. Is there more toil 'i Since thou dost give me 
pains. 
Let me remember thee what thou hast promised, 
Whicli is not yet perform 'd me. 

Pros. How now ? moody '? 

What is 't thou canst demand ? 

Ari. My liberty. 

Pros. Before the time be out ? no more ! 
• Ari. I prithee. 

Remember I have done thee worthy service ; 
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served 
Witliout or grudge or griuablings: thou didst 
To bate me a full year. [i)romise 

Pros. Dost thou forget 

From what a torment I did fi-ee thee ? 

Ari. No. 

Pros. Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread 
Of the salt deep, [the ooze 



ACT I. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE II. 



To run upon the sliarp wiiKl of the north. 
To do me business in tlie veins o' tlie earth 
When it is balced witli frost. 

Ari. I do not, sir. [forgot 

Vros. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast tliou 
Tlie foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy 
Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her ? 

Ari. No, sir. • [speak ; tell me. 

Fros. Thou hast. Where was she born? 

Ari. Sir, in Argier. 

Fros. O, was she so ? I must 

Once in a month recount what thou hast been, 
Wliich tliiiu I'lirgct'st. This damn 'd witch Sycorax, 
Fur iniscliicfs iiiaiiifold and sorceries terrible 
T(i enter human liearing, from Argier, 
Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did 
They would not take her life. Is not this true ? 

Ari. Ay, sir. [with child 

Pro.s. Tills lilue-eyed hag was hither brought 
And Iiere was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, 
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant ; 
And, for thou wast a si)irit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abliorr'd commands, 
Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee, 
By help of her more potent ministers 
And in her most unmitiguble rage. 
Into a cloven pine; within which rift 
Imiirisiin'd tlmu ilidst painfully remain 
A dozen years; williiu which space she died 
And left thee there; wliere thou didst vent thy groans 
As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island — 
(Save for the son tliat she did litter here, 
A freckled whelp hag-born — not honour'd with 
A human shape. 

Ari. Yes, Caliban her son. 

Fros. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban 
Wliom now [ kee]i in service. Thou best know'st 
What tdrment I diil liiul thee in; thy groans 
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts 
Of ever angry l)ears: it was a torment 
To lay upon tlie damu'd, which Sycorax 
Could not again undo : it was mine art. 
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape 
The pine and let thee out. 

^b-(. I thank thee, master. 

Fr. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak 
And peg tlu'i' in Ids knotty entrails till 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 

A ri. Pardon , master ; 

I will be correspondent to command 
And do my spiriting gently. 

Frns. Do so, and after two days 

I will discharge thee. 

Ari. That 's my noble master ! 

Wliat shall I do? say what; wiuit sliall I do? 

Fro.f. (io make thyself like a nymph o' tiie sea: be 
To no sight liut tliiiie aii<l mine, invisible [subject 
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape 
And hither come in 't : go, hence with diligence ! 

[Exit Ariel. 
Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
Awake ! 

Mir. The strangeness of your story put 
Heaviness in me. 

Fros. Shake it otf. Come on ; 

We '11 visit Caliban my slave, who never 
Yields us kiud answer. 

Mir. 'T is a villain, sir, 

I do not love to look on. 

Fros. But, as 't is. 

We cannot miss him: he does make our fire. 
Fetch in our wood and serves in offices 
That profit us. What, ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
Thou earth, thou! speak. 

Cnl. [Within] There 's wood enough within. 

Pros. Come forth, I say! there's other business 
Come, thou tortoise ! when ? [for thee : 



Me-enter Ariel like a water-ixymph. 
Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
Hark in thine ear. 

Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. 

Fros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil him- 
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! [self 

Enter Caliban. 

Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome feu 
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye 
And blister you all o'er ! [cramps, 

Fros. For this, be snre, to-night thou shalt have 
Side-stitches that shall pen thy lireath up; urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night tliat they may work. 
All exercise on thee ; thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made 'em. 

Cal. I must eat my dinner. 

This island 's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
Whicli thou takest from me. When thou camest first, 
Thou strokedst me and niadest much of me, wouldst 
Water with berries in "t, and teach me how [give me 
To name the bigger light, and how the less. 
That burn by day and night : and then I loved thee 
And show'd thee all the iiualities o' the isle, 
The fresh springs, lirine-iuts, barren place and fer- 
Cursed be I tliat did so ! All the charms [tile : 
Of Sycorax, t<iuds, beetles, bats, light on you ! 
For I am all the subjects that you have. 
Which first was mine own king : and here you sty me 
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
The rest o' the island. 

Fros. Thou most lying slave, [thee, 

Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have used 
Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodgerl thee 
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
The honour of my child. 

Cal. O ho, O ho I would 't had been doxie 1 
Thou didst prevent me ; I had per)})'ied else 
This isle with Calibans. 

Fros. Abhorred slave, 

Which any print of goodness wilt not take. 
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee. 
Took pains to make thee speak , taught thee each hour 
One tlung or other: wlieu thou didst not, savage. 
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like 
A thing most l.irutish', I endow'd thy purposes 
With words that made them known. But thy vile 
race, [natiu'es 

Though thou didst learn, had that in 't which good 
Couki not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
Deservedly confined into this rock. 
Who hadst deserved more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on 't 
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you 
For learning me your language ! 

Pros. Hag-seed, hence ! 

Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou 'rt best. 
To answer other business. Slirug'st thou, malice ? 
If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly 
AVhat I coinmand, I '11 rack tliee with old cramps, 
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

Cal. No, pray thee. 

[Aside] I must obey : his art is of such power, 
It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. , 

Fros. So, slave; hence! [Exit Caliban. 

Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; Fer- 
dinand following. 
Ariel's song. 
Come unto these yellow sands. 

And then take "hands : 
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd 
The wild waves whist, 



ACT I. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCEXE ir. 



Foot it featly here and there ; 
And, sweet sprites, tlie burthen bear. 
Burthen [dispcrsedh/]. Hark, harli ! 

Bow-wow. 
The watch-dogs bark : 

Bow-wow. 
J.)'i. Hark, hark! I hear 

The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow. 
Fer. "Wliere should this music be? i' the air or the 
It sounds no more ; and, sure, it waits upon [eartli? 
Some god o' tlie island. Sitting on a bank, 
Weeping again tlie king my father's -wTeck, 
Tliis music cre]rt by me upon tlie waters. 
Allaying both their furs- and my passion 
AVitli its sweet air: thence I have follow 'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 't is gone. 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 
Full fathom five thy father lies ; 
Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were Iiis eyes: 

Xothing of liim that dotli fade 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nvmplis hourly ring his knell : 

Burthen. Ding-dong. 
Ari. Havk! now I hear them, — Ding-dong, bell. 
Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. 
Tills is no mortal business, nor no sound 
That the earth owes. I liear it now above me. 

Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance 
And say what thou seest yond. 

irir. ' AVliat is 't ? a spirit ? 

Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, 
It carries a brave form. But 't is a spirit, [senses 
Pros. Xo, wench ; it eats and sleeps and hath such 
As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest 
"Was in the wreck ; and, but he 's something stain'd 
"With grief tliat "s beauty's canker, thou'mightst 
A goodly person : lie liatli lost his fellows [call him 
And strays about to find 'em. 

Mir. I might call him 

A thing divine, for nothing natural 
I ever saw so nolile. 

Pros. [Aside] It goes on, I .see, [free thee 

As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit ! I '11 
Within two days for this. 

Fer. Most sure, the goddess 

On whom these airs attend ! Vouchsafe my prayer 
May know if you remain upon this island ; 
And that you will some good instruction give 
How I may Viear me here : my iirime request, 
■Which I do last pronoimce, is, O you wonder ! 
If you be maid or no ? 

Mir. Xo wonder, sir ; 

But certainly a maid. 

Fer. My language ! heavens ! 

I am the best of them tiiat speak this speech, 
"Were I but where 't is spoken. 

Pi-OS. How ? the best ? 

"What wert thou, if the King of Xaples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Xaples. He does hear me ; 
And that lie does I weep: myself am Naples, 
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, belield 
Tlie king my father wreck 'd. 
Mir. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of 
And his brave son being twain. [Milan 

Pros. • ^[.4s!V/r] The Duke of Milan 

And his more braver daughter could control thee. 
If now 'twere fit to do "t." At tlie first sight 
Tliey have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel, [sir: 

I "11 set thee free for this. [To Fer.] A word, good 
I fenr you have done yourself some \sTong: a word. 
Mir. Why speaks niy father so ungeutly ? This 



Is the tliird man that e'er I saw, the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father 
To be inclined my way ! 

Fer. O, if a ^'irgin, 

And your affection not gone forth, I 'U make you 
The queen of Xaples. 

Pros. Soft, sir! one word more. 

[Aside] They are both in cither's powers ; but this 

swift business 
I must uneasy make, lest too light mnning 
Make the prize light. [ To Fer.] One word more ; I 

charge thee 
That tliou attend me : thou dost here usurp 
Tlie name thou owest not ; and hast put thyself 
Upon this island as a spy, to win it 
From me, the lord on 't. 

Fer. No, as I am a man. 

Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
If the ill spirit have so fair a house, [temple : 

Good things will strive to dwell with 't. 

Pros. Follow me. 

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come; 
1 '11 manacle thy neck and feet together : 
Sea-water slialt thou drink : thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks 
Wliei-ein tlie acorn cradled. Follow. 

Fer. No ; 

I vnU resist such entertainment tiU 
Mine enemy lias more power. 

[Draics, and is chnrmeel from 'moving. 

Mir. O dear father, 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He 's gentle and not fearful. 

Prrjs. What ? I say,' 

My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; 
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy con- 
science 
Is so possess "d with guilt : come from thy ward. 
For I can here disarm thee with this stick 
And make thy weapon drop. 

Mir. Beseech you, father. 

Pros. Hence ! hang not on my garments. 

3{ir. Sir, have pity ; 

I '11 be his surety. 

Pros. Silence ! one wori^ more 

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. AMiat ! 
An ad\ocate for an impostor ! hush ! • 

Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he. 
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolisli wench! 
To the most of men this is a Caliban 
And they to him are angels. 

3Iir. My affections 

Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
To see a goodlier man. 

Pros. Come on ; obey : 

Thy nerves are in their infancy agaui 
And have no vigour in them. 

Per. So they are ; 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness wliicli I feel. 
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, 
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
flight I but through my prison once a day 
Behold this maid:"all corners else o' the earth 
Let lilierty make use of; space enough 
Have I in such a prison. 

Pros, [.iside] It works. [To Fer.] Come on. 
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To Fer.] Follow 
[Tn Ari.] Hark what thou else shalt do me. [me. 

3Iir. Be of comfort ; 

^ly father 's of a better nature, sir. 
Than he appears by sjieech : this is miwonted 
Which now came from him. 

Pros. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds : but then exactly do 
All points of my command. 

Ari. To the syllable. 

Pros. Come, follow. Speak not for him. [Exeunt. 
5 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE 1. 



A.OT II. 



SCENE I. — Another 2Ktrt of the island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 

Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry ; you have cause, 
" So have we all, of joy ; for our escape 
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe 
Is common ; every day some sailor's wife. 
The masters of some merchant and the merchant 
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, 
I mean our preservation, few in millions 
Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 
Our sorrow with our comfort. 

Alon. Prithee, peace. 

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 

Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 

Seb. Look, he 's winding up the watch of his wit ; 

Gon. Sir, — [by and by it will strike. 

Sfb. One: tell. [ofEer'd, 

Gon. When every grief is entertain 'd that's 
Comes to the entertainer — 

Seb. A dollar, [spoken truer than you purposed. 

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have 

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant 

Gon. Therefore, my lord, — [you should. 

Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! 

Alon. I prithee, spare. 

Gon. Well, I have done: but yet, — 

Seb. He will be talking. [first begins to crow ? 

Ant. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, 

Seb. The old cock. 

Ant. The cockerel. 

Seb. Done. The wager ? 

Ant. A laughter. 

Seb. A match ! 

Aclr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 

Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! So, you 're paid. 

Adr. Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible, — 

Seb. Yet,— 

Adr. Yet, — 

Ant. He could not miss 't. [cate temperance. 

Adr. If must needs be of subtle, tender and deli- 

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench, [livered. 

<Se6. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learnedly de- 

Aelr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 

Seb. As if it had lungs and rotten ones. 

Ant. Or as 'twere perfumed liy a fen. 

Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life. 

Ant. True ; save means to live. 

Seb. Of that there 's none, or little. [green ! 

Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how 

Ant. The ground indeed is tawny. 

Seb. With an eye of green in 't. 

Ant. He misses not much. 

Seb. Ko ; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 

Gon. But the rarity of it is, — which is indeed al- 
most beyond credit, — 

Seb. As many vouched rarities are. 

Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their 
freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than 
stained with salt water. [it not say he lies ? 

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak,would 

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pi>eket up his report. 

Gon. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as 
when we put them on first in Afric, at tlie marriage 
of the king's fair daughter Clariliel to the King of 
Tunis. [well in our return. 

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper 

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
paragon to their queen. 

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 

Ant. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 
widow in V widow Dido ! 
6 



Seb. What if he had said ' widower .^neas ' too ? 
Good Lord, how you take it! 

Adr. ' Widow Dido ' said you ? you make me 
study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 

Croj!. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 

Adr. Carthage? 

Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 

Seb. His word "is more than the miraculous harp; 
he hath raised the wall and houses too. 

Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy 
next y 

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his 
pocket and give it his son for an apple. 

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, 

Gon. Ay. [bring forth more islands. 

Ant. Why, in good time. 

Gem. Sir, we were talking tliat our garments 
seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at 
the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. 

Anl. And the rarest that: e'er came there. 

Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 

Ant. O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido. 

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first 
day I wore it V I mean, in a sort. 

Ant. That sort was well fished for. [riage ? 

Gon. When I wore it at your daugliter's mar- 

Alon. You cram these words into mine ears against 
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never 
Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
My son is lost and, in my rate, she too, 
Who is so far from Italy removed 
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish 
Hath made his meal on thee ? 

Fran. Sir, he may live : 

I saw him beat the surges under him, 
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, 
AVhose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
The surge most swoln that met him ; his bold head 
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 
As stooping to relieve him : I not doubt 
He came alive to land. 

Alon. No, no, he 's gone. [loss, 

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great 
That would not liless our Europe with your daugh- 
But rather lose her to an African ; [ter, 

Where she at least is banish 'd from your eye, 
Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. 

Alon. Prithee, peace. 

Seb. You were kneel'd to and importuned other- 
By all of us, and the fair soul herself [wise 

Weigh 'd between loathness and obedience, at 
Which end o' the beam shculd bow. We have lost 
I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have [your son, 
More widows in them of this business' making 
Than we bring men to comfort them : 
The fault 's your own. 

Alon. So is the dear'st o' the loss. 

Gon. My lord Sebastian, 
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness 
And time to speak it in : you rub the sore. 
When you should bring the plaster. 

Seb. Very well. 

Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir. 
When you are cloudy. 

Seb. Foul weather ? 

Ant. Very foul. 

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, — 

Ant. He 'Id sow 't with nettle-seed. 

Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 

Gon. And were the king on 't, what would I dp ? 



ACT II. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE I. 



Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. 

Gon. V the commonwealtli I would by contraries 
Execute all things; for no kind of traffic 
AVould I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, 
And use of service, none; contract, succession, 
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil ; 
No occupation; all men idle, all; 
And women too, but innocent and pure ; 
No sovereignty ; — 

Seb. Tet he would be king on't. 

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets 
the beginning. 

Gon. All tilings in common nature should produce 
Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
"Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, 
To feed my innocent people. 

Seh. No marrying 'mong his subjects? 

Ant. None, man; all idle: whores and knaves. 

Gon. I would witli sucli perfection govern, sir, 
To excel the golden age. 

Svh. God save his majesty I 

Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 

Gon. And, — do you mark me, sir? 

Alon. Prithee, no more : thou dost talk nothing 
to me. 

Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did it 
to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of 
such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use 
to laugh at nothing. 

Ant. 'T was you we laughed at. 

Gon. Who in this kind ot merry fooling am nothing 
to you: so you may continue and laugh at nothing 

Ant. Wliat a blow was there given ! [still. 

Seh. An it had not fallen flat-long. 

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you 
would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would 
continue in it five weeks without changing. 

Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music. 

Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 

Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 

Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adventure my 
discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for 

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. [I am very heavy ? 
[All sleep except Alon., Seb., and Ant. 

Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes 
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : I find 
They are inclined to do so. 

Seb. Please you, sir. 

Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, 
It is a comforter. 

Ant. We two, my lord, 

Will guard your person while you take your rest. 
And watch your safety. 

Alon. '•• Thank you. Wondrous heavy. 

[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. 

Seb. Wliat a strange drowsiness possesses them ! 

Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 

Seb. ■ Why 

Doth it not then our eyelids sink ? I find not 
Myself disposed to sleej). 

Ant. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble. 

They fell together all, as by consent ; 
Tliey (Iroiiird. as by a thunder-stroke. What might, 
Wortliy Sebastian ? O, what might ? — No more : — 
And yet me thinks I see it in thy face, 
Wliat thou shouldst be : the occasion speaks thee, and 
My strong imagination sees a crown 
Dropping upon thy head. 

Seb. What, art thou waking ? 

Ant. Do you not hear me speak ? 

Seb. I do ; and surely 



It is a sleepy language and thou speak 'st 

Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say ? 

This is a strange repose, to be asleep 

With eyes wide ojien ; standing, speaking, moving, 

And yet so fast asleep. 

Ant. Noble Sebastian, 

Thou let'st thy fortune sleep — die, rather; wink'st 
Wliiles thou art waking. 

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ; 

Tliere 's meaning in thy snores. 

Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do 
Trebles thee o'er. 

Seb. Well, I am standing water. 

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 

Seb. Do so : to ebb 

Hereditary sloth instructs me. 

Ant. O, 

If you but knew how you the purpose cherish 
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it. 
You more invest it I Ebbing nieii, indeed, 
Most often do so near the bottom run 
By their o^vn fear or sloth. 

Seb. Prithee, say on : 

The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim 
A matter from thee, and a birth indeed 
Which throes thee much to yield. 

Ant. Thus, sir: 

Although this lord of weak remembrance, this. 
Who shall be of as little memory 
When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded, — 
For he 's a spirit of persuasion, only 
Professes to persuade, — the king Iiis son 's alive, 
'Tis as impossible that he "s undrown'd 
As he that sleeps here swims. 

Seb. I have no hope 

That he 's undrowTi'd. 

Ant. O, out of that ' no hope ' 

What great hope have you ! no hope that way is 
Another way so high a hope that even 
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond. 
But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me 
That Ferdinand is "drown 'd ? 

Seb. He 's gone. 

Ant. Then, tell me, 

Who 's the next heir of Naples ? 

Seb. Claribel. 

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis ; she that dwells 
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples 
Can have no note, unless the sun were post — 
The man i' the moon 's too slow — till new-born chins 
Be rough and razorable; she that — from whom? 
We all were sea-swallowM, though some cast again, 
And by that destiny to iierfcirni an act 
Whereof what 's past is prologue, what to come 
In yom's and my discliarge. 

Seb. What stuff is this! how say you? 

'T is true, my brother "s daugliter 's queen of Tunis ; 
So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
There is some space. 

Ant. A space wliose every cubit 

Seems to cry out, ' How sliall tliat Claribel 
Measure us "back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, 
And let Sebastian wake.' Say, tliis were death 
That now hatli seized them; wl'jy, tliey were no worse 
Than now they are. Tliere lie "that can rule Naples 
As well as he that sleeps ; lords that can prate 
As amply and unnecessarily 
As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
For your advancement ! Do you understand me ? 

Seb. Methiuks I do. 

Ant. ' And how does your content 

Tender your ovm good fortune ? 

Seb. I remember 

You did supplant your brother Prospero. 
7 



ACT II. 



THE TE 31 PEST. 



SCEISTE II. 



Ant. True: 

And look how well my garments sit upon me ; 
Much feater than before : my brother's servants 
Were then my fellows ; now thev are my men. 

Sch. But, for your conscience V 

Ant. Ay, sir; "where lies that ? if 'twere a kibe, 
'T would put me to my slipper : but I feel not 
Tills deity in my bosom : twenty consciences, 
Tliat stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they 
And melt ere they molest ! Here lies your brother, 
No l)etter than tlie eartli lie lies upon, 
If he were that which now he "s like, that 's dead; 
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it. 
Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus. 
To the perpetual wink for aye niia;ht put 
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who 
Sliould not upl)raid our course. For all the rest, 
Tliey "11 take sugsestion as a cat laps milk ; 
They "11 tell the clock to any business that 
We say belits the hour. 

Scl. Thy case, dear friend, 

Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, 
I '11 come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke 
Shall free tiiee from the tribute Mdiichthou payest; 
And I the king shall love thee. 

Ant. Draw together ; 

And when I rear my hand, do you the like, 
To fall it on Gonzalo. 

&&. O, but one word. [They talk apart. 

lie-enter Ariel, invisible. 
Ari. My master tlirongh his art foresees the danger 
That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth — 
For else his project dies — to keep them living. 

[Sings in GomaWs ear. 
While you here do snormg lie, 
Open-eyed conspiracy 
His time doth take. 
If of life you keep a care, 
Shake off slumber, and beware : 
Awake, awake ! 
Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 
Gon. Now, good angels 

Preserve the king. (Then wake. 

Alon. Wliy, how now? ho, awake! Why are 
Wherefore this ghastly looking ? [you drawn ^ 

Gun. What 's the matter V 

Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose. 
Even now, we heard a hollovv' burst of bellowing 
Ijike bulls, or rather lions : did 't not wake you ? 
It struck mine ear most terribly. 
Alon. I heard nothing. 

Ant. O, 't was a din to fright a monster's ear, 
To make an earthquake! sure, it was the roar 
Of a whole herd of lions. 
Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ? 

Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming. 
And that a strange one too, which did awake me: 
I sliaked you, sir, and cried : as mine eyes open'd, 
I saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise. 
That 's verily. 'T is liest we stand upon our guard. 
Or tliat we quit tliis place : let 's draw our weapons. 
Alon. Lead off this ground; and let's make fur- 
For my poor son. [ther search 

Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! 

For he is, sure, i' the island. 
Alon. Lead away. [done : 

Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have 
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another part of the island. 
Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise of 
thunder heard. 
Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
From bogs, fens. Hats, on Prosper fall and make him 
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me 
And yet I needs must curse. But they '11 nor pinch, 



Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the mire, 
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark 
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but 
For every tritie are they set upon me ; 
Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me 
And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which 
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount 
Their i>ricks at niy footfall; sometime am 1 
All wound with adders who with cloven tongues 
Do hiss me into madness. 

Enter Trinculo. 

Lo, now, lo ! 
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me 
For bringing wood in slowly. I '11 fall Hat ; 
Perchance iTe will not mind me. 

Trin. Here 's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off 
any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I 
hear it sing i' the wind : yoiid same black cloud, 
yond huge one, looks like a tmil bombard that would 
shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did be- 
fore, I know not where to hide my head : yond same 
cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What 
have we here V a man or a fish ? dead or alive ? A 
fish : he smells like a flsli ; a very ancient and fish- 
like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor-John. 
A strange fish ! Were I in England now, as once I 
was, and liad hut this fish pahited, not a holiday 
fool there but would give a piece of silver: there 
v.ould this monster make a man ; any strange beast 
there makes a man : when they will not give a doit 
to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see 
a dead Indian. Legged like a man! and his fins 
like arms ! ^'^^^m o' my troth ! I do now let loose 
my opinion; hold it no longer: thi.s is no fish, but 
an islander, tliat hiith lately suffered by a thunder- 
bolt. [Thunder.] Alas, the storm is come again ! 
my best way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there 
is no other shelter hereabout : misery acquaints a 
man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud 
till the dregs of the storm be past. 

Enter Stephano, singing : a bottle in Ids hand. 
Ste. 1 shall no more to sea, to sea, 
Here shall I die ashore — 

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's 
funeral: well, here 's my comfort. [Brinks. 

[Sings. 
The master, the swabljcr, the boatswain and I, 

The gunner and his mate 
Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery, 
But none of us caretl for Kate; 
For she had a tongue with a tang. 
Would cry to a sailor. Go hang ! 
She loved not the savcnir of tar nor of pitch. 
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did 
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang ! [itch : 

This is a scurvy tune too : but here 's my comfort. 

[Drinks. 

Cal. Do not torment me : Oh! 

Ste. What 's the matter ? Have we devils here ? 
Do you put tricks upon 's with savages and men of 
Ind, ha ? I have not scaped drowning to be afeard 
now of your four legs; for it hath been said. As 
proper a man as everwent on four legs cannot make 
liim give ground ; and it shall lie said so again while 
Stephano breatlies at 's nostrils. 

Cal. The spirit torments me ; Oh! 

Ste. This is some monster of the isle with four 
legs, who liatli got, as I take it, an ague. Where 
tlie devil should he learn oiu' language ? I will give 
him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can re- 
cover him and keep him tame and get to Naples 
with him, he 's a present for any emperor tliat ever 
trod on neat's-leather. 

Cal. Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my 
wood home faster. 



ACT III. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE I. 



Sie. He 's in his fit now and does not tails after 
tlie wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if lie have 
never drunk wine afore, it will "go near to remove 
his fit. If I can recover him and keep him tame, I 
will not take too nuich for him ; lie shall pay for 
him that hath him, and that soundly. 

Cal. Thou dost me yet Ijut little hurt ; thou wilt 
anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper 
works upon thee. 

iS'te. Come on your ways ; open your mouth ; here 
is that which will give language to you, cat: open 
your mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can 
teli you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who's 
your friend : ojien your chaps again. 

Trin. I should know that voice : it should be — 
but he is drowTied ; aud these are devils : O defend 
me! 

iSte. Four legs and two voices: a most delicate 
monster ! His forward voice now is to speak well 
of his friend ; his liackward voice is to utter foul 
speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my 
bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. Come. 
Amen ! I will pour some in thy other mouth. 

Trin. Stephano! 

Sit. Dotli thy other mouth call me? Mercy, 
mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will 
leave him ; I have no long spoon. 

Trin. Stephano ! If thou beest Stephano, touch 
me and speak to me: for I am Trinculo — be not 
afeard — thy good friend Trinculo. 

<S(e. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth : I '11 pull 
thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, 
these are they. Thou art very Trinculo iudee\l! 
How earnest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf ? 
can he vent Trinculos? 

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder- 
stroke. But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I 
hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm over- 
lJlo^\^l ? I hid me under the deail moon-calf's gaber- 
dine for fear of the storm. And art thou livingj 
Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped! 

Sle. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach 
is not constant. 

Cal. \Aiiiili\ These be fine things, an if they be 
not sprites. 
That 's a brave god and bears celestial liquor. 
I will kneel to him. 

Sle. How didst thou 'scape? How earnest thou 
hither ? swear by this bottle how thou camest hither. 
I escaped upon a butt of sack which the sailors 
heaved o'erboard, by this bottle! which I made of 
the bark of a tree with mine own hands since I Wi\s 
cast ashore. 

Cal. I '11 swear upon that bottle to be thy true 
subject ; for the li(iuor is not earthly. 

8U. Here; swear tlien how thou escapedst. 

Trin. Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim 
like a. duck, I '11 be sworu. 



Sle. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst 
swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 

Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this? 

iS'te. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock 
by tlie se;i-side where my wine is hid. How now, 
moon-calf ! how does thine ague ? 

Cal. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven ? 

S(e. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I ^as the 
man i' the moon when time was. 

Cal. I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee : 
My mistress show'd me thee and thy dog aud thy 
bush. 

Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will 
furnish it anon with new contents : swear. 

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
monster ! I afeard of him ! A very weak monster ! 
The man i' the moon ! A most poor credulous mon- 
ster ! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth ! 

Cal. I '11 show thee every fertile inch o' th' island ; 
And I will kiss thy foot : I prithee, be my god. 

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious andch-uukea 
monster ! when "s god "s asleep, he '11 rob his bottle. 

Cal. I '11 kiss thy foot ; I '11 swear myself thy sub- 

Sle. Come on then ; down, and swear. [ject. 

Trin. I shall lauo-li myself to death at this puppy- 
headed monster. A most scurvy monster ! I could 

S?e. Come, kiss, [find in my heart to beat him, — 

Trin. But that the poor monster's in drink: an 
abominable monster! [thee berries; 

CaL I'll show thee the best springs; I "11 pluck 
I '11 fish for tliee and get thee wood enough. 
A i)lague upon the tyrant that I serve! 
I "11 bear hiui no more sticks, but follow thee, 
Thou woniUous man. 

Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a won- 
der of a poor drunkard ! 

Cal. I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; 
Aud I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; 
Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee liow 
To snare the nimble marmoset ; 1 '11 bring thee 
To clustering filberts and sometimes I '11 get thee 
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? 

SU. I prithee now, lead the way without any more 
talking. Trinculo, the king and all oiu' company 
else being drowned, we will inherit liere : here ; bear 
my bottle: fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by aud by 

Cal. [Sings driinkcnh/] [agaiii. 

Farewell, master; farewell, farewell! 

Trill. A howling monster ; a drunken monster ! 

Cal. Ko more dams I "11 make for fish ; 
Xor fetcttin firing 
At requirmg; 
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish : 
'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban 
Has a new master : get a new man. 
Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey- 
day, freedom ! 

Ste. O brave monster ! Lead the way. [EMunt. 



A.CT III. 



SCENE I.— Before Pros}Kro's cell. 
Enter Ferdinand, bearing a lorj. 
Fcr. There be some sports are painful, and their 
labour 
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly midergone and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task 
AVould be as heavy to me as odious, but 
The mistress which I serve quickens what 's dead 
-tVjid makes my labours pleasures: O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed, 
And he 's composed of harshness. I must remove 



Some thousands o^these logs and pile them up. 
Upon a sore injunction : my sweet mistress [ness 
Weeps when she sees me work, and sajs, such base- 
Had never like executor. J forget : 
But these sweet tlioughts do even refresh my labours, 
ilost busy lest, when I do it. 

Enter Miranda ; and Prospero at a distance, unseen, 
^lir. Alas, now, prav you, 

Work not so hard : I would the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs that you are eujoin'd to pile ! 
Pray, set it down and rest you : when this bums, 
'T will weep for having wearied you. My father 



ACT III. 



THE TE3IPEST. 



SCENE II. 



Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself ; 
He 's safe for these three hours. 

Fer. O most dear mistress, 

The sun will set before I shall discharge 
What I must strive to do. 

Mir. If you '11 sit down, 

I '11 bear your logs the while : pray, give me that ; 
I '11 carry it to the pile. 

Fer. Xo, precious creature; 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back. 
Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
"While I sit lazy by. 

Mir. It would become me 

As well as it does you : and I should do it 
Witli ranch more ease ; for my good will is to it. 
And yours it is against. 

Pros. Poor worm, thou art infected ! 

This visitation shows it. 

Mir. You look wearily. [me 

Fer. No, noble mistress; 't is fresh morning with 
When you are by at night. I do beseech you — 
Chiefly tliat I miglit set it in my prayers— 
What is your name V 

Mir. Miranda. — O my father, 

I have broke your best to say so ! 

Fer. Admired Miranda ! 

Indeed the top of admiration ! worth 
What 's dearest to the Avorld ! Full many a lady 
I have eyed with best resarJ and many a time 
The harmony of tlieir tongues hath into bondage 
Brouglit my too diligent ear: for several virtues 
Have I lik(''il several women; never any 
Witli so fnll soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with tlie noblest grace slie owed 
And put it to the foil: but you, O you, 
So perfect and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature's best ! 

Mir. I do not know 

One of my sex; no woman's face remember, 
8ave, froiii my glass, mine own; nor have I seen 
More tliat I hiay call men than you, good friend, 
And my dear father: how features are abroad, 
I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, 
Tlie jewel in my dower, I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you. 
Nor can imagination form a shape. 
Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle 
Something too wildly and my fatlier's precepts 
I therein (lo forget. 

Fer. I am in my condition 

A prince, Miranda; I do thii)^, a king; 
I would, not so! — and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery than to sulTer 
Tlie tlesh-liy blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak : 
The very instant that I saw you, did 
My heart fly to your service ; there resides. 
To make me slave to it ; and for your sake 
Am I tills patient log-man. 

Mir. Do you love me ? 

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound 
And crown what I profess with kind event 
If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert 
Wliat best is boded me to mischief ! I 
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world 
Do love, prize, honour you. 

Mir. I am a fool 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pros. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
On that which breeds between 'em ! 
Fer. Wlierefore weep you ? 

Mir. At mine unworthiness that dare not offer 
What I desire to give, and much less take 
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling ; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
10 



I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
If not, I '11 die your maid : to be your fellow 
You may deny me ; but I '11 be your servant, 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest ; 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mir. IMy husband, then 'i 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
As l>ondage e'er of freedom : here 's my hand. 

Mir. And mine, witli my heart in't: and now 
Till half an horn- hence. [farewell 

Fer. A thousand thousand ! 

[Exeunt Fer. <ind Mir. «rt/-i((/i/. 

Prrjs. So glad of this as they I cannot be, 
Who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more. I '11 to "my book. 
For yet ere supper-time must I perform 
Much business appertaining. [E.cit. 

SCENE II. — Another part of the island. 

Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo. 

Sle. Tell not me; when the butt is out, we will 
drink water; not a drop before: therefore liearup, 
and board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. 

2'rin. Servant-monster I the folly of this island! 
They say there 's but five upon this isle : we are 
three of them; if tli' other two be brained like us, 
tlie state totters. 

Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: 
thy eyes are almost set in thy head. 

Trin. Where should they be set else? he were a 
brave monster indeed, if they were set in Jiis tail. 

Ste. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue 
in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I 
swam, ere I could recover the shore, five and thirty 
leagues off and on. By this light, thou shalt be my 
lieutenant, monster, or my standard. [ard. 

Trin. Yourlieutenant, if youlist; he'snostand- 

ISte. We '11 not run, ISIonsieur Monster. 

Trin. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs 
and yet say nothing neitlier. 

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
beest a good moon-calf. [slioe. 

Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy 
I '11 not serve him ; he 's not valiant. 

Trin. Thou best, most ignorant monster: I am 
in case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed 
fish, thou, was there ever man a co%^'ard that hath 
drunk so much sack as I to-day ? Wilt thou tell a 
monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a mon- 
ster y [my lord ? 

Cal. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, 

Trin. ' Lord ' quoth he! That a monster should 
be sucfi a natural I 

Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I prithee. 

Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: 
if you prove a mutineer, — the next tree!. The 
poor monster 's my subject and he shall not suffer 
indignity. 

Cal. i thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be I'leased 
to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? 

Ste. Marry, will I: kneel and repeat it; 1 will 
stand, and so shall Trincido. 

Enter Ariel, invisible. 

Cal. As I told thee Tiefore, I am suliject to a ty- 
rant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated 

Ari. Tliou liest. [me of the island. 

Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: 
I would my valiant master would destroy thee ! 
I do not lie. 

Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in 's 
tale, by this hand," I will supplant some of your 

Trin. Why, I said nothing. [teeth. 

Ste. ilum", then, and no more. Proceed. 

Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; 



* 




ACT III. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE III. 



From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
Revenge it on him, — for I know thou darest, 
But this thing dare not, — 

Sit. That 's most certain. 

G<d. Thou shalt be lord of it and I '11 serve thee. 

Stc. How now shall this be compassed? Canst 
thou bring me to the party ? 

Gal. Yea, yea, my lord : I '11 yield him thee asleep, 
"Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. 

Ari. Thouliest; thou canst not. [patch! 

Cal. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy 
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows 
And take his bottle from him: when that 's gone 
He shall drink uouglit but brine; for I '11 not show 
Where the quick freshes are. [him 

Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- 
rupt the monster one word further, and, by this 
hand, I '11 turn my mercy out o' doors and make a 
stock-tish of thee. 

Tria. Wliy, what did I? I did nothing. I'll 
go farther off. 

Ste. Didst thou not say he lied? 

Ari. Thou liest. 

Stc. Do I so ? take thou that. [Beats Tnn.'\ As 
you like this, give me the lie another time. 

Trill. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits 
and hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! this can 
sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, 
and the devil take your fingers! 

Cal. Ila, ha, ha! [farther off . 

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, stand 

Cal. Beat him enough: after a little time 
I '11 beat him too. 

Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed. 

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him, 
I'th' afternoon to sleep : there thou mayst braiu him. 
Having first seized his books, or with a log 
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember 
First to possess his books ; for without them 
He 's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
One spirit to command: tliey all do hate him 
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. 
He has brave utensils,^for so he calls them, — 
Which, when he has a house, he '11 deck withal. 
And that most deeply to consider is 
The beauty of his daughter; he himself 
Calls her a nonpareil : I never saw a woman, 
But only Sycorax my dam and she ; 
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax 
As great 'st does least. 

Ste. Is it so brave a lass ? 

Cal. Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, I warrant. 
And bring thee forth brave brood. 

Ste. Monster, I v>ill kill this man: his daughter 
and I will be king and queen, — save our graces ! — 
and Trinculo and tliyself shall be viceroys. Dost 
thou like tlie plot, Trinculo ? 

Trill. Excellent. 

Ste. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; 
but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in tliy 
head. 

Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep: 
Wilt thou destroy him then ? 

Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 

Ari. This will I tell my master. [ure : 

Cal. Thou makest me merry ; I am full of pleas- 
Let us be jocund : will you troll the catch 
You taugiit me but while-ere ? 

Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any 
reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. 
Flout 'em and scout 'em 
And scout 'em and flout 'em ; 
Thought is free. 

Cal. That 's not the tune. 

[Ariel plai/s the tune on a tabor and pipe. 

See. What is this same ? 



Trin. This is the tuue of our catch, played by the 
picture of Nobody. 

Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy like- 
ness: if thou beest a devil, take "t as thou list. 

Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 

iS'(e. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. 
Mercy upon us ! 

Cal. Art thou afeard ? 

Ste. No, monster, not I. 

Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, [not. 
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt 
Sometimes a thousand {wangling instruments 
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices 
That, if I then had waked after long sleep, 
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, 
The clouds metliought would open and show riches 
Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, 
I cried to dream again. 

Ste. This will [irove a brave kingdom to me, where 
I shall have my music for nothing. 

Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. [story. 

Ste. Tliat shall be by and by: I remember the 

Trin. The sound is going away; let's follow it, 
and after do our work. 

Sic. Lead, monster; we '11 follow. Iwouldlcould 
see this tal Hirer; he lays it on. 

Trin. "Wilt come ? I '11 follow, Stephauo. 

[E.-ceunt. 
SCENE m. — Another part of the island. 
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 

Gnn. By "r lakin, I can go no further, sir; 
My old Ijones ache : here 's a maze trod indeed 
Througii forth-rights and meanders! By your pa- 
I needs must rest me. [tience, 

Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, 

Who am myself attach 'd with weariness. 
To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest. 
Even here I will put off my hojie and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer: he is drown "d 
Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let hiui go. 

Ant. [Aside to Sch.] I am right glad that he 's so 
out of hope. 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolved to effect. 

Seb. [Aside to Ant.] The next advantage 

Will we take throughly. 

Ant. [Aside to Seb.] Let it be to-night; 
For, now they are oppress'd with travelj they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance 
As when they are fresh. 

Seb. [Aside to Ant.] I say, to-night: no more. 
[Solemn and strange music. 

Alon. What harmony is this? My good friends. 

Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! piark ! 

Enter Prospero above, invisible. Enter several 
i-trttnge Shapes, bringing in a banquet ; they dance 
about it icith gentle actions of sedutation; and, in- 
viting the King, &c. to eat, they depart. 
Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What were 

these ? 
Seb. A living drollery.' Now I will believe 
That there are unicorns, that in Arabia 
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I '11 believe both ; 

And what does else want credit, come to me. 
And I '11 be sworn 't is true : travellers ne'er did lie, 
Tliough fools at home condemn "em. 

Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
If I should say, I saw such islanders — 
For, certes, these are people of the island — 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
H 



ACT IV. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE I. 



Their manners are more gentle-kind than of 
Our liuman generation you shall ftnJ 
Many, nay, almost any. 

Pros. ' [Aside] Honest lord, 

Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present 
Are worse than devils. 

Al<m. I cannot too much muse 

Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, express- 
ing. 
Although they want the use of tongue, a kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pros. [Aside] Praise in departing. 

Fran. They vanisli'd strangely. 

Seb. No matter, since 

They have left their viands behind; for we have 

stomachs. 
"Will 't please you taste of what is here ? 

Ahn. Not I. 

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we 
were boys, 
"Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanguig 

at "em 
"Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men 
"Whose heads stood in their breasts y which now we 
Each putter-out of live for one will bring us [find 
Good warrant of. 

Alon. I will stand to and feed, 

Although my last: no matter, since I feel 
The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, 
8tand to and do as we. 

Thunder and liyhtning. Enter Ariel, like a harpy; 

claps his icings upon the table; and, with a quaint 

device, the banquet vanishes. 

Ari. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, 
That hath to instrument tliis lower world 
And what is in "t, the never-surfeited sea 
Ilath caused to l)eleh up you ; and on this island 
Wliere man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men 
Being most unht to live. I have made you mad ; 
And' even with such-like valour liien hang and 
Their proper selves. [drown 

[Alon., Seb., <tc. draw their swords. 
You fools ! I and my fellows 
Are ministers of Fate: the elements, 
Of wlioni your swords are temper'd, may as well 
AV'ound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
Kill tlie still-closing waters, as diminish 
One dowle that 's in my plume : my fellow-ministers 
Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt. 
Your swords are now too niassy for your strengths 



And will not be uplifted. But remember — 
For that \s my business to you — that you three 
From Jlilan did suiiplant good Prospero; 
Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
Ilim aiul liis innocent child : for which foul deed 
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 
Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, 
They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me : 
Lingering perdition, worse than any death 
Can be at once, shall step by step attend [from — 
You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you 
"Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 
Upon your heads — is nothing but heart-sorrow 
And a clear life ensuing. 

lie I'anishes in thunder; then, to soft music, enter the 

Shapies again, and dance, with inocks and mows, 

and carrying out the table. 

Pros. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 
Perform 'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring: 
Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated 
In what thou Ijadst to say: so, with good life 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their se\'eral kinds have done. My high charms 
And tliese mine enemies are all knit up [work 

In tlieir distractions; they now are in my power; 
And in tliese (its I leave them, while I visit 
Youiiu' Ferdinan'd, whom tliey suppose is drown'd. 
And Ills and mine loved darling. [Exit above. 

Gun. r the name of something holy, sir, why stand 
In this strange stare ? [you 

Alon. O, it is monstrous, monstrous ! 

Methounlit the billows spoke and told me of it; 
Tlie winds did sing it to me, anil tlie tliunder, 
Tliat deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced 
The name of Prosper: it did bass my tresjiass. 
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and 
I '11 seek him deeper than e'er plumuiet sounded 
And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I '11 fight their legions o'er. 

Ant. I '11 be thy second. 

[Exeunt 8eb. and Ant. 

Gon. All three of them are desperate: their great 
guilt. 
Like poison given to work a great time after. 
Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you 
That are of su|)pler joints, follow them swiftly 
And hinder them from what this ecstasy 
Ma\' now provoke them to. 

xidr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt. 



A.CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Before Prospero's cell. 
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pi-OS. If I have too austerely punish 'd you. 
Your compensation makes amends, for I 
Have given you here a thrid of mine own life, 
Or that for wliich I live; who once again 
I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations 
AVere Imt my trials of thy hive, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, 
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
Do not smile at me tiiat I boast her off. 
For thou Shalt find she will outstrip all praise 
And make it halt behind lier. 

Fcr. I do believe it 

Against an oracle. 

Pros. Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition 
AVorthily purchased, take my daughter: but 
12 



If thou dost break her virgin-knot before 
All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
With full and holy rite be minister'd, 
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
To make tliis rontraet grow; but barren hate. 
Sour-eyed disilain and discord shall bestrew 
The union of your bed with weeds so loatldy 
That you sludl hate it both : therefore take heed, 
As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fcr. As I hope 

For (luiet days, fair issue and long life, 
With sueli love as 'tis now, the murkiest den. 
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
Our worser genius can, sliall never melt 
Mine honour into lust, to take away 
The edge of that day's celeliration 
When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, 
Or Night kept chain'd below. 

Pros. FaLrly spoke. 



ACT IV. 



THE TE3IPEST. 



SCEXE I. 



Sit then and talk with her; she is thine o'rni. 
What, Ariel! mj' industrious servant, Ariel! 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. Wliat would my potent master? here I am. 

Pros. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last ser- 
Did worthily perform ; and I must use you [vice 
In such anotlier trick. Go bring the rabble, 
O'er whom I tjive thee power, here to this place: 
Incite them to quick motion; for I must 
Bestow upon tlie eyes of this young couple 
Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise, 
And they expect it from me. 

Ari. Presently ? 

Pros. Ay, with a twink. 

Ari. Before you can say ' come ' and ' go,' 
And breathe twice and cry ' so, so,' 
Each one, tripping on his toe, 
Will be here with mop and mow. 
Do you love me, master V no ? 

Pros. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach 
Till thou dost hear me call. 

Ari. AVell, I conceive. [Exit. 

Pros. Look thou be true ; do not give dalliance 
Too much tlie rein : the strongest oaths are straw 
To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious. 
Or else, good-night your vow! 

Fer. I warrant you, sir ; 

The white cold virgin snow upon my heart 
Abates the ardour of my liver. 

Pros. Well. 

Xow come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary, 
Rather tlian want a spirit : apiiear, and pertly ! 
K'o tongue ! all eyes ! be silent. [*'(//f mitsic. 

Enter Iris. 
Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and jiease; 
Thy tm'fj' mountains, where live nibbling sheep. 
And flat meads thatcird with stover, them to keep; 
Thy banks witli pioned and twillrd brims. 
Which spongy April at tliy liest lietrims, [groves. 
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom- 
Wliose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, 
Wliere tliou thyself dost air ; — the queen o' the sky, 
Wliose watery arch and messenger am I, 
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace. 
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. 
To come and spoil : her peacocks tiy amain : 
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 

Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey tlie wife of Jupiter ; 
Who with tliy safEron wings upon my flowers 
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers, 
And with each end of tliy blue bow dost crown 
My bosky acres ami my I'uishruliird down. 
Rich scarf to my jiroud earth ; wliy liath thy queen 
Summon 'd me hitlier, to tins short-grass'd green "i* 

Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
And some donation freely to estate 
On the blest lovers. 

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 

If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, 
Do now attend tlie c|ueeeii ? Since they did plot 
The means that duslVv Dis my ihinghter got, 
Her and her l.ilind boy's scandal'd company 
I have forsworn. 

Iris. Of her society 

Be not afraid : I met her deity 
Cutthig the clouds towards Paphos and her son 
Dove-drawni with her. Here thought they to liave 
Some wanton charm upon this nianand maid, [done 
Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid 
Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain; 



Mars's hot minion is retnrneil again; 
Her waspish-heatled son has liroke his arrows. 
Swears he will slio(jt no more but play with spaiTows 
And be a boy riglit out. 

Cer. High'st queen of state, 

Great Juno, comes ; I know her by her gait. 

Enter Juno. 
Juno. How does my bounteous sister ? Go with me 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be 
And honour'd in their issue, [Tliei/ sing: 

Juno. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing. 
Long continuance, and increasing. 
Hourly joys be still upon you 1 
Juno sings her blessings on you. 
Cer. Earth's increase, foison plenty. 
Barns and garners never empty. 
Vines with clustering bunches growing," 
Plants with goodly burthen bowing ; 
Spring come to you at the farthest 
In the very end of harvest ! 
Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
Ceres' blessing so is on you. 

Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold 
To think these spirits ? 

Pros. Spirits, which by mine art 

I have from their confines call'd to enact" 
Jily present fancies. 

Fcr. Let me live here ever ; 

So rare a wonder'd father and a wife 
Makes this place Paradise. 

[■Juno and Ceres whisper, and send 
Iris on ewploi/ment. 

Pros. Sweet, now, silence ! 

Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
There's something else to do: hush, and be mute. 
Or else our spell is marr'd. [brooks. 

Iris. You nynijihs, call'd ^Taiads, of the windring 
With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks, 
Leave your crisp channels and on this green land 
Answer your summons ; Juno does command : 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love ; be not too late. 

Snter certain Nymphs. 

Yon sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary. 
Come hitlier from the furrow aiul be merry: 
Make holiday ; your rye-straw hats put on 
And these fresh njTnphs encoimter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain Reapers, properly habited : they join 
icith the Nymphs in a yraceful dance; towards the 
end ichereof Prospero starts suddenly, and .''peaks; 
after which, to a strange, hollmo, and confused noise, 
they heavily vanish. 

Pros. [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates 
Against my life : tlie minute of their jilot [no more ! 
Is almost come. [ To the Spirits.] Well done ! avoid ; 

Fer. This is strange : your father 's in some passion 
That works him strongly. 

Mir. Never till this day 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 

Pros. You do look, my son, in a moved sort. 
As if you were dismay 'd : be cheerful, sir. 
Our revels now are elided. These our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits and 
Are melted into air, into thin air: 
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision. 
The cloud-capji'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temjiles, the great globe itself. 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
13 



ACT V. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE I. 



As dreams are made on, and our little life 

Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd ; 

Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled : 

Be not disturb 'd with my infirmity : 

If you be pleased, retire into my cell 

And there repose : a turn or two I '11 walk, 

To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mir. We wish you peace. [Exeunt. 

Pros. Come with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel : 
come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. "What 's thy pleas- 

Pros. Spirit, [ure V 

We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 

Ari. Ay, my commander: when I presented Ceres, 
I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd 
Lest I might anger thee. [lets ? 

Pros. Say again, where didst thou leave these var- 

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drink- 
So full of valour that they smote the air [Lag ; 
For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending 
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor ; 
At which, like uuback'd colts, they prick'd their ears. 
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses 
As they smelt music : so I charm'd their ears 
That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through 
Tooth 'd briers,sharpfurzes,pricking goss and thorns, 
Which entered their frail shins : at last I left them 
I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell. 
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
O'erstunk their feet. 

Pros. This was well done, my bird. 

Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither, 
For stale to catch tliese thieves. 

Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. 

Pros. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains. 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost ; 
And as with age his body uglier grows, 
So his mind cankers. 1 will plague them all, 
Even to roaring. 

Be-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c. 

Come, hang them on this line. 

Prospero and Ariel remain, invisible. Enter Cal- 
iban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. 

Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole 
may not 
Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. 

Ste. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harm- 
less faky, has done little better than played the Jack 
with us! 

Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss ; at which 
my nose is in great mdignation. 

Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster ? If I 
sliould take a displeasure against you, look you, — 

Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 

Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. 
Be patient, for the prize I '11 bring thee to [softly. 
Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak 



All 's hush'd as midnight yet. 

Tri7i. Ay, but to lose om- bottles in the pool, — 

Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in 
that, monster, but an infinite loss. 

Trin. That 's more to me than my wetting : yet 
this is your harmless fairy, monster. 

Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er 
ears for my labour. 

Cal. Prithee, my king, be quiet. See 'st thou here, 
This is the mouth o' the cell : uo noise, and enter. 
Do that good mischief which may make this island 
Thine ovm for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
For aye thy foot-licker. [thoughts. 

Ste.' Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody 

Trin. O kuig Stephano! O peer! O worthy Ste- 
phano ! look what a wardrobe here is for thee ! 

Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ! it is but trash. 

Trin. O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to 
a frippery. O king Stephano I 

Ste. Put off that go wti, Trinculo; by this hand, 
I '11 have that gown. 

Trin. Thy grace shall have it. 

Cal. The dropsy drown this fool! whatdoyoumean 
To dote thus on such luggage '? Let 's alone 
And do the murder first : if he awake, 
From toe to crown he '11 fill our skins with pinches, 
Make us strange stuff. 

Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not 
this my jerkin Y Now is the jerkin under the line: 
now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair and prove 
a bald jerkin. [your grace. 

Trin. Do, do : we steal by line and level, an't like 

Ste. I thank thee for tliat jest; here's a garment 
for 't : wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king 
of this country. ' Steal by line and level ' is an excel- 
lent pass of pate ; there 's another garment for 't. 

Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon your 
fingers, and away with the rest. 

Cal. I will have none on "t : we shall lose om- time, 
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villanous low. 

Ste. Monster, lay-to yom- fingers : help to bear this 
away where my hogshead of wine is, or I 'U turn you 
out of my kingdom : go to, carry this. 

Trin. And this. 

Ste. Ay, and this. 
A noise of hurders heard. Enter divers Spirits, iii 

shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt them about, 

Prospero and Ariel setting them on. 

Pros. Iley, Mountain, hey ! 

Ari. Silver! there it goes, Silver ! 

Pros. Fury, Fury ! there. Tyrant, there ! hark ! 
hark ! [Cal., Ste., and Trin. are elriven out. 
Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints 
With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews 
With aged cramps, and more pLuch-spotted make 
Than pard or cat o' momitain. [them 

Ari. Hark, they roar ! 

Pros. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour 
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : 
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
Shalt liave the ah- at freedom : tor a little 
Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt. 



SCENE I. — Before Prosperous cell. 
Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel. 

Pros. Now does my project gather to a head : 
My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How 's the day ? 

Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, 
14 



You said our work should cease. 

Pros. I did say so. 

When first I raised the temi>est. Say, my spirit, 
How fares the king and 's followers Y 

Ari. Confined together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge. 
Just as you left them ; all prisoners, sir, 



ACT V. 



THE TE3IPEST. 



SCENE I. 



In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell ; 
They cannot bnilge till your release. The king, 
HislH'dther and yours, abide all three distracted 
And tlie remainder mourning over them. 
Brimful of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly [zalo ;' 
Him tliat you term'd, sir, ' The good old lord, Gon- 
Ilis tears run dcmi his beard, like winter's drops 
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 
That if you now beheld them, youi- affections ['em 
Would become tender. 

Pros. Dost thon think so, spirit ? 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I liuman. 

Pros. And mine shall. 

Hast tliou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their alHictions, and shall not myself. 
One of tlieir kind, that relish all as sharply. 
Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art? 
Though Avith their high Awongs I am struck to the 
Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury [quick, 
Do I take part : the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, 
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel : 
My charms I '11 Ijreak, their senses I 'U restore. 
And they shall be themselves. 

Ari. I '11 fetch them, sir. {Exit. 

Pros. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes 
and groves. 
And ye that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him 
When he comes back; you demi-puppets that 
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, 
AVliereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime 
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, 
Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd 
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
And "twixt the green sea and the azured vault 
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given tire and rifted Jove's stout oak 
AV'ith his own bolt ; the strong-based promontory 
Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up 
The pine and cedar : graves at my command 
Have waked tlieir sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth 
By my so jiotent art. But this rough magic 
I here abjure, and, when I have required 
Some heavenly music, which even jiow I do, 
To work mine end upon their senses that 
Til is airy charm is for, I '11 lireak my staff, 
Bury it certain fathoms in the eartli. 
And deeper than did ever plummet sound 
I '11 drown my book. [Solemn miisic. 

Re-enter Ariel hefore : then Alonso, with a frantic 
gesture, attended by Gonzalo ; Sebastian a7ul 
Antonio in like numner, attended by Adrian 
and Francisco: tliey all enter the circle which 
Prospero had rmide, and tliere stand charmed; 
which Prospero observing, speaTcs : 
A solemn air and the best comforter 
To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains. 
Now useless, buil'd within thy skull! There stand, 
For you iue sjiell-stopp'd. 
Holy Gonzalo, liononiable man. 
Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, 
Fall feilowly drops. The cliarm dissolves apace. 
And as the morning steels upon the night, 
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, 
My true jireserver, and a loyal sir 
To him thou f ollow'st I I will pay thy graces 
Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly 
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: 
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. [Ijlood, 

Thou art pinch 'd for 't now, Sebastian. Flesh and 
You, brother mine, that entertain 'd ambition, 



Expell'd remorse and natm'e; who, with Sebastian, 

Whose inward pinelies therefore are most strong, 

AVould hen' liave kill'd your kino;; I do forgive thee, 

Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding 

Begins to swell, and the approaching tide 

Will shortly fill the reasonable shore 

That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them 

That yet looks on me, or woukl know me : Ariel, 

Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell : 

I will disease me, and myseif present 

As I was sometime Milan : quickly, spirit ; 

Thou Shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel siwjs and helps to attire him. 

Where the bee sucks, there suck 1 : 

In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 

There I couch when owls do cry. 

On the bat's back I do fly 

After summer merrily. 
Merrily, merrily shall I live now 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 

Pros. Why, that 's my dainty Ariel ! I shall miss 
But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. [thee ; 
To the king's ship. Invisible as thou art : 
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain 
Being awake, enforce them to this place. 
And presently, I prithee. 

Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
Or ere your pulse twice beat. [E.-cit. 

6on. All torment, trouble, wonder and amaze- 
Inhabitshere: some heavenly power guide us [ment 
Out of this fearful country! 

Pros. Behold, sir king, 

The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero: 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; 
And to thee and thy company I bid 
A hearty welcome. 

Alon. Whether thou be'st he or no, 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me. 
As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse 
Beats as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw thee, 
The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me: this must crave, 
An if this be at all, a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat [pero 

Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Pros- 
Be living and be here ? 

Pros. First, noble friend. 

Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot 
Be measured or confined. 

Gon. Whether this be 

Or be not, I 'U not swear. 

Pros. You do yet taste 

Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let j-ou 
Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all ! 
[Aside to Seb. and Ant.] But you, my brace of lords, 

were I so minded, 
I here could pluck his highness' frovsTi upon you 
And justify you traitors : at this time 
I will teU no" tales. 

Seb. [Aside] The devil speaks in him. 

Pros. No. 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know, 
Thou must restore. 

Alon. If thou be'st Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation ; 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wreck 'd upon this shore; where I have lost — 
How sharp the jwint of this remembrance is ! — 
My dear son Ferdmand. 

Pros. I am woe for 't, sir. 

15 



ACT V. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE I. 



Alon. Irreparable is the loss, and patience 
Says it is past lier cure. 

Pros. I rather think 

You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace 
For the lilce loss I have her sovereign aid 
And rest myself content. 

Alon. You the like loss ! 

Fros. As great to me as late; and, supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you, for I 
Have lost my daughter. 

Alon. A daughter? 

lieavens, that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and (iiu'cn there! that they were, I wish 
Myself were mudcled in that oozy bed [ter ? 
Where my son lies. AVlien ilid you lose your daugh- 

Pros. In this last temix'st. I pen '('ive, these lords 
At this encounter do so niucli achnire 
That they devour their reason anil scarce think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have 
Been justleil from yom' senses, know for certain 
That I am Trosiiero and that very duke 
AVhich was t hrust forth of Milan, who most strangely 
Upon this shure,wliere you were wreck Vl,was landed, 
To be the lord on 't. No more yet of this ; 
For "t is a chronicle of day by day, 
Not a relation for a breakfast nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
This cell"s my court : here have I few attendants 
And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. 
My dukedom since you liave given me again, 

1 will requite you with as good a tiling; 

At least bring fortli a wonder, to content ye 
As much as me my dukedom. 

Htra Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda 
plaijing at chess. 

Illr. Sweet lord, you play me false. 

Fry. No, my dear'st love, 

I would not for the world. [wrangle, 

M!r. Yes, for a score of kingdons you should 
And I would call it fan- play. 

Alon. If this prove 

A vision of the Island, one dear son 
Shall I twice lose. 

Seh. A most high miracle ! 

Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful; 
I have CTU'sed them without cause. [Kneels. 

Alon. Now all the blessings 

Of a glad father compass thee about I 
Arise, and say how thou camest here. 

Mir. O, wonder ! 

How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
How beauteous maidiind is ! O brave new world, 
That has such people m 't ! 

Fros. 'T is new to thee. 

Alon. Wliat is this maid with whom thou wast 
at play ? 
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours: 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
And brought us thus together 'i 

Fer. Sir, she is mortal ; 

But by immortal Providence she 's mine : 
I chose her when I could nut ask my father 
For his advice, iKir thought I had one. She 
Is daughter to this famous l)uke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown, 
But never saw before; of whom I liave 
Received a second life ; and second father 
This lady makes him to me. 

Alon. I am hers: 

But, O, how oddly will it sound that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness ! 

Pros. There, sir, stop: 

Let us not burthen our remembrance with 
A heaviness that 's gone. 
16 



Gon. I have inly wept, [gods. 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown ! 
For it is you that have chalk 'd forth the way 
Which brought us hither. 

Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo ! 

Qon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue 
Should become kmgs of Naples Y O, rejoice 
Beyond a connuon joy, and set it do\\ii 
With gold on lasting pillars : In one voyage 
Did Claribel her husl)an(l lind at Tunis, 
And Ferdinand, her lirotlier, found a wife 
Where he himself was U)st, Prospero his dukedom 
In a poor isle and all of us om'selves 
When no man was his own. 

Alon. [To Fer. and Mir.] Give me your hands : 
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart 
That doth not wish you joy ! 

Go7i.- Be it so ! Amen ! 

Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain 

amazedly following. 
O, look, sir, look, sir I here is more of us : 
I prophesied, if a gallows were on land. 
This fellow could not drowai. Now, blasphemy. 
That swear'st grace o'erl xxird, m it an oath on shore ? 
Hast thou no mouth Ijy land V \Vhat is the news ? 

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
Our king and coniiiany ; the next, oiu: ship — 
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split — 
Is tight and yare and bravely rigg'd as when 
AVe first put out to sea. 

Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Sir, all this service 
Have I done since I went. 

Pros, [^sidc to ^ri.] My tricksy spirit! [strengthen 

Alon. These are not natural events; "they 
From strange to stranger. Say ,ho w came you hither ? 

Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
I 'Id strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
And — how we know not — all clapp'd imder hatches ; 
Where but even now with strange and several noises 
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, 
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, 
We were awaked ; "straightway, at lilierty ; 
Where we, in all lier trim, freshly beheld 
Our royal, good and gallant ship, om- master 
Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you. 
Even in a dream, were we divided from them 
And were brought moping hither. 

Ar-i. [Aside to Pros.] Was 't well done ? 

Pros. [Aside to Art.] Bravely, my diligence. 

Thou Shalt be free. 

Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod ; 
And there is in this business more than natm'e 
Was ever conduct of : some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge. 

Pros. Sir, my liege, 

Do not infest yoin- mind with beating on 
Tlie strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure 
AVhich sliall be shortly, single 1 '11 resolve you, 
Which to you shall seem probable, of every 
These happen 'd accidents; till when, be cheerful 
And think of each thmg well. [Aside to Ari.] Come 

hither, spirit: 
Set Caliban and his comjianions free ; [sir ? 

Untie the spell. [Exit Arid.] How fares my gracious 
There are yet missing of >'our company 
Some few odd lads that you remember not. 

Re-enter Ariel, drivinr/ in Caliban, Stephano and 
Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. 

Ste. Every man shift for' all the rest, and let no 
man take care for himself; for all is but fortune. 
Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! 

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
head, here 's a goodly sight. 

Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed ! 



ACT V. 



THE TEMPEST. 



SCENE I. 



How fine mj' master is ! I am afraid 
He will chastise me. 

&6. Ha, ha! 

AVhat things are these, my lord Antonio ? 
Will money buy 'em V 

Ant. Very like ; one of them 

Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 

Pj-os. JMark but the badges of tliese men, my lords, 
Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave. 
His mother was a witch, and one so strong 
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 
And deal in her command \vitliout her power. 
These three have robb'd me; and tliis denii-devil — 
For he's a bastard one — had plotted witli them 
To take my life. Two of these fellows yuu 
Must know and own ; this thing of darkness I 
Acknowledge mine. 

Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 

Alon. Is not this Steijhano, my drunken butler? 

&eh. He is drunk iu)\v: where had he winey 

Alon. And Triuculo is reeling ripe : where should 
Find this grand li(iuor that hath gilded 'em? [they 
How earnest thou in this jiiekle? 

Trln. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you 
last tliat, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I 
shall not fear lly-blowing. 

&?;. Why, liow now, Stephano! [cramp. 

Sle. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a 

Pros. You "Id be king o' the isle, sirrah ? 

Sic. I should have been a sore one then. 

Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd 
on. [Fointimj to Caliban. 

Pros. He is as disproportion'd in his manners 
As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell ; 
Take with you your conipanions ; as you look 
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 

Cal. Ay, tliat I will ; and I '11 be wise hereafter 
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass 
AVas I, to take this drunkard for a god 
And worship this dull fool ! 

Pros. Go to ; away ! 

Alon. Hence, and bestow yom' luggage where you 

Seb. Or stole it, rather. [found it. 

[Exeunt Cal., Ste., ami 'Trin. 

Pros. Sir, I invite your highness and your train 



To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest 
For this one night ; which, part of it, I '11 waste 
AVith such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it 
Go quick away ; the story of my lite 
And the particular accidents gone by 
Since I came to this isle : and in the morn 
I '11 bring you to your ship and so to Naples, 
AVhere I have hope to see the nuptial 
Of these our dear-beloved solemnized ; 
And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
Every third thought shall be my grave. 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 
Take the ear strangely. 

Pros. I '11 deliver all ; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales 
And sail so expeditious that shall catch [chick. 
Your royal tleet far off. [Aside to Ari.] My Ariel, 
That is thy charge : then to the elements 
Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw 
near. [Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE. 

Spoken by Prospero. 

Now my charms are all o'erthrown. 
And what strength I have 's mine own, 
AVhich is most faint: now, 't is true, 
I must be here confined by you, 
Or sent to Naples. Let me not. 
Since I have mrduke<lom got 
And pardon'd tlie deeeiver, dwell 
In this bare island by your spell; 
But release me from my bands 
AVith the lielp of your good hands: 
Gentle breath of yours my sails 
IMust till, or else my project fails, 
AVhich was to please. Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant, 
And my ending is despair. 
Unless I be relieved by prayer, 
AVhich pierces so that it assaults 
Mercy itself and frees all faults. 
As you from crhnes would pardon'd be, 
Let your indulgence set me free. 




Caliban, Stepuano, and Trinculo Hunted with Hounds.— Act IV., Scene i. 

2 17 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA. 



DBAMATIS FEB SON ^. 



the two Gentlemen. 



Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia. 

Valentine, 

Proteus, 

Antonio, Father to Proteus. 

Thurlo, a foolish rival to Valentine. 

Eglamour, Agent for Silvia in her escape. 

Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine. 

Launce, the lilie to Proteus. 

Panthino, Servant to Antonio. 



Julia, beloved of Proteus. 
Silvia, beloved of Valentine. 
Lucetta, waiting- woman to Julia. 
Host, where Julia lodges. 
Outlaws, with Valentine. 

Servants, Musicians. 

SCENE — Verona; ITilan; the frontiers of Mantua. 



[Fc 



Ana 



of the Plot of thi! 



^CT I. 



Page XLll.] 



SCENE I. — Verona. An open place. 
Enter Valentine and Proteus. 

Vol. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: 
Home-keeping youtli have ever liomely wits. 
AVere 't not alfection chains thy tender days 
To tlie sweet glances of thy honoured love, 
I rather would entreat thycompany 
To see the wonders of the world abroad 
Than, living dully sluggardized at home, 
AVear out thy youth with sliapeless idleness. 
But since thou Invest, love still ami thrive therein, 
Even as I would when I to love liegin. 

I'ro. Wilt till lu be ijone y Sweet A'alcntine, adieu! 
Think on thy Proteus, when tliou hajily seest 
Some rare note-worthy oli.jcct iu tliy trlivel: 
Wish me partaker iu thy liaiipiness 
"When thiiudost meet good hap; and in tliy danger. 
If ever danger do environ thee, 
Commeifd tliy grievance to my holy prayers, 
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.' 

ViiL And on a love-book prrO' for my success? 

I'ld. Upon some book I love I '11 pra'y for thee. 

V'lJ. That "s on some shallow story of deep love: 
IIow yoiuig Lcander cross'd the Hellespont. 

Fro. That "s a deep story of a deeper love ; 
For he was more than over shoes in love. 

Val. 'T is true ; for you are over boots in love, 
And yet you never swum the Hellespont. 

Fro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots. 

Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. 

Fro. What ? 

Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with 
groans; [ment's mirth 

Coy looks with heart-sore siglis; one fading mo- 
With twenty watcliful. weary, tedious nights: 
If haply won, iicrliaps a hapless gain; 
If lost, why then a grievous labour won; 
Iliiwi'ver, tiut a fully bimglit with wit. 
Or else a wit by fully vanciuished. 

Fro. So, by jour circumstance, you call me fool. 

Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you '11 prove. 

Pro. 'T is love you cavil at : I am not Love. 

Val. Love is j'our master, for he masters you : 
And he that is so yoked by a fool, 
Metliinks, should not be chronicled for wise. 

Fro. Yet \\iMters say. as in the sweetest bud 
The eating canl;er dwells, so eating love 
Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 

Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud 
18 



Is eaten by the canker ere it blow. 
Even so by love the young and tender wit 
Is turn'd to folly, bUisting in the Imd, 
Losing his verdure even in the jirime 
And all tlie fair elfeets of future hopes. 
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee 
That art a votary to fond di-sire ? 
Once more ailieu I my father at the road 
Expects my coniing. there to see me shipp'd. 

Pro. And thither will I bring thee,Valentine. 

Vnl. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters 
Of thy success in love and what news else 
Betideth here in absence of thy friend; 
xVnd I likewise will visit thee witli mine. 

Fro. All liai>iiiiiess bechance to thee in Milan! 

Val. As much to you at home! and so, fare- 
well. \_Ej:it. 

Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : 
He leaves his friends to dignify them more; 
I leave myself, my friends :iiid all, for love. 
Thou, Julia, thou hast nietaiiHU'iihosed me, 
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. 
War with good counsel, set the wi'dd at nought : 
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with 
thouglit. 

Enter Speed. 

Speed. Sir Proteus, save you ! saw you my master ? 

Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for 
Milan. 

Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipii'd already, 
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 

Pro. Indeed, asheeii dntli very often stray, 
An if the shepherd be a while awa>'. 

Sijeed. You conclude that my master is a shep- 
herd then and I a sheep y 

Pro. I do. 

Speed. Why then, my horns are his bonis, whether 
I wake or sleep. 

Fro. A silly answer and fitting well a sheep. 

Speed. This proves me still a slieep. 

Pro. True; and thy master a shepherd. 

Speed. Nay. that I can deny by a circum.stance. 

Pro. It shall go hard but I "'11 prove it by another. 

Spend. Tlie sJieiiln-rd seeks the sheep, and not 
the shee]) the sheplierd ; but I seek my master, and 
my riiaster seeks not me : therefore I am no sheep. 

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the slie])herd ; 
the shepherd for food follows not the sheep : thou 



ACT I. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene ii. 



for wages followest tliy master; thy master for 
wages follows not thee: therefore tliou art a sheeii. 

ISjjced. Such aiiotlier procif will make me cry ' baa.' ' 

Pro. But, dost thou hear V gavest thou my letter 
to Julia y 

Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter 
to her, a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, 
gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. 

Pro. Here 's too small a pasture for such store 
of muttons. 

liljccil. If the ground be overcharged, you were 
best stick her. [pound you. 

Fro. Nay: in that )'ou are astray, 'twere best 

Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me 
for carrying your letter. 

Fro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, — a pinfold. 

Speed. From a pound to a pin V fold it over and 

over, [lover. 

'T is threefold too little for carrying a letter to yom' 

Pro. But what said she V 

Speed. [First nodding.] Ay. 

Pro. Nod — Ay — why, that 's noddy. 

Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod : and 
you ask me if she did nod ; and 1 say, 'Ay.' 

Fro. And that set together is noddy. 

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
together, take it for your pains. [letter. 

Pro. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the 

Speed. Well, I" perceive 1 must be fain to bear, 
with you. 

Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me V 

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly ; having 
nothing Imt the word ' noddy ' for my pains. 

Fro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 

Sjjeed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 

Fro. Come, come, open the matter in brief : what 
said she ? 

Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the 
matter may be both at once delivered. [she ? 

Fro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said 

Speed. Truly, sir, I think you '11 hardly win her. 

Fro. Why ,couldst thou perceive so much from her ? 

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from 
her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your 
letter : and being so hard to me that brought your 
mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling 
your mind. Give her no token but stones ; for she 's 
as liard as steel. 

Pro. What said she':' nothing'? 

Speed. No, not so much as ' Take this for thy 
pains.' To teistify your bounty, I thank you, you 
have testerned me ; in requital whereof, henceforth 
carry yom- letters yourself : and so, sir, I '11 com- 
mend you to my master. 

Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck. 
Which cannot perish having tliee aboard, 
Being destined to a drier death on shore. [Exit Speed. 
I nmst go send some better messenger : 
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines. 
Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — The same. Garden of Julia's house. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

.Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love':* 

Luc. Ay, madam, so you stumble not uuheedfully. 

Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen 
That every day with parle encounter me. 
In thy opinion which is wortliiest love';*. [mind 

Luc. Please you repeat their names, I '11 show my 
'According to my shallow simple skill. 

Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour '? 

Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine ; 
But, were I you, he never should be mine. 

Jid. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ? 

Luc. Well of his wealth ; but of himself, so so. 



Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ':' 

Luc. Lord, Lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! 

Jul. How now! what means this passion at his 
name ':" 

Luc. Pardon, dear madam : 'tis a passing shame 
That I, unwortliy body as I am. 
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 

Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest'? 

Luc. Then thus : of many good 1 think him best. 

Jul. Your reason V 

Liu;. I have no other but a woman's reason ; 
I think him so because I think him so. [him "? 

Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on 

Luc. Ay, if you thouglit your love not cast away. 

Jul. Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me. 

Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, 1 think, best loves ye. 

Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. 

Luc. Fire that 's closest kept burns most of all. 

.Jul. They do not love that do not show their love. 

Lur. O, they love least that let men know their love. 

Jul. I would I knew his mind. 

Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 

Jul. 'To Julia.' Say, from whom? 

Luc. That the contents will show. 

Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee ? [Proteus. 

Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from 
He would have given it you ; but I , being in the way, 
Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, I pray. 

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! 
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines '? 
To whisper and conspire against my youth '? 
Now, trust me, 't is an office of great worth 
And you an otlicer tit for the place. 
There, take tlie paper: see it be return 'd; 
Or else return iio more into my sight. 

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. 

Jul. Will ye be gone Y 

Luc. That you may ruminate. 

[Exit. 

Jul. And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter : 
It were a shame to call her back again 
And pray her to a fault for which 1 chid her. 
What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid. 
And would not force the letter to my view ! 
Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that 
AVhich they would have the prolferer construe 'ay.' 
Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love 
That, like a testy babe, will scratch tlie nurse 
And presently all humbled kiss tlie rod! 
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence. 
When willingly I would have had her here! 
How angerly I taught my lirow to frown. 
When inward joy enforced my heart to smile! 
My penance is to call Lucetta back 
And ask remission for my folly past. 
What ho ! Lucetta ! 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. What would your ladyship '? 

Jul. Is 't near dmuer-time '? 

Luc. I would it were. 

That you might kill your stomach on your meat 
And not upon your maid. 

Jul. What is "t that you took up so gingerly '? 

Luc. Nothing. 

Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then '? 

Luc. To "take a paper up that I let fall. 

Jul. And is that paper nothing 'f 

Luc. Nothing concerning me. 

Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 

Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns. 
Unless it have a false interpreter. 

Jul. Some love of yours liath writ to you In rhyme. 

Luc. That I miglit sing it. madam, to a tune. 
Give me a note : your ladyshiii can set. 

Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible. 
Best sing it to the tmie of "' Light 6' love.' 
19 



ACT I. 



THE TWO GENTLE3IEN OF VERONA, scene iix. 



Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 

Jul. Heavy ! beliice it hath some Imrden then ? 

Luc. Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it. 

Jul. And why not you 'i 

Luc. I cannot reach so high. 

Jul. Let 's see your song. How now, minion ! 

Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: 
And yet methinks 1 do not like this ttuie. 

Jul. You do not 'i 

Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 

Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 

Luc. Nay, now you are too flat 
And mar tlie concord with too harsli a descant: 
There waiitcth but a nicari to fill your song. 

Jul. The mean is drowu'd with your unruly bass. 

Luc. Indeed, 1 bid the Ijase for Proteus. 

Jul. This lialible sliall not lienceforth trouble me. 
Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter. 
Go get you gone, anil let tlie papers lie : 
Y"ou would be lingering them, to anger me. 

Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be best 
pleased 
To be so anger'd with another letter. YExit. 

Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! 

hateful hands, to tear such loving words! 
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey 
And kill the bees that yield it with your stings ! 

1 '11 kiss each several paper for amends. 
Look, here is writ ' kind Julia.' Unkind Julia! 
As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 

I throw thy name against tlie Ijruising stones, . 

Trampling contemptuously on thy disdaiu. 

And here is writ ' love-wounded Proteus.' 

Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed 

Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly lieal'd ; 

And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 

But twice or thrice was ' Proteus ' written down. 

Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away 

Till I have found each letter in the letter, 

Except mine own name: that some whirlwind bear 

Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock 

And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 

Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, 

' Poor forlorn Pi-oteus, passionate Proteus, 

To the sweet Julia:' that I '11 tear away. 

And yet I will not, sith so prettily 

He couples it to liis comiilaining names. 

Thus will I fold tliem one upon anotlier: 

Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 

lie-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. Madam, 
Dinner is ready, and your father stays. 

Jul. Well, let us go. 

Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales 
here ? 

Jul. It you respect them, best to take them up. 

Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: 
Y'et here they shall not lie, for catcliing cold. 

Jul. 1 see you have a month's miiid to them. 

Luc. Ay, uiadam, you may say wliat siglits you see ; 
I see things too, although you judge I wink. 

Jul. Come, come ; will 't please you go y [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The same. Antonio's house. 

Enter Antonio and Panthino. 

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk whs that 
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? 

Pan. 'T was of his nephew" Proteus, your son. 

Ant. Why, what of him y 

Pan. He wonder'd that your lordship 

AVoukl suffer him to spend Ids youth at home. 
While other men, of slender rei'mtatioii. 
Put forth their sous to seek prctVrnient out: 
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
Some to discover islands far away ; 
20 



Some to the studious universities. 

For any or for all tliese exercises 

He said that Proteus your son was meet, 

And did reijnest me to importune you 

To let him spend liis time no more at home, 

Whicli would be great impcaclinient to his age, 

In having known no travel in liis youth. 

Aut. Norneeirst tliounuicli iniinutunemetothat 
AVhereon this month I have been hammering. 
I have consider'd well his loss of time 
And liow he cannot be a [icrfect man. 
Not being tried and tntor'd in the world: 
Experience is by industry achieved 
And perfected by the swift course of time. 
Then tell me, whither were I best to send him? 

Pan. I think your lordship is not ignorant 
How his companion, youthful A^ilentine, 
Attends the emperor "in his royal court. 

^-1 nt. I know it well. 

Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent 
him thither: 
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments. 
Hear sweet discourse, converse with uoblemen, 
And lie in eye of every exercise 
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 

Ant.' I like tliy counsel; well hast thou advised: 
And that tliou niayst perceive liow well I like it 
The execution of it shall make known. 
Even with the speediest expedition 
I v.'ill dispatch him to the emiieror's court. 

Pan. To-morrow,iiiay it please you,DouAlphonso, 
With other gentlemen of good esteem. 
Are journeyiijg to salute the emperor 
And to commend their service'to his will. 

Ant. Good company ; with them sliall Proteus go: 
And, in good time ! _i;cw will we break with him. 

Enter Proteus. 
Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! 
Here is lier hand, tlie agent of her heart; 
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. 
O, tliat our fathers would apiilaud our loves, 
To seal our luipiiiness with their consents! 

Iieavenly Julia! 

Ant. IloWnow! what letterare you reading there? 

Pro. May 't please your lordship, 'tis a word or 
Of coninieiidations sent from A^deiitine, [two 

Delivered liy a friend tliat came from him. 

Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. 

Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes 
How happily he lives, how well beloved 
And daily graced by the emperor; 
Wisliingnie witli him, partner of his fortune. 

^•1(((. And how stand you allected to liis wish? 

Pro. As one rel\i]ig on your lordship's will 
And not depending on his frieniily wish. 

^•lii(. My will is sonietliing suited with his wish. 
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; 
For what I will, I will, and tlu're an end. 

1 am resolved tliat thou slialt spend some time 
AVith Valentinus in the emperor's court : 
AVhat maintenance he from his friends receives, 
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go : 

Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 

Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : 
Please you, deliberate a day or two. [thee : 

Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after 
No more of stay! to-morrow thou must go. 
Come on, Pantiiino : you shall be employ'd 
To hasten on his expedition. 

[Exeunt Ant. and Pan. 

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of 
burning. 
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown 'd. 
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 
Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 



ACT II. 



THE TWO GENTLE3IEN OF VERONA. scene i. 



And with the vantage of mine owti excuse 
Hath he excepted most against my love. 
O, how this spring of love resembleth 

The uncertain glory of an April day, 
"Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 

And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 



Ee-enter Panthino. 

Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : 
He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. 

Pro. AVhy, this it is; my heart accords tliereto, 
And yet a thousand times it answers ' no.' [Exeunt. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I.— 3rdan. The Dule's palace. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

Speed. Sir, your glove. 

7 al. Not mine; my gloves are on. 

Speed. Why, then, this may be yours, for this is 

but one. 
Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it "s mine : 
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 
Ah, Silvia, Silvia! 
Speed. Madam Silvia ! Madam Silvia ! 
1 ul. How now, sirrah ? 
Speed. She i.s not within hearing, sir. 
J (d. Why, sir, who Ijade you call her? 
Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. 
Val. Well, you '11 still be too forward. [slow. 
Speed. And yet 1 was last chidden tor being too 
V(d. Go to, sir: tell me, do you know Madam 
Speed. She that your worship loves ? [Silvia V 
I ((?. Why, how "know you that I am in love? 
Speed. Marry, by these special marks: first, you 
have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your 
arms, like a malecontent ; to relish a love-song, like a 
robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had 
the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had 
lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that 
liad buried her grandam; to fast, like one that 
takes diet; to watch, like one tliat fears robbing; 
to speak i)uling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You 
were wont, wlTen you laughed, to crow like a cock ; 
when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; 
when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; 
when you looked sadly, it was for want of money : 
and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, 
that, when I look on you, I can hariUy think you 
my master. 

Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 
Speed. Tliey are all perceived without ye. 
Val. Without me V they cannot. 
Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, 
without you were so simple, none else would ; but 
you are so without these follies, that these follies 
are within you and shine through you like tlie 
water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you 
but is a physician to comment on your malady. 
Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia^ 
Speed. She that you gaze on so as she sits at 
supper ? 

V(d. Ha.stthou observed that? even she, I mean. 
Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 
Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, 
and yet knowest her not ? 
Speed. Is she not hard-favoured, sir? 
Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured. 
Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 
Val. Wliat dost thou know ? [favoured. 

Speed. That she is not so fair as, of j'ou, well- 
lal. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
favour Infinite. 

Speed. That 's because the one is painted and the 
other out of all count. 

Val. How painted? and how out of count? 
Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, 
that no man counts of her Ijeautv. [beauty. 

Val. How esteemest thou meV I account of her 



Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed. 

J-al. How long hath she been deformed? 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 

]'(«/. I have loved her ever since I .saw her ; and 
still I see her beautiful. 

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val. Why? 

Speed. Because Love is blind. O, that you had 
mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they 
were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for 
going ungartered ! 

Val. What should I see then ? 

Speed. Your own present folly and her passing 
deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to 
garter his hose, and you, being in love, cannot see 
to put on your hose. 

Vul. Belike, boy, then, you are in love; for last 
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 

Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I 
thank you, you swinged me for my love, which 
makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. 

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 

Speed. 1 would you were set, so your affection 
would cease. 

Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
lines to one she loves. 

Speed. And have you ? 

T al. I have. 

Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? 

T al. jSTo, boy, but as well as I can do them. 
Peace ! here she comes. 

Speed. [Aside] O excellent motion ! O exceeding 
puppet ! Now will he interpret to her. 

Enter Silvia. 
Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-mor- 
rows, [lion of manners. 
Speed. [Aside] O, give ye good even ! here 's a mil- 
Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- 
sand, [she gives it him. 
Speed. [Aside] He should give her interest, and 
Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter 
Unto the secret nameless triend of yours; 
Which I was much unwillinn' to proceed in 
But for my duty to your ladysliip. [done. 
Sn. I tliank you, gentle servant : 'tis very clerkly 
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off: 
For being ignorant to whom it goes 
I writ at ranilom. very doiditfully. [ 
Sil. Perchance you think too much of so 
Vrd. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will \\ . 
Please you command, a thousand times as nv,, ' . 
And yet — 

Sd. A jjretty period ! Well, I guess the sei; ; - i : 
And yet I will not name it; and yet I care noc ; 
And yet take this again; and yet I tliank you, 
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
Speed. [Aside] And yet you will ; and yet another 
'yet.' [it? 

Val. What means your ladyship ? do you not like 
Sil. Yes, yes: the lines are very quaintly writ; 
But since unwillingly, take them again. 
Nay, take them. 

Vrd. Madam, they are for you. 
Sil. Ay, ay : you WTit them, sir, at my request ; 
21 



ACT II. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene it. 



But I will none of them ; they are for ynu ; 
I would have had them writ more movingly. 

VaJ. Please you, I '11 write your ladyship another. 

8il. And when it 's writ, lor my sake read it over, 
And if it please you, so; it nut, wliy. so. 

Val. If it please me, madam, wliat then V 

8U. Why, if it please you, take it tor your labour : 
And so, good-morrow, servant. • [Exit. 

Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 
steeple ! [suitor. 

My master sues to her, and she hath taught her 
lie being lier pupil, to become her tutor. 
O excellent drvicc ! was there ever heard a better, 
That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
write the letter '^ 

Val. How now, sir ? what are you reasoning with 
yourself ? 

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming : 't is you that have 
the reason. 

Val. To do what ? 

Speed. To be a spokesman for Madam Silvia. 

Val. To whom V 

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a 

Val. What figure':' [figure. 

Speed. By a letter, I should say. 

Val. Wliy, she hath not writ to me ? 

Speed. What need she, when she hatli made you 
write to yourself "i" Why, do you not perceive "the 

Val. No, believe me. [jest 'i* 

Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir. But did 
you perceive her earnest 'i* 

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 

Speed. AVhy, she hath given you a letter. 

Val. That 's the letter I \vi-it to her friend. 

Speed. And tliat letter hath she delivered, and 
there an end. 

Val. I would it were no worse. 

Speed. I '11 warrant you, 't is as well : 
For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty. 
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; 
Or fearing else some messenger that miglit her mind 
discover, [her lover. 

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto 
All this 1 speak in print, for in print I found it. 
Why muse you, sir ':' 't is dinner-time. 

Val. I have dined. 

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the cha- 
meleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am 
nourished liy my victuals and would fain have meat. 
O, be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. 

[Uxeunt. 

SCENE II. — Verona. Julians house. 

Enter Proteus and Julia. ' 

Pro. Have patience, gentle .Julia. 
Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
Pro. Wheii possibly I can, I will return. 
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. 
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 

[Givina a ring. 
Pro. Wliy, then, we '11 make exchange ; here, talie 

you tills. 
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
And when that hour o'erslijis hie in the day 
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, lor thy sake. 
The next ensuing hour some Inul mischance 
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! 
'My fatlier stays my coming; answer not; 
Tlie tide is now: hay, not thy tide of tears; 
Tliat tide will stay me longer than I should. 
Julia, farewell ! [Exit Julia. 

What, gone without a .word Y 
Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. 
22 



Enter Panthino. 

Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. 

Pro. Go ; I come, I come. 
Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dmnb. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE III. — Tfie saine. A street. 
Enter Launce, leading a dog. 

Jjaunce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done 
weeping ; all the kind of the Launces have this very 
fault. I have received my proportion, like the pro- 
digious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the 
Imperial's court. I tliink Crab my dog be the sour- 
est-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my 
fatlier wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, 
our eat wringing lier bauds", and all our house in a 
great iierpli'xity, yet did not tlds cruel-hearted cur 
shed one tear: lie is a stone, a very pebble-stone, 
and has no more pity in biiu than a dog: a Jew 
would have wept to have seen our parting ; why, my 
grandani, having no eyes, look you, wept herself 
blind at my parting. Nay, I '11 show you tlie man- 
ner of it. This shoe is my father: no, this left shoe 
is my father: no, no, this left shoe is my motlier: 
nay, that cannni lie so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, 
it iiatli the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in 
it, is my mother, and this my father; a veugeanco 
on 't ! there 't is : now, sir, this staff is my sister, 
for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small 
as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid': 1 am the dog: 
no, the dog is himself, and 1 am the dog — Oh! the 
dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come 
I to my father; Fatlier, your blessing: now should 
not the shoe speak a word for weeping : now should 
1 kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to 
my mother : O, that she could speak now like a wood 
woman! Well, 1 kiss her; why, there 'tis; here's 
my mother's breath up and down. Now come I 
to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the 
dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a 
word ; but see how I lay the dust witli my tears. 

Enter Panthino. 

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard! thy master 
is shipped and thou art to post after with oars. 
AVliat 's the matter '? why weepest thou, man ':' 
Away, ass! you-'ll lose the tide, if you tarry any 
loiter. 

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for 
it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 

Pan. What 's the unkindest tide ':' 

Launce. Why, he that 's tied here, Crab, my dog. 

Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou 'It lose the flood, 
and, in losing the flood, lose tliy voyage, and, in 
losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing 
thy master, Icise t!iy service, and, in losing thy ser- 
vice, — Why dost tliou stop my mouth ■:" 

Launce. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. 

Pan. Where should 1 lose my tongue 'i* 

Launce. In thy tale. 

Pun. In thy tail! 

Launce. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 
master, and the service, and the tied ! Why, man, 
if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my 
tears ; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat 
with my sighs. [thee. 

Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to call 

Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest. 

Pa??. Wilt thou go ? 

Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Milan. The BuWs palace. 
Enter Silvia, "Valentine, Thurio, and Speed. 
Sil. Servant! 
Val. Mistress ? ' 



ACT II. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene iv. 



Spceil. ^Master, Sir Thurio fro^Tis on you. 

T (d. xVy, boy, it 's for love. 

Speed. Not of you. 

7 f(7. Of my mistress, tlien. 

Speed. 'T were good you Imoelced him. [Exit. 

Sil. Servant, you are" sad. 

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 

Thu. Seem you tliat you are not ? 

V(d. Haply I do. 

7'liu. So do counterfeits. 

T7(?. So do you. 

Jim. What seem I that I am not ? 

Vnl. Wise. 

Thu. What instance of the contrary? 

Vrd. Your foUy. 

Thu. And how quote you my folly ? 

VaJ. I quote it in your jerkin. 

Thu. Jly jerkin is a doublet. 

Vnl. AVell, then, I '11 double your foUy. 

Thu. How? [colour? 

Sil. What, angry, Sir Tliurio! do you change 

Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of 
chameleon. 

Th u. That hath more mind to feed on your blood 
than live in your air. 

]'<d. You have said, sir. 

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time, [begin. 

V(d. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you 

SU. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 
shot off. 

T«L 'T is indeed, madam; we thank the giver. 

Sil. Who is that, servant? 

Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. 
Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's 
looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your 
company. 

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I 
shall make your wit bankrupt. 

Val. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer 
of words, and, I thmk, no other treasure to give your 
followers, for it appears, by their bare liveries, that 
they live by your bare words. [father. 

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more : here comes my 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
Sir Valentine, yoiu- father 's in good health : 
What say you to a letter from your friends 
Of much good news ? 

Val. My lord, I will be thankful 

To any happy messenger from thence. 

Di'kc. Know ye Don Antonio, your countrjTnan ? 

Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
To l.)e of worth and worthy estimation 
And not witliont desert so well reputed. 

Bukc. Hath he not a son? 

]'(d. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves 
The honour and regard of such a father. 

Duke. You know him well ? 

Val. I know liim as myself; for from our infancy 
AVe have conversed and spent our hours togetlier: 
And though myself have been an idle truant, 
Omitting the sweet benefit of time 
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection. 
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for tliat 's his name. 
Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
His years but young, but Ins experience old; 
His head unm"ellow"d, but his judgment ripe; 
And, in a word, for far behind his" worth 
Comes all the praises that I now bestow. 
He is complete in feature and in mind 
With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 

Duke. Besln-ew me, sir, but if he make this good. 
He is as worthy for an empress' love 
As meet to lie iui emperor's counsellor. 
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me, 
Witli commendation from great potentates; 



And here he means to spend his time awhUe : 
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 

Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth. 
Silvia, I speak to you, and you. Sir Tliurio; 
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it : 
I will send him hither to you presently. [Exit. 

Vcd. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship 
Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
Did hold his eyes lock'd in lier crystal looks. 

Sd. Belike that now she hath enfranchised them 
Upon some other pawn for fealty. [still. 

Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners 

Sn. Nay, then heshould be blind; and, being blind, 
How could he see his way to seek out you? 

Val. Why, lady. Love hath twenty pair of eyes. 

Thu. They say that Love hath not an eye at all. 

Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yoiurself: 
Upon a homely object Love can wink. [tleman. 

Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the gen- 

Enter Proteus. [Exit Tliurio. 

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! Mistress, I beseech 
Confirm his welcome with some special favour, [jou, 

Sd. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither. 
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 

Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertaLu him 
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 

SU. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 

Pro. Not so, sweet lady: but too mean a servant 
To have a look of such a worthy'mistress. 

Val. Leave off discourse of disability: 
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 

Pro. My duty will I boast of : nothing else. 

Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed : 
Servant, you are \velcome to a worthless mistress. 

Pro. i "11 die on him that says so but yom'self. 

Sil. That you are welcome ? 

Pro. That you are worthless. 

He-enter Thurio. 

Thu. Madam, my lord your father would speak 
with you. 

Sd. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio, 
Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome : 
I '11 leave you to confer of home affairs ; 
When you have done, we look to hear from you, 

Pro. "We "11 both attend upon your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Silvia anel Thurio. 

Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you 
came? [commended. 

Pro. Your friends are well and have them much 

Val. And how do yours ? 

Pro. I left them all in health. 

Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives your 
love ? 

Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ; 
I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : 
I have done penance for contemning Love, 
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish 'd me 
With bitter fasts, with penitrntial gri>ans, 
With nightly tears and daily hcart-snre sighs; 
For in revenge of my contemiit of love. 
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes 
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sor- 
O gentle Proteus, Love 's a mighty lord [row. 

And hath so humbled me as I confess 
There is no woe to his correction 
Nor to his service no such joy on earth. 
Now no discoiu-se, except it be of love ; 
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep. 
Upon the verv naked name of love. 

Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. 
Was this tlie idol that vou worship so? 

Val. Even she; and "is she not a heavenly saint? 

Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 
23 



ACT II. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



SCENE VI. 



Vol. Call her divine. 

Pro. I will not flatter her. 

Val. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 

Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills, 
And I must minister the like to you. 

Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine. 
Yet let her be a principality, 
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 

Pro. Except ]iiy mistress. 

Val. Sweet, except not any ; 

Except thou wilt except against my love. 

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 

Val. And I will help thee to prefer lier too : 
She shall be dignified with this high honour — 
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss 
And, of so great a favour growing proud, 
Disiiain to root the summer-swelUug flower 
And make rough winter everlastingly. 

Pro. Why, Valentine, wliat liraggardism is this? 

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all f can is nothing 
To her wliose worth makes other worthies nothing; 
She is alone. 

Pro. Then let her alone. [own, 

Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine 
And I as rich in having such a jewel 
As twenty seas, if all tlieir sand were pearl, 
The water nectar and tlie rocks piu-e gold. 
Forgive me that I do not dream on tliee. 
Because thou see'st me dote upon my love. 
My foolish rival, that her fatlier likes 
Only for his possessions are so huge. 
Is gone with her along, and I must after. 
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 

Pro. But slie loves you ^ [marriage-hour, 

Val. Ay, and we are betroth 'd: nay, more, our 
With all the cunning manner of our flight. 
Determined of; how I must climb her window, 
The ladder made of cords, and all the means 
Plotted and 'greed on for my liappiiiess. 
Good Proteus, go with me to my cliamber, 
In these affairs to aid me with tliy ciiunsel. 

Pro. Go on before; I shall inquire you forth: 
I must unto the road, to disembark 
Some necessaries that I needs must use. 
And then I '11 presently attend you. 

Val. Will you make haste y 

Pro. I will. [Exit Valentine. 

Even as one heat another heat expels, 
Or as one nail by strength drives out another. 
So the remembrance of my former love 
Is by a newer object quite' forgotten. 
Is it mine, or Valentine's praise. 
Her true perfection, or my false transgression. 
That makes me reasonless to reason tlius? 
She is fair; and so is Julia that I hive — 
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 
Wliich, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 
Bears no iinpressinn of tlie thing it was. 
IMethinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, 
And that I love liim not as 1 was wont. 
O, but I love his lady too too nnich, 
And that 's the reason I love him so little. 
How shall I dote on her witli more advice, 
That thus witliout advice begin to love her I 
'T is but her picture I have yet beheld, 
And that hath dazzled my reason's light; 
But when I look on lier perfections. 
There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
If I can check my erring love, I will ; 
If not, to compass her I '11 use my skill. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— 37te same. A street. 
Enter Speed and Launce severally. 
Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to 
Milan I 

24 



Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for 
I am not welcome. I reckon this always, that a 
man is never undone till he be luinged, iior never 
welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid 
and the hostess say ' Welcome ! ' 
. Speed. Come on, you madcap, I 'II to the alehouse 
with you presently ; where, fi ir one shot of five pence, 
thou slialt have five thousand welcouies. But, sirrah, 
how did thy master part with ]Ma(lam Julia V 

Launce. JMarry, alter they closed in earnest, they 
parted very fairly in jest. 

Speed. But shall she marry him ? 

Launce. No. 

Speed. How then V shall he marry her ? 

Launce. No, neither. 

Sjjeed. What, are they liroken ? 

Luuiicc. Xo.they areliiitli aswholeasafish. [them? 

Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter with 

Laimiv. ]\Iarry, thus; when it stands well with 
him, it stanils well with her. [not. 

Spud. AVIiat an ass art thou! I understand tliee 

Launce. A\'liat a lilock art thou, that thou canst 
not! My stall understands me. 

Sjjeed. What tlmu sayest ? 

Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I "11 
but lean, and my stalT understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. [one. 

Launce. Why. stand-under and under-stand is all 

Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match? 

Eawice. Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will ; if he say 
no, it will; if lie shake his tail and say nothing, it will. 

Sijeed. The conclusion is then that it will. 

Launce. Tliou slialt never get sucli a secret from 
me but by a parable. 

Speeel. 'T is well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
how sayest thou , that my master is become a notable 

Launce. I never knew him otherwise. [lover ? 

Speed. Than how ? [to be. 

Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him 

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest 
me. [thy master. 

Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant 

Speed. I tell thee , ni v master is become a hot lover. 

Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he 
burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to 
the alehouse; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, 
and not worth the name of a Christian. 

Speed. Why ? 

Launce. Because thou hast not somuch charity in 
thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt tlioii 
go? 

Speed. At thy service. [Exnmt. 

SCENE VI.— r/tt scofie. The Dulc's pcdace. 

Enter Proteus. 
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To love fair Silvia, shall I he forsworn; 
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; 
And even that power which gave me first my oath 
Provokes me to this threefold perjury ; 
Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear. 

sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd. 
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it! 
At first I did adore a, twinkling star. 

But now I worship a celestial sun. 
Unheedful vows may heedfnlly be broken, 
And he wants wit that wants resolved will 
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. 
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad. 
Whose s<:l^■ereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
AVitli twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 

1 cannot lea've to love, and yet I do ; 

But there I leave to love where I should love. 
Julia I lose and Valentine I lose: 
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss 



ACT III. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scexe i. 



For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia. 

I to myself am clearer than a friend. 

For love is still most precious in itself: 

And Silvia — witness Heaven, that made her fair I — 

Shows .Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 

I will forget that .Julia is alive. 

Remembering that my love to her is dead; 

And Valentiiie I '11 hold an enemy. 

Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 

I cannot now prove constant to myself. 

Without some treachery used to Valentine. 

This night he meaneth with a corded ladder 

To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window, 

Myself in counsel, his competitor. 

Kow presently I '11 give her father notice 

Of their disguising and pretended (light; 

Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine; 

For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter; 

15ut, Valentine being gone, I '11 quickly cross 

By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. 

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! {Exit. 

SCENE Vn. — Verona. Jidia^s house. 

Enter Julia a?icZ Lucetta. 

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; 
And even in kind love I do conjure thee, 
AV'lio art the table wherein all my thoughts 
Are visibly character "d and engraved. 
To lesson me and tell me some good mean 
How, with my honour, I may undertake 
A journey to my loving Proteus. 

Luc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long! 

Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; 
Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly, 
And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. 

Luc. Better forbear till Proteus make return. 

Jul. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's 
Pity the dearth that I have pined in, [food? 

By longing for that food so long a time. 
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle Are with snow 
As seek to quench the lire of love with words. 

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, 
But qualify the fire's extreme rage. 
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 

Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it 
Thecurrent that with gentle murmur glides, [burns. 
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impat iently doth rage; 
But when his fair course is not hindered. 
He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, 
(iiving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. 
And so by many winding nooks he strays 
With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
Then let me go and hinder not my course : 



I '11 be as patient as a gentle stream 
Aud make a pastime o"f each weary step, 
Till the last step have brought me to my love; 
And there I '11 rest, as after much turmoil 
A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 

Ltic. But in what habit will you go along? 

Jul. Xot like a woman ; for I would prevent 
The loose encounters of lascivious men: 
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
As may lieseem some well-reputed page. 

i!(c." Why , then, your ladyship must cut 3-our hair. 

Jul. ^o, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings 
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots. 
To be fantastic may become a youth , 

Of greater time than I shall show to be. [breeches ? 

Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your 

Jul. That fits as well as ' Tell me, good my lord, 
What compass will you wear your farthingale?' 
Why even what fashion thou best likest, Lucetta. 

Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, 
madam. 

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour 'd. 

Luc. A round hose, madam, now 's not worth a 
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. [pin, 

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have 
What tliou thinkest meet and is most mannerly. 
But tell me. wench, how will the world repute me 
For undertaking so uustaid a journey ? 
I fear me, it will make me scandalized. 

Luc. Ifyouthinkso.thenstayat homeandgonot. 

Jul. ;Nay, that I will not. 

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
If Proteus like j'our journey when you come, 
Xo matter who's displeased when you are gone: 
I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal. 

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: 
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears 
And instances of infinite of love 
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 

Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect! 
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth ; 
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles. 
His love sincere, his thoughts iunuaculate. 
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, 
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. 

Luc. Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to 
him ! _ [wrong 

.Jul. Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that 
To bear a hard opinion of his truth: 
Only deserve my love by loving him ; 
And presently go with me to my chamber. 
To take a note of what I stand "in need of, 
To furnish me upon my longing journey. 
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 
ily goodSj my lands, my reputation ; 
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me lienee. 
Come, answer not, but to it presently! 
I am impatient of my tarriauce. [Exeunt. 



^CT III. 



SCENE l.— 3Rlan. The Duke's palace. 
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 

Dul-e. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; 
We liave some secrets to confer about. '[Exit Thu. 
Now, tell me, Proteus, what 's your will with me. 

Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis- 
The law of friendship bids me to conceal : [cover 
But when I call to mimVyour gracious favours 
Done to me, mideserving as I am, 
My duty pricks me on to utter that 
Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 



Know, worthy prince. Sir Valentine, my friend, 
This night intends to steal away your daughter: 
Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
I know you have determined to bestow her 
On Thurio, wliom your gentle daughter hates; 
And should she thus be stol'n away ftom you, 
It would be much vexation to your age. 
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
To cross my friend in his intended drift 
Thau, by concealing it, heap on your head 
A pack of sorrows which would press you do-\vn, 
Being imprevented, to your timeless grave. 
25 



ACT III. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. scene i. 



Duke. Proteus, I thank tliee for thine honest care ; 
Which to requite, command me wliile I live, 
This love of theirs myself have often seen. 
Haply when they have judged me fast asleep, 
And oftentimes have purposed to forbid 
Sir Valentine her company and my court : 
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err 
And so unworthily disgrace the man, 
A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, 
I gave hiin gentle looks, thereby to And 
That wliii-li tliyself hast now disclosed to me. 
And, tluit tiiou niayst perceive my fear of this, 
Iviiowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower. 
The key whereof myself ha\'e ever kept ; 
And thence she cannot l:ie convey'd away. 

Fro. Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean 
How he her chamlier-window will ascend 
And witli a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
For whieli the youthful lover now is gone 
And this way comes he with it presently; 
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly 
That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 

Dulc. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
That I had any light from thee of this. 

Fro. Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming. 
„ [Exit. 

Enter Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? 

Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
And I am going to deliver them. 

Duke. Be they of much import? 

Val._ The tenour of them doth but signify 
My health and happy being at your court. 

Duke. Nay then, no matter ; stay with me awhile ; 
I am to break with thee of some affairs 
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
'Tis not unknown to thee that 1 liave sought 
To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. 

Val. I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the 
match 
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman 
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities 
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him ? [ward, 

Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, fro- 
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty, 
Neither regarding that she is my child 
Nor fearing me as if I were her father; 
And, may 1 say to thee, this pride of hers, 
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; 
And, where I thotight the remnant of mine age 
Should have lieen cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
I now am full resolved to take a wife 
And turn her out to who will take her in : 
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower; 
For me anil my possessions she esteems not. [this ? 

Val. What would your Grace have me to do in 

Duke. There is a lady in Verona here 
Whom I affect ; but she is nice and coy 
And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor — 
For long agone I have forgot to court ; 
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed — 
How and whicli way I may bestow myself 
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 

Val. Win her w-ith gifts, if she respect not words : 
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind 
More than quick words do move a woman's mind. 

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent lier. 

Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best cnn- 
Send her another; never give her o'er; [tents her. 
For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
26 



If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 

But rather to beget more love in you : 

If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone; 

For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; 

For ' get you gone,' she doth not mean ' away ! ' 

Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; 

Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. 

That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 

If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 

Duke. But slie 1 mean is promi^'d by her friends 
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth. 
And kept severely from resort of men. 
That no man hath access by day to her. 

]'nl. Why, then, I would resort to her by night. 

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept 
That no man hath recourse to her by night, [sale, 

Vul. What lets but one may enter at her window ? 

Diikc. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground. 
And built so shelving that one cannot climb it 
Without apparent hazard of his life. 

Vul. Why then, a kulder quaintly made of cords. 
To cast up, with a pair of anclioring hooks. 
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
So bold Leander would adventiue it. 

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood. 
Advise me where 1 may have such a ladder, [that. 
. Val. When would you use it ? pray, sir, tell me 

Duke. This very night ; tor Love is like a child, 
That longs for everything that he can come by. 

Val. By seven o'clock i '11 get you such a ladder. 

Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone: 
How shall I best convey the ladder thither V 

Val. It will be light, my lord , that you may bear it 
Under a cloak that is of any length. 

D«A-e. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn ? 

Val. Ay, my good lord. 

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : 

I '11 get me one of such another length. 

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 

Duke. How shall I fasliion me to wear a cloak V 
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. 
What letter is this same ? What 's here ? ' To 

Silvia ' ! 
And here an engine fit for my proceeding. 
I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Tlerids. 
'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia niglitly. 

And slaves they are to me that send them flying: 
O, could their master come and go as liglitly. 

Himself would lodge wliere senseless they are 
lying! 
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ; 

While I, their king, that hither them importune. 
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'u 
them. 

Because myself do want my servants' fortune: 
I curse myself, for they are sent by me. 
That they should harbour where their lord would 
What's here? [lie.' 

' Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.' 
'Tis so; and here 's the ladder for the purjiose. 
Why, Phaethon, — for tliou art IMerops' son, — 
Wilt tliou aspire to guide tlie h( avenly car 
And with tliy daring folly burn the world ? 
Wilt tliou reach stars, because they shine on thee ? 
Go, Ijase intrmler! overweening slave! 
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, 
And think my patience, more tlian thy desert, 
Is privilege for thy departure hence: 
Thank me for this more than for all the favours 
AVhicli all too much I have bestow'd on thee. 
But if thou linger in my territories 
Longer than swiftest expedition 
Will give thee time to leave our royal court. 
By heaven ! my wrath shall far exceed the love 
I ever bore my daughter or thyself. 
Be gone ! I will not" hear thy vaia excuse ; 



ACT III. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. scene i. 



But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from 
lienee. [Exit. 

Vol. And why not death ratlier than living tor- 
To die is to be banisli'd from myself; [meut ? 

And Silvia is myself: banish 'd tiom her 
Is self from self: a deadly Ijanishmeut ! 
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? 
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by V 
Unless it be to think that she is by 
And feed npoii the shadow of iieii'ection. 
Except I be by Silvia in tlie night, 
There is no music in the niglitiugale; 
Unless I look on Silvia in the day. 
There is no day for me to look ujion; 
She is my essence, and I leave to be, 
If I be not by her fair influence 
FosterM, illumined, cherisli'd, kept alive. 
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
Tarry I here, I but attend on death : 
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 

Enter Proteus and Launce. 

Pro. Run, boy, run. run, and seek him out. 
- Launce. Soho, soho ! 

Pro. What seest thou ? 

Launce. Ilim we go to find: there's not a hair 
on 's head but 'tis a Valentine. 

Pro. Valentine? 

Val. No. 

Pro. Who then? his spirit? 

Vol. Neither. 

Pro. What then? 

VaL Nothing. [strike? 

Launce. Can nothing speak ? Master, shall I 

Pro. Who wouldst tliou strike? 

Launce. Nothing. 

Pro. Villain, forbear. 

Launce. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray 
you, — [a word. 

Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, 

Val. My ears are stopt and cannot hear good news, 
So much "of bad already hath possess'd them. 

Pro. Tlien in dumb silence will I bury mine, 
For they are harsh, untuneable and bad. 

T'((Z. is Silvia dead ? 

Pro. No, A^alentine. 

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. 
Hath she forsworn me ? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. 
AVhat is your news ? 

Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are 
vanished. [news ! — 

Pro. That thou art banished — O, that's the 
From hence, from Silvia and from me thy friend. 

Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, 
And now excess of it will make me sui'feit. 
Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 

Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom — 
Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force — 
A sea of melting pearl, whicli some call tears: 
Those at her father's cliurlish feet she tender'd; 
With them, upon her knees, her liumble self; 
AVringing her hands, whose whiteness so became 
As if "but now they waxed pale for woe : [them 
But neither bended knees, pure hands lield up, 
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 
Coidd penetrate her uncompassionate sire; 
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
Besides, her intercession chafed him so, 
Wlien she for thy repeal was suppliant. 
That to close prison he commanded her, 
With many bitter threats of biding there, [speak 'st 

Val. No more; imless the next word that thou 
Have some malignant power upon my life: 
If so, 1 pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 
As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 



Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, 
And study help for that which thou lament 'st. 
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; 
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with tliat 
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; 
Whicli, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
The time now serves not to eximstulate : 
Come, I "11 convey thee through the city-gate; 
And, ere I part with thee, coiifer at large 
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs. 
As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself, 
Eegard thy danger, and along with me!" [Ijoy, 

I'tfL I pray tliee, Launce, an if thou seest my 
Bid him make haste and meet me at the North-gate. 

Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come,Valentine. 

T'«?. O my dear Silvia ! Hapless Valentine! 

[Exeunt T'«?. and Pro. 

Launce. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I 
have the wit to think my master is a kind of a 
knave : but that 's all one, if he be but one knave. 
He lives not now that knows me to be in love ; yet 
I am in love; but a team of liorse shall not pluck 
that from me ; nor who 't is I love ; and yet 't is a 
woman; but what woman, 1 will not tell myself; 
and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for 
she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is 
her master's maid, and serves for wages. She 
hath more qualities than a water-spaniel;" which is 
much in a bare Christian. [Pulling out a paper.] 
Here is the cate-log of her condition. 'Imprimis: 
She can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no 
more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; 
therefore is she better than a jade. 'Item: Siie 
can milk ; ' look you, a sweet virtue in a maid 
with clean hands. 

Enter Speed. 

Speed. How now, Signior Launce! what news 
with your mastership ? [sea. 

Launce. With my master's ship? why, it is at 

i>li((d. Well , your old vice still ; mistake the word. 
AVliat news, then, in j'our paper? 

Launce. The blackest nev.'s that ever thou 
heardest. 

Speed. Wliy, man, how black? 

Launce. Why, as black as ink. 

Speed. Let me read them. [read. 

Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-liead! thou canst not 

Speed. Thou liest ; I can. [thee ? 

Launce. I will try thee. Tell iue this: who begot 

Sjjced. Marry, the son of my g»i»indfather. 

Launce. O illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of thy 
grancbnother : this proves that thou canst not read. 

Spiecd. Come, fool,«onie; try me in thy pajier. 

Launce. There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed! 

Sjjeed. [J?e((ds] ' Imprimis : She can milk.' 

Launce. Ay, that she can. 

Speed. ' Item : She brews good ale.' 

Launce. And thereof comes the jiroverb : ' Bless- 
ing of your heart, you brew good ale.' 

Speed. 'Item: She can sew.' 

Launce. That 's as much as to say. Can she so ? 

Speed. 'Item: She can knit.' 

Launce. What need a man care for a stock with 
a wench, when she can knit liim a stock ? 

Speed. ' Item : She can wash and scour.' 

Launce. A sjiecial virtue; for then she need not 
be washed and scoured. 

Speed. 'Item: She can spin.' 

Launce. Then may I set the world on wheels, when 
she can spin for her living. 

Speed. 'Item: She hatli many nameless virtues.' 

Launce. That's as mucli as to say, bastard vir- 
27 



ACT III. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene ii. 



tues; tliat, indeed, know not their fathersand there- 
fore liave no names. 

S]jced. 'Here follow her vices.' 

Laimce. Close at the heels of her virtues. 

Speed. ' Item : She is not to be kissed fasting, in 
respect of her breath.' 

Launce. Well, that fault may be mended with a 
breakfast. Read on. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath a sweet mouth.' 

Laimce. That makes amends for her sour breath. 

Speed. 'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.' 

Launce. It 's no matter for that, so she sleep not 
in her talk. 

Sjjeed. 'Item: She is slow m words.' 

Laimce. O villain, that set tliis down among her 
vices ! To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue : 
I pray thee, out with "t, and place it for her chief 

Speed. 'Item: Slie is proud.' [virtue. 

Laimce. Out with tliat too ; it was Eve's legacy, 
and cannot be ta'en from her. 

Speed. 'Item: She hath no teeth.' [crusts. 

Laimce. I care not for that neither, because I love 

Spjeed. ' Item : She is curst.' 

Launce. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 

Sijeed. 'Item: She will often praise her liquor.' 

Laimce. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she 
will not, I will ; for good things should be praised. 

Sliced. 'Item: She is too liberal.' 

Laimce. Of her tongue she cannot, for that 's writ 
down she is slow of; of her puree she shall not, for 
that I '11 keep shut : now, of another thing she may, 
and that cannot I lielp. Well, proceed. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath more liair than wit, and 
more faults than hairs, and more wealth than 
faults.' 

Laimce. Stop there; I '11 have her: she was mine, 
and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. 
Rehearse that once more. 

Sjjccd. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit,' — 

Laimce. jNIore hair than wit ? It may be ; I- '11 
prove it. The cover of the salt hides the salt, and 
therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that 
covers the wit is more than the wit, for the greater 
hides the less. What 's next V 

Sjjeed. 'And more faults than hairs,' — 

Laimce. Tliat 's monstrous: O, that that were out! 
, Speed. 'And more wealtli tlian faults.' 

Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gra- 
cious. Well, I'll have her: and if it be a match, 
as nothing is impossible, — 

Speed. What then V 

Launce. Why, then will I tell thee — that thy 
master stays for thee at the North-gate. 

Speed. For me r* 

Laimce. For 1*ee ! ay, who art thou ? he hath 
stayed for a better man than thee. 

Speed. And must I go to him ? 

Launce. Thou must run iK> him, for thou hast 
stayed so long tliat going will scarce serve the turn. 

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? pox of yoiu' 
love-letters! [Exit. 

Launce. Now will he be swinged for reading my 
letter; an unmannerly slave, that will thrust hini- 
self into secrets ! I '11 after, to rejoice in the boy's 
correction. [E.tit. 

SCENE II.— The same. The Dulse's pcdace. 

Enter Duke and Thurlo. 

Did-e. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love 
Now Valentine is banisliM from her sight, [you, 

Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me most, 
Forsworn my eompany and rail'd at me, 
That I am desiicrate of obtaining her. 

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat 
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. 
28 



A little time will melt her frozen thoughts 
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. 

Enter Proteus. 
How now. Sir Proteus ! Is your countryman 
According to our proclamation gone V 

Pro. Gone, my good lord. 

Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 

Fro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 

Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. 
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee — 
Ft)r thou hast shown some sign of good desert — 
Makes me the better to confer with thee. 

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to yoiu" grace 
Let me not live to look upon your grace. 

Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect 
The match between Sir Tluuio and my daughter. 

Pro. I do, my lord. 

Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
How she opposes her agamst my will. 

Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 

Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
What might we do to make the girl forget 
The love of Valentine and love Sir Tluu-io ? 

Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
AVith falsehood, cowardice and poor descent. 
Three things that women highly hold in hate. 

Duke. Ay, but she '11 think that it is spoke in hate. 

Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken 
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. 

Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. 

Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do: 
'T is an ill ofHce tor a gentleman. 
Especially against his very friend. [liim, 

Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage 
Your slander never can endamage him ; 
Therefore the office is indifferent. 
Being entreated to it by your friend. 

Pro. You have prevail' d, my lord : if I can do it 
By ought that I can speak in his dispraise. 
She shall not long continue love to him. 
But say this weed her love from Valentine, 
It follows not that she will love Sir Tliurio. 

Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, 
Lest it should ravel and be good to none. 
You must pnivide to bottom it on me; 
Whicli must be done by praising me as much 
As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. [kind, 

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this 
Because we know, on Valentine's report, 
You are already Love's firm votary 
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
Upon this warrant shall you have access 
Wliei'e you witli Silvia may confer at large; 
For she" is luinpisli, heavy, niclauclioly. 
And, for your friend's siike, will be glad of you; 
Where you may temper her by your persuasion 
To hate young Valentine and love my friend. 

Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect: 
But yon, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; 
You must lay lime to tangle her desires 
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. 

Duke. Ay, 
Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. 

Pro. Say that upon the altar of her beauty 
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : 
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears 
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line 
That may discover such integrity : 
For Orplieus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, 
AVhose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
]\Iake tigers tame and huge leviathans 
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
After your dire-lamenting elegies. 
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 



ACT IV. 



THE TWO GENTLE3IEN OF VERONA, scene ii. 



AVith some sweet concert ; to their instruments 
Tune a dei)lorLng dump: the night's dead silence 
Will well become such sweet-complainhig grievance. 
This, or else nothing, will inherit her. [love. 

Duke. This disciijliue shows thou luist been in 
T/iii. And thyadvicethisuightl'llput in practice. 
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 
Let us into the city presently 



To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. 
I have a sonnet that will serve tlie turn 
To give the onset to thy good advice. 

Duke. About it, gentlemen! 

Fro. We '11 wait upon your grace till after supper, 
And afterward determine our proceedings. 

Duke. Even now about it ! I will pardon you. 

\Exeuni. 



^CT Tsr. 



SCENE I.— Tliefroyitiers of Mantua. A forest. 

Enter certain Outlaws. 
First Out. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. 
Sec. Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down 
with 'em. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

Third Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you 
have about ye : 
If not, we '11 make you sit and rifle you. 

Sjjeed. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Vnl. My friends, — 

FirstOut. That 'snot so, sir: we are your enemies. 

<S'ec. Out. Peace ! we 'II hear him. 

Third Out. Ay, by my beard, will we, for he 's a 
proper man. 

Yal. Then luiow that I have little wealth to lose : 
A man I am cross 'd with adversity ; 
My riches are these poor liabiliments. 
Of which if you should here disfurnish me. 
You take the sum and substance that I have. 

Sec. Out. Whither travel you "f* 

Val. To Verona. 

First Out. Whence came you? 

Val. From Milan. 

Third Out. Have you long sojourned there? 

Val. Some sixteeninonths. and longer might have 
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. [stay'd. 

First Out. What, were you bauish'd thence? 

Val. I was. 

Sec. Out. For what offence ? [hearse : 

Val. For that which now torments me to re- 
I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
But yet I slew him manfully in figlit. 
Without false vantage or base treachery. 

First Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. 
But \yere you banish 'd for so small a fault ? 

T'cd. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 

Sec. Out. Have you the tongues? 

Vnl. Myyoutliful travel therein made me happy. 
Or else I often had lieen miserable. [friar. 

Third Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat 
This fellow were a king for our wild faction ! 

First Out. We '11 have him. Sirs, a word. 

SiKud. Master, be one of them ; it 's an honour- 
able kind of thievery. 

]\d. Peace, villain! [to? 

S(i-.Out. Tell us this: have you any thing to take 

Vnl. Kothing but my fortune. [tlemen. 

Third Out. Know, then, that some of us are gen- 
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 
Thrust from the company of awful men: 
Myself was from Verona liunished 
For practising to steal away a lady. 
An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 

Sfc. Out. And I from Map.tua, for a gentleman, 
Wlio, in my mood, I stabb'd mito the heart, [these. 

First Out. And I for such like petty crimes as 
But to the purpose — for we cite our faults, 
Tluit they may hold excus'd our lawless lives ; 
And partly, seeing you are beautified 



With goodly shape and by your o'mi report 
A linguist and a man of such perfection 
As we do in our quality much want — 

Sec. Out. Indeed, because you are a banish 'd man, 
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you: 
Are you content to be our general ? 
To make a virtue of necessity 
And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? [consort ? 

lliird Out. What say 'st thou? wilt thou be of our 
Say ay, and be the captain of us all : 
AVe 'li do thee homage and be ruled by thee. 
Love thee as our commander and our king, [diest. 

First Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou 

Sec. Out. Thou shalt not Live to brag what we 
have otfer'd. 

Val. I take your offer and will live with you, 
Provided that you do no outrages 
On silly women or poor passengers. 

Third Out. Ko, we detest such vile base practices. 
Come, go with us, we '11 bring thee to our crews, 
Arid show thee all the treasure we have got ; 
AVhich, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Milan. Outside the Duke''s palace, 
under Silvia^s chamber. 

Enter Proteus. 
Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine 
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
Under the colour of commending him, 
I have access my own love to prefer : 
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy. 
To be corrupted with my wortldess gifts. 
When I protest true loyalty to her. 
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; 
When to her beauty 1 commend my vows. 
She bids me think how 1 liave been forsworn 
In breaking faith with .Julia whom I loved: 
And notwithstanding all her sudden quips. 
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope. 
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love. 
The more it grows and fawiieth on her still. 
But here comes Thurio : now must we to her win- 
And give some evening music to her ear. [dow, 

Enter Thurio and MusiciaiK. 

Tliu. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept be- 
fore us ? 

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio : for you know that love 
Will creejj in service where it cannot go. 

Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 

Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 

Thu. Who? Silvia? 

Pro. Ay,' Silvia; for your sake. 

Thu. I thank you for your ovm. Now, ge'ntlemen, 
Let 's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 

Enter, at a distance, Host, and Julia in 6o?/'s clothes. 

Host. Now, my young guest, methinks you 're 
allycholly: I pray you, why is it? 

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merrj'. 

Host. Corcie, we '11 have you merry : I '11 bring you 
29 



ACT IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene hi. 



wliere you shall hear music and see the gentleman 
tliat you asked for. 

Jul. But shall I hear him speak ? 

Host. Ay, that j'ou shall. 

Jul. Tliat will be music. [^Music plays. 

Host. Hark, hark ! 

Jul. Is he among these ? 

Host. Ay: but, peace! let 's hear 'em. 

SONG. 

Who is Silvia? what is she, 
That all our swains commend her? 

Holy, fair and wise is she; 

The lieaven such grace did lend her, 

That she might admired be. 

Is she kind as she is fair ? 

For beauty lives with kindness. 
Love (Idtli to her eves repair, 

To liclp hill] of h'is bliiulness, 
And, being helii'd, inhabits there. 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 

That Silvia is excelling; 
She excels eacli mortal thing 

Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
To her let us garlands bring. 

Host. How now! are you sadder than you were 
before ? How do you, man ? the music likes you not. 

Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not. 

Host. Wliy, my pretty youth? 

Jul. Ill' ]ilays false, father. 

Host. How? out of tune on the strings ? 

Jul. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my 
very heart-strings. 

Host. You h.ave a quick ear. 

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have 
a slow heart. 

Host. I perceive you delight not in music. 

Jul. Not a M'liit, when it jars so. 

Host. Hark, what tine change is in the music! 

Jul. Ay, that change is the sjiite. [thing? 

Host. You would lun'e them always play but one 

Jul. I would always have inie play but one thing. 
But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on 
Often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 

Host. I tell you what Lauuce, his man, told me: 
he loved her out of all nick. 

Jul. Where is Launce ? 

Host. Gone to seek his dog; which to-morrow, 
by his master^s command, he must carry for a pres- 
ent to his lady. 

Jul. Peace! stand aside: the company parts. 

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you: I will so plead 
Tliiit yon sliall say my cunning drift excels. 

Thu. Where meet we? 

Pro. At Saint Gregory's well. 

Thu. Farewell. 

, \_Exeunt Thu. and Musicians. 

Enter Silvia above. 

Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. 
Who is that that spake ? [truth. 

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's 
You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. 

Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your sen'ant. 

Sil. What 's your will ? 

Pro. That I may compass yours. 

Sil. You have your wish; my will is even this: 
Tliat presently yim hie you hoiiie to bed. 
Thou sulitli'. pcrjureil, false, disloyal man! 
Think'st thou I am so slialhiw, so" conceitless, 
To be seduced by thy tlattery, 
That hast deceived so many with thy vows ? 



Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
For me, by this pale (lucen of niglit I swear, 
I am so far from granting thy request 
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, 
And by and by intend to chide myself 
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
But she is dead. 

Jul. [Aside] 'T were false, if I should speak it ; 
For I am sure she is not buried. 

Sil. Say that she be ; yet Valentine thy friend 
Survives; to whom, thyself art witness," 
I am betroth'd : and art thou not ashamed 
To wrong him with thy iniiiortnnacy ? 

Pro. 1 likewise hear"that Valentiiie is dead. 

Sil. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave 
Assure thyself my love is buried. 

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from tlie earth. 

Sil. Go to tliy Lilly's grave and call hers thence. 
Or, at the least, in licis sepulchre thine. 

Jid. [Asid(] He heard not that. 

Pro. Madam, if your lieart be so obdurate. 
Vouchsafe iiie yet your picture for my love. 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber; 
To that I '11 speak, to tliat I '11 sigh and weep: 
For since the substance of your perfect self 
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; 
And to your shadow will I make true love. 

Jul. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you would, 
sure, deceive it. 
And make it but a shadow, as I am. 

Sil. I am very loath to be your idol, sir; 
But since your falsehood shall become you well 
To worship shadows and adore false shapes. 
Send to me in the morning and 1 '11 send it: 
And so, good rest. 

Pro. As wretches have o'eruight 

That wait for execution in the morn. 

[Ji.ccunl Pro. and Sil. severally. 

Jul. Host, will you go ? 

Host. By my halidom, I was fast asleep. 

Jul. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? 

Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 
't is almost day. 

Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
That e'er I watch 'd and the most heaviest. 

[Exeunt. 
\J SCENE III. — Tlie same. 

Enter Eglamour. 
EijL This is the hour that Madam Silvia 
Entreated me to call and know her mind : 
Tliere 's some great matter she 'Id employ me in. 
Madam, niadain! 

Enter Silvia above. 

Sil. Who calls ? 

Ei/l. Your servant and your friend ; 

One that attends your ladysliiiTs eiiiiiinanil. (mw. 

Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-mor- 

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself: 
According to your ladyship's impose, 
I am thus early come to know what service 
It is your pleasure to command me in. 

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman — 
Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not — 
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish 'd: 
Thou art not ii;uiu-aiit wliat dear good will 
I Iiear unto the lianisliM Valentine, 
Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
Vain Tluirio, whom my very soul abhors. 
Thyself hast kn'ed ; and I have heard thee say 
No grief did ever come so near thy heart 
As when thy lady and thy true love died. 
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode ; 



ACT IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene iv. 



And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 

1 do desire thy worthy company, 

Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 

Urge not my fatlic-r's anger, Eglamour, 

But tliink upon my grief, a lady's grief, 

And on the justice of my flying hence, 

To lieep me from a most unholy match, [plagues. 

Which heaven and fortune still rewards with 

I do desire thee, even from a heart 

As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 

To bear me company and go witli me : 

If not, to hide wliat I have said to thee, 

That [ may venture to dcjiart alone. 

E<il. Madam, I pity much your grievances; 
"Which since 1 know they virtuously are placed, 
I give consent to go along with you, 
Recking as little what betideth me 
As much I wish all good befortune you. 
When will you go ? 

Sil. This evening coming. 

Eifl. Where shall I meet you ? 

Sil. At Friar Patrick's cell. 

Where I intend holy confession. 

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good-mor- 
row', gentle lady. 

till. Good-morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. 

\_Excunt sem-allij. 

SCENE IV.— r/iescmie. 
Enter Launce, with Ms Bog. 
Lmmce. When a man's servant shall play the 
cur with hinij look you, it goes hard: one that I 
brouglit up ot a puppy; one that I saved from 
drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers 
and sisters went to it. I have taught liim, even 
as one would say precisely, ' thus I would teach a 
dog.' I was sent to deliver him as a present to 
Mistress Silvia from riiy master; and I came no 
sooner into tiie dining-chamber but he steps me 
to her trencher and steals her capon's leg: O, 
't is a foul tiling when a cur cannot keep himself 
in all companies! I would have, as one should 
say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, 
to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I luwl 
not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon 
me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged 
for't; sure as I live, he had suffered for't: you 
shall ju<lge. He thrusts me himself into the com- 
pany of three or four gentlemanlike dogs, under 
the duke's table: he had not been there — bless 
the mark !-^ a pissing while, but all the chamber 
smelt him. ' Out with the dog ! ' says one : ' What 
cur is that ? ' says another: ' Whip him out ' says 
the third: 'Hang him up' says the duke. I, 
having been acquainted with the smell before, 
knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that 
whips the dogs: 'Friend,' quoth I, 'you mean to 
whip the dog?' 'Ay, marry, do I,' quoth he. 
'You do him the more wrong,' quoth I; ''twas 
I did the tiling you wot of.' He makes me no 
more ado, but wliips me out of tlie chamber. 
How many masters would do this for his servant? 
Nay, I '11 be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for 
puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been 
executed ; I have stood on the pillory for geese 
he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for 't. 
Thou thiiikest not of this now. Xay, I remember 
the trick you served me when I took my leave of 
Madam Sihia : did not I bid thee still mark me and 
do as I do ? when didst thou see me heave uj) my 
leg and make water against a gentlewoman's far- 
thingale ? didst thou ever see me do such a trick ? 

Enter Proteus and Julia. 
. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well 
ivill employ thee in some service presently. 



Jul. In what you please: I '11 do what I can. 

Fro. I hope thou wilt. [To Launce] How now, 
you whoreson peasant ! 
Where have you been these two days loitering ? 

Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the 
dog you bade me. 

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ? 

Launie. Marry, siie says your dog was a cur, and 
tells you currish thanks is good enough for such a 

Pro. But she received my dog ? [present. 

Launce. No, indeed, did she not: here have I 
brouglit him back again. 

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? 

Launce. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen 
from me by tlie hangman boys in the market-place: 
and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big 
as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 

Pro. Go get thee lience, and Hud my dog again, 
Or ne'er return again into my siglit. 
Away, I say ! stay'st thou to vex me liere ? 

[Exit Launce. 
A slave, that still an end turns me to shame! 
Sebastian, I have entertained thee. 
Partly that I have need of such a youth 
That can with some discretion do my Imsiness, 
For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout. 
But chietly for tliy face and tliy behaviour, 
Which, if my augury deceive me not, 
Witness ydod bringing up, fortune and truth: 
Therefdie know thdu. for tliis I entertain thee. 
Go presentlv and take tiiis ring with thee, 
Deliver it to Madam Silvia: 
She loved me well deliver'd it to me. 

Jul. It seems you loved not her, to leave her token. 
She is dead, belike ? 

Pro. Not so ; I think she lives. 

Jul. Alas! 

Pj-o. Why dost thou cry ' alas ' ? 

Jul. I cannot choose 

But pity her. 

I'ro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ? 

Jul. Because methinks that slie loved you as well 
As you do love your lady Silvia. 
Slie dreams on him that has forget her love; 
You dote on her that cares not for your love. 
'T is pity love should be so contrary ; 
And thinking on it makes me cry 'alas! ' 

Pro. AVell, give Iier that ring and therewithal 
This letter. That 's her chamber. Tell my lady 
I claim the promise for her lieavenly picture. 
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
Where tlioushalt Hud me, sad and solitary. [Exit. 

Jul. How ninny wonieu would do siieli a message? 
Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast cntertaiifd 
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. 
Alas, poor fool! whydolpitx liim 
That with his very heart despiseth me? 
Because he loves her, he despiseth me; 
Because I love him, I must pity him. 
This ring I gave liim when he parted from me, 
To bind him to remember my good will; 
And now am I, unhappy messenger. 
To plead for that wliich I would not obtain. 
To carry that which I would liave refused, 
To praise his faith which I woulil liave dispraised. 
I am my master's true-conlinued love; 
But cannot be true servant to my master, 
Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly 
As, heaven it knows, I would not have liim speed. 

Enter Silvia, attended. 
Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, lie my mean 
To liriug me where to speak with Madam Silvia. 
Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she ? 
Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
To hear nie speak the message I am sent on. 
31 



ACT V. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene ii. 



Sil. From whom ? 

Jul. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. 

Sil. O, he sends you for a picture. 

Jul. Ay, madam. 

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
Go give your ma.ster this: tell him from me. 
One .Julia, that las changing thou^lits forget, 
"W^ould l)i.'tter fit his chamber than tliis sliadow. 

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter.— 
Pardon me, madam; I have unadvised 
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not : 
This is the letter to your ladyship. 

Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 

Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 

Sil. There, hold ! 
I will not look upon your master's lines: 
I know they are stiifi'd witli protestations 
And full of new-found oaths; which he will break 
As easily as I do tear his paper. 

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 

Sil. The more shame for him tliat he sends it me ; 
For I liave heard him say a thousand times 
His Julia gave it him at his departure. 
Though his false finger have profaned the ring, 
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 

Jul. Slie thanks you. 

SiL What say 'st thou? 

Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. 
Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 

SiJ.'Dost tliou know her? 

Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself : 
To thiid< upon her woes I do protest 
Tliat 1 liave wept a hundred several times. Qier. 

Sil. Belike she thinks that Proteus liath forsook 

Jul. I think she doth; and that's her cause of 
sorrow. 

Sil. Is she not passing fair ? 

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is: 
When she did think my master loved her well, 
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
But since she did neglect her looking-glass 
And threw lier sun-expelling mask away. 
The air hath starved the roses in her clieeks 
And i)incli'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
That now she is become as black as I. 

Sil. How tall W'as she ? 

Jul. About my statm-e; for at Pentecost, 



When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
Our youth got me to play the woman's part. 
And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown. 
Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, j 
As if the garment had been made for me : I 

Therefore I know she is about my height. 
And at that time I made her weep agood, 
For I did play a lamentable part : 
Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning 
For Theseus' perjury and unjust llight; 
Which I so lively acted with my tears 
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
Wept bitterly ; and would I might be dead 
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 

Sil. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. 
Alas, poor lady, desolate and left ! 
I weep myself to think upon tliy words. 
Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this 
For tliy sweet mistress' sake,because tliou lovest her. 
Farewell. {Exit Silvia, tcith attendants. 

Jul. Andsheshallthankyoufor't,if e'eryouknow 
A virtuous gentlrwoman, mild and beautiful! [her. 
I hope my master's suit will be but cold. 
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
Alas, how love can trifle witli itself ! 
Here is her picture : let me see ; I think, 
If I liad such a tire, this face of mine 
Were full as lovely as is this of hers: 
And yet tlie iiaiiitVr Uatter'd her a little, 
Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yeUow: 
If that be all the difference in his love, 
I '11 get me such a colour'd periwig. 
Her. eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine; 
Ay, but her forehead 's low, and mine 's as high. 
What should it Vie that he respects in lier 
But I can make res]iecti\e in nnself. 
If this fond Love were not a blinded god ? 
Come, shadow, come, and take tliis shadow up. 
For 'tis thy rival. () tliou senseless form. 
Thou slialt lie worsliijipM , kissVl, loved and adored ! 
And, were there sense in liis idohitry. 
My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
I "11 use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake. 
That used me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 
I should liave scratch'd out your unseeing eyes. 
To make my master out of love with thee ! [Exit. 



.ACT A^. 



SCENE I.— Ililan. An ahhey. 

Enter Eglamour. 
Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky; 
And now it is about the very hour 
That Silvia, at Friar Patrick's cell, should meet me. 
She will not fail, for lovers break not hom's. 
Unless it be to come before their time; 
So much they spur their expedition. 
See where she comes. 

Enter Silvia. 

Lady, a happy evening ! 
Sil. Amen, amen ! Go on, good Eglamour, 
Out at the postern by the abbej'-wallV 
I fear I am attended by some spies. 

Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off ; 
If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Tlie same. The Buhe's palace. 

Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. 
Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? 
Pro. O, sir. I find her milder than she was ; 
32 



And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 

Thu. What, that my leg is too long? 

Pro. No ; that it is too little. [rounder. 

Thu. I '11 wear a boot, to make it somewhat 

Jid. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd to wliat 

r/jM. What says she to my face ? [it loathes. 

Pro. She says it is a fair one. 

Thu. Nay then, the wanton lies; myface is black. 

Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, 
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 

Jul. [Aside] "T is t rue ; such iirii lis as put out ladies' 
For I had rather wink than hmk on them, [eyes; 

TIiu. How likes she my (lis(/iiui'Se? 

I'ro. Ill, when yon talk of war. [iieace? 

Thu. But well," when I discourse of love and 

Jul. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold 
your peace. 

Thu. What says she to my valour ? 

Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 

Jul. [A.mle] She needs not, when she knows it 

Thu. What says she to my birth ? [cowardice. 

Pro. That you are well derived. 

Jul. [Aside] True ; from a gentleman to a fool. 

Thu. Considers she my possessions? 



ACT V. 



THE T^YO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA., scene iv 



Pro. O, ay ; and pities them. 

Thu. Wherefore ? 

Jul. [Aside] That such an ass sliould owe them. 

Pi-O. That they are out by lease. 

Jal. Here comes the duke. 

Enter Duke. 

Dul-e. How now, Sir Proteus ! liow now, Thurio ! 
Wliich of you saw Sir Eglamour of late '^ 

riiu. Not I. 

I'ro. Nor I. 

Duke. Saw you my daughter? 

Pro. Neither. 

Duke. Why then, 
She 's fled unto that peasant Valentine ; 
And Eglamour is in her company. 
'Tis true; for Friar Laurence met them both. 
As he in penam/e wamler'd through the forest; 
Him he kni-w well, and guess'd that it was slie. 
But, l)ein,u niiislc'd, he was not sure of it; 
Besides, she did intend confession 
At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not ; 
Tliese likelihoods conrtrm her flight from hence. 
Tiierefore, I pray you, stand notto discourse, 
But mount you i)resently and me«t with me 
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot 
Tiiat leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled : 
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 

Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
Tliat flies her fortune when it follows her. 
I '11 after, more to be revenged on Eglamour 
Than for the love of reckless Silvia." [Exit. 

Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love 
Than hate of Eglamour thatgoes with her. [Exit. 

Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love 
Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love. [Exit. 



SCENE III. 



-The frontiers of Mantua, 
forest. 



The 



Enter Outla'ws with Silvia. 

First Out. Come, come. 
Be patient ; we must bring you to our captain. 

Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
IlavL- learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 

tSec. Out. Come, l)ring her away. [lier? 

First Out. Where is tlic gi/ntleman that was with 

Third Out. Being niniliii'-footed,hehath outrun 
But Moyses and Valerius follow him. [us, 

Go thou witli her to tlie west end of the wood ; 
There is our captain : we '11 follow him that 's lied ; 
Tlie thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape. 

First Out. Come, I must bring you to our cap- 
tain's cave: 
F arnot; he bears an honourable mind, 
Ai.d will not use a woman lawlessly. 

Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another piirt of the forest. 
Enter Valentine. 
T'a;. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
I better lirook tlian flourishing peopled towns: 
Here can 1 sit alone, unseen of any, 
And to tlie nightingale's complaining notes 
Tune my distresses and record my woes. 
O thou that ddst inhabit in my breast, 
Leave not the mansicm so long tenantless, 
Lest, growijig ruinous, tlie building fall 
And leave no nieniory of what it was! 
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia; 
Thou gentle nymjih, cherish thy forlorn swain! 
What halloing and what stir is this to-day '? [law, 
These are my mates, that make their wills their 
Have some unhappy passenger in chase. 
3 



They love me well ; yet I have much to do 

To keep them from uncivil outrages. 

Withdraw thee, Valentine : who 's this comes hefe V 

Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. 
Pro. Jladam, this service I have done for you. 
Though yiiu respect not aught your servant iloth, 
To hazard life and rescue you from him 
That would have forced your honour and your love , 
Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; 
A smaller Ijoon than this I cannot beg 
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 

]'al. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and 
Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [hear I 
, Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am I 
Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; 
But by my coming I have made you happy. 
Sil. By thy approach thou uuikest me most im- 
liappy. [your presence. 

Jul. [Aside] And me, when he apiiroacheth to 
Sil. Had I teen seized by a hungry lion, 
I would liave been a breakfast to the beast, 
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
O, Heaven be judge how I love Valentine, 
Whose life 's as tender to me as my soul ! < 
And full as much, for more there cannot be, 
I do detest false perjured Proteus. 
Therefore be gone ; solicit me no more. [death. 
Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to 
AVould 1 not undergo for one calm look! 
O, 't is the curse in love, and still approved. 
When women cannot love where they 're beloved ! 

Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he 's Ije- 
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, [loved. 
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
Into a thousand oaths : and all those oaths 
Descended into perjury, to love nie. 
Thou hast mi faith left now, unless thou 'dst two; 
And that 's far worse than none; better have none 
Than jilural faith which is too much by one : 
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 

Pro. In love 

AVho respects friend ? 
Sil. All men but Proteus. 

Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change yon to a milder form, 
I '11 woo you like a soldier, at arms' end. 
And love you 'gainst the nature of love, — force ye. 
Sil. O heaven ! 

Pro. I '11 force thee yield to my desire. 

77(7. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch. 
Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
Pro. Valentine ! 

Veil. Thou common friend, that 's without faith 
or love, 
For such is a friend now ; treacherous man ! 
Thou hast beguiled my liopes ; nought but mine eye 
Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say 
I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me. 
Willi should be trusted, when one's own right hand 
Is perjured to the bosom ? Proteus, 
I am sorry I must never trust thee more. 
But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
The private wound is deepest : O time most accurst. 
'Mdiigst all flies that a friend .shoidd be the worst I 

Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me. 
Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow 
15e a suttir'ient ransom for offence, 
I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer 
As e'er I did commit. 

Ved. Then I am ]iaid ; 

And once again I do receive thee honest. 
Who by repentance is not satisfied 
Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased. 
By penitence the Eternal's wratli 's ajipeased: 
And, that my love may appear jilain and free, 
All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 
33 



ACT V. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, scene i v. 



Jul. O nie unhappy ! [.S'jfoons. 

Pro. Look to the boy. 

t^ul. Why, boy! why, wag! how now! what's 
the matter V Look up ; speak. 

Jul. O soort sir, my master charged me to rleliver 
a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out ot my neglect, 
was never done. 

Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 

Jid. Here 't is ; this is it. 

Pro. How ! let me see : 
Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. 

Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook : 
This is the riiig you sent to Silvia. [depart 

Pro. But liow earnest thou by this ring '? Ai my 
I gave this unto Julia. 

Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 

Pro. How! Julia! 

.Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths. 
And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. 
How oft hast tliou with perjury cleft the root! 
O Proteus, let this habit luake'thee blush! 
Be thou aslKiuied tliat I have took upon me 
Such an iniuioilest raiment, if shame live 
In a disguise of love: 

It is tlie Ii'sser lilot, modesty finds, [minds. 

Women to change their shapes than men their 

Pro. Than men their minds ! 't is true. O heaven ! 
were man 
But constant, lie were perfect. That one error 
Fills him with faults: nialses him run through all 
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. [the sins: 

What is in Silvia's face, lint I may spy 
More fi-csli in .liilia,'s with a constant eye? 

Viil. ( '(line, I'linic, a, liiind from cither: 
Let mo be blest to make tliis liappy close; 
'T were pity two such friends should be long foes. 

Pro. Bear witness, Heaven, I have my wish for 

Jul. And I mine. [ever. 

Enter Outla-ws, with Duke and Thurio. 

Outlaws. A prize, a prize, a prize! [duke. 

Vul. Forbear, forbear, I say! it is my lord the 
Your grace is welcome to a man disgraced. 
Banished Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine ! 

Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia 's mine. 

Yal. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death ; 



Come not within the measure of my wrath ; 
Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, 
Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands : 
Talce but possession of her with a touch: 
1 dare thee but to breathe upon my love. 

Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I: 
I hold him but a fool that will endanger 
His body for a girl tliat loves him not: 
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 

Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, 
To make such means for her as thou hast done 
And leave her on such slight conditions. 
Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 
I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
And think tlicc worthy of an empress' love: 
Know then, I la-rc forget all foruier grief's, 
Cancel all grudge, repeal tlice lionie again. 
Plead a new state in thy unrival'il merit. 
To wliich I thus snljscribc: Sir ^'alcntiue, 
Thou art a gentleman and well derived; 
Take thou tliy Silvia, for thoii hast deserved lier. 

Val. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made me 
I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, [happy. 
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 

Duke. I grant it, for thine own, wliate'er it be. 

Val. These banish'd men that I have kept withal 
Are men endued with worthy qualities: 
Forgive them what they have committed here 
And let them be recallM from tlieir exile: 
They are reformed, civil, full fif good 
And fit for great employment , worthy lord, [thee: 

Duke. Tlion hast prcvail'd : 1 iiardon them and 
Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. 
Come, let us go ; we will in<-lude all jars 
With triumphs, mirth ami rare solciimity. 

Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be liohl 
With our discourse to make your grace to smile. 
What think you of this page,' my lord ':" [blushes. 

Duke. I think the boy liatli grace in him; he 

Val. I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy. 

Duke. AVhat mean yoii by that saying? 

Val. Please you, I "11 tell you as we pass along. 
That you will wonder wliat hatli fortuned. 
Come, Proteus; 't is your penance but to hear 
The story of your loves discovered : 
That done, our day of marriage sliall be yours; 
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 

\Exeunt. 




34 



Valentine.— y^QV-x)me, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you, 
Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 

SUvia.—'B.is worth is warrant for his welcome hitlier, 
If this be lie you oft have wisU'd to hear from.— Act II., Scene iv. 



THE MEKRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 



DRAMATIS PERSON JE. 



Sir John Falstaff. 
Fenton, a geutleman. 
Shallow, a country justice. 
Slender, cousin to Shallow. 

Ford, 1 

p V two gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. 

William Page, a boy, son to Page. 

Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh parson. 

Doctor Caius, a French physician. 

Bardolph, I 

Pistol, >■ sharpers attending on Falstall". 

Nym, ] 

(For an Analysis of 



Robin, page to Falstaff. 

Simple, servant to Slender. 

Rugby, servant to Doctor Caius. 

Host of the Garter Inn. 

Mistress Ford. 

Mistress Page. 

Anne Page, lier daughter. 

Mistress Quickly, servant to Doctor Caius. 

Servants to Page, Ford, &c. 

SCENE — Windsor, aiid llu neighborhood. 



the Plot of tf\is Play, see Page 



^CT I. 



SCENE 1.— Windsor. Before Page's house. 

Enter Justice Shallo'wr, Slender, and Sir Hugh 
Evans. 

Shnh Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a 
Star-cliamber matter of it : if he were twenty Sir 
John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, 
esqiiire. 

Slen. In the county of Gloucesfer, justice of peace 
and 'Coram.' 

Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and 'Custalorum.' 

Slen. Ay, and ' Rato-lorum'too ; and a gentleman 
born, master parson; who writes himself 'Annigero,' 
in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, 'Ar- 
migero.' 

'Sh(d. Ay, that I do; and have done any time 
these three liundred years. 

Slen. All his successors, gone before him hath 
done't; and all his ancestors that come after him 
may : they may give the dozen white luces in their 

Slial. It is an old coat. [coat. 

Evans. The dozen white louses do become an old 
coat well; it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar 
beast to man, and signifies love. 

Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is an 

Slen. I may quarter, coz. [old coat. 

SUul. You may, by marrying. 

Evans. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. 

Shid. Xot a whit. 

Evans. Yes, py 'r lady ; if he has a quarter of your 
coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my 
simple conjectures: but that is all one. If Sir John 
Falstalf have committed disparageinentsunto you, 
I am of the cluu'ch, and will be glad to do my be- 
nevolence to make atonement and compremises be- 
tween you. 

Shal. The council shall hear it ; it is a riot. 

Evans. It is not meet the council hear a riot ; 
there is no fear of Got in a riot: the comicil, look 
you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to 
hear a riot ; take your vizaments in that. 

Shal. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the 
sword should end it. 

Evans. It is petter that friends is the sword, and 
end it : and there is also another device in my prain. 



which peradventure prings goot discretions with it : 
there is Anne Page, which is daughter to Master 
Thomas Page, which is pretty virginity. 

Slen. jNIistress Anne Page '? She luis'brown hair, 
and speaks small like a woman. 

Evans. It is that fery person for all the orld, as 
just as you will desire; and seven hiuidred pounds 
(if nil ini vs. anil gold and silver, is her grandsire upon 
his ilcatirs-lied — Got deliver to a joyful resurrec- 
tions ! — give, when she is able to overtake seventeen 
years old: it were a goot motion if we leave our 
pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage between 
Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page, [pound y 

Slen. Did her grandsire leave her seven Imndred 

Evans. Ay, and her father is make her a petter 
penny. 

Slen. I know the yomig gentlewoman ; she has 
good gifts. 

Evans. Seven hundred pomids and possibilities 
is goot gifts. 

Shal. Well, let us see honest ISIaster Page. Is 
Falstaff there ? 

Eviius. Sliall I tell you a lie V I do despise a liar 
as I do despise one that is false, or as I despise one 
that is not true. The knight. Sir John, is there; 
and, I Ijesei/eh you, be ruled by your well-willers. I 
will peat the door for Master Page. [A'aocAs] What, 
hoa ! Got pless your house here ! 

Page. [Within] Who 's there ? 

Enter Page. 

Evans. Here is Got's plessiiig, itnd your friend, 
and Justice Shallow ; and here young Master Sleiidi r, 
that peradventures shall tell you another tale, if 
matters grow to your likings. 

Page. I am glad to see yotu- worships well. I 
thank you for my veiiison, Master Shallow. 

Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you: much 
good do it your good heart! I wished your veni- 
son better; it was ill killed. How doth good Mis- 
tress Page? — and I thank you always with my 
heart, la! with my heai-t. 

Page. Sir, I thank you. 

Shal. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. 

Page. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender. 
35 



ACT I. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE I. 



Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I 
heard say lie was outrun on Cotsall. 

Page. It could not be judged, sir. 

Slen. You '11 not confess, you '11 not confess. 

Shal. That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 'tis 
your fault ; 't is a good dog. 

Page. A cur, sir. 

Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog: can 
there be more said .'' he is good and fair. Is Sir 
John Falstalf here ? 

Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could do 
a good office between you. 

Evans. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. 

Shal. He hath wronged me, Master Page. 

Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 

iS7ia(. If it be confessed, it is not redressed : is 
not that so, Master Page? He hath wronged me; 
indeed he hath; at a word, he hath, believe me: 
Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wronged. 

Page. Here comes Sir John. 

Enter Sir Jolin Falstaff, Bardolph, Nsrm, and 
Pistol. 

Fal. Now, Master Shallow, you '11 complain of 
me to the king '? 

Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed 
my deer, and broke open my lodge. 

Fal. But not kissed your keeper's daughter? 

iSVjaL Tut. a pin! this shall be answered. 

Fal. I will answer it straight; I have done all 
That is now answered. [this. 

Shal. The council shall know this. 

Fal. 'T were better for you if it were known in 
counsel : you '11 be laughed at. 

Ecans. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts. 

Fal. Good worts ! good cabbage. Slender, I broke 
your head : what matter have you against me ? 

Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head 
against you; and against your cony-catching ras- 
cals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. 

Bard. You Banbury cheese ! 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Fist. How now, Mephostophilus ! 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Nijm. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca: slice! that's 
my humour. [cousin '? 

Slen. Where 's Simple, my man ? Can you tell, 

Evans. Peace, I pray you. Xow let us understand. 
There is three umpires in this matter, as I under- 
stand; that is, ^Master Page, fldelicet Master Page ; 
and there is myself, lidflicet myself; and tlie three 
party is, lastly and tiiially, mine host of the Garter. 

Page. Wetliree,toliearilaudeiiditl)etweentliem. 

Evans. Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in 
my note-book ; and we will afterwards ork upon 
the cause witli as great discreetly as we can. 

Fal. Pistol! 

Pist. He hears with ears. 

Evans. The tevil and his tam ! what phrase is 
this, ' He hears with ear ' "? why, it is affecta- 
tions. 

Fal. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse ? 

Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, or 1 would I 
might never come in mine own great chamber 
again else, of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and 
two Edward shovel-boards, that cost me two shil- 
ling and two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by 
tliese gloves. 

Fd. Is this true. Pistol ? 

Evans. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 

Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John 
and master mine, 
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo. 
Word of denial in tliy labras here! 
Word of denial: froth and scum, thou liest! 

Slen. By these gloves, then, 'twas he. 

Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours: 
36 



I will say ' marry trap ' with you, if you run the 
nuthook's humour on me; that is the very note 
of it. 

Slen. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it ; 
for though I cannot remember what I did when 
you made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 

F(d. Wliat buy you, Scarlet and John"? 

Bard. Why, .sir, fur my part, I say the gentleman 
had driuik himself out of his five sentences. 

Evans. It is his five senses: tie, what the igno- 
rance is ! 

Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cash- 
iered; and so conelusiiiiis passed the careires. 

Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis 
no matter: I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, 
but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : 
if I be drunk, I '11 be drunk with tliose that have 
the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. 

Evans. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind. 

Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- 
men ; you hear it. 

Enter Anne Page, with icine; Mistress Ford and 
Mistress Fage, following. 

Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we '11 
drink within. [E.vil Anne Page. 

Slen. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page. 

Paue. How now. Mistress Ford! 

Fat. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very 
well met : by your leave, good mistress. 

[Kisses her. 

Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, 
we have a hot venison pasty to dinner: come, gen- 
tlemen,! hope we shall drink down all unkindness. 
[Exeunt all exccjil SIiuL, Slen., and Evans. 

Slen. I had rather than forty shillings I had my 
Book of Songs and Soimets here. 

Enter Simple. 
How now, Simple ! where have you been 'i* I must 
wait on myself, m^ist I ? You have not the Book of 
Kiddles aViout you. have you? 

Sii'ii. Book (if Pviddles! why, did you not lend it 
to Alice Shortcake upon All-hallowmas last, a fort- 
night afore Michaelmas V 

^7(nL Come,coz; come,coz; we stay for you. A 
word with you,eoz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 
't were, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by 
Sir Hugh here. Do you understand me '? 
, .SVoi. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable ; if it 
be so, I shall do that that is reason. 

Shal. Nay, but understand me. 

iS7f?i. So 1 do, sir. 

Evans. Give ear to his motions. Master Slender: 
I will description the matter to you, if you be ca- 
pacity of it. 

Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says: 
I pray ynu. iiardon me; lie's a justice of peace in his 
country, siniiile tliough I stand here. 

Evans. But tliat is not tlie question : the question 
is concerning your marriage. 

Shal. Ay, there 's the point, sir. 

Evans. Marry, is it; the very point of it ; to Mis- 
tress Anne Page. 

.SVf,!. AVhy, if it be so, I will marry her upon any 
reasonalile demands. 

Evans. But can you affection the 'oman ? Let us 
command to know'tliat of your mouth or of your 
lips: fiu- divers philosophers hold that the lips is 
parcel of the nmuth. Therefore, precisely, can you 
carry > nur gmid v.ill to tlie maid '? 

Slial. C'liusin Abraham Slender, can you love her ? 

Slen. 1 hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one 
that would do reason. 

Evans. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must 
speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 
towards her. 



ACT I. 



THE MEBRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene hi. 



Shal. That you must. Will you, upon good 
dowry, marry her? 

Sim. I will do a greater thing than that, upon 
yoiu: request, cousin, in any reason. 

Shal. Xay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz: 
wliat I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love 
the maid? 

Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request : but if 
tliere be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven 
may decrease it upon better acquaintance, wlien we 
are married and have more occasion to know one 
another; I hope, upon familiarity will grow more 
contempt : but if you say, ' Marry lier,' I will marry 
her: that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. 

Evans. It is a f ery discretion answer ; save t he fall 
is in the ort 'dissolutely:' the ort is, according to 
our meaning, 'resolutely:' his meaning is good. 

Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 

Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la I 

Shal. Here comes fair IMistress Anne. 

Ee-entcr Anne Page. 
AVould I were young for your sake, ilistress Anne I 

Aline. The dinner is on tlie table; my fatlier de- 
sires your worship's company. 

Shal. I will wait on him. fair Mistress Anne. 

Evans. Od"s plessed will I I will not be absence at 
tlie grace. [Exeunt Shallon- and Evans. 

.liDie. AVill 't please your worship to come in, sir ? 

Slen. No, I tliauk you, forsooth, heartily ; lam 
very well. 

^Iruif. Tlie dinner attends you, sir. 

S'cn. I am not a-hungry, I thank j'ou, forsooth. 
Go, sirrali, for all you are my man, go wait upon my 
cousin Sliallow. [Exit Simple.] A justice of peace 
sometime.s may be beholding to his friend for a 
man. I keep but tlu'ee men and a bay yet, till my 
mother lie dead : but wliat though ? yet I live like 
a poor gentleman born. 

,1 nnc. I may not go in without your worship : they 
will not sit till you come. 

Skn. I' faith, I 'II eat nothing; I thank you as 
much as though I did. 

Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 

Slen. I had rather walk here. I thank you. I 
bruised my shin tli' otlier day with playing at sword 
and dagger with a master of fence : tluee veneys for 
a dish of stewed prunes ; and, iiy my troth, I cannot 
abide the smell of liot meat since. Why do your 
dogs bark so y be there bears i' the town y [of. 

Anyie. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talked 

.S7e,i). I love the sport well; but I shall as soon 
quarrel at it as any man in England. You are 
afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not "? 

Anne. Ay. indeed, sir. 

Slen . That 's meat and drink to me, now. I have 
seen Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken 
him by the chain; but, I warrant you, the women 
have so cried and shrieked at it, that it passed: but 
women, inileed, cannot abide 'em; they are very 
ill-favoured rough things. 



Se-enter 

Paf/e. Come, gentle ]SIaster Slender, come; we 
stay for you. 

Skn. i '11 eat notliing, I thank you, sir. 

Page. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir ! 
come, come. 

Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 

Petye. Come on, sir. 

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 

Anne. Not I, sir; pray you, keep on. 

.S7e)]. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will 
not do you that wrong. 

Anne. I pray you, sir. 

Slen . I '11 rather be unmannerly than troublesome. 
You do yourself wrong, indeed, la I [Exeunt. 



SCENE n,— The same. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Evans. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Cains" 
house which is the way : and there dwells one ^lis- 
tress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, 
or his dry nurse, or Ids cook, or his laundry, his 
washer, and his wringer. 

Siiu. Well, sir. 

Evans. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this let- 
ter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether 's acquaintance 
with Mistress Anne Page: and the letter is. to de- 
sire and require her to solicit your master's desires 
to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you.be gone: I 
will make an end of ni}" dinner; there 's pippins and 
cheese to come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III,— ,4 room in the Gnrter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol, 
and Robin. 

Fal. Mine host of the Garter! [and wisely. 

Host. What says my bully-rook ? speak scholarly 

Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some 
of my followers. 

Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them 
wag; trot, trot. 

Pal. I sit at ten pounds a week. 

Host. Thou 'rt an emperor, Ciesar, Keisar, and 
Pheezar. I will entertain Bardoljih : he shall draw, 
he shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? 

Fal. Do so, good mine host. 

?Tost. I have spoke; let him follow. [To Betrd.] 
Let me see tliee froth and lime : I am at a word : 
follow. [Exit. 

F<tl. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good 
trade ; an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered 
serving-man a fresh tapster. Go ; adieu. 

Barcl. It is a life that I have desired: I will thrive. 

Pi.'it. O base Hungarian wight ! wilt thou the 
spigot wield ■? " [Exit Bardolph. 

2\'ym. He was gotten in drink: is not the hu- 
mour conceited ? 

Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box : 
his thefts were too open; liis filchmg was like an 
unskilful singer ; he kept not time. [rest. 

iV//7)!. The good humour is to .steal at a minute's 

P'ist. ' Convey,' the vrise it call. 'Steal!' foh! 
a fico for the phrase! 

Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 

Pist. AVhy, then, let kibes ensue. 

Fed. There is no remedy ; I must cony-catch ; I 
must shift. 

Pist. Young ravens must have food. 

Fed. Which of you know Ford of tliis town ? 

Pist. I ken the wight: he is of substance good. 

Fal. My honest lads. I will tell 3-ou what I am 

Pist. Two yards, and more. [about. 

Fal. No quips now. Pistol ! Indeed, I am in the 
waist two yards about : but I am now about no 
waste: I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to 
make love to Ford's wife: I spy entertainment in 
her ; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer of 
invitation : I can construe the action of her familiar 
style : an<l the luuilest voice of her behavioin\ to be 
Englished rightly, is, "I am Sir John Falstaff's.' 

Pist. lie hath studied her will, and translated 
her wUl. out of honesty into English. 

A^/m. The anchor is deep : will that humour pass ? 

Fed. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of 
her husband's purse: he hath a legion of angels. 

Pist. As many devils entertain ; and ' To her, boy,' 
say I. " [the angels. 

Aw/ni. Tlie humour rises ; it is good : humour me 

Fed. I have writ me here a letter to her : and here 
another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good 
eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious 
37 



ACT I. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene it. 



willades; sometimes the beam of her view gilded 
my foot, sometimes my portly belly. 

Fist. Tlieii did the sun ou dunghill shme. 

Ni/rn. I thank thee for that humour. 

Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with 
such a greedy intention, that the appetite of her 
eye did seem to scorch me up lilie a burning-glass ! 
llere 's anotlier letter to her : she bears the purse 
ti.io ; siie is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. 
I will be cheater to them both, and they shall be 
exchequers to me ; they shall be my East and West 
Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go bear 
tliou this letter to Mistress Page ; and thou this to 
Mistress Ford : we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 

PiM. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
And by my side wear steel V then, Lucifer take all ! 

Nym. I will run no base hvmiour: here, take the 
Immour-letter : I will keep the haviour of reputation. 

Fal. [To liobin] Hold, sirrah, bear you these let- 
ters tightly ; 
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. 
Rogues, lience,avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go : 
Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack ! 
Falstafc will learn the humour of the age, 
French thrift, you rogues ; myself and skirted page. 
[Exeunt Fahtfi0'aiid Uitbtn. 
. Fist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd and 

fuUam holds. 
And high and low beguiles the rich and poor : 
Tester I '11 liave in pouch when thou shalt lack, 
Base Phrygian Turk ! 

Nijm. I have operations which be humours of 

Fist. Wilt tlinu revenge '? [revenge. 

Nym. By welkin and iier star! 

Fist. With wit or steel ? 

Nym. With botli tlie liuniours, I: 
I will discuss tlie luunour of this love to Page. 

Fist. And I to Fonl shall eke unfold 
How Falstalf, varlet vile, 
His dove will prove, his gold will hold. 
And his soft couch detile. 

Nym. My luunour shall not cool : I will incense 
Page to deal witli poison ; I will possess him with 
yellowness, tor the revolt of mine is dangerous: 
that is my true humour. 

Fist. Thou art tlie Mars of malecontents : I second 
thee ; troop on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A room in Doctor Ctti»s's house. 

Enter Mistress Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. 

Quick-. What, John Rugby! I pray thee, go to 
tlie casement, and see if you can see my master, 
Master Doctor Caius, coming. If he do, i' faitli, 
and tiiid any body in the house, here will be an old 
abusing of God's patience and the king's English. 

Fug. I '11 go watch. 

Quick. Go; and we '11 have a posset for 't soon at 
night, in faith, at tlie latter end of a sea-coal tire. 
[Exit lluijhij.'] An honest, willing, kind fellow, as 
ever servant sliall come in liouse withal, and, I war- 
rant you, no tell-tale nor no breed-bate: his worst 
fault is, tluit he is given to prayer; he is something 
peevish that way : but nobody but has his fault ; but 
let that pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is V 

iiiin. Ay, for fault of a better. 

Quick. And Master Slender 's your master? 

ISim. Ay, forsooth. 

Quick. Does lie not wear a great round beard, like 
a glover's paring-knife? 

Sim. Xo, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, 
with a little yellow beard, a Cain-coloured beard. 

Quirk. A soltly-sprighted man, is he not? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth : Imt he is as tall a man of his 
hands as any is between this and his head; he hath 
fought with a warrener. 

Quick. How say you? O, I should remember 



him : does he not hold up his head, as it were, and 
strut iu his gait ? 

Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 

Quick. Well, lieaven send Anne Page no worse 
fortune ! Tell Master Parson Evans 1 will do what 
I can for yoiu' master : Anne is a good girl, and I 
wish^: „ „ 

Fe-enter Rugby. 

Bug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 

Quick. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good 
young man; go into this closet: he will not stay 
long. [Sliuts Simple in the closet.] What, .John 
Rugby! John! what, John, I say! Go, John, go 
inquire for rny master; I doubt he be not well, that 
he comes not "home. 

[Singing] And domi, doA^ii, ado\\Ti-a, &c. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 

Caius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like des toys. 
Pray you, go and vetcli me in my closet un boit "ier 
vert, a box, a green-a box: do intend vat I speak ? 
a green-a box. 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; I '11 fetch it you. [Aside] I 
am glad lie went not in himself: if he had found 
the young man, he would liave been horn-mad. 

Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. 
Je m'en vais a la cour — la grande affaire. 

Q,uick. Is it tliis, sir ? 

Caius. Old; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, 
quickly. Vere is dat knave Rugby ? 

Quick. What, John Rugby ! John! 

Mug. Here, sir ! 

Caius. You are .John Rugby, and you are Jack 
Rugby. Come, take-a your rapier, and come after 
my heel to the court. 

Bug. 'T is ready, sir, here in the porch. 

Cuius. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od 's 
me! Qu'ai-j'oublie! dere is some simples in my 
closet, dat I vill not for tlie varld I shall leave 
behind. 

Quick. Ay me, he '11 find the young man there, 
and be mad ! 

Caius. O diable, diable ! vat is in my closet ? 
Villain ! larron ! [Pulling Simijle out.] Rugby, my 
rapier ! 

Qxiick. Good master, be content. 

Cuius. Wlierefore shall I be content-a ? 

Quick. The young man is an honest man. 

Cuius. What shall de honest man do in my closet ? 
dere is no honest mau dat shall come in my closet. 

Quick. I beset'ch you, be not so phleginatic. Hear 
the truth of it : he came of an errand to me from 
Parson Hugh. 

Caias. Veil. 

Sim. Ay, forsooth ; to desire her to — 

8uick. Peace, I pray you. 
aiiis. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale. 

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
maid, to speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page 
for my master in the way of marriage. 

Quick. This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put 
my finger in the fire, and need not. 

Cuius. .Sir Hugh seiid-a you ? Rugby, bailie me 
some pajipr. Tarry you a little-a while. [ Wri'j >-. 

Quirk. [.Isi'h In 'sinijih'] I am glad he is so quiet : 
if he had been tlu'oughly moveil, you should have 
lieard him so loud and so melancholy. But notwith- 
standing, man, I '11 do you your master what good 
I can : and the very yea and the no is, tlie French 
doctor, my master, — I may call him my master, 
look you, for I keep his house; and I wash, wring, 
brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the 
beds, and do all myself, — 

Sim. [yiside to Quickly] 'T is a great charge to 
come under one body's hand. 

Quick. [Aside to Simple] Are you avised o' that ? 
you shall find it a great charge : and to be up early 



ACT II. 



THE 3IEERY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE I. 



and down late; but notwithstandinfj;-, — to tell you 
iu your ear; I would have no words of it, — my 
master liimself is in love with Mistress Anne Page : 
but notwithstanding; that, I know Anne's mind, — 
that "s neither liere nor there. 

Cuiiix. You jaekiiape, give-a this letter to Sir 
Hugh ; by gar, it is a shalleuge : I will cut his troat 
in de park ; and I will teach a sciu'vy jack-a-uape 
priest to meddle or make. You may be gone ; it is 
not good you tarry here. By gar, I will cut all his 
two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone to 
throw at his dog. - [Exit Himple. 

Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 

Cuius. It is no matter-a ver dat: do nut you tell-a 
me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself y By 
gar, I vill kill de Jack priest ; and I have appointed 
mine host of de Jarteer to measure our weapon. 
By gar, I \\ill myself liave Anne Page. 

Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
well. We must give folks leave to prate : what, the 
good-jer ! 

Cuius. Rugby, come to the court with me. By 
gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn 5"our 
Lead out. of my door. Follow my heels, Rugby. 

[Exeunt Cuius und Buybi/. 

Quick. You shall have An fool's-head of your 
o^^■n. No, I know Anne's mind for that: never a 
woman iu Windsor knows more of Auue's mind 
than I do; nor can do more than I do with her, I 
thank heaven. 

Fent. [IFit/un] Who's within there? ho! 

Quick. Who's there, I trow! Come near the house, 
I pray you. 



Enter Fenton. 

Fcnt. IIow now, good woman! how dost thou? 

Quick. The better that it pleases your good wor- 
ship to ask. 

Fcnt. What news ? how does pretty Jlistress Anne? 

Quick. In truth, sir, and she is jiretty. and honest, 
and gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell 
you that by the way; I praise heaven for it. 

Fent. Sliall 1 do auy good, thinkest thou ? shall I 
not lose my suit ? 

Quick. Trotli, sir, all is in his hands above: but 
notwithstanding. Master Fenton, I '11 be sworn on 
a book, she loves you. Have not your worship a 
wart above your eye ? 

Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? 

Quick. AVell, thereby hangs a tale : good faith, it 
is such another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid 
as ever broke bread : we had an hour's talk of that 
wart. 1 shall never laugh but in that maid's com- 
pany ! But indeed slie is given too much to allicholy 
and musing: but for you — well, go to. 

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-ilay. Hold, there 's 
money for thee ; let me liave thy voice in my behalf : 
if thou seest her before me. conuneud me. 

Quick. Will I? i" faith, that we \^•ill; and I will 
tell your worsljip moi'e of the wart the next time we 
have confidence ; and of other wooers. 

Fent. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now. 

Quick. Farewell to your worship. [E.vH Fenton.] 
Truly, an honest gentleman : but Anne loves him 
not ; for I know Anne'o mind as well as another does. 
Out upon "t ! what have 1 forgot ? [Exit. 



J^CT II. 



SCENE I.— Before Page''s house. 
Enter Mistress Page, with a letter. 

Mrs. Feuje. What, have I scaped love-letters in the 
holiday-time of my beauty, and am I now a subject 
for them ? Let me see. [Heucls. 

'Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though 
Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him 
not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more 
am I; go to then, there 's sympathy: you are merry, 
so am I ; ha, ha ! then there 's more sympathy : you 
love sack, and so do I; would you desire better 
sympathy? Let it sullice thee. Mistress Page, — at 
tlie least, if the love of soldier can suffice, — tliat I 
love thee. I will not say, pity me ; 't is not a soldier- 
like phrase; but I say, "love me. By me, 

Tliine own true knight. 

By day or night. 

Or anv kind of liglit, 

With all his might 

For thee to fight, John Falstaff.' 
What a Herod of JewTy is this ! O wicked, wicked 
world ! One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with 
age to show himself a young gallant ! What an un- 
weighed behaviour hath this Flemish cU-unkard 
picked — with the devil's name! — out of my con- 
versation, that he dares in this manner assay me? 
Why, he hath not been thrice in niv c-ompany ! What 
should I say to him ? I was then f nigal ( jI niv mirth : 
Heaven forgive me! Why, I '11 exhibit a bill in the 
parliament for the putting down of men. How shall 
I be revenged on him ? for revenged I will be, as 
sure as his guts are made of puddings. 

Enter Mistress Ford. 

Jlfi-s. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was going 
to your house. 



Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. 
You look very ill. 

Mrs. Ford.' Xay, I '11 ne'er believe that ; I have 
to show to the contrary. 

Mrs. Page. Faith, but you do, in my mind. 

Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet I say I could .show 
you to the contrary. O ilistress Page, give me some 
counsel ! 

Mrs. Peige. What 's the matter, woman ? 

Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling 
respect, I could come to such honour! 

Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman! take the 
honour. What is It? dispense with trifles; what 
is it ? 

3Irs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
moment or so, I could be kniunted. 

Mrs. Pwn. What? thou best! Sir Alice Ford! 
These knights will hack; and so thou shouldst not 
alter the article of thy gentry. 

Mrs. Ford. We burn daylight; here, read, read; 
perceive how I might be knighted. I shall thmk 
the worse of fat men, as long as I have an eye to 
make difference of men's liking: and yet he would 
not swear ; [iraised women's modesty ; and gave such 
orderly ami well-behaved reproof to all uncomeli- 
ness, tiiat I would have sworn his disposit ion would 
have gone to the trutli of his words; luit they do no 
more adhere and keep place together tlian tiie Hun- 
dredth Psalm to the tune of ' (ireen Sleeves.' What 
tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many 
tuns of oil in his lielly, ashore at Windsor? How 
shall I be revenged on him ? I think the best way 
were to entertain him with hoi)e, till the wicked 
fire of lust liave melted him in his own grease. Did 
you ever hear the like ? 

Mrs. Pai/e. Letter for letter, but that the name 
of Page and Ford differs ! To thy great comfort in 
this mystery of ill opinions, here 's the twin-brother 
39 



ACT II. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE I. 



of thy letter: but let thine inherit first; for, I 
protest, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a 
thousand of these letters, writ witli blank space for 
different names, — sure, more,— and these are of the 
second edition: he will print them, out of doubt; 
for he cares not wliat he puts into the press, wlien he 
would put us two. I liad ratlier be a giantess, and 
lie under Mount Pelion. Well, I will find you 
twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same; the very 
hand, the very words. What doth he think of us? 

3£rs. Puije. Nay, I know not : it makes me almost 
ready to wrangle with mine owai honesty. I '11 en- 
tertain myself like one that I am not acquainted 
withal; for, sure, unless he know some strain in 
me, that I know not myself, he would never have 
boarded me in tliis fury. 

Mrs. Ford. ' Boarding,' call you itV I '11 be sure 
to keep him above deck. 

Mrs. Page. So will I: if he come under my hatches, 
I '11 never to sea again. Let 's be revenged on him : 
let's appoint him a meeting; give him a show of 
comfort in his suit and lead him on with a fine- 
baited delay, till he hath pawned his horses to mine 
host of the" Garter. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any vlllany 
against him, that may not sully the chariness of 
our honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter! 
it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 

Mrs. I'wje. Why, look where he comes ; and my 
good man too: he's as far from jealousy as I am 
from giving him cause; and that I hope is an un- 
measurable distance. 
, Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 

3frs. Pdije. Let 's consult together against this 
greasy knight. Come hither. [^he;/ retire. 

Enter Ford with Pistol, and Page with Nym. 

Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 

Pist. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs : 
Sir John affects thy wife. 

Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. [poor, 

Pist. lie wooes both high and low, both ricli and 
Both young and old, one with anotlier, Ford ; 
He loves tlie gallimaufry: Ford, perpend. 

Ford. Love my wife ! 

Pist. With liver burning hot. Prevent,or go thou. 
Like Sir Actseou he, with Kingwood at thy heels: 
O, odious is the name ! 

F'ord. What name, sir'? 

PiA-t. The horn, I say. Farewell. [night: 

Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by 
Take heed, ere summer comes or cuckoo-birds do 
Away, Sir Corporal Nym ! [sing. 

Believe it. Page; lie speaks sense. ' [E.i:it. 

Ford. [Asidi\ I will be patient; I will find out this. 

N't/in. [To Puijf'] And this is true; I like not the 
humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
humours: I should have liorne tlie hnnioiirrd letter 
to her; but I have a sword and it sliall bite upon 
my necessity. He loves your wife; thei-e 's the 
short and the long. My name is Corporal Nym; I 
speak and I avouch; 'tis true: my name is' Nym 
and Falstaff loves your wife. Adieu. I love not 
tlie humour of bread and cheese, and there's the 
humour of it. Adieu. [E.cit. 

Page. ' The humour of it,' quoth a' ! here "s a fel- 
low frights Engiisli out of his wits. 

Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. [rogue. 

Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting 

Ford. If I do find it: well. 

Page. I will not believe such a Catalan, though the 
priest o' the town commended him for a true man. 

Ford. 'T was a good sensible fellow : well. 

Page. How now, Meg ! 

[Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford come forward. 

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? Hark you. 
40 • 



Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank! why art 
thou melancholy ? 

Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get 
you home, go. 

Mrs. Ford. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in 
thy head. Now, will you go. Mistress Page ? 

Mrs. Page. Have with you. You'll come to din- 
ner, George. [Aside to Mrs. Ford] Look who comes 
yonder: she shall be our messenger to this paltry 
knight. 

Mrs. Ford. [Aside to Mrs. Page] Trust me, i 
thought on her : she '11 fit it. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good 
Mistress Anne ? 

2lrs. Page. Go in with us and see: we have an 
liour's talk with you. 

[Fxeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
Mrs. QuicHy. 

Page. How now, Master Ford ! 

Ford. You heard what this knave told me, did , 
you not ? [me ? 

Page. Yes: and you heard what the other told 

-Ford. Do you think there is truth in them? 

Page. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight 
w^ould offer it: but these that accuse liim in his in- 
tent towards our wives are a yoke of his discarded 
men; very rogues, now they be out of service. 

Ford. Were they his men? 

Page. Marry, were tliey. 

Ford. I like it never the better for that. Does 
he lie at the Garter ? 

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend 
this voyag'e towards my wife, I ^^•ould turn her 
loose to him ; and what he gets more of her than 
sharp words, let it lie on my head. 

Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I woidd 
be loath to turn them together. A man may be 
too confident: I would iiave nothing lie on my 
head: I cannot be thus satisfied. 

Page. Look where my ranting host of the Garter 
comes : there is eitlier liquor in his pate or money 
in his purse when he looks so merrily. 

Enter Host. 
How now, mine host! 

Host. How now, bully-rook ! thou 'rt a gentle- 
man. Cavaleiro-justice, I say ! 

Enter Shallow. 

Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even 
and twenty, good ilasttr Page! Master P;'.ge, will 
you go witih us ? we have sport in hand. 

Host. Tell him, cavaleiro-justice; tell him, bully- 
rook. 

Shid. Sir, tliere is a fray to be fought between Sir 
Hugh the A\'elsh priest and Cains the French doctor. 

Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with 
you. [Dra^ring him aside. 

Host. What sayest thou, my bully-rook? 

Shal. [To Page] Will you go with us to behold it ? 
My merry host hath had the measuring of their 
weapons; and, I think, liatli appointed them con- 
trary places ; for, believe me, I hear the parson is 
no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport 
shall be. [Thct/ converse apart. 

Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
guest-cavaleire? 

Ford. None, I protest: but I '11 give you a pottle 
of burnt sack to give me recourse to him and tell 
him my name is IJrook ; only for a jest. 

i/o.s(. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress 
and regress; — said I well? — and thy name shall 
be Brook. It is a merry knight. Will you go, An- 
heires ? 



ACT II. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene ii. 



Shal. Have with you, mine liost. 

Paqe. I have heard the Frenchman hath good 
skill in his rapier. 

Slud. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In 
these times you stand on distance, your passes, stoc- 
cadoes, and I know not vvliat : 't is tlie iieart, Master 
Pafje ; 't is here, 't is here. I have seen the time, 
with my long sword I would have made you tour 
tall fellows skip likS rats. 

Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag ? 

Page. Have with you. I had rather hear them 
scold than tight. [Exeunt Host, ISkaL, and Paye. 

Ford. Thou2:h Page be a secure fool, and stands 
so firmly on his wit»:s frailty, yet I cannot put off 
my opinion so easily: siie was in his company at 
Page's house; and what tliev made there, I know 
not. Well, I will loi>k further into 't: aud I have 
a disguise to sound Falstalf. If I tind her honest, 
1 lose not my labour ; if she be otherwise, 't is labour 
well bestowed. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 

Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 

Pist. Why, then the world 's mine oyster, 
Which I with sword will open. 

Fal. Xot a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
should lay my countenance to pawn : I have grated 
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you 
and your coach-fellow Xym ; or else you had looked 
through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am 
damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen my 
friends, you were good soldiers and tall fellows ; 
and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her 
fan, I took 't upon mine honour thou hadst it not. 

Pist. Didst not thou share ? hadst thou not fifteen 
pence ? 

Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : thinkest thou 
I '11 endanger my soul gratis y At a word, hang no 
more about me, I am no gibbet for you. Go. A 
short knife and a throng ! To your manor of Pickt- 
hatch ! Go. You '11 not bear a letter for me, you 
rogue! you stand upon your honour! Why, thou 
unconflnable baseness, it is as nuich as I can do to 
keep the terms of my honour precise : I, I, I myself 
sometimes, leaving the fear of God on tlie left hand 
and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain 
to shuffle, to hedge and to lurch ; and yet you, rogue, 
will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, 
your red-lattice phrases, and your bold-laeating 
oaths, under the shelter of your honour ! You will 
not do it, you ! 

Pist. 1 do relent : what would thou more of man ? 

Enter Robin. 
Hob. Sir. here 's a woman would speak with you. 
Fal. Let her approach. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quick. Give your worship good morrow. 

Fill. Good morrow, good wife. 

Quick. Not so, an 't please your worship. 

Fal. Good maid, then. 

(Juick. I '11 be sworn. 
As my mother was, the first hour I was born. 

Fal. I do believe the swearer. What with me ? 

Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or 
two y ■ 

Fal. Two thousand,' fair woman : and I '11 vouch- 
safe thee the hearing. 

Quick. There is one Mistress Ford, sir: — I pray, 
come a little nearer this ways: — I myself dwell 
with Master Doctor Caius, — 

Fal. AVell, on: Mistress Ford, you say, — 

Quick. Your worship says very true: I pray your 
worship, come a little nearer this ways. 



Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears ; mine own 
people, mine own people. 

Quick. Are they so "/ God bless them and make 
them his servants ! 
Fal. Well, Mistress Ford ; what of her ? 

Quick. Why, sir, she 's a good creature. Lord, 
Liird ! \i lur worship 's a wanton ! Well, heaven for- 
give you and all of US, I pray! 
J-'iij. Mistress Ford; come. Mistress Ford, — 

Quick, ilarry, this is the short and the long of it ; 
you have brought her into such a canaries as 't is" 
wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when the 
court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her 
to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, and 
lords, and gentlemen, with their coaches, 1 warrant 
you, coach after coach, letter alter letter, gift after 
gift ; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so rushling, 
I warrant you, in silk anil guld; and in such alll- 
gant terms ; aud in such wine and sugar of the best 
and the fairest, that would have won any woman's 
heart; and, I warrant you, they could never get an 
eye-wink of her: I had myself twenty iingels given 
me this morning; but I defy all angrls. in any such 
sort, as they say, but in the way ot lumt^ty ; and, I 
warrant you, they could never get her so much as 
sip on a cup with' the proudest of them all : and yet 
tiiere has been earls, nay, which is more, pension- 
ers; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. 

Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief, my good 
she-Mercury. 

Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter, for 
the which she thanks you a thousand times; and 
she gives you to notify that her husband will be 
absence from his housebetween ten and eleven. 

Fal. Ten aud eleven i* 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come and 
see the picture, she says, that you wot of: Master 
Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas! the 
sweet woman leads an ill life with him: he's a 
very jealousy man: she leads a very frampold life 
with him, good heart. 

Fal. Ten and eleven. AVoman, commend me to 
her ; I will not fail her. 

Quick. Why, you say well. But I have another 
messenger to your worship. Mistress Page hath 
her hearty conmiendations to you too : and let me 
tell you in your ear, she 's as fartuous a civil modest 
wife, and one, I tell you, that will not miss you 
morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, 
whoe'er be the other : and she bade me tell your 
worship that her husband is seldom from home; 
but she hopes there will come a time. I never 
knew a woman so dote upon a man : sm-ely I think 
you have charms, la; yes, in truth. 

Fal.- Not I, I assure thee: setting the attraction 
of my good parts aside I have no other charms. 

Qui/'k. Blessing on your heart for 't ! 

i'al. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's 
wife and Page's wife acquainted each other how 
they love me '? 

Quick. That were a jest indeed ! they have not 
so little grace, I hope: that were a trick indeed! 
But Mistress Page would desire you to send her 
j^our little page, of all loves: her husband has a 
niarvclliius infection to the little page; and truly 
Jlastcr I'a^i- is an honest man. Never a wife in 
Windsiir li-adsa better life than she does: do what 
she will, say wliat she will, take all, pay all, go to 
bed when she list, rise when she list, all is as she 
will: and truly she deserves it; for if there be a 
kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You must 
send her vour page ; no remedy. 

Fed. Why, I will. 

Quick. Nay, but do so, then: and, look you, he 

may come aiid go between you both; and in any 

case have a nay-word, that you may know one 

another's mind, and the boy never need to under- 

41 



ACT II. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene ii. 



stand any thing ; for 't is not good that children 
should know any wickedness: old folks, you know, 
have discretion, as they say, and know the world. 

Fal. Fare thee well : connueud me to them both : 
there's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go 
alon^with tliis woman. [E.remt 3Iistress (^ukfcly 
and Jiobin.] Tliis news distracts me ! 

Pist. Tliis punk is one of Cupid's carriers : 
Clap on more sails ; pursue ; up with your fights : 
Give fire: s!ie is my prize, or oceau whelm them 
all ! [Ej-it. 

Fal. Sayest thou so, old Jack ? go thy ways ; I '11 
make more of thy old body than I liave done. Will 
tliey yet look after thee ? Wilt thou, after the ex- 
pense" of so much money, be now a gamer ? Good 
body, I thank thee. Let them say 't is grossly done ; 
so it be fairly done, no matter. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir .John, there 's one Master Brook below 
would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
you ; and hath sent your worship a morning's 
draught of sack. 

Fal. Brook is his name V 

Bard. Ay, sir. 

Fal. Call him in. {Exit Bardolph.'] Such Brooks 
are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. Ah, I 
lia ! Mistress Ford and Mistress Page have I encom- 
passed you y go to ; via ! 

liC-enler Bardolph, loith Ford disguised. 

Ford. Bless you, sir! 

Fal. And you, sir! Would you speak with me? 

Ford. I make bold to press with so little prepara- 
tion upon you. 

Fal. You 're welcome. What 's your will V Give 
us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 

Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
much ; my name is Brook. 

Fal. Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaint- 
ance of you. 

Ford. Good Sir.John, I sue for yours : not to charge 
you; for I must let you understand I tliiuk myself 
in better plight for a lender than you are: the 
which hath something emVM)ldened nie to this un- 
seasoned intrusion ; for they say, if money go before, 
all ways do lie open. 
' FaL Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 

Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
troubles me: if you will help to bear it, Sir John, 
take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. 

Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be 
your porter. [liearing. 

Ford. 1 will tell you, sir, if you will give me the 

Fal. Speak, good Master Brook: I shall be glad 
to be your servant. 

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be 
brief with you, — and you have been a man long 
known to me, tliough I had never so good means, 
as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I 
shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very 
much lay open mine own imperfection : but, good 
Sir Jolm, as you liave one eye upon my follies, as 
you hear them mifolded, turn another into the reg- 
ister of your own ; that I may pass with a reproof 
the easier, sith you yourself know how easy it is to 
be such an offender. 

Fal. Very well, sir; proceed. 

Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town; her 
husljand's name is jford. 

Fal. Well, sir. 

Ford. 1 have long loved her, and, I protest to 
you, bestowed much on her; followed her A\itli a 
doting observance ; engrossed op])ortunitit's to meet 
her; fee'd every slight occasion that iduld but nig- 
gardly give me sight of her; not only bought many 
presents to give her, but have given largely to many 
42 



to know what slie would have given ; briefly, I have 
pursued lier as love hath pursued me ; wliich hath 
been on the wing f)f all occasions. But whatsoever 
I have merited, either in my mind or in my means, 
meed, I am sure, I have received none; unless ex- 
perience be a jewel that I have purchased at an in- 
finite rate, and that hath taught me to say this : 
'Love like a shadow flies when substance love 

pursues ; 
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.' 

Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfaction 
at lier hands '? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Have you importuned her to such a purpose ? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Of what quality was your love, then ? 

Ford. Like a fair house built on another man's 
ground ; so that I have lost my edifice by mistaking 
the place where I erected it. [me ? 

Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to 

Ford. When I have told you" that, I have told you 
all. Some say . that though she apjiear lionest to me, 
yet in other places slie enlargcth lier mirth so far that 
there is shrewd construction niadt'of her. Now, Sir 
John, here is the heart of my iiur]i(ise : you are agen- 
tleman of excellent breeding, admirable discourse, 
of great admittance, authentic in your place and 
person, generally allowed for your many war-like, 
court-like, and learned preparations. 

Fal. O, sir ! 

Ford. I5elieveit,foryouknowit. There ismoney; 
spend it, spend it; sjiend more; spend all I have; 
only give me so much of your time in exchange of 
it, as to lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this 
Ford's wife : use your art of wooing ; win her to con- 
sent to you : if any man may, you may as soon as any. 

Fal. Would it apply well "to the vehemency of 
your affection, that I should win wliat you would 
enjoy V Methinks you prescribe to yourself very 
preposterously. 

Ford. O, understajid my drift. She dwells so se- 
curely on the excellency of her honour, that the folly 
of my soul dares not present itself : she is too bright 
to be looked against. Now, could'I come to her with 
any detection in my liand, my desires had instance 
and argument to coinmend themselves : I could drive 
her then from the ward of her purity, her reputation, 
her marriage-vow, and a thousand other her de- 
fences, which now are too tcio strongly emljattled 
against me. What say you to 't. Sir .John V 

Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your 
money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, as 1 am 
a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife. 

Ford. O good sir ! 

Fal. I say you shall. [none. 

Ford. Want no money. Sir John ; you shall want 

Fal. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you 
shall want none. I shall be with her, I may tell you, 
by licr own iipiiointnient ; even as you came" in to me, 
her assistant or go-between jiartedfromme: I say I 
shall lie witli her between ten and eleven ; for at that 
time the jealous rascally knave her husband will be 
forth. Come you to me at night ; you shall know 
how I speed. 

Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
know Ford, sir? 

Fal. Hang him, poor enckoldly knave ! I know 
liim not: yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say 
the jealous wittolly knave liath masses of money; 
for the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I 
will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer ; 
and there 's my harvest-home. 

Fiird. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might 
avoid him if vou saw him. 

Ell. Ilanghim, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I 
will stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with 
my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the 



ACT III. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE T. 



cuckidtrs horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know 
I will predominate over tlie peasant, and thou shalt 
lie ■witJi his wife. Come to me soon at night. Ford's 
a knave, and I will aggravate his style; tliou,,Mas- 
tcr Brook, shalt know him for kuave and cuckold. 
Come to me soon at night. [Exit. 

FiiriJ. What a damne(l Epicurean rascal is this! 
My heart is ready to crack with ini]iiitit'iice. AVho 
savs this is in}providciit jealousy ? iiiv wile hath sent 
to'liiiii; tlieiici'.risUxca: tlie match is made. Would 
any man have tlcinght tliisV Scr thr licll i.f liaving 
a false wiiiuan ! ;SIy lied sliall lie abused, my colfers 
ransacked, my rejiutatinn '^nawn at ; and 1 sliall iKit 
only receive tins \ilUiiiiins wrnni;'. bnt stand under 
tlie adoption of aboniiualile terms, and by him tliat 
does me tliis wrong. Terms! names! Aniaimon 
sounds well : Lucifer, well; Barbason, well ; yet 
thev are devils' additions, tlie names of fiends: but 
Cuckold ! Wittoi: — Cuckold! the devil himself hath 
nut such a name. Page Is an ass, a secure ass : he 
will trust his wife; he will not be jealous. I will 
ratlier trust a Fleming with my flutter. Parson Hugh 
tlie ^\'i■lshman with my cheese, an Irisliman witlimy 
aijua-vit;e bdttle.ora tliief to walk my ambling gcUi- 
ing,tliaii my wife with herself: then slie iil(its,tlien 
she ruiiiinates, then she devises; and what tlicy tliink 
in their hearts tliey may effect, they will break their 
hearts but they will effect. God be praised for my 
jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour. I will prevent 
tills, detect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, and 
laugh at Page. I will about it; better three hours 
too soon than a minute too late. rie,fle,fle! cuck- 
old! cuckold! cuckold! [Exit. 

SCENE HI.— Afield near Windsor. 
Enter Oaius and Rugby. 

Cuius. Jack Eugby ! 

Ewj. Sir'? 

Caius. Vat is de clock. Jack ? 

Rug. 'T is past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh prom- 
ised to meet. 

Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no 
come ; he has pray his Pible well, dat he is no come : 
by gar, Jack Rugby , he is dead already, if he be come. 

Rug. He is wise, sir ; he knew your worship would 
kill him, if he came. 

Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill 
kill him. Take your rapier, Jack; 1 vill tell you 
Low I vill kill him. 

Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 

Caius. Villaiiy,take your rapier. 

Rug. Forbear ; here 's company. 

Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. 

Host. r.Iess thee, bully doctor! 

Shul. (Save you. Waster Doctor Caius! 

Page. Now, good master doctor! 

Slen. Give you good morrow, sir. [for? 

Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come 

Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see 
thee traverse; to see thee here, to see thee there; 
to see thee pass thy panto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy 
distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian V 
is lie dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! AVliat says 
my yEsculapius ? my Galen ? my heart of elder ? ha ! 
is he dead, bully stale ? is he dead ? 



Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de 
vorUl; he is not show his face. 

Host. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urliial. Hector 
of Greece, my boy! 

Cuius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay 
six or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no 
come. 

Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is 
a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you 
should figlit. yiiii go against the hair of your profes- 
sions, is it not trnr. Master Page ? 

Page. ]\tastir Shallow, you have yourself been a 
great' tighter, though now a man of peace. 

,s7(((/. Boilykins, Master Page, though I now be 
old and of tlie iieace, if I see a sword out, my finger 
itches to make one. Though we are justices and 
doctors and churchmen, ilaster Page, we have some 
salt of our youth in us; we are tlie sons of women, 
Master Page. 

Rage. 'T is true. Master Shallow. 

Shal. It will be found so. Master Page. IMaster 
Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am 
sworn of the peace: you have showed yourself a 
wise physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself 
a wise aii(l patient churchman. You must go with 
nic, master iloctor. [Mockwater. 

JJdsi. Pardon, guest-justice. A word, Mounseur 

Cuius. ]Moek-vater ! vat is dat ? 

Host. Mock-water, in our English tongue, is 
valour, bully. 

Cains. Bv gar, den, I have as much mock-vater 
as de I'.ni^li'slinian. Scurvy jack-dog priest ! bj'gar, 
me vill cut his ears. 

Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bulky. 

Caius. Clapper-dc-claw! vat is dat? 

Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 

Cuius. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw 
me; for, by gar, me vill have it. 

Ho.it. And I will provoke him to 't, or let him wag. 

Cuius. Me tank you for dat. 

Host. And, moreover, bully, — but first, master 
guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender, 
go you tlirougu the town to Frogmore. 

[^'IsWc to them. 

Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 

Host. He is there : see what humour he is in ; and 
I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it 
do well ? 

Shal. AVe will do it. 

Paeje, Shal., and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor. 
[Exeunt Page, Shal., and Slen. 

Cuius. By gar,.me vill kill de priest; for he speak 
for a jack-aii-aiie to Anne Page. 

Host. Let him die: sheathe thy impatience, throw 
cold water on thy clioler: go about the fields with 
me through Frogmore: I will bring thee where 
iSIistress Anne Page is, at a farm-house a-feasting; 
and thou shalt woo her. Cried I aim ? said 1 well ? 

Caius. By gar, me dank you for dat : by gar, I 
love you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, 
de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my pa- 
tients. 

Host. For the which I will be thy adversary toward 
Anne Page. Said I well ? 

Caius. By gar, 'tis good; veil said. 

Host. Let us wag, then. 

Cuius. Come at my heels, Jack Eugby. [Exeunt. 



^CT III. 

SCENE 1.— A field near Frogmore. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 
Erans. I pray you now, good ilaster Slender's 



serving-man, and friend Simple by youi- name, which 



way have you looked for Master Caius, that calls 
hin'iself doctor of physic? 

Sim. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward, 
every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but the 
town way. 

43 



ACT III. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene ii. 



Evans. I most feliemeutly desire you you will also 
look that way. 

Sim. I will, sir. [Exit. 

Evann. 'Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, 
aud treinpliiig of mind ! I shall be glad if lie have 
deceived me. How melancholies I am ! I will knog 
his urinals about his knave's costard when I have 
good opportunities for the ork. 'Pless my soul-! 

[Sirujs. 
■To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious liiidssing madrigals; 
There \vill me make our peds of roses, 
And a thousand fragrant posies. 
To shallow — ■ 
Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. 

[Si)((js. 
Melodious birds sing madrigals — 
When as I sat in Pabylon — 
And a thousand vagram posies. 
To shallow, &c. 

He-enter Simple. 

Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh. 

Evans. He 's welcome. [Slnys. 

To shallow rivers, to whose falls — 
Heaven prosper the right ! What weapons is he ? 

Sim. No weapons, sir. There comes my master. 
Master Shallnw, and another gentleman, from Frog- 
more, over the stile, tliis way. 

Evans. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep 
it in your arms. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Shal. How now, master Parson! Good morrow, 
good .Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and 
a good student from liis Ixiok, and it is wonderful. 

Slen. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page! 

Page. 'Save you, good Sir Hugh ! 

Evans. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 

Shal. What, the sword and the word ! do you 
study them both, master parson ? 
^ Page. And youthful still ! iu your doublet and 
nose this raw rheumatic day ! 

Evans. There is reasons and causes for it. 

Page. We are come to you to do a good office, 
master parson. 

Evans. Fery well : what is it ? 

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, 
belike having received wrong by some person, is at 
most odds with his own gravity aud patience that 
ever you saw. 

Shal. I have lived fourscore years and upward ; I 
never heard a man of las place, gravity and learning, 
so wide of his own respect. 

Evans. What is lieV 

Page. I think you know him; Master Doctor 
Caius, the renowned French physician. 

Evans. Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I 
had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge. 

Page. Whyv 

Evans. He lias no more knowledge in Hibocrates 
and Galen, — and he is a knave besides; a cowardly 
knave as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 

Page. I warrant you, he 's the man should tight 
with him. 

Skn. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page ! 

Shal. It appears so by his weapons. Keep them 
asunder : here comes Doctor Caius. 

Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. 
Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your 
weapon. 

Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 
Host. Disarm them, and let them question: let 
them keep their limbs whole aud liack our English. 
Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with 
your ear. Vherefore vill you not meet-a me ? 
44 



Evans. [Aside to Caius] Pray you, use yom- pa- 
tience: in good time. 

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, 
John ape. 

Evans. [Aside to Caius] Pray you, let us not be 
laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desin- 
you in friendship, and I will one way or other nialvi; 
you amends. [Aloud] I will knog your urinals aliout 
your knave's eogscomb tor missing your meetings 
and appointments. 

Cains. 1 )iidile ! Jack Kugby, — mine host de Jar- 
teer, — liuve I not stay for hiiii to kill him? have 1 
not, at de place I did apiioint V 

Evans. As I am a Christians soul now, look you, 
this is the i)lace appointed: I'll be judgment I'y 
mine host of the Garter. 

Host. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and 
Welsh, sole-curer and body-curer! 

Caius. Ay, dat is very good; excellent. 

Host. Peace, I say ! hear mine host of the Garter. 
Am I politic? am' I subtle V am I a Machiavil ? 
Shall I lose my doctor? no; he gives me the po- 
tions and the motions. Sliall I lose my parson, my 
priest, my Sir Hugh ? no ; he gives me the proverlis 
and the no-verbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial ; 
so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, 
I have deceived you both ; I have directed you to 
wrong places: your hearts are mighty, your skius 
are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, 
lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace; 
follow, folhiw. follow. [follow. 

Shiil. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, 

Slui. [.1n/i/(J O sweet Anne Page! 

[Exeunt Shal., Slen., Page, and 7/o,-(. 

Caius. Ha, do I perceive dat? have you make-a 
de sot of us, ha, ha? 

Evans. This is well; he has made us his vlout- 
ing-stog. I desire you that we may be friends ; and 
let us knog our prains together to be revenge on 
this same scall, scmwy, cogging companion, tlie 
host of the Garter. 

Caius. By gar, with all my heart. He promise 
to bring me where is Anne Page; by gar, lie de- 
ceive me too. 

Evans. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you, 
follow. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— A street. 
Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; 
you were wont to lie a follower, but now you are a 
leader. Whetlier had you rather lead mine eyes, or 
eye your master's heels ? 

Bob. I had ratlier, forsooth, go before you like a 
man than follow him like a dwarf. 

Mr.i. Page. O, you are a flattering boy: now I see 
you '11 be a courtier. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Well met. Mistress Page. Whither go you? 

IL-s. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at 
home ? 

Ford. Ay; and as idle as she luay hang together, 
for want of company. I think, if yom- husbands 
were dead, you two would marry. 

3Irs. Paife. Be sure of that,— -two other husbands. 

Ford. Where had you this pretty weathercock ? 

3Irs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his 
name is my husliand had him of. What do you 
call your kiiiglifs name, sirrali? 

Jll,lj. Sir Jolin Falstaff. 

Ford. Sir John Falstaff! 

3Irs. Page, if e, he ; I can never hit on 's name. 
There is such a league between my good man aud 
he ! Is your wife at home indeed ? 

Ford, "indeed she is. 



-^ 









■A-f: 



SM 



i^l": 



V 
m 

I 



mM 



■HWi 




-* 



ACT IIT. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene hi. 



Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir : I am sick till I see 
her. [Extunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 

Ford. Has Page any brains 'f hath he any eyes ? 
Lath he any thinking "? Sure, they sleep ; lie hath 
no use of them. Wliy, this boy will carry a letter 
twenty mile, as easy as a cannon will shoot point- 
blanktwelve score. He pieces out his wife's in- 
cUnation: he gives her folly nicition and advantage: 
and now she 's going to my wife, and Falstaff's lioy 
with her. A man may Ijear this shower sing in tlie 
wind. And Falstaff's boy with her! Good plots, 
they are laid: and our rcvolteil wives share damna- 
tion together. Well; I will take him, then torture 
my wife, pluck the borrowed veil nf niudesty from 
tlie so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Paue himself 
for a secure aud wilful Artieon; and to these vio- 
lent proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim. 
[^Clock heard.] The eloelv gi\es me my cue, and my 
assurance bids me seareii : there I shall Hnd Fal- 
staff : I shall be rather praised for this than mocked; 
for it is as positive as the earth is hrm that Palstaff 
is there: I will go. 

Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh 
Evans, Caius, and Rugby. 

Shal, Page, &c. Well met, :Master For.l. 

Ford. Trust me, a good knot : 1 have good cheer 
at home; and I pray you all go with me. 

Shal. I must excuse myself. Master Ford. 

Slcn. And so must I, sir: we have appointed to 
dine with Mistress Anne, and I wouhl not break 
with her for more money than I '11 speak of. 

Shal. We have lingered aliout a matcli lietween 
Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we 
shall have our answer. 

Slen. I hope I have your good will, father Page. 

Page. You have. Master Slender; I stand wholly 
for you : but my wife, master doctor, is for you al- 
together. 

Caius. Ay, be-gar ; and de maid is love-a me : my 
nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 

Host. What say you to young Master Fenton ? he 
capers, he dances, he has eyes of youtli, he writes 
verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May: 
he will carry "t, he will carry 't ; 't is in his button's ; 
he will carry 't. 

Piige. Xot by my consent, I promise you. The 
gentleman is of no having: he kept company with 
the wild prince and Poins ; he is of too high a region ; 
he knows too much. I^o, he shall not knit a knot 
in his fortunes with the finger of my substance : if 
he take lier, let him take her simply ; the wealth I 
have waits on my consent, and my consent goes not 
that way. 

Furd. I beseech you heartily, some of you go home 
with me to dinner : besides your cheer, you shall 
have sport; 1 will sliow you iPmonster. Master 
doctor, you shall go ; so shall you, ilaster Page ; and 
you. Sir Hugh. 

SIM. Well, fare you well : we shall have the freer 
wooing at Master Page's. [E.mint Shal. and Slen. 

Caias. Go home, John Rugby ; I come anon. 

[Exit Rughij. 

Hiist. Farewell, my hearts: I will to my honest 
kniglit Palstaff, and drink raiiary with hiui. [Exit. 

Find. \_Atihh] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine 
first with him; I "11 make Iiim dance. Will you go, 
gentles ? 

All. Have with you to see this monster. [Exeunt. 

SCENE ni. — ^ room in Ford's house. 
Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 
J//-A-. Ford. What, John ! What, Robert ! 
Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck- 
basket — 
Mrs. Ford. I warrant. What, Robin, I say! 



Enter Servants viith a basket. 

Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 

Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 

Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we must 
be brief. 

Mrs. Ford, ilarry, as I told you before, John and 
Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew-hoiise : 
an'd when I suddenly call you, come forth, and with- 
out any pause or staggering take this basket on your 
shoulders: that dian'. trudge with it in all haste, 
and carry it among the whitsters in Datchet-mead, 
and there empty it in the muddy ditch close by the 
Thames side. 

Mrs. Page. You will do it ? 

Mrs. Ford. I ha' told them over and over; they 
lack no direction. Be gone, and come when you 
are called. [Exeunt Servants. 

Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 

Enter Robin. 

Jl/rs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket! what 
news with you ? 

Iioh. jNIy master. Sir John, is come in at your back- 
door. Mistress Ford, and requests your company. 

Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been 
true to us '/ 

Rob. Ay, I '11 be sworn. My master knows not 
of your being here and hath threatened to jait me 
into everlasting liberty if I tell you of it; for he 
swears he '11 turn me away. 

Mrs. Page. Thou "rt a good boy : this secrecy of 
thme shall be a tailor to thee and shall make thee a 
new doublet and hose. I '11 go hide me. 

Mrs. Ford. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone. 
[Exit Robin.] Mistress Page, remember you your 
cue. 

3frs. Page. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, 
hiss me. [Exit. 

3Irs. Ford. Go to, then : we '11 use this unwhole- 
some humidity, this gross watery iiumpion; ■^j'e '11 
teach him to know turtles from jays. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fah Have I caught tliee, my heavenly jewel? 
Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough : 
this is the period of my ambition : O this blessed 

Mrs. Ford. O sweet Sir John ! [hour! 

Fal. Mistress Ford. I cannot cog, I cannot prate, 
Mistress Ford. Xowshall I sin in my wish : 1 would 
thy husband were dead : I '11 sjieak it before the best 
lord ; I would make thee my lady. 

Mrs. Ford. I your lady, Sir John! alas, I should 
be a pitiful lady ! 

Fal. Let the court of France show me such an- 
other. I see how thine eye wi.uld emulate the 
diamond: thou hast the right arched lieauty of the 
brow that becomes tliP sliip-tire, the tire-valiant, or 
any tire of Venetian admittance. 

Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, Sir John: my brows 
become nothing else; nor that well neither. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou art a traitcir to say so: 
thou wouldst make an absolute courtier; anil the 
firm fixture of thy foot would give an excellent 
motion to thy gait in a semi-circled farthingale. I 
see what thou wert, if Fortune thy foe were not, 
K'ature thy friend. Come, thou canst not hide it. 

Mrs. Ford. Believe me. there's in isucli thiiii; innje. 

Fal. What made me luve thee ? let that persuade 
thee there 'ssoiiipthingcxtraiirdiiiary in thee. Come, 
I cannot cdl;' am! ^ay thnu art tins and that, like a 
many of these lisping liawtlmrn-buds, that come like 
women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklers- 
biu'y in simple time ; I cannot : V)ut 1 love thee ; 
none but thee ; and thou deservest it. 

Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear you love 
Mistress Page. 

45 



ACT III. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene iir. 



Fnl. Tliou niiglitst as well say I love to walk by 
the CouiittT-gate, Avhich is as hateful to me as the 
reek of a linie-kihi. 

Mrs. Fcrd. Well, heaven knows how I love you; 
and you sliall one day find it. 

Fal. Keep in that mind ; I 'U deserve it. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or 
else I could not be in that mind. 

Bob. [Within] Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! 
here 's Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blow- 
ing and looking wildly, and would needs speak with 
you presently. 

Fal. She shaU not see me : I will ensconce me be- 
hind tlie arras. 

Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she 's a very tattling 
woman. [Fcdstaff hides himself. 

He-enter Mistress Page and Robin. 
What 's the matter i* liow now ! 

Mrs. Page. O Mistress Ford, what have you done V 
You 're shamed, you "re overthrown, you "re undone 
for ever ! " [Page V 

Mrs. Ford. What 's the matter, good Mistress 

Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford! Iiaving 
an honest man to your husband, to give him such 
cause of suspicion ! 

Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 

Mrs. Page. What' cause of suspicion ! Out upon 
you ! how am I mistook in you ! 

Mrs. Ford. Why, alas, what 's the matter V 

Mrs. Page. Your husliand "s coming hither, 
woman, with all th& ollicers in Winilsor,"to search 
for a gentleman that lie says is here now in tlie house 
by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his ab- 
sence : you are undone. 

3Irs. Ford. 'T is not so, I hope. 

3frs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you have 
such a man here! but 'tis most certain your hus- 
liand 's coming, with half Windsor at his heels, to 
search for such a one. I come before to tell you. 
If you know yourself clear, why, I am glad of it ; 
but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him 
out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses to you ; 
defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good 
life for ever. 

Mrs. Ford. What shall I do ? There is a gentle- 
man, my dear friend; and I fear not mine own 
shame so much as his peril: I liad rather than a 
thousand pound he were out of the house. 

Mrs. Piiiji:. For slianiel never stand 'you had 
rather " and ' you liad ratlier : ' your husband 's here 
atliand; bethink you of some conveyance: in the 
liouse you cannot hide him. O, how have you de- 
ceived me ! Look, here is a basket : if he be of any 
reasonable stature, lie may creep in here; and throw 
foul linen ujion him, as if'it were going to liucking: 
or — it is whiting-time — send liini by your two men 
to Datchet-niead. 

Mrs. Ford. He 's too big to go in there. What 
shall I do y 

Fal. [Uoming forward] l^et me see 't, let me see 't, 
O, let me see 't! I '11 in, I '11 in. Follow your friend's 
counsel. I '11 in. 

3Irs. Page. What. Sir John Falstaff ! Are these 
your letters, knight r 

Fal. I love thee. Help me away. Let me creep 
inhere. I '11 never — 

[Gets into the basket; they cover him 
with fold linen. 

Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master ,'boy. Call 
your men, Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight ! 

Mrs. Ford. What, John! Robert! Jolinl 

[Exit Rohin. 

Be-eitler Servants. 

Go take up tliese clothes liere quickly. Where 's the 

cowl-staff ? look, how you drumble ! Carry them to 

the laundress in Datchet-mead ; quickly, come. 

46 



Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Pray you, come near; if I suspect without 
cause, why then make sport at me; then let me be 
your jest; I deserve it. How now! whither bear ymi 

Serf. To the laundress, forsooth. [tliis'.-' 

Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whitlier 
they bear itl' You were best meddle with buck- 
washing. 

Ford>. Buck! I would I could wash myself of tlie 
buck! Buck, buck, buck! Ay, buck; I warrant 
you, buck; and of the season too, it shall appear. 
[E.reunt Servants with the basl-ct.] Gentlemen. I 
have dreamed to-night; I'll tell you my difain. 
Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my chaniliers ; 
search, seek, find out: I '11 warrant we '11 unkenml 
the fox. Let me stop this way first. [Locking t/tc 
door.] So, now uncape. 

Page. Good Master Ford, be contented : j-ouwroii^' 
yourself too much. 

Ford. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen- you 
shall see sport anon; follow me, gentlemen. [E.cii. 

Evans. Tliis is fery fantastical humours aiiil 
jealousies. 

Cai^cs. By gar, 't is no the fashion of France ; it 
is not jealous in France. 

Page. Xay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue 
of his search. [Exeunt Page, Caius, and Evan.-'. 

Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in 
this? 

Mrs. Ford. I know not which jileases me better, 
that my husband is deceived, or Sir John. 

3Irs. Page. What a taking was he in when your 
husband asked who was in the basket ! 

Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need nf 
washing; so throwing him into the water will ili> 
him a benefit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would 
all of the same strain were in the same distress. 

Mrs. Ford. I think my husband hath some special 
suspicion of Falstaffs being here; for I never saw 
him so gross in his jealousy till now. 

Jl/rs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that; and we 
will yet have more tricks with Fals'talf: his disso- 
lute disease will scarce obey this medicine. 

Mrs. Ford. Sliall we send that foolish carrion. 
Mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing 
into the water; and give him another hope, to be- 
tray him to another punishment V 

Mrs. Pctge. We will do it : let him he sent for to- 
morrow, eight o'clock, to have amends. 

Pe-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 
Ford. I cannot find him: may be the kna\e brag- 
ged of that he could not compass. 
Mrs. Page. [Aside to J/cs. Ford] Heard yon tliat V 
Mrs. Ford. Yoi^use me well, Master Ford, dn 
Ford. Ay, I do so. [you y 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 
Ford. Amen! [thoughts I 

Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, ilas- 
Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. [ter Ford . 

Evems. If there be any pody in the house, and in 
the chambers, and in the coffers, and in the jiresses, 
heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgnieiit! 
Caius. By gar, nor I too: there is no bodies. 
Pagr. Fie, fie, blaster Ford ! are you not asliamed'? 
AVliat spirit, what devil suggests this imagination V 
I would not ha' your distemper in this kind IVir the 
wealth of Windsor Castle. [it. 

Ford. 'Tis my fault, Master Page: I suffer fur 
Evans. You sutler for a pad conscience : your 
wife is as honest a 'omans as I will desu'es among 
five thousand, and five hundred too. 

Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 
Ford. Well, I promised you a dinner. Come, 
come, walk in the Park: I pray you, pardon me; I 



ACT III. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE V. 



will hereafter make kllo^^^l to you why I have done 
this. Come, wife; eome, ]\Iiiitress Page. I pray 
you, pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon me. 

Faije. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, 
Ave '11 mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morn- 
ing to my house to breakfast : after we "11 a-birding 
together; I have a line lm\\k tor the bush, fcjluill 
it be so V 

Ford. Any thing. [company. 

Evans. If there is one, I shall make two in the 

Cuius. If dere be one or two, I shall make-ii the 

I'ord. Pray you, go, Master Page. [turd. 

Evans. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow 
on the lousy knave, mine host. 

Otius. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart ! 

Evans. A lousy knave, to have liis gibes and his 
mockeries ! [Extant. 

SCENE rv. — A room in Paijc''s house. 

Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

Fent. I see I cannot get thy father's love ; 
Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Xan. 

Anne. Alas, how thenV 

Fcnt. Why, thou must be thyself. 

He doth object I am too great of birth ; 
And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, 
I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 
Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 
jSIy riots past, my wild societies; 
And tells me 't is a thing impossible 
I shoidd love thee but as a property.. 

Anne. May be he tells yoii true. 

Fcnt. Xo, heaven so speed me in my time to come ! 
Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth 
AVas the lirst motive that I woo'd thee, Anne: 
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold or sums in sealed bags; 
And 't is the very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at. 

Anne. Gentle blaster Fenton, 

Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir: 
If opportunity and humblest suit 
Cannot attam it, why, then, — hark you hither! 

[The;/ converse apart. 

Enter Shallo'w, Slender, and Mistre.gs Quickly. 

Slud. Break their talk. Mistress (.iuiekly: my 
kinsman shall speak for himself. 

Slen. I '11 make a shaft or a bolt on 't : 'slid, 't is 
but venturing. 

Shal. Be not dismayed. 

Slen. No, she shall iiot dismay me : I care not for 
that, but that I am afeard. 

Quick. Hark ye; Master .Slender would speak a 
word with you. [choice. 

Anne. I come to him. [Aside] This is my father's 
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults 
Looks hanilsome in three hundred poiuids a-year! 

Quick. And liow does good Master Fenton "? Pray 
you, a word witli you. 

Slud. She 's coming ; to her, coz. O boy, thou 
hadst a father I 

Slen. I had a father. Mistress Anne; my uncle 
can tell you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, 
tell ilistress Anne the jest, how my father stole 
two geese out of a pen, good uncle. 

Shal. ilistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 

Slen. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman 
in Gloucestershire. 

Shnl. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 

Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, 
under the degree of a squire. 

Shal. He will make you a humlred and fifty 
pounds jointure. [himself. 

Anne. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for 

Sha,L ^larry, I thank you tor it ; I thank you for 



that good comfort. She calls you, coz: I'll leave 

Anne. Now, Master Slender, — [you. 

Slen. Now, good Mistress Aiine, — 

Anne. What is your will V 

Slen. My will ! 'od's heartlings, that 's a pretty jest 
indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; 
I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. 

Anne. I mean, Master Slender, what would you 
with me. 

S'ui. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or 
notliinij with you. Your father and myinicle hath 
made nil it ions: if it be my luck, so; if not. happy man 
be his dole ! They can tell you how things go better 
than I can : you may ask your father ; here he comes. 

Enter Page and Mistress Page. 

Page. Now, Master Slender: love him. daugh- 
ter Anne. 
Why, how now! what does Master Fenton here':' 
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: 
I told you, sir. my daughter is disposed of. 

I'^ent. Nay, ]\raster Page, be not impatient. 

3[rs. Pd'jt . Goiid Master Fenton, come not to my 

Page. She is no match for you. [child. 

Fent. Sir, will you hear me ? 

Page. No, good Master Fenton. 

Come, blaster Shallow; come, son Slender, in. 
Knowing my mind, you wrong me. Master Fenton. 
[Exe^mt Paeje, Shal., and Sltn. 

Quick. Speak to Mistress Page. 

Fent. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your 
In such a righteous fashion as I do, [daughter 

Perforce, against all checks, rebukes and manners, 
I must advance the colours of my love 
And not retire : let me have 50ur good Avill. 

Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool. 

3Irs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better hus- 

Quick. That 's my master, master doctor, [band. 

Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth 
And bowl'd to death with turnips ! [ter Fenton, 

Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself. GoodMas- 
I will not be your friend nor enemy: 
My daughter •ill I question how she loves you, 
And as I find her, so am I affected. 
Till then farewell, sir : she must needs go in ; 
Her father will be angry. 

FeiU. Farewell, gentle mistress: farewell. Nan. 
[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne. 

Quick. This is my doing, now: ' Nay,' said I, ' will 
you ca.st away yiuir child on afool, and a physician 'i* 
Look on Master Fentcm :' this is my doing." 

Fent. I thank thee: audi pray thee, one* to-night 
Give my sweet Nan this ring : there 's for thy pains. 

Quirk. Now lieaA'en send thee good fortune ! 
[Exit Frnton.] A kind heart he hath : a woman would 
run through fire and w ater for sucli a kind heart. But 
yet I would my master had Jlistress Anne ; or I would 
Master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would ^Mas- 
ter Fenton had her : I will do wliat I can for them 
all three ; for so I have promised, and I '11 be as 
good as my word ; but speciously for Master Fen- 
ton. AVell, I mu.st of another errand to Sir John 
FalstafE from my two mistresses : what a beast am I 
to slack it ! [Exit. 

SCENE v.— A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
Fed. Bardolph, I say, — 
Bard. Here, sir. 

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in 't. 
[Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, 
like a barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thrown in 
tlie Thames ? Well, if I be served sucli another trick, 
I '11 have my brains ta'en out and Ijuttered, and give 
tliem to a "dog for a new-year's gift. The rogues 
slighted me into the river "with as little remorse as 
47 



ACT III. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE V. 



they would have drowiied a blind bitch's puppies, 
litteen i' the litter: and you may know by my size 
that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking ; if tlie bot- 
tom were as cteep as hell, I should down. 1 had been 
drowued, but that the shore was shelvy and shal- 
low, — a death that I abhor; for the water swells a 
man; and what a tlihig should I have been when 
1 had been swelled ! I should have been a moun- 
tain of mummy. 

Be-enter Bardolph with sacJc. 

Sard. Here 's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak 
with you. 

Fed. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames 
water ; for my belly 's as cold as if I had swallowed 
snowballs forpills to cool the reins. Call lier in. 

Bard. Come in, woman! 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quiclc. By your leave; I cry you mercy : give your 
worship good morrow. 

Fid. Take away these chalices. Go brew me a 
poltle of sack finely. 

Bard. With eggs, sir V 

Fal. Simple of itself; I '11 no pvdlet-sperm in my 
brewage. [Frit Bardolph.] How now! 

(Ji(ii-k. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from 
Mistress Ford. 

Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough ; I 
was thrown into the ford ; I have my belly full of 
ford. 

Quiclc. Alas tl>e day ! good heart, that was not her 
fault : she does so take on with her men ; they mis- 
took their erection. [pi-oniise. 

Fal. So (lid I mine, to build upon a foolish woman 's 

Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this 
morning a-birding; she desires you once more to 
come to her between eight and nine : I must carry 
her word quickly : she '11 make you amends, 1 warrant 
you. 

Fal. Well, I will visit her: tell her so; and bid 
her think what a man is: let her consider his frail- 
ty, and then judge of my merit. 

Quick. 1 will tell her. 

Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, sayest thou ? 

Quick. Eiglit and nine, sir. 

Fal. Well, be gone: I will not miss her. 

Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. 

Fal. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he 
sent me word to stay within : I like his niouey well. 
O, here he comes. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Bless you, sir! 

Fal. Xow, blaster Brook, you come to know 
what hath passi'd between me and Ford's wife':* 

Ford. Tliat, indeed, Sir .John, is my business. 

J^aL Master Brook, I will not lie to you : I was 
at her house the hour she appointed me. 

Ford. And sped you, siri' 

Fal. Very ill-favouredly. Master Brook. 

Ford. How so, sir > Did she change her determi- 
nation V 

Fal. Xo, Master Brook ; but the peaking Cornuto 
her husband. Master Brook, dwelling In a continual 
'larum of jealousy, (■onies me in the instant of our 
encounter, a Itri- wr had (•iiibrariMl,kisseil,iiiotested, 
and, as it wen-, spoke the prologue of our comedy; 
and at his heels a rablile of his companions, thither 
provoked and instigated by his distemper, and, for- 
sooth, to search his house for his wife's love. 
48 



Ford. What, while you were there? 

Fal. AVhile I was tliere. 

Ford. And did he search for you, and could not 
find you V 

Fal. You shall hear. As good luck wovdd have it, 
comes in one Mistress Page ; gives intelligence of 
Ford's ai>i)roach ; and, in her invention and Ford's 
wife's distiactiiin, thev conveyed me into a biuk- 

Ford. A liurk-basket! [basket. 

Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket! rammed me in 
with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, 
greasy napkins; that. Master Brook, there was the 
rankest compound ot villauous smell that ever of- 
fended nostril. 

Ford. And how long lay you there ? 

Fal. Xay, you shall hear. Master Brook, what I 
have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your 
good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple 
of Ford's kna\('S, his hinds, were called forth by 
their mistress to carry me in the name of foul clothes 
to Datrliet-laiie: they took me on their shoulders; 
met the jealous knave their master in the door, who 
asked them once or twice what they liad in their 
basket: I quaked for fear, lest the lunatic knave 
would liave searched it : Ijut fate, ordaining he should 
be a cuckold, held his liand. Well: on went he for 
a search, and away went I for foul clothes. But 
mark the seipiel, IMaster Brook: I suffered the 
pangs of three several deaths; first, an intolerable 
fright, to be detected \\itli a jealous rotten bell- 
wether ; next, to be compassed, like a good bilbo, in 
the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to 
head ; and then, to be stopped in, like a strong dis- 
tillation, with stinking clothes that fretted in'their 
own grease : think of that, — a man of my kidney, — 
think of that , — t ha t am as subject to heat as butter ; 
a man of continual dissolution and thaw : it was a 
miracle to 'scape suffocation. And in the height of 
this bath ,when I was more t ban half stewed in grease, 
like a Dutch dish, to be thrown into tlie Thames, 
and cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse- 
shoe; think of that, — hissing hot, — think of that, 
Master Brook. 

-Fore?. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for 
my sake you have suffered all this. My suit then 
is desperate ; you '11 undertake her no more ? 

Fal. Master Ihook, I will be thrown into Etna, 
as I have been into Tlianies, ere I will leave her thus. 
Her husband isthismorning gone a-birding; I have 
I'eceived from her another embassy of meeting; 
'twixt eiglit and nine is the hour. Master Brook. 
Ford. 'T is jiast eight already, sir. 
Fed. Is it'/ I will then address me to my appoint- 
ment. Come to me at your convenient' leisure, and 
you shall know how I sp.eed ; and the conclusion 
shall be crowned with your enjoying her. Adieu. 
You shall have her. Master Brook; Master Brook, 
you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 

Ford. Hum! lia! isthisavision? isthisadream V 
do I sleep':' Master Ford, awake! awake. Master 
Ford ! tliere 's a hole made in your best coat, Master 
Ford. This 't is to be married ! this 't is to have 
linen and buck-baskets! AVell, I will proclaim my- 
self what I am : I will now take the lecher ; he is i.t 
my house; he cannot 'scape nie; 'tis impossible he 
should ; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse, nor 
into a pepper box: but, lest the devil that guides 
him should aid him, I will search impossible places. 
Though what I am I cannot a\iiid, yet to be what 
I would not shall not make me tame: if I have 
horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me : 
I '11 be horn-mad. [Exit. 



ACT IV. THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene ir. 



^CT I^T. 



SCENE I.— A street. 



Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Quickly, 
and William. 

Mrs. Page. Is he at ^Master Ford's already, think 'st 
tliou ? 

QuicJc. Sure lie is by this, or will be presently : 
but, truly, he is very couraseous mad about liis 
throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires 
you to come suddenly. 

Mrs. Page. 1 '11 be with her by and by : I '11 but 
bring my young man here to school. Look, where 
lii.s master comes; "t is a playing-day, I see. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
How now, Sir Hugh ! no school to-day ? [to play. 

Evans. No ; Master Slender is let the boys leave 

Quick. Blessing of liis heart! 

Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son 
profits nothing in the world at his book. I pray 
you, ask him some questions in his accidence, [come. 

Ecans. Come hitlier, William ; hold up your head ; 

Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah; holdup your head; 
answer your master, be not afraid. 

Evans. William, how many numbers is m nouns ? 

Win. Two. 

Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one num- 
ber more, because they say,' 'Od "s nouns.' 

Evans. Peace your tattlings! What is 'fair,' 

WUl. Pulcher. [AVilliam? 

Quick. Polecats ! there are fairer things than pole- 
cats, sure. 

Evans. You are a very simplicity 'oman : I pray 
you. peace. What is ' lapis,' William ? 

TVill. A stone. 

Evans. And what is ' a stone,' William ? 

Will. A pebble. 

Evans. No, it is ' lapis: ' I pray you, remember in 
your prain. 

Will. Lapis. 

Evans. That is a good William. What is he, 
William, that does lend articles 'f 

Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and 
be thus declined, Singulariter, nominativo, hie, 
haec, hoc. 

Evans. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, 
mark : genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your accusa- 
tive case ? 

Will. Accusativo, hine. 

Evans. I pray you, have your remembrance, eliild ; 
accusativo, liung, hang, hog. b-ni. 

Quick. ' Hang-hog ' is Latin for bacon, I warrant 

Evans. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the 
focative case, William ? 

Will. O, — vocativo, O. 

Evans. Remember, William; focative is caret. 

Quick. And that 's a good root. 

Evans. 'Oman, forbear. 

Mrs. Page. Peace ! 

Evans. What is your genitive case plural. Wil- 

Ty"i7;. Genitive case! [liam? 

Evans. Ay. 

Will. Genitive, — horum, harum, horura. 

Quick. Vengeance of Jenny's case! fie on her! 
never name her, cliild, if she be a whore. 

Evans. For sliame, 'oman. 

Quick. You do ill to teacli the child such words : 
he teaches him to hick and to hack, whicli they '11 
do fast enough of themselves, and to call ' horum : ' 
fie upon you ! 

Evans. "Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no 
understandings for tliy cases and tlie numbers of 
the genders y Thou art as foolish Christian crea- 
tures as I would desires. 
4 



3frs. Page. Prithee, hold thy peace. 

Evans. Show me now, William, some declensions 
of your pronouns. 

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 

Evans. It is qui, quae, quod : if you forget ynnr 
' quies,' your ' qu»s,' and your ' quods,' you must be 
preeches. Go your ways, and play ; go. 

Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought 
he was. 

Evans. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell. 
Mistress Page. 

Jl/rs. Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. [Exit SirHugh.] 
Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. 

[kxcitnt. 

SCENE II. —^ room in ForcVs house. 
Enter Falstaff and Mistress Ford. 
Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten np 
my sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your 
love, and I profess requital to a hair's breadth ; not 
only, Mistress Ford, in tlie simple office of love, 
but in all the accoutrement, comi)lement and cere- 
mony of it. But are you sure of your husband 
now? 
Mrs. Ford. He 's a-birding, sweet Sir John. 
Mrs. Page. IWithin] What, ho, gossip Ford! 
what, ho ! 
3Irs. Ford. Step into the chamber. Sir John. 

[Exit Falstaff. 

Enter Mistress Page. 
Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ! who 's at home 
besides yourself ? 
Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 
Mrs. Page. Indeed ! 

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly. [Aside to her.] Speak 
louder. 

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody 
here. 
I Mrs. Ford. AVhy ? 

I 3Irs. Page. Why, woman, your husliand is in his 
old lunes again : he so takes on yoncU-r witli my lius- 
I band; so rails against all married mankind; so 
I curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion 
1 soever; and so buffets himself on the forehead, cry- 
I ing, ' Peer out, peer out ! ' that any madness I ever 
I yet beheld seemed but tameness, civility and pa- 
I tience, to tliis his distemper he is in now : I am 
glad the fat knight is not here. 
Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him? 
Mrs. Page. Of none but lam; and swears he was 
carried out. the last time he searched for liim, in a 
basket: protests to my liusband he is now here, and 
liatli drawn him and the rest of their company from 
tlieir sport, to make another experiment of liis sus- 
picion : but I am glad the knight is not here ; now 
he shall see his own foolery. 
Mrs. Ford. How near is he. Mistress Page ? 
3Irs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be 
here anon. 
Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! The knight is here. 
Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly shamed, 
and he "s but a dead man. Wliat a woman are you ! 
— Away with liim, away with him! better shame 
than murder. 

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go ? how should 
I bestow him ? Shall I put him into tlie basket agaui ? 

Re-enter Falstaff. 
Fal. No, I '11 come no more i' tlie basket. May I 
not go out ere lie come ?- 

Mrs. Page. Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers 
watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue 
49 



ACT IV. 



THE MEREY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene ii. 



nut ; otiierwise you might slip away ere lie came. 
But what make "you here ? 

, Fal. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the 
chimney. V 

) 3lrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge 
their birding-pieces. Creep into tlie kiln-hole. ' 
FaJ. Where is it? -. •- — ---_- " 
jl/)-s. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. 
Xeither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but 
he liath an abstr;irt for the remembrance of such 
places, and goi's to them by his note: there is no 
hiding you in the house. 
Fal. I '11 go out then. 

3/r.s. P(((/('. If you go out in your own semblance, 
you die, 8ir .Jolni. Unless you go out disguised — 
3L-S. Ford. How nnght we disguise him? 
j\[i-s. Pioji:. Ahis the day, 1 know not! There is 
no woman's gown big enougli for Inm; otiierwise 
lie might put on a hat, a muffler and a kerchief, 
and si) escajie. 

Fid. Good hearts, devise something: any ex- 
tremity rather than a mischief. 

Mrs. Ford. iSIy maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
Brentford, has a gown above. 

Mrs. I'mje. On my word, it will serve him ; she 's 
as big as lie is: and there 's lier thrummed hat and 
her inulller too. Run up. Sir John. 

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir John : ilistress Page 
and I will look some linen for your head. 

Mrs. Faije. Quick, quick ! we '11 come dress you 
straight : put on the gown the while. 

[Exit Falstaff. 

Mrs. Ford. I Avoulil my husband would meet him 

in this shiiiic: lie eainint abide the old woman of 

liiciiUni-d ; \n: swears slie "s a witch; forbade her 

my house and hatli tlircatened to beat her. 

Mrs. Pwjc. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
cudgel, anil the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! 
Mrs. Ford. But is my liusband coming ? 
3[rs. Po(ic. Ay, in good sadness, is he; and talks 
of tlie baslcet too, howsoever he hath had intelligence. 
3Irs. Ford. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my 
men to carry the baslvct again, to meet him at the 
door with it, as they did last time. 

Mrs. Pmjc. Nay, but he '11 be here presently: let's 
go dress liiin like tlie witch of Brentford. 

Mrs. Ford. I '11 lirst direct my men what they 
shall do with the basket. Go up; I'll bring linen 
for him straight. [Exit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we can- 
not misuse him enough. 
We '11 leave a proof, by that which we will do. 
Wives may be merry, and yet honest too: 
We do not act that often jest and laugh; 
'T is old, but true, Still swine eat all the dm ff. 

[E.cit. 

He-enter Mistress Ford with two Servants. 
Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on 
your shoulders: your master is hard at door; if he 
bid you set it down, obey him: quickly, dispatch. 

lE.cit. 

First Serv. Come, come, take it up. 

Sec. Serv. Pray heaven it be ;iot full of knight 

again. [lead. 

First Serv. I hope not ; I liad as lief bear so much 

Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir 
Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, Master I'age, have 
you any way then to unfool me again ? Set down 
the basket, villain ! Somebody call my wile. Youth 
in a basketl O you paiuleily rascals! there's a 
knot, a ging, a pack, a ennsiiiraey against me: 
now sliall the devil be shamed. AVIuit. wife, I say! 
Come, come forth ! Behold what honest clothes 
you send fortli to bleaching ! 
50 



Page. Why, this passes. Master Ford; you are 
not to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned. 

Emns. Why, this is kmatics! this is mad as a 
mad dog ! 

SIml. Indeed, Master rord,tliis is not well, indeed. 

Ford. So say I too, sir. 

Ee-enter Mistress Ford. 
Come hither. Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the 
honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous crea- 
ture, that hath the .jealous Cool to her husband! I 
suspect without cause, iui.stress, do I? 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness you do, if you 
suspect me in any dishonesty. 

Ford. Well said, brazen-face ! hold it out. Come 
forth, sirrali. [Pulling clothes out of the h<-t>:lit. 

Pf(</c. This passes ! [alnne. 

Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed? let the clothes 
Ford. I shall find you anon. 
Evans. 'Tis unreasonable! Will you take up 
your wife's clothes ? Come away. 
Ford. Empty the basket, I say ! 
Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why ? 
Ford. Master Page, as I am a man. there was 
one conveyed out of my house yesterday in this 
basket: why may not lie be there again? In my 
house I am sure he is: my intelligence is true; my 
jealousy is reasonable. Pluck me out all the linen. 
Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die 
a Hea's death. 
Page. Here 's no man. 

Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, IMaster 
Ford ; this wrongs you. 

Evans. Master Ford, you must pray, and not fol- 
low the imaginations of your own heart: this is 
Ford. Weil, he 's not here I seek for. [jealousies. 
Page. No, nor nov\'here else but in your brain. 
Ford. Help to search my house this one time. If 
I find not what I seek, show no colour for my ex- 
tremity ; let me for ever be your table-sport ; let 
tliem say of me, 'As jealous as Ford, that searched 
a hollow walnut for his wife's lemaii.' Satisfy nie 
once more; once more search with me. 

Mrs. Ford. What, ho, .Mistress Page! come you 
and the old woman down; my husband will come 
into the chamber. 
Ford. ( )ld woman ! what old woman 's that ? 
J/r.s'. Frrd. W liy, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford.' 
Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ! 
Have I not forbid her my liouse? She comes of 
errands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do not 
know wliat's brought to pass under the profession 
of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, 
by the iigure, and such daubery as this is, beyond 
o'e.r clement: we know nothing. Come down, you 
witch, you hag, you; come down, I say! 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband! Good 
gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 

Ee-enter Falstaff i?i woman's clothes, and Mistress 



Mrs. Page. Come, Mother Prat ; come, give me 
your liand. 

Ford. I '11 prat her. [ZJcainig/iniiJOut of my door, 
you witch, you hag, you baggage, you polecat, you 
ronyon! out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune- 
tellyou. [Exit Falstaff. 

]\trs. Page. Are you not ashamed ? I think you 
have killed the poor woman. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it. 'T is a goodly 
credit for you. 

Ford. Hang her, witch ! 

Evans. By yi'a and no, I think the 'oman is a witch 
indeed: I like imt wh.en a 'oman lias a great peard; 
I spy a great jieard under his niulller. 

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? I beseech 
you, follow; see but the issue of my jealousy : if I 



ACT IV 



THE 3IEREY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene i v. 



cry out tlius upon no trail, never trust me when I 
open again. 

Piuje. Let 's obey his humour a little f urtlier : 
come, aentlemen. 

[Kceunt Furd, P'ige, Shah, Caius, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Trust me', lie beat him most pitifully. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay. hy the mass, that he did not; lie 
beat him most uiipitil'iilly, mcthounht. 

Mrs. Page. I '11 liave the cudgel hallowed and hung 
o'er the altar; it hatli done meritorious service. 

Mrs. Ford. What think you Y may we, with the 
warrant of womanhood and the witness of a good 
conseience, pursue him with any further revenge ':' 

Mrs. Paijc. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
scared out of him: if the devil have him not in fee- 
simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, 
in the way of waste, attempt us again. 

Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we 
have served him V 

Mrs. Paye. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to scrape 
the figures out of your husband's brains. If they 
can find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat 
knight shall be any further atHicted, we two will 
still be the ministers. 

Mrs. Ford. I '11 warrant they '11 have him pidjlicly 
shamed: and metliinks there would be no period to 
the jest, should he not be publicly shamed. 

Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then ; shape 
it : I would not have things cool. lExeiml. 

SCENE III.— ^1 roorii in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Bardolph. 
Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of 
your horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow at 
court, and they are going to meet him. 

Host. What (iuke should that be comes so secretly ? 
I hear not of him in the court. Let me speak with 
the gentlemen: they speak English':' 
Bard. Ay, sir; I '11 call them to you. 
Host. They shall have my horses"; but I '11 make 
them pay ; I '11 sance tliem : they have had my house 
a week at command; I have turned away my other 
guests : they must come off ; I "11 sauce them. Come. 

[E.aunt. 

SCENE IV.— A room in Ford's house. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page, Mistress 
Ford,a/iiZ Sir Hugh Evans. 

Evans. 'T is one of the best discretions of a 'oman 
as ever I did look upon. 

Page. And did he send you both these letters at 
an instant "r* 

Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour, [wilt; 

Ford. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do what thou 
I rather will suspect the sun with cold [stand. 

Than thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour 
In liim tliat was of late an heretic, 
As firm as faith. 

Page. 'T is well, 't is well ; no more : 

Be not as extreme in submission 
As in offence. 

Tint let our plot go forward : let our wives 
Yet once again, to make us public sport, 
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, 
Where we may take him and disgrace him for it. 

Ford. There is no better way than that they 
spoke of. 

Page. IIow'i' to send him word they '11 meet him 
in the park at midnight ? Fie, fie ! he '11 never come. 

Evinis. You say he has been thrown in the rivers 
and has III 111 i;rii'viiusly peaten as an old 'oman : me- 
tliinks thric sliiiuld be terrors in him that he should 
not come; metliinks his flesh is punished, he shall 
have no desires. 

Page. So think I too. 



Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you '11 use him when 
he comes, 
And let us two devise to bring him thither. 

Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes that Heme the 
hunter, 
Sometime a keeper here in AViiidsor forest, 
Diitli all the wiuter-tiiiie, at still midnight. 
Walk round about :iu oak, with gnat lagg'd horns; 
And there he blasts tiie tree and iaki s the cattle 
Andmakesmilch-kiiieyii/ldlilood and shakesacli;iin 
In a most liiileous and (Iri-adlul niamier: 
You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know 
The suiierstitious idle-lieadi-d eld 
lieceiveil and did deliver to our aye 
This tale of Uerne the hunter lor a truth. 

piigv. Why, yet there want not many that do fear 
In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak: 
But what of this':' 

Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device; 

That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us. 

Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he '11 come: 
And in this shape when you have brought him 

thither. 
What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? 

31rs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon, 
and thus: 
Nan Page my daughter and my little son 
And three or four more of their growth we '11 dress 
Like urchins, onphes and fairies, green and white, 
AVith rounds of waxen tapers on their heads. 
And rattles in tlieir liands:upon a sudden. 
As Falstaff, she and I, are newly met. 
Let tln'iii from forth a sawpit rush at once 
Willi some dilTused song: upon their sight, 
A\'e two in great amazedness will fly: 
Then let them all encircle him about , 

And, fairy-like, to-pinch the unclean knight, ^ 

And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel, 
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread • 
In shape profane. 

Mrs. i ord. And till he tell the truth, 

Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound 
And bum him with their tapers. 

Mrs. Page. The truth being knowii, 

AVe '11 all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit, 
And mock him home to AVind.sor. 

Ford. The children must 

Be practised well to this, or they '11 ne'er do 't. 

Evans. I will teach the children their behaviours ; 
and I will be like a jack-au-apes also, to bum the 
knight with my taber. [vizards. 

Ford. That w'ill be excellent. I '11 go and buy them 

Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the 
fairies. 
Finely attired in a robe of white. 

Page. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And in that 
Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away [time 

And marry her at Eton. Go send to Falstaff straight. 

Foyd. Nay, I '11 to him again in name of Brook: 
lie '11 tell me all his purpose : sure, he '11 come. 

Mrs. Page. Fear not you that. Go get us proper- 
ties 
And tricking for our fairies. 

Evans. Let us about it : it is admirable pleasures 
and I'ery honest knaveries. 

[Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Go, Mistress Ford, 
Send quickly to Sir John, to know his mind. 

[Exit 3lrs. Ford. 
I '11 to the doctor: he hath my good will. 
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot; 
And he my husband best of all affects. 
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
Potent at court: he, none but he, shall have her. 
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave 
her. , [Exit,. 

51 



ACT IV. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. scene vi. 



SCENE V. — A roorii in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Simple. 

Host. Wliat wouldst thou have,1ioor ? what, thick- 
skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, 
siiaj). 

Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with. Sir John 
Falstaff from Master Slender. 

JInd. Tlicrc 's his cliamber, his house, his castle, 
his standi ii'4 lu'd and trncklr-lned ; "t is painted about 
with tlic htiiiv 111 the Trudisal, fresh and new. Go 
knock and call ; lie '11 speak like an Anthropophagiu- 
ian unto tiiec: knock, I say. 

Sim. Tliere's an old woman, a fat woman, gone 
up into his chamber: I'll be so bold as stay, sir, 
till she come down ; I come to speak with her, indeed. 

Iloat. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be rob- 
1 )ed : I '11 call. Bully knight ! bidly .Sir John ! speak 
from thy luni;'s military : art thou there V it is thine 
iTOst, thine Jijihesian, calls. 

Fal. [Alinrc] How now, mine host ! 

Host. Here "s a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the com- 
ing down of tliy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, 
let her descemi ; my chambers are honourable: lie! 
privacy y tie! ^ „ „ 

' Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman 
even now with me ; but she 's gone. [Brentford V 

Sim. Pray you, sir, was 't not the wise woman of 

Fal. Ay, marry, was it, mussel-shell : what would 
you with her V 

Sim. My master, sir. Master Slender, sent to her, 
seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, 
whether one'Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, 
had the chain or no. 

Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 

Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir ? 

Fal. Marry, she says that the very same man that 
beguiled Master Sleuder of his chain cozened him 
of it. 

Sim. I would I could have spoken with the woman 
herself; I had other things to have spoken with 
her too from him. 

Fal. What are they ? let us know. 

Host. Ay, come ; quick. 

Sim. 1 may not conceal them, sir. 

Host. Conceal them, or thou diest. 

Sim. "Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mis- 
tress Anne Page; to know if it were my master's 
fortune to have her or no. 

Fal. 'T is, 't is his fortune. 

Sim. What, sir? 

Fal. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman 
told me so. 

Sim. May I be bold to say so, sir ? 

Fal. Ay, sir; like who more bold. 

Sim. 1 thank your worship: I shall make my 
master glad with'tliese tidings. [Exit. 

Host. Thou ait cli'ikly, thmi art clerkly, Sir John. 
Was there a wise woman with thee ? 

Fal. Ay, that there was, muie host ; one that hath 
taught me more wit thaii ever I learned before 
in my life; and I paid nothing for it neither, but 
was paid tor my learning. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage, mere cozenage! 

Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them, 
varletto. 

Bard. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon 
as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off from 
behind one of them, in a slough of mire ; and set 
spurs and away, like three German devils, three 
DiH-tiu' f austuses. 

Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, vil- 
lain: do not' say they be fled; Germans are honest 
men. 

52 



Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 

Evans. Where is mine host ? 

Host. What is the matter, sir? 

Evans. Have a care of your entertainments: 
there is a friend of mine come to town, tells me 
there is three eozen-germans that has cozened all 
the hosts of Eeadins, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, 
of horses and money. I tell you for good will, look 
you : you are wise and full of gibes and vlouting- 
stocks, and 't is not convenient you should be coz- 
ened. Pare you well. [Exit. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 

Caius. Vere is mine host de Jarteer ? 

Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity and 
doubtful dilenmia. 

Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell-a me 
dat you make grand preparation for a duke de 
Jamany : by my trot, dere is no duke dat the court 
is know to come. I tell you for good vill : adieu. 

[Exit. 

Host. Hue and cry, villain, go ! Assist me, knight. 
I am undone! Ply, rmi, hue and cry, villain! 1 
am undone! [Exeunt Host and Bard. 

Fal. I would all the world might be cozenecL; tor 
I have been cozened and beaten too. If it should 
come to the ear of the court, how I have been trans- 
formed and how my transformation hath been 
washed and cudgelled, they would melt me out of 
my fat drop by drop and iicpior fishermen's boots 
with nie : I warrant they would whip me with their 
fine wits till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. 
I never prospered since I forswore myself at^irime- 
ro. Well, it my wind were but long enough to say 
my prayers, I would repent. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 
Now, whence come you ? 

Quick. Prom the two parties, forsooth. 

Fal. The devil take one party and his dam the 
other ! and so they shall be botli bestowed. I have 
suffered more for their sakes, more than the villan- 
ous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. 

Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes, I war- 
rant; speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good 
heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see 
a white spot about her. 

Fal. What tellest thou me of black and blue ? I 
was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain- 
bow; and I was like to be apprehended for the 
witch of Brentford: but that my admirable dex- 
terity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old 
woman, delivered me, the knave constable had set 
me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witcli. 

Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham- 
ber: you shall hear how things go; and, I warrant, 
to your content. Here is a letter will say some- 
what. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you 
together! Sure, one of you does not serve heaven 
well, that you are so crossed. 

Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Another room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Fenton and Host. 

Host. Master Penton, talk not to me; my mind 
is heavy: I will give over all. [pose, 

Fent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my pur- 
And, as I am a gentleman, I '11 give thee 
A hundred pound in gold more than your loss. 

Host. I will hear you. Master Fenton ; and I will 
at the least keep your counsel. 

Fent. Prom time to time I have acquainted you 
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
Who mutually hath answer'd my affection, 
So far forth as herself might be her chooser, 



ACT V. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE V. 



Even to my wish : I have a letter from her 
i)i such coiitents as you will wonder ;ft ; 
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, 
Tiiat neither singly can be manifested, 
AVithout the show of both; fat FalstafE 
Hath a great scene: the image of tlie jest 
1 'II show you liere at large. Hark, good mine host. 
To-night at Heme's oak, just "twixt twelve and one. 
Must my sweet Xan present the Fairy (^>\ieeu; 
The purpose wliy, is here: in wliich disguise. 
While other jests are sometliing rank on foot, 
Her fatlier Iiath commanded her to slip 
Away with !Slender and with him at Eton 
Immediately to marry : she hath consented : 
Xow, sir, 

Her mother, ever strong against that match 
And firm for Doctor Cains, liath appointed 
That he shall likewise shnlUc her away, 
AVliile other sports are tasking of their minds. 
And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
Straiglit marry her: to this her rnotlier's plot 
She seemmgly obedient likewise hath 



jrade promise to the doctor. Now, thus it rests : 
Her father means she shall be all in white. 
And in that lialiit, when !Slender sees his time 
To take her by the hand and bid her go. 
She shall go with him : lier mother hath intended, 
The better to denote her to the doctor, 
For they must all be mask'd and vizarded, 
That quaint in green she shall be loose enrobed, 
Witli ribands pendent, llaring 'l«iut her head; 
And wlien tlie doctor spies liis vantage riiie. 
To pinch licr liy the hand, and, on that token, 
Tlie maid liath given consent to go with him. 

i/cis(. Which means she to deceive,father or mother? 

Fent. Both, my goml Imst, to gn along with me: 
And here it rests, that vnu '11 inncure the vicar 
To stay for me at ihurrh twixt twelve and one, 
And, in the lawful name of marrying. 
To give our hearts united ceremony. 

liost. Well, husband your device ; I "11 to the vicar: 
Bring you tlie maid, you shall not lack a priest. 

Fcnt. So shall I evernnnv be bound to thee; 
Besides, I '11 make a present recompense. [^Exeunt. 



^CT ^. 



SCENE I. — A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff a/itZ Mistress Quickly. 

Ffih Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll hold. 
This is tlie third time; I liope good Tuck lies in odd 
numbers. Away! go. They say there is divinity 
in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. 
Away ! 

Quick. I '11 provide you a chain ; and I '11 do what 
I can to get you a pair of horns. 

Fed. Away, I say; time wears: hold up yoiu' 
head, and mince. {Exit Mrs. Quickly. 

Enter Ford. 
How now. Master Brook ! blaster Brook, the matter 
■will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the 
Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you shall 
see wonders. 

Ford. Went you not to lier yesterday, sir, as you 
told me you had appointed 'i* 

Fal. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like 
a poor old man : but I came from her. Master Brook, 
like a poor old woman. Tliat same knave Ford, her 
husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in 
him, Master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I 
will tell you : he beat me grievously, in tlie shape of 
a woman ; for in the shape of man. Master Brook, I 
fear not Goliatli witli a weaver's beam; because I 
know also life is a shuttle. I am in luiste ; go along 
with me: I '11 tell you all. Master Brook. Since I 
plucked geese, played truant and wlnp|)ed top, I 
knew not what 't was to be beaten till lately. Fol- 
low me : I '11 tell you strange things of this knave 
Foiil, on whom to-night I will be revenged , and I will 
deliver liis wife into your hand. Follow. Strange 
things in hand, Master Brook ! Follow. [Exeunt. 



SCENE II.— Windsor Park. 
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Po.ge. Come, come; we '11 couch i' the castle-ditch 
till we see the light of our fairies. Remember, son 
Slender, my daughter. 

Slcn. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her and we 
have a nay- word how to know one another : I come 
to her in white, and cry ' mum ;' she cries ' budget ;' 
and by that we know one another. 

Shal. That's good too : but what needs either your 



' mum ' or her ' budget '? the white will decipher her 
well enough. It hath struck ten o'clock. 

Faye. The night is dark ; liglit and spirits will be- 
come it well. Heaven prosper our sport I Xo man 
means evil but the devil, and we shall luiow him by 
his horus. Let "s away ; follow me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A street leading to the Park. 

Enter Mistress Pag-e, Mistress Ford, o?ic7 
Doctor Caius. 

3£rs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in green : 
when you "see your time, take her by the hand, away 
with her to tlie deanery, and dispatch it quickly. G o 
before into the Park : we two must go together. 

Cuius. I know vat I have to do. Adieu. 

il/rs.Priiye. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caiu.'^.] ily 
husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of 
Falstaff as he will ciiafe at the doctor's marrying 
my daughter: but 'tis no matter: better a little 
chiding than a great deal of heart-break. 

Mrs. Ford. Where is Xan now and her troop of 
fairies, and the Welsh devil Hugh V 

Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by 
Heme's oak, with obscured lights; which, at the 
very instant of Falstaff's and our meeting, they will 
at once display to the night. 

Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 

Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; 
if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. 

Mrs. Ford. AVe "11 betray liim finely. [ery 

Mrs. Page. Against such It-wdstei's and their lecli- 
Those that betray them do no treachery. 

3Irs. Ford. The hour draws on. To the oak, to 
the oak! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Windsor Park. 

Enter Sir Hug-h Evans disguised, with others as 
Fairies. 
Evans. Trib, trib, fairies ; come; and remember 
your parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me into the 
pit : and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid 
y»u : come, come ; trib, trib. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V.- Another part of the Park. 

Enter FalstaS disguised as Heme. 

Fal The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the 

minute draws on. Xow, the hot-blooded gods assist 

53 



ACT V. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE V. 



me ! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for tliy Eu- 
ropa ; love set on tliy honis. O powerful love ! tluit, 
in some respects, makes a beast a man, in some other, 
a man a beast. You Avere also, Jupiter, a swan for 
tlie love of Leda. O omnipotent Love! how near 
tlie god drew to the complexion of a goose ! A fault 
done hrst in the form of a beast. O Jove, a beastly 
fault ! And then another fault in the semblance of 
a fowl ; flunk on "t, Jnve ; a foul fault ! When gods 
have hot backs, what sliall poor men doV For me, I 
am herea Windsor sta.^-; and the fattest, I think, i' 
the forest. iSeiid nic a ciiol rnt-tiiiie, Jove, or who 
can blame me to piss my tallow ? Who comes here ? 
my doe V 

Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John! art thou there, my deer? 
my male deer ? 

Fid. jNly doe with the black scut! Let tlie sky rain 
potatoi's ; let it thnnilcrto the tune of Green Sleeves, 
iuiil kissing-CDnilits and snow eringoes; let there 
come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me 
here. [heart. 

Mrs. Fnrd. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet- 

Fal. Divide me like a bribe buck, each a hnunch : 
I will keep my sides to myself, my slioulders for the 
fellow of this walk, and my liorns I bequeath yi^ur 
husbands. Am I a woodman, ha? Speak I like 
Heme the luuiter? Why, now is Cupid a child of 
conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
spirit, welcome! [Noise icUhin. 

Mrs. Page. Alas, what noise ? 

3frs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 

Fed. What should this be ? 

mZ: Fwk t ^^'^y' ^w^y ' ^'^'''^ '■"" ''•^• 

Fed. I tliink the devil will not have me damned, 
lest the oil that 's in me should set hell on hre; lie 
would never else cross me thus. 

Enter Sir Hugh E^^ans, ilisquised as before ; Pistol, as hob- 
goblin : Mistress Quickly, Anne Page, and ol/iers, as 
Fairies, with tapers. 

Quicl:. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white. 
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, 
Y'ou orphan heirs of fixed destiny. 
Attend your olHce and your ipiality. 
Crier Hobgoblin, make tin' fairy oyes. 

Pist. Elves, list yonr names ; silence, you airy toys. 
Cricket, to Windsor cliiniiieys shalt tliou leap: 
Where hres thou limrst imraked and heartlis un- 
There pinch the maids as blue as billierry: [swept. 
Our radiant queen hates sluts and slutterv. [die: 

Fal. They are fairies; lie that speaks to them shall 

I '11 wink and couch : no man their works must eye. 

[Lies doirn upon his face. 

Eoans. Where 's Bede ? Go you, and where you 
find a maid 
That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said. 
Raise up the organs of lier fantasy ; 
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy: 
But tliose as sleep and think not on their sins. 
Pinch them, arms, le^s, backs, shoulders, sides and 

Q(i/r/,-. About, abnut; [shins. 

Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out: 
Strew good luck, ouphcs, on every sacred room: 
That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
In state as wholesome as in state 't is tit, 

Wortliy tl w nei-, and the owner it. 

The se\ cral cluiirs of (U'der look you scour 
With juice of lialm and every precious (lower: - 
Each fair instalment, coat, aial seveial crest. 
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest! 
And nightly, nieailow-lairies, look you sing. 
Like to the (;arter's compass, in a ring: 
The expressuie that it liears, green let it be, 
More fertile-fresh tlian all the field to see; 
5i 



And ' Honi soit qui mal y pense ' write 
In emerald tiffts, llowers imrple, blue, and white; 
Like saiiphiiv. pearl and rich endiroidery. 
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee: 
Fairies use dowers for tlieir charactery. 
Away ; disperse: but till 't is one o'clock. 
Our dance of custom round about the oak 
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 

Evans. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves 
in order set ; 
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be. 
To guide our measure round about the tree. 
But, stay; I smell a man of middle-earth. 

F(d. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, \ 
le.st he transfonn me t<i a piece of cheese! [birth. 

Pint. Vile w(inn,thon wast o"erlook 'eleven in thy 

Quick. AVith trial-Hre touch me his tinger-eiid: 
If he be chaste, the llame will back descend 
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 
It is the tlesh of a corrupted heart. 

Pist. A trial, come. 

Evans. Come, will this wood take fire V 

[They hum him icith their tapers. 

FaL Oh, Oh, Ohi 

Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme: 
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 

SONG, 

Fie on sinful fantasy ! 

Fie on lust and luxury ! 

Lust is but a bloody lire, 

Kindled with unchaste desire, - -^ 

Feci in heart, whose r.ames aspire 

As tlioughts do blow them, higher and higher. 

Pinch him. faiiies, nuitually; 

Pinch him for his villany ; 
Pinch him, and bum him, and turn him about. 
Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out. 

During this song they pinch Falstaff. Doctor Caius comes 
one way, (nid steals (tway a boy in green ; SXen&er another 
way , and lakes off a hoy inwiiite ; and Fenton cotnes, and 
steals away Mrs. Anne Page. A nvise oj' hnnting is 
heard within. All the Fairies run away. FalstaS ptil/s 
off his buck's head, and rises. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page and 
Mistress Ford. 

Page. Xay, do not tly ; I think we have watch 'd 
you now : 
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn V 

Mrs. Page. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no 
higher. 
Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? 
See you these, husband V do not these fair yokes 
Become the forest better than the town y 

Ford. Now, sir, who 's a cuckold now';' Master 
Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here 
are his horns. Master Brook : and, ilaster Brook, he 
liath enjoyed nothing of FonUs but his buck-basket, 
his cudgel, and tweiityiioun<lsof money, which must 
be jiaid to Master Brook; his horses are arrested for 
it. Master Ih'ook. 

il/rs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we 
could never meet. I will never take you for my love 
again; Init I will always count yon my deer. 

F(d. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. 

Ford. Ay, and an ox too: both the lu'oofs are 
extant. 

FaL And these are not fairies? Iwnsthreeorfour 
times in the thought they were not fairies : and yet 
the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden suriirise of 
my powers, drove the grossness of thi^ fo]ipery into a 
received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rh)'me 
and reason, that they were fairies. See nowhow wit 
may be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon ill em- 
ployment ! 



ACT V. 



THE 3IERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCENE V. 



Emus. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave 
your desires, and lairies will not yinse you. 

Ford. Well said, fairy Ilush. 

Evans. And leave your jealousies too, I pray you. 

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till 
thou art able to woo her in umid English. 

Fal. Have I laid my liraiu in the sun and dried it, 
that it wants matter to preN'ent so gross o'erreaching 
as this y Am I ridden with aWelsh goat too V shall 
I have a coxcomb of frize '/ 'T is time I were choked 
with a piece of toasted cheese. 

Era IIS. Seese is not good to give putter ; your belly 
is all putter. 

Fill. ' Seese ' and ' putter ' ! have I lived to stand 
at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English ? 
This is enough to be the decay of lust and late-walk- 
ing through the realm. 

Mrs. Pwje. Why, Sir John, do you think, though 
we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by 
the head and .shoulders and have given ourselves 
without scruple to hell, tliat ever the devil could 
have made you our delight ? 

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax? 

Mrs. P'tijc. A puffed man V 

Pdije. Old, cold, withered and of intolerable en- 
trails y 

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satau ? 

Page. And as jioor as Job? 

pyjrd. And as wicked as his wife? 

Era IIS. And given to fornications, and to taverns 
and sack and wine and metheglins, and to drink- 
ings and swearings and starings, pribbles and prab- 
bles ? 

Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the-start 
of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the 
Welsii flannel ; ignorance itself is a, plummet o'er 
me : use me as you will. 

Ford. Marry, sir, we '11 bring you to Windsor, to 
one Master Brook, that you have cozened of money, 
to whom you should have been a pander: over and 
above that you have suffered, I think to repay that 
money will Ije a Viiting allliction. 

Paijc. Yet be clieerful, knight: thou shalt eat a 
posset to-night at my hou.se; where I will desire 
thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at tliee: 
tell her Master Slender hath married her daughter. 

Mrs. Page. [Aside] Doctors doubt that : if Anne 
Page be my daughter, she is, by tliis. Doctor Caius' 
wife. 

Enter Slender. 

Slcn. Whoa, ho! ho, father Page ! 

Page. Son, how now! how now, son! Iiave you 
dispatched ? 

Slen. Dispatched! I '11 make the best in Glouces- 
tershire know on 't; would I were hanged, la, else! 

Page. Of what, son ? 

Slcn. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress 
Anne Page, and she "s a great lubberly boy. If it 
had not been i' the church, I would have swinged 
him, or he should have sw'inged me. If I did not 
think it had lieen Anne Page, would I might never 
stir ! — and "t is a postma.ster's boy. 

Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. 

aicii. What need you tell me that ? I tlmdv so. 



wlien I took a boy for a girl. If I had been married 
to him, for all lie was in woman's apparel, 1 would 
not have had him. 

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I 
tell you how you should know my daughter by her 
garments ? 

Slen. I went to her in white, and cried 'mum,' 
and she cried ' budget,' as Anne and I had ap- 
pointed; and yet it was not Anne, but a post- 
master's boy. 

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew 
of your purpose ; turned my daughter into green; 
and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the 
deanery, and there married. 

Enter Caius. 

Caius. Vere is ISIistress Page? By gar, I am 
cozened : 1 ha' married un garfon, a boy ; un paysau, 
by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I am 
cozened. 

J/r.s. Page. Why, did you take her in green ? - 

Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy: by gar, I'll 
raise all Windsor. [Exit. 

Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the right 
Anne? 

Page. My heart misgives me : here comes Master 
Fenton. 

Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

How now. Master Fenton ! [pardon ! 

Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mutlur, 

I'age. jS'ow, mistress, how chance you W"ent not 
with Master Slender ? 

Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doc- 
tor, maid? 

Fcnt. You do amaze her: hear the truth of it. 
You would have married her most shamefully. 
Where there was no proportion held in love. 
The truth is, she and I, long since ('(aitracti'd, 
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. 
The otfence is holy that she iuith conunitted; 
And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
Of disoliedience, or undut<'(ius title. 
Since therein slie ddtli evitate and shun 
A tlidusand irreligious cursed hours, [her. 

Which lorced marriage would have brought upon 

Ford. Stand not amazed; here is no reinedy: 
In love the heavens themselves do guide the state; 
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 

Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
stand to st rike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. 

Page. ^Vell, w hat remedy ? Fenton, heaven give 
' thee joy ! 
What cannot be eschew'd must be embraced. 

Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are 
chased. [Fenton, 

Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further. Master 
Heaven give you many, many merry days ! 
Good husliand, let us every one go home. 
Anil laugh this sport o'er by a country tire; 
Sir John and all. 

Ford. Let it be so. Sir .John, 

To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; 
For he to-night shall lie with Mistress Ford. 

[E.ccunt. 
55 



ttv=~^" — 




MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



BEAM A TIS PER S ON.E. 



Vlncentio, the Duke. 

Angelo, Deputy. 

Escalus, an ancient Lord. 

Claudio, a young gentleman. 

Lucio, a fivntastie. 

Two other gentlemeu. 

Provost. 

Thomas, ' 

Peter, 

A Justice. 

Varrius. 

Elbow, a simple constahle. 



two friars. 



Froth, a foolish gentleman. 
Pompey, servant to Mistress Overdone. 
Abhorson, an executioner. 
Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. 
Isabella, sister to Claudio. 
Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
Juliet, beloved of Claudio. 
Francisoa, a nun. 
Mistress Overdone, a bawd. 

Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants. 



alysis of the Plot of this Play, 

^CT I. 



SCENE — Vienna. 
Page XLIV.] 



SCENE I. — An apartment in the DuJce''s palace. 

Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords aucZ Attendants. 

Duke. Escalus. 

Esral. jSIy lord. 

Bake. Of government the properties to unfold, 
AVould seem in me to affect speech and discourse; 
."^ince I am put to know that your own science 
ExciTds, in that, the lists of all advice 
jNIy strrunth can give you: then no more remains, 

But that to your suhiciency 

as your worth is able, 

And let tliem work. Tlie nature of our people, 
Our city's institutions, and the terms 
For common justice, you 're as pregnant in 
As art and practice hath enriclied any 
Tluit we remember. There is our commission, 
From which we woiild not liave you warp. Call 
I say, bid come before us Angelo. [hither, 

[Exit an attemhtnt. 
Wliat figure of us tliink you lie will bear V 
For you must know, we have with special soul 
Elected him our absence to supply. 
Lent him our tiTinr, (UtssM him with our love, 
And given his depiitatinu all the organs 
Of our own power: wluit think you of it? 

E.-:r(d. If any in Vicuna be of worth 
Tn uiiilergo such ample grace and lionour, 
It is Lord Angelo. 

l>iikc. Look where he comes. 

Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I coihe to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angelo, 

There is a kind of character in thy life, 
That to the observer doth thy history 
Fully unfokl. Thysi'lf and thy belongings 
Are not thine own so pr.ipcr as tn waste 
Thyself ui)on tliy virtues, they (in thee. 
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, 
Xiit light them for tlieuisclves; for if our virtues 
Did udt go forth of tis, 't were all alike 
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch 'd 
But to tine issues, nor nature never lends 
56 



The smallest scruple of her excellence 

But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 

Herself the glory of a creditor, 

Both thanks ant'l use. But I do bend my speech, 

To one that can my part in him advertise ; 

Hold therefore, Angelo : — 

In our remove be thou at full ourself ; 

Mortality and mercy in Vienna 

Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus, 

Though lirst in (|uesf ion, is thy secondary. 

Take thy commission. 

Awj. Now, good my lord. 

Let there be some more test made of my metal, 
Before so noble and so great a figure 
Be stamp 'd upon it. 

Buke. No more' evasion : 

We have with a leaven'd and jirepared choice 
Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. 
Our haste from hence is of so (piick condition 
That it prefers itself and leaves lUKiui'stion'd 
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, 
As time and our concernings shall importune. 
How it goes with us, and do look to know 
^Vhat doth liefall you here. So, fare you well: 
To the hopeful execution do I leave you 
(Jf your commissions. 

Ang: Yet give leave, my lord, 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Buke. My haste may not admit it ; 
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do 
AVith any scruple ; yoiu- sco|ie is as mine own, 
So to enforce or qualify the laws 
As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand : 
I '11 privily away. I love the people, 
But do not like to stage me to their eyes: 
Thougli it do well, I do not relish well 
Their loud applause and Aves vehement; 
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion 
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 

Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes! 

Eacdl. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness! 

Buke. I thank you. Fare you well. [Exit. 

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
To have free speech with you; and it concerns me 
To look into the bottom of my place : 



ACT I. 



3IEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE II. 



A power I have, liut of what strength and nature 
I am not yet instructed. 

Awj. 'T is so with nie. Let us withdraw together, 
And we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that point. 

Esfial. I '11 wait upon your honour. \E.ceimt. 

SCENE II.— A s(recJ. 
Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. 

Limio. If the duke with the other dukes come not 
to composition with the King of Hungary, why then 
all the dukes fall upon the king. 

Fi'r.st Gent. Heaven grant us its. peace, but not 
the King of Hungary's! 

Sec. Gent. Amen. 

Lmio. Tliou concludest like the sanctimonious pi- 
rate, that went to sea with the Ten Commandments, 
but scraped one out of the table. 

Sec. Gent. ' Thou shalt not steal' ? 

Litcio. Ay, that he razed. 

First Gciit. Why, 't was a commandment to com- 
mand tlie captain and all the rest from their func- 
tions : they put forth to steal. There 's not a soldier 
of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, do 
relish the petition well that prays'for peace. 

Sec. Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 

Litcio. I believe thee ; for I think thou never wast 
where grace was said. 

Sec. Gent. No ? a dozen times at least. 

First Gent. What, in metre '^ 

Lw,io. In any proportion or in any language. 

First Gent. I think, or in any religion. 

Lucio. Ay, why not 'i Grace is grace, despite of 
all controversy: as, for example, tliou thyself art a 
wicked villain", despite of all grace. 

First Gent. Well, there went but a pair of shears 
between us. 

Lucio. I grant ; as there may between the lists and 
the velvet. Thou art the list. 

First Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art good 
velvet ; thou 'rt a three-piled piece, I warrant thee : 
I had as lief be a list of an English kersey as be piled, 
as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak 
feelingly now '? 

Lucio. I tliink thoudost ; and,indeed, with most 
painful feeling of thy speech ; I will, out of thine 
own confession, learn to begin thy health; but, 
whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. [I not ':' 

First Gent. I think I have done myself wrong, have 

Sec. Gent. Yes, that tliou hast, whether thou art 
tainted or free. 

Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation 
comes ! I have purchased as many diseases uuder her 
roof as come to — 

Sec. Gent. To what, I pray ? 

iitcio. Judge. 

Sec. Gent. To three thousand dolours a year. 

First Gent. Ay, and more. 

Lucio. A French crown more. 

First Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in 
me ; but tliou art full of error ; I am sound. 

Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but 
so sound as things that are hollow: thy bones are 
hollow, impiety has made a feast of thee. 

Enter Mistress Overdone. 

First Gent. How now! which of your hips has the 
most profound sciatica V 

jl/rs. Ov. Well, well ; there 's one yonder arrested 
and carried to jirisdii was worth five tliousand of you 

Sec. Gent. Wlio 's that, I pray thee? [all. 

3frs. Ov. Marry, sir, that 's Claudio, Signior Clau- 

jP/r,s( Gent. Claudio to prison ? 't is not so. [dio. 

3/)-.s. Or. Xay, but I know 'tis so : I saw him ar- 
rested, saw liim carried away ; and, which is more, 
within these three days his head to be chopped off. 



Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have 
it so. Art thou sure of this '^ 

Mr.-:. Or. I am too sure of it : and it is for getting 
Madam Julietta with child. 

Lucio. Believe me, this maybe: he promised to 
meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise 
in pi'dinise-keeping. 

Sir. (Slid. Besides, you know, it draws something 
near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 

First Gent. But, most of all, agreeing with the 
proclamation. 

Lucio. Away! let 's go learn the truth of it. 

[E.cennt Lucio und (lintlemen. 

Mrs. Ov. Thus, what with the war. what with the 
sweat, what with the gallows and what with pov- 
erty, I am custom-shrunk. 

Enter Pompey. 
How now! what 's the nev/s with you ? 

Pom. Yonder man is carried to prison. 

3Ls. Ov. Well; what has he done '? 

Pom. A woman. 

Mrs. Ov. But what 's his offence ? 

Pom. Groping for fronts in a peculiar river. 

Mrs. Ov. What, is there a maid witli child liy him ? 

Pom. Xo, but there 'sa woman witli ma id by him. 
You have not heard of the proclaiiuit ii m, have you ':' 

Mrs. Ov. What proclamation, many 

Pom. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must 
be plucked clown. [city ■' 

3frs. Ov. And what shall become of those in the 

Pom. They shall stand for .seed: they had gone 
down too,but that a wise burgher put in for them. 

Jfr.s. Ov. But shall all our houses of resort in the 
suburbs be pulled down'r* 

Pom. Totlie ground, mistress. 

3frs. Ov. Wliy , here 's a change indeed in the com- 
monwealth ! VVliat shall become of me '? 

Pom. Come : fear not you : good counsellors lack 
no clients : though you change your place, you need 
not change j'our trade: I'll be your tapster still. 
Courage ! there will be pity taken on you : you that 
have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you 
will be cousiderecl. 

Mrs. Ov. What's to do here, Thomas tapster ':* 
let 's vy'ithdraw. 

Pom. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the 
provost to prison; and there 's Madam Juliet, 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Frovost, Claudio, Juliet, and OfScers. 

Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to 
the world '? 
Bear me to prison, where I-am committed. 

Prov. I do it not in evil disposition. 
But from Lord Angelo by special charge. 

Claud. Tlius can the demigod Authority 
Make us pay down for oiu- offence by weight 
Tlie words of heaven; on whom it will, it will; 
On whorii it will not, so ; yet still "t is just. 

Re-enter Lucio and tico Gentlemen. 

Lucio. Wliy, how now, Claudio ! whence comes 
this restraint 'i 

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, lilierty : 
As surfeit is the father of much fast. 
So every scope by the immoderate use 
Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue. 
Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, 
A tliirsty evil; and when we drink we die. 

Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, 
I would send for certain of my creditors : and yet, 
to say the truth, I had as lief have the fopiiery of 
freedom as the morality of imprisonment. What 's 
thy offence, Claudio "? 

Claud. What but to speak of would offend again. 

Lucio. What, is 't murder":' 
57 



ACT I. 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE IV. 



CUaud. No. 

Liusio. Lecliery? 

Claud. Cull it so. 

Frov. Awajf, sir! you must go. [with you. 

Claud. One word, good friend. Lueio, a word 

Lucio. A liuudred, if they '11 do you auy good. 
Is lechery so look'd after y [tract 

Claud.Tlnis stands it with me : upon a true con- 
I got possession of Julietta's bed: 
You know tlie lady; she is fast my wife, 
Save that we il(j tlie denunciation lack 
Of outward iirilcr: this we came not to. 
Only for iinipanation of a dower 
Kemaiuiii,^ iu ilic roller of her friends, 
From wliiiui we ilicniL^ht it meet to hide our love 
Till time had made tiiern for us. But it chances 
The stealth oT our most mutual entertainment 
AVith character loo gross is writ on Juliet. 

Lucio. With child, perhaps ? 

Claud. Unhappily, even so. 

And the new deputy now for the duke — 
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, 
Or whether that the body public be 
A horse whereon the governor doth ride. 
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
He can conunand, lets it straight feel the spur; 
Whether the tyranny be in liis place. 
Or in liis eminence that tills it up, 
I stagger in: — but this new governor 
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties [wall 

Which have, like uiisconr'd armour, hung by the 
So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round 
And none of them been worn; and, for a name. 
Now puts tlie drowsy and neglected act 
Freshly on me : 't is surely tor a name. 

Lucio. I warrant it is: and thy head stands so 
tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be 
in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke and 
appeal toliim. 

Claud. I have done so, but he 's not to be found. 
I prithee, Lueio, do me this kind service: 
This day my sister sliould the cloister enter 
And there receive her approbation : 
Acquaint her with the clanger of my state: 
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 
To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him: 
I have great hope in that ; for in her youth 
There is a prone and speechless dialect. 
Such as move men ; beside, she hath prosperous art 
When she will play with reason and discourse, 
And well slie can iicrsuade. 

Lucio. I pravshc may; as well for the encourage- 
ment of tlu' like, whi'idi idsc wcMdd stand under 
grievous impusiliiui, as for llie enjoying of tii\' life, 
who I would lie s<.irry should be thus foolishly lost 
at a game of tick-tack. I '11 to her. 
Claiiil. I liiank you, good friend Lucio. 

Lucio. Within two hours. 
Claud. Come, officer, away ! 

l£xeunt. 
SCENE III. — A monasterij. 

Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 
Duke. No, holy father ; throw away that thought ; 
Believe not that the dribliling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom. AVhy I desire thee 
To give me secret harliour, hath a purpose • 
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
Of burning youth. 
Fri. T. !May your grace speak of it : 

Duke. My holy sir, none belter knows than you 
How I have ever loved tlie life removed 
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies 
Wliere youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 
1 have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, 
A man of stricture and firm abstinence. 
My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
58 



And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; 
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear. 
And so it is received. Now, pious sir, 
You will demand of me why I do this i* 

Fri. T. Gladly, my lord. [laws, 

Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting 
The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds, 
"Which for this nineteen years we have let slip; '• 

Even like an o'ergrowu lion in a cave, 
That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, 
Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch. 
Only to stick it in their children's sight 
For terror, not to use, in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so oiu- decrees, 
Dead to inllietion, to Ihemselves are dead; 
And liberty plucks justice by tlie nose; 
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes all decorum. 

Fri. T. It rested in your grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased: 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd 
Than in Lord Angelo. 

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sith 't was my fault to give the people scope, 
'T would be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what I biil tfiem do: for we bid this be done, 
When evil deeds have their permissive pass 
And not the pnnishmeiit. Therefore indeed, my 
I have on Angelo imposed llie ollice; [father, 

AVho may, in the audjush of my name, strike home, 
And yet my nature never in the light 
To do in slander. And to behold his sway, 
I will, as 't were a brother of your order. 
Visit both prince and people : therefore, I prithee, 
Supjily me wjtii tlie habit and instruct me 
How 1 may formally in per.son bear me 
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action. 
At our more leisure shall I render you ; 
Only, this one : Lord Angelo is precise; 
Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses 
Tlial his blo(]d Hows, or that his appetite 
Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see. 
If pow er change purpose, what our seemers be. 

[-Exeunt. 
SCENE IV. —^ nunnery. 

Enter Isabella and Francisca. 

Isah. And have you nuns no farther privileges? 

Fran. Are not tliese large enough 'f 

Isah. Y''es, truly: I speak not as desii'ing more; 
But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. 

Lucio. [Within] Ho! Peace lie in this place! 

hob. AVho 's that whicli calls'? 

Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, 
Turn vou the key, and know his business of him ; 
You liiay, I may not ; you are yet unsworn. 
AVhen you have vow'd, you must not speak with men 
But in the presence of the prioress : 
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face. 
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak .^ 
He calls again ; I pray you, answer him. [Exit. 

Isah. Peace and prosperity ! AVho is 't that calls ? 

Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses 
Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead u>e 
As bring me to tlie sight of Isabella, 
A novice of this place and the lair sister 
To her unhappv brother ( 'laudio ':* 

Ifidh. AVliv ' iier uiihapi)y biotlier ' ? let me ask, 
The ratlier for I now must make you know 
I am that Isabella and his sister. [you : 

LiK-h. (ientleaiid lair, your brother kindly greets 
Not to lie weaiv « itli von, he 's in prison. 

L(d). AVoemel for what ':' [Judge, 

Lucio. For that which, if myself might be his 



ACT II. 



MEASURE FOB 3IEASURE. 



SCENE T. 



He slioiild receive his piiiiishment in tliaulis: 
He Iiiitl) got liis friend with child. 

Isah. Sir, mulie me not your story. 

Lucio. It is true. 

I would not — though 't is my familiar sin 
With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest, 
Tongue far from heart — play with all virgins so: 
I holil you as a thing ensky"d and sainted, 
By your renouiicenieiit an immortal spirit. 
And to be talk'd with ui sincerity, 
As with a saint. 

Isub. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. 

Lucio. Do lint bi'lii've it. Fewness and truth, 'tis 
Your brother and his luvcr have cnibract il : [thus: 
A.S those that ti I'd ■2.yt>\\ lull, as lilii»(iniing time 
That from tlir seedm-ss the bare tallow liriugs 
To teeming fnisdn, even so her plenteous womb 
Expressetii his full tilth and husbandry. [Juliet V 

Isab. Some one with child by him ? My cousin 

Lwio. Is she your cousin ? [names 

Isab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their 
By vain though apt affection. 

Lwio. She it is. 

Isab. O, let him marry her. 

Lucio. This is the point. 

The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
Bore many gentlemen,"myself being one, 
In hand and hope of action : but we do learn 
By those that know the very nerves uf state. 
His givings-out were of an inlhiite distance 
Froni his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
And with full line of his authority. 
Governs Ijord Angelo; a man whose blood 
Is very snow-liroth ; one who never feels 
The wanton stings and motions of the sense. 
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 



.AVitli profits of the mind, study and fast. 
He — to give fear to use and liberty, 
"Which have for long run by the hideous law, 
As mice by lions — liatli pick'd out an act. 
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
Falls into forfeit : he arrests him on it : 
And follows close the rigour of the statute, 
To make him an example. All hope is gone, 
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
To soften Angelo: and that 's my pith of business 
'Twixt you and your poor brother. 

Imb. "Doth he so seek his life 'f 

Lucio. Has censured him 

Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
A warrant for his execution. 

Rub. Ala.s ! what poor ability 's in me 
To do him good 'i 

Lucio. Assay the power you have. 

Imb. My power? Alas, I doubt — 

Lwio. ' Our doubts are traitors 

And make us lose the good we oft might win 
By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, 
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, 
jNlen give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel, 
All their petitions are as freely theirs 
As they themselves would owe them. 

I.-<ab. I '11 see -nhat I can do. 

Lwio. But speedily. 

Itiub. I will about it straight ; 
Xo longer staying but to give the mother 
Xoticeof my affair. I humbly thank >'ou : 
Commend me to my brother : soon at niglit 
I'll send him certain word of my succtss. 

Lncio. I take my leave of you. 

Isab. ' Good sir, adieu. 

[Excu.d. 



A.CT II. 



SCENE I. — A hall i)i An(ido''s house. 

Enter Angelo, Escalus, and a Justice, Provost, 
Officers, and oilier Attendants, behind. 

Any. We must not make a scarecrow of the law. 
Setting it up to fear the birils of prey. 
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their perch and not their terror. 

Lscal. Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and ratlier cut a little. 
Than fall, and liruise tn death. Alas, this gentleman, 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father! 
Let but your honour know. 
Whom I believe to lie most strait in virtue. 
That, in tlie working of your own affections, 
Had tiijip cohered with place or place with wishing, 
Or that tlie resolute acting of your blood 
Could have attaiuM the elO rt of your own purpose. 
Whether you liad not souii'tiuie in your life 
Err'd in this point which now you censure him. 
And puHM the law upon yon. 

Anij. "T is one thing to'be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing to fall. I not deny, 
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 
!May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two 
Guiltier than him they try. AVhat 's open made to 

justice. 
That justice seizes: what know the laws 
That tliieves do jiass on thieves? 'T is very pregnant, 
Tlie jewel that we lind, we stoop and take 't 
Because wc see it ; but what we do not see 
We tread upon, and never tliink of it. 
You may not so extenuate his olfence 
For I liave iiad such faults ; but rather tell me, 
When 1, that censure him, do so ofteud, 



Let mine own judgment pattern out my death. 
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Esceil. Be it as your wisdom will. 

Anij. Where is the provost ? 

Frov. Here, if it like your honour. 

Amj. See that Claudio 

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning : 
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared; 
For that 's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 

[Exit Proroxt. 

Escal. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him ! and tor- 
give us all ! 
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : 
Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none: 
And some condemned for a fault alone. 

Enter Elbow, and Officers with Froth and 
Pompey. 

Elb. Come, bring them away: if these he good 
people in a commonweal that "do nothing but use 
their abuses in common houses, I know no law: 
bring them away. 

.1)1;/. How now, sir! What's your name? and 
what "s the matter V 

Elb. It it please your honour, I am the poor duke's 
constable, and my'name is Elbow: I do lean upon 
justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good 
honour two notorious lienefactors. 

An(j. Benefactors y Well: what benefactors are 
thev? are lliev not nialef:ictors? 

Elb. If it please your lioiiour, I know not well what 
they are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure 
of : and void of all iirotanation inthe world that good 
Christians ought to have. 

Escal. This comes olf well; here 's a wise officer. 
59 



ACT 11. 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE I. 



Any. Goto: what qiuility are they of ? Elbow is 
youf name"? why dost thou not speak, Elbow? 

Foni. He caimot, sir ; he 's out at elbow. 

Any. What are you, sir y 

Elb. He, sir ! a tapster, sir ! parcel-bawd ; one that 
serves a bad vvouian ; whose house, sir, was, as they 
say, plucked down in the suburbs ; and now she pro- 
fesses a liot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house 

Escal. How know you that ? [too. 

Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven 
and your lionour,— 

Eiical. How? thy wife? [woman, — 

Elb. Ay,sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest 

Escal. Dost thou detest her tlierefore ? 

Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as 
she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it 
is pity of lier life, for it is a naughty house. 

E.'ical. How dost thou know that, constable ? 

Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been 
a woman cardinally fiiven, iniLilit have been accused 
in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. 

Escal. By the woniiin's nuMiis? 

Elb. Ay, sir, by Mistnss ( Jverdone's means:- but 
as she spit in hisfacc, so she defied him. 

Pom. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. 

Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou hon- 
ourable man ; prove it. 

Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces ? 

Pom. Sir, she came in great with child ; and long- 
ing, saving your honour's reverence, for stewed 
prunes ; sir, we had but two in the house, which at 
that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit- 
dish, a dish of some three-pence ; your honours have 
seen such dishes; they are not China dishes, but 
very good dishes, — 

Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the dish, sir. 

Pom. Xo, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are tlierein 
in the right: but to the point. As I say, this Mis- 
tress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being 
great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for iirnnes ; and 
having but two in the dish, as I siiiil, Master Froth 
here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, 
and, as I say, paying for them very iionestly ; for, 
as you know. Master Froth, I could not give you 
three-pence again. 

Froth. Xo, Indeed. 

Pom. Very well ; you being then, if you be remem- 
bered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes, — 

Froth. Ay, so I did indeed. 

Pom. Why, very well ; I telling you then, if you 
be remembered, that such a one and such a one 
were past cure of the thing you wot of,-unless they 
kept very good diet, as I- told you, — 

Froth. AH this is true. 

Pom. AVhy, very well, then, — 

Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : to thepurpose. 
What was done to Ellmw's wife, that he hath cause 
to complain of ? Come me to what was done to her. 

Pom.. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 

Escal. X'o, sir, nor I mean it not. 

Po/ii. Sir, but you sliall come to it , by your honour's 
leave. And, I lieseeeli you, look into blaster Froth 
here, sir; a man of fourscore pound a year; whose 
father died at Hallowmas : was 't not at Hallowmas, 
Master Froth ? 

Froth. All-hallond eve. 

Pom. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. 
He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir ; 't was 
in the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a 
delight to sit, have you not? 

Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room and 
good for winter. 

Pom. Why, very well, then ; I hope here be truths. 

Aag. This will last out a night in Russia, 
When nights are longest there : I '11 take my leave, 
And leave you to the hearing of the cause; 
Hoping you '11 find good cause to whip them all. 
60 



Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to your 

lordship. [E.cit Angelo. 

Xow, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's wife, 

once more ? [once. 

Pom. Once, sir? there was nothing done to her 

Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man 
did to my wife. 

Pom. I beseech your honour, ask me. 

Escal. Well, sir ; what did this gentlenau to her ? 

Pom. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's 
face. Good Master Froth, look upon his honour; 
't is for a good purpose. Doth your honour mark his 

Escal. Ay, sir, very well. [face ? 

Pom. Xay, I beseech you, mark it well. 

Escal. Well, I do so. 

Pimt. Doth your honour see any harm in his face ? 

Escal. Why, no. 

Pom. I '11 be supposed upon a book, his face is 
the worst thing about him. Good, then; it his face 
be the worst tiling about him, how could Master 
Froth do the constable's wife any harm ? I would 
know that of your honour. 

Escal. He 's in the right. Constable, what say 
you to it ? 

Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respect- 
ed house ; next, this is a respected fellow; and his 
mistress is a respected woman. 

Pom. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more re- 
spected person than any of us all. 

Elb. Varlet, thou best ; thou liest, wicked varkt ! 
the time is yet to come that she was ever respected 
with man, woman, or child. 

Pom. Sir, she was respected with him before he 
married with her. 

Escal. Which is the wiser here ? Justice or In- 
iquity ? Is this true ? 

Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou 
wicked Hannibal ! I respected with her before I 
was married to her ! If ever I was respected with 
her, or she with me, let not your worship think me 
the poor duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked 
Hannibal, or I '11 have mine action of battery on 
thee. 

Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, you might 
have your action of slander too. 

Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. 
What is 't your worship's pleasure I shall do with 
this wicked caitiff ? 

Escal. Truly, otlicer, because he hath some of- 
fences in him that tliou wouldst discover if thou 
couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou 
knowest what thev are. 

Elb. Marry, I tl'iank your worship for it. Thou 
seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what's come upon 
thee : thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou 
art to continue. 

E.ical. Where were you born, friend? 

Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. 

Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year ? 

Forth. Yes, an 't please you, sir. 

Escal. So. What trade are you of, sir ? 

Pom. A tapster; a poor widow's tapster. 

Escal. Your mistress' name? 

Pom. Mistress Overdone. 

Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband ? 

Pom. Xine, sir: Overdone by the last. 

Escal. Nine ! Come hither to me. Master Froth. 
Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted 
with tapsters: they will draw you. Master Froth, 
and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let 
me hear no more of you. 

Froth. I thank your worship. For mine own 
part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, 
but I am drawn in. 

Escal. Well, no more of it. Master Froth : fare- 
well. [Exit Froth.] Come you hither to me, Master 
tapster. AVhat 's youf name. Master tapster ? 



ACT II. 



HE A SURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE II. 



Pom. Ponipev- 

S^cal Wliatelse? 

Pinn. Bum, sir. 

Escal. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
aljout yon ; so that in the beastliest sense you are 
Pompey tlie great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, 
Pompey, howsoever j'ou colour it in being a tap- 
ster, are you not':' come, tell me true: it shall be 
the better for you. 

Pom. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would 
live. 

Esccd. How would you live, Pompey ? by being 
a bawd ? AV'hat do you think of the trade. Pompey y 
is it a lawful trade ? 

Pom. If the law would allow it, sir. 

Esml. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; 
nor it sliall not be allowed in Vienna. 

Pom. Does your worship mean to geld and splay 
all the youth of the city V 

Escal. No, Pompey. 

Pom. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, .they will 
to 't then. If your worship will take order for the 
drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the 
bawds. 

Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can 
tell you : it is but heading and hanging. 

Pom. If you head and" hang all "that offend that 
way Ijut for ten year together, you '11 be glad to give 
out a conmiissiii'n for more heads : if this law liold 
in Vienna ten year, I '11 rent the fairest house in it 
after three-iienee a day : if you live to see this come 
to pass, say Pompey told you so. 

EscitL 'iliank you, good Pompey; and, in re- 
quital of your prophecy, hark you : I advise you, let 
me not timl you before me again upon any com- 
l)laint whatsoever; no, not for dwelling where you 
do : if 1 do, Pompey, I sliall beat you to your tent, 
and prove a shrewd C';esar to you; in plain dealing, 
Pompey, I shall have you whipt: so, for this time, 
Pompey, fare yon well. 

Pom'. I tiiank your worship for your good counsel: 
[Asiih] Imt 1 shall follow it as the flesh and fortune 
sliall better determine. 

AVhip me ? No, no ; let carman whip his jade : 
The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade. 

[E.rit. 

Escal. Come hither to me. Master Elbow ; come 
hither, Master constable. How long have you been 
in this place of constable ? 

Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. 

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, 
you had continued in it some time. You say, seven 
years together ? 

Elb. And a half, sir. 

Escal. Alas, it hath been great pains to you. 
They do you wrong to put you so oft upon "t : are 
there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it V 

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in si^ch matters: 
as they are chosen, they are" glad to choose me for 
them ; I do it for some piece of money, and go 
through with all. 

Escal. Look you bring me in the names of some 
six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. 

Elb. To your worship's house, sir? 

i?.scaL Tomyhouse. Fare you well. \_E.dt Elbow. 
AVhat 's o'clock, think you V 

Just. Eleven, sir. 

Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 

Jitat. I liuiuiily thank you. 

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; 
But there 'sno remedy. 

Jiist. Lord Augelo is severe. 

Escal. It is but needful : 

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so : 
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : 
But yet, — poor Claudio! There is no remedy. 
Come, sir. [Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — Another room in the same. 
Enter Provost and a Servant. 
Serv. He's hearing of a cause; he will come 
I '11 tell him of you. [straiglit : 

Prov. Pray you, do. [E.i;it Servant. 

1 '11 know 
His pleasure ; may be he will relent. Alas, 
He hath but as offended in a dream ! 
All sects, all ages smack of this vice ; and he 
To die for 't ! „ 

Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Now, what 's the matter, provost ? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? 

Ang. Did not I tell thee yea':' hadst thou not order '^ 
Why dost thou ask again ':' 

Pi-ov. Lest I might be too rash : 

Under your good correction, I have seen, 
When, after execution, judgment hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Ang. Go to ; let that be mine : 

Do you your office, or give up your place. 
And you shall well be spared. 

Prov. I crave yoiu" b.onour's pardon. 

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet ":' 
She 's very near her hour. 

Ang. Dispose of her 

To some more fitter place, and that with speed. 

lie-enter Servant. 

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd 
Desires access to you. 

Ang. Hath he a sister ? 

Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, 
And to be shortly of a sisterhood. 
If not already. 

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. 

[E.vit Servant. 
See you the fornicatress be removed : 
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means; 
There shall be order for 't. 

Enter Isabella and Lucio. 

Prov. God save .your honour! 

Any. Stay a little while. [To Isab.j You 're wel- 
come": what 's your will ':' 

Isab. 1 am a woeful suitor to j-our honour. 
Please but your honour hear me. 

Ang. ' Well ; what 's your suit ? 

Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor. 
And most desire should meet the blow of justice; 
For which I would not jilead, but that I must; 
For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war 'twixt <vill and will not. 

Ang. Well; the matter'? 

Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 
And not my brother. 

Prov. [Asidt] Heaven give thee moving 

graces ! 

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ? 
Why, every fault 's condemn'd ere it be done : 
Mine were the very cipher of a function. 
To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, 
And let go by the actor. 

Isab. O just but severe law ! 

I had a brother, then. Heaven keep yoiu- honour! 

Liicio. [Aside to Isab.] Give 't not o'er so: to him 
again, entreat him; 
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown : 
You are too cold; if you should need a pin, 
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it : 
To him, I say! 

7.s«6. Must he needs die ? 

Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him. 
And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. 
61 



ACT II. 



MEASURE FOR 31 E AS U RE. 



SCEXE II. 



Ann. I will not do 't. 

Isab. But can j^ou, if yon would ? 

Anij. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 

Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world no 
wrong, 
If so your heart were touch 'd with that remorse 
As mine is to him ? 

Ayig. He 's sentenced ; 't is too late. 

Lucio. {Aside to Isab.'] You are too cold. 

Imh. Too late 'i why, no ; I, that do speak a word, 
May call it back again. AVell, believe this, 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
Not tlie king's riown, nor the deputed sword, 
The nuu'sliars tnuirheon, nor the judge's robe, 
Become them with one-halt so good a grace 
As mercy does. 

If he had been as you and you as he. 
You would have slipt like him; but he, like you. 
Would not have been so stern. 

Anrj. Pray you, be gone. 

IsiA). I would to heaven I had your potency. 
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus i* 
No; I would tell what 't were to be a judge, 
And what a prisoner. tthe vein. 

Lucio. \_Aside to Isah.'] Ay, touch him ; there 's 

Aruj. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
And you but waste your words. 

Isab. Alas, alas ! 

Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; 
And He that might the vantage best have took 
Found out the remedy. How would you be. 
If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
Like man new made. 

Any. Be you content, fair maid ; 

It is the law, not I condenm your brother: 
W^ere he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 
It should be thus with him : he must die to-morrow. 

Isab. To-morrow ! O, that 's sudden ! Spare him, 
spare him ! 
He 's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens 
We kill the fowl of season : shall we serve heaven 
AV'ith less respect than we do minister [you ; 

To our gross selves V Good, good my lord, bethink 
Who is It that hath died for this offence ? 
There 's many have committed it. 

Lttcio. [Aside to Isab.] Ay, well said. 

Any. The law hath not been dead, though it hath 
slept : 
Tliose many had not dared to do that evil, 
If the th'st that did the edict infringe 
Had answerM for his deed: now 't^is awake. 
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet. 
Looks in a glass, that shmvs what future evils. 
Either new, or by remissness new-ccmi'eived, 
And so in progress to be hateh'd and liorn, 
Are now to have no successive degrees, 
But, ere they live, to end. 

Isab. Yet show some pity. 

Any. I show it most of all when I show justice ; 
For then I pity those I do not know, 
AVhich a dismiss'd offence would after gall; 
And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, 
Lives not to act anotlier. Be satisfied ; 
Your brotlier dies to-m(irrow; be content. 

Isab. So you must be the first that gives this 
sentence, 
And he, that suffers. O, it is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 

Lttcio. [Aside to Is(dj.] That 's well said. 

Isab. Could great men thunder 
As Jove himself -does, Jove would ne'er be quiet. 
For every pelting, petty officer 
Would use his heaven for thunder; 
Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven, 
62 



Thou rather with thy sharp and sulpliurous bolt 

Split 'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak 

Than the soft myrtle: but nuui, proud man, 

Drest in a little brief authority. 

Most ignorant of what he 's most assured, 

His glassy essence, like an angry a'>e. 

Plays sucli fantastic tricks before high heaven 

As "make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, 

Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] (J, to him, to him, wench ! 
He 'scorning; I perceive 't. [he will relent: 

Prov. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him ! 

Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with onrself : 
Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them, 
But in the less foul prufauation. 

Lucio. Thou 'rt i' tlie riglit, girl ; more o' that. 

Isab. That in the captain "s but a choleric word, 
Which in the soldier is Hat blasphemy. [on 't. 

Lucio. [Aside til J sat I.] Art avised o'that? more 

Any. AVhy do you put these sayings upon me'!* 

Isab. Because authority, thougii it err like others, 
Hatli yet a kind of medicine in itself, 
That .skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom ; 
Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know 
That 's like my brnther's fault: if it confess 
A natural guiltiness snch as is his, 
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
Against my brother's life. 

Any. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis 

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you 

Isid). (ientle my l(inl. turn back. [tt'ell. 

Awj. I will lii'think me: come again to-morrow. 

Isab. Hark how I'll bribe you: good my lord, 

Any. How! bribe me 'i* [turnback. 

Ism. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share 
with you. 

Liii-i'i. [Aside to Isab.] You had marr'd all else. 

Isiih. Ndt with fund shekels of the tested gold, 
Or stiini's whose rates are either rich or poor 
As faui'y \ahu's them ; liut witli true prayers 
That sliall be up at heaven and enter there 
-Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls. 
From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. 

Any. Well ; come to me to-morrow. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Go to ; 't is well ; away ! 

Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe ! 

Any. [Aside] Amen : 

For I am that way going to temptation, 
Wliere prayers cross. 

Isab. At what hour to-morrow 

Shall I attend your lordship ? 

Any. At any time 'fore noon. 

Isab. 'Save your honour ! 

[Exeunt Isabella, Lttcio, and Provost. 

Any. From thee, even from thy virtue ! 

What's this, what's this'? Is this her fault or 
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most V [mine ? 
Ha! 

Not she ; nor doth she tempt : but it is I 
That, lying by the violet in the sun. 
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, 
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be 
That modestv mav more betray our sense [enough. 
Than woman's lightness? llaviug waste ground 
Sliall we desire to raze t'ne sanctuary 
And pitcli our evils there 'i^ O, lie, tie, fie! 
What dost thou, or wliat art thou, Angelo? 
Host thou desire lier foullv for those things 
Tliat make her good ':' O, let her brother live : 
Thieves lor their rolibery have authority [her, 

When judges steal tliemselves. What, do I love 
That f desire to hear her speak again. 
And feast upon her eyes ? What is 't I dream on ? 
O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint. 
With saints .dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
Is that temptation that doth goad us on 



ACT II. 



MEASURE FOR HE A SURE. 



SCENE IV 



To sill in loving virtue: never fonld the strumpet, 
AVitli all her double vigour, art aiid nature. 
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid 
Subdues me quite. Ever till now, 
W'iien men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how. 

[Exit. 
SCENE III. — A room in a prison. 

Enter, severally, Duke disyuisecl as a friar, and 
Provost. 

Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you are. 

Frov. I am the provost. What 's your will, good 
friar ? 

Duke. Bound by my charity and my blest order, 
I come to visit the afflicted spirits 
Here in the prison. Do me tlie common right 
To let me see them and to make me know 
The nature of their crimes, tliat I may minister 
To them accordingly. [needful. 

Frov. I would do more than that, if more were 

Enter Juliet. 
Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine, 
AVho, falling in the flaws of her own youth, 
Hath blister'd her report : she is with child ; 
And he tluit got it, sentenced; a young man 
More tit to do another such offence 
Tlian die for this. 

Duke. When must he die ? 

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. 

I liave provided for j'ou: stay awhile, [2b Juliet. 
And you shall be conducted. 

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of tlie sin you carry ? 

Jul. I do; and bear tlie slianie most patiently. 

Duke. I '11 teach you how y<m shall arraign your 
And try your penitence, if it be sound, [conscience. 
Or hollowly put on. 

Jul. I '11 gladly learn. 

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ? 

Jul. Yes, asl love the woman that wrong'd him. 

Duke. So then it seems your most ofEenceful act 
AVas mutually committed.? 

Jul. Mutually. 

Duke. Tlien was your sin of lieavier kind than his. 

Jul. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 

Duke. 'T is meet so, daughter : but lest you do 
repent, 
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame. 
Which sorrow is always towards, ourselves, not 

heaven. 
Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it. 
But as we stand in fear, — 

Jul. I do repent me, as it is an evil, 
And take the shame with joy. 

Duke.' Tliere rest. 

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow. 
And I am going with instruction to him. 
Grace go w'ith you, Benedicite! [Exit. 

Jul. Must die to-morrow! O injurious love, 
Tliat respites me a life, whose very comfort 
Is still a dying horror ! 

Frov. 'T is pity of him. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A room in Anrjch's house. 

Enter Angelo. 
Am/. When I would pray and think, I think and 
pray 
To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words ; 
Whilst my invention, hearing not niy tongue, 
Ancliois on Isaliel : Heaven in my mouth. 
As if 1 did but only diew his name; 
And in my lit-art the strung and swelling evil 
Of my c(iiicei)tion. Tlie state, wliereon I studied, 
Is lilie a good tiling, being often read, 
tirown IVarVl and tedious; yea, my gravity. 
Wherein — let no man hear me — I take pride. 



Could I with boot change for an idle i)hune, 
AVhich the air beats for vain. U plaee, O form, 
How often dost thou with thy ease, thy habit. 
Wrench awe lioiii fools and tie the wiser souls 
To thy false seeniiiig ! Blood, thou art blood: 
Let 's write good angel on the devil's horn; 
'T is not the devil's crest. 

Enter a Servant. 

How ii"wl who's there? 

Scrv. One Isabel, a sister, desires aceess to you. 

Any. Teach her the way. [Exit Si i-r.\ O heavens ! 
Wliv does mv blood tlius'muster to my heart. 
Making bi>tli it unable for itself. 
And disiiossessiiig all my other parts 
Of necessar\ litnessV 

So pla>- the'fdolish throngs with one that swoons; 
Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
By which he should revive: and even so 
The general, subject to a well-wishM king, 
Quit their own part, and inobsequidiis fondness 
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
Must needs appear offence. 

Enter Isabella. 

How now, fair maid? 

Isdh. I am come to know your pleasure. 

AiK/. That you might know it, would much better 

please me [live. 

Than to demand what 't is. Your brfither camiot 

Isrtb. Even so. Heaven keep your honour! 

Ang. Yet may he live awhile ; and, it may be, 
As long as you or I: yet he must die. 

Isab^ Under your sentence ? 

Ang. Yea. 

I.fab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve. 
Longer (u- shorter, he may be so Htted 
That his sdul sicken not. 

Ang. Ha! lie, these filthy vices! It were as good 
To pardon liiiii that hatli from nature stolen 
A man already made, as to remit 
Tlu-ir saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image 
In stamps that are forbid: 't is all as easy 
Falsely to take away a life true made 
As to |iut metal in restrained means 
To make a false one. 

Imih. "T is set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 

Ang. Say you so ? then I shall pose you quickly. 
Which had you rather, that the most just law 
Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him. 
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness 
As she that lie hath stain 'd ? 

Isnb. Sir, believe this, 

I liad rather give my body than my soul. 

Ang. I talk not of your soul : our compell'd sins 
Stand more for number than for accompt. 

Lmb. How say you ? 

Ang. Nay, I '11 not warrant that; for I can speak 
Against the thing I say. Answer to this : 
I, now the voice of the recorded law. 
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: 
Might there not be a cliarity in sin 
To save this brother's life ? 

Isab. Please you to do 't, 

I '11 take it as a peril to my soul, 
It is no sin at all. but charity. 

Ang. Pleased you to do 't at peril of your soul, 
Were equal poise of sin and charity. 

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin. 
Heaven let me bear it ! you granting of my suit, 
If that be sin, I '11 make it my morn prayer 
To have it added to the faults of mine. 
And nothing of your answer. 

Ang. Nay, but hear me. 

Your sense pursues not mine : eitlier you are igno- 
rant. 
Or seem so craftily ; and that 's not good. 
63 



ACT III. 



3IEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE I. 



Isah. Let me be ignorant, and in 7iotliing good, 
But graciously to l<;now I am no better. 

Ang. Til us wisdom wishes to appear most briglit 
When it dotli tax itself ; as these black masks 
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 
Tlian beauty could, display 'd. But mark me; 
To be received plain, 1 '11 speak more gross : 
Your brother is to die. 

Isah. So, 

Aivj. And his offence is so, as it appears. 
Accountant to the law upon that pain. 

Iso.h. True. 

Any. Admit no other way to save his life, — 
As I subscribe not that, nor any other, 
But in the loss of question, — that you, his sister. 
Finding yourself desired of such a person, 
Whose credit with tlie judge, or own great place, 
Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
Of the all-building law ; ami that there were 
Jio earthly mean to save liim, but that either 
You must lay down tlie treasures of your body 
To this supposed, or else to let him suffer; 
What would you do y 

Isah. As much for my poor brother as myself : 
That is, were I under the terms of death. 
The impression of keen whips I 'Id wear as rubies, 
And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
That longing have been side for, ere I 'Id yield 
My body up to shame. 

Ang. Then must your brother die. 

IsiA. And 't were the cheaper way : 
Better it were a brother died at once, 
Than that a sister, by redeeming him. 
Should die for ever. 

Any. AVere not you then as cruel as the sentence 
That you have slander'd so ? 

Isah. Ignomy ui ransom and free pardon 
Are of two houses: lawful mercy 
Is nothing kin to biul redemption. 

Ang. You seem'tl of late to make the law a tyrant ; 
And rather proved the sliding of your brother 
A merrimeut than a vice. 

Isah. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, 
To have what \\-e \vould have, we speak not what we 
I something do excuse the thing I hate, [mean : 
For his advantage that I dearly love. 

Ang. We are all trail. 

IscM. Else let my brother die, 

If not a feodary, but only he 
Owe and succeed thy weakness. 

Ang. Nay, women are frail too. [selves; 

Isah. Ay, as the glasses where they view them- 
Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
AVomen ! Help Heaven ! men their creation mar 
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail 
For we are soft as our complexions are, 
And credulous to false prints. 

Ang. I think it well : 

And from this testimony of your own sex, — 



Since I supiiose we are made to be no stronger 

Thau faults may shake our frames, — let me be bold ; 

I do arrest your words. Be that you are. 

That is, a woman ; if you be more, you 're none; 

If you be one, as you are well express 'd 

By all external warrants, show it now, 

By putting on the destined livery. 

Isah. I liave no tongue but one: gentle my lord. 
Let me entreat you speak the former language. 

Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 

Isah. My brother did love .Juliet, 
And you tell me that he shall die tor it. 

Any. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. 

Isah. I know your virtue liath a license in 't, 
AVhich seems a little fouler than it is. 
To pluck on others. 

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour, 

My words express my purpose. 

Isah. Ha I little honour to be much believed, 
And most pernicious purpose I Seeming, seeming ! 
I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for 't : 
Sign me a present pardon for my brother, [aloud 
Or with an outstreteh'd throat I '11 tell the world . 
What man thou art. 

Any. AVho will believe thee, Isabel ? 

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life. 
My vouch against you, and my place i' the state. 
Will so your accusation overweigh, 
That you shall stifle in your own report 
And smell of calumny. I have begun, 
And now I give my sensual race the rein : 
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes, 
That banish what they sue fur ; redeem thy brother 
By yielding up thy body to my will ; 
Or else he must not only die tlie death, 
But thy unkindness shall his death tlraw out 
To lingering sulferance. Answer me to-morrow. 
Or, by the aliection that now guides me most, 
I '11 prove a tyrant to liim. As for )'0u. 
Say what yoii can, my false o'erweighs your true. 

{Exit. 

Isah. To whom .should I complain ? Did I tell this, 
Who would believe me':' O perilous mouths, 
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue. 
Either of condemnation or approof ; 
Bidding the law make court "sy to their will : 
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, 
To follow as it draws ! I '11 to my brother : 
Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood. 
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour. 
That, had he twenty heads to tender down 
On twenty bloddy blocks, he 'Id yield them up, 
Before his sister should her body stoop 
To such abhorr'd pollution. 
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: 
jJi^ore than our brother is our eha.stity. 
I '11 tell him yet of Angelo's request. 
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I. — A room in the prison. 

Enter Duke, disyuiscd as before, Claudio, and 

Provost. 
Bukc. So then you hope of pardon from Lord 

Angelo ? 
Claud. The miserable have no other medicine 
But only hope : 
I 've hope to live, and am prepared to die. 

Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death or life 
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing [life : 

64 



That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art. 
Servile to all the skyey intlnences, 
Tliat dost this habitation, where thou keep'st. 
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; 
For him thou labour'st liy thy liight to shun 
And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not 

noble ; 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st 
Are nursed by baseness. Thou 'rt by no means 

valiant ; 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, 



: III. 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE I. 



that tlioii oft provokest ; yet grossly fear'st 
death, wliich is no more. Thou art not thy- 
tlioii exist "st on many a thousand grains [self; 

issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; 
what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get, 
what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not eer- 
^ _,tliy complexion shifts to strange effects, [tain: 
After the moon. It thou art rich, thou 'rt poor ; 
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
Tliou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey. 
And death unloads thee. Friend hast tliou none; 
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, 
The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 
1)0 curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, 
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, [nor age, 
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth 
liecomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and rich. 
Thou hast neither licat, atfection. limb, nor beauty, 
To make thy riches pleasant. What "s yet in this 
That bears tlie name of life 'i Yet in this life 
Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear, 
That makes these odds all even. 

Claud. I humbly thank you. 

To sue to live, I find I seek to die; 
And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. 
Isab. [Wilkin] ■\\'liat,lio! Peace here; grace and 

good company! 
Prov. Who 's there '^ come in : the wish deserves 

a welcome. 
Duke. Dear sir, ere long I '11 visit you again. 
Claud. Most holy sir, 1 thank you. 

J<]nter Isabella. 

Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 

Prov. And very welcome. Look, siguior, here 's 
your sister. 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. 

Prov. As many as you please. 

Duke. Bring nie to hear them speak, where I may 
be concealed. • [E.ccunt Duke and Provost. 

Cluial. 2s ow, sister, what 's the comfort y 

Isab. Why, 

As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed. 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, 
Intends you for his swift ambassador, 
Wliere you shall be an everlasting lieger: 
Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; 
To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy ? 

Isab. Xone, but such remedy as, to save a head. 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Claud. But is there any y 

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live : 
There is a devilish mercy in the judge. 
If you '11 implore it, that will free your life. 
But fetter you till death. 

Claud. Perpetual durance V 

isa6. Ay, just ; perpetual durance, a restraint, 
Though all the world's vastidit^you h^d. 
To a determined scope. 

Claud. But in what nature? 

Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to 't, 
"Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear. 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake, 
Lest thou ivfeverous life shouldst entertain, 
And six or seven winters more respect 
Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die ? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension; 
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon. 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
As when a giant dies. 

Claud. ■ Why give you me this shame ':* 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 



From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
I will encounter darkness as a bride. 
And hug it in mine arms. [grave 

Isab. Tliere spake my brother; there my father's 
Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die : 
Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy. 
Whose settled visage and deliberate Avord 
Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew 
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil ; 
His hlth within being cast, he would appear 
A pond as deep as hell. 

Chiml. The prenzie Angelo! ' 

Isab. O, 't is the cmniing livery of hell, 
The damned 'st body to invest and cover 
In prenzie guards! Dost thou tliink, Claudio ? 
If I woidd yield him my virginity. 
Thou mightst be freed. 

Claud. O heavens! it cannot be. 

Isab. Y'es, he would give 't thee, from this rank 
offence, 
So to offend him still. This night 's the time 
That I sliould do what I abhor to name, 
Or else thou diest to-morrow. 

Claud. Thou shalt not do "t. 

Isab. O, were it but my life, 
I 'Id throw it down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. 

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him, 
Tliat tlius can make him bite the law by the nose. 
When he would force it V Sure, it is no sin ; 
Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
Isab. Which "is the least y 
Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wise, 
AVhy would he for the momentary trick 
Be perdurably fined ^ O Isabel ! 
Isab. AVhat says my brother ? 
Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 

Isab. And sliamed life a hateful. 
Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot ; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
In tlirilling region of thick-ribbed ice ; 
To be iniprisnn'd in the viewless winds. 
And blown with restless violence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be woi^e than worst 
Of those that lawless and incertain thought 
Imagine howling : 't is too liorrible ! 
The weariest and most loathed \\()rldly life 
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. 
Isab. Alas, alas! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live: 

"What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far 
That it becomes a virtue. 
Isab. O you beast ! 

faithless coward ! O dishonest wretch ! 
W'ilt thou be made a man out of my vice ':* 

Is 't not a kind of incest, to take life [think ? 

From thine own sister's sliame y What sliould 1 
Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! 
For such a warped slip of wilderness 
Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance! 
Die, perish ! Might but my bending down 
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed: 

1 '11 pray a thousand prayers for tliy death, 
No word to save thee. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 

Isab. O, fie, fie, fie! 

Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade. 
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 
G.3 



3IEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



\ 



SCENE ir. 



'T is best that thou diest quickly. 



Claud. 



O hear me, Isabella! 



Re-enter Duke. 

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one 

Isah. What is your will 'i [word. 

Dukr. Miifht you dispense with your leisure, I 
would by and by have some speech with you: the 
■ satislartiou I would require is likewise your own 
benelit. 

huh. I have no superfluous leisure ; my stay must 
be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend you 
awhile. [ Walks a part. 

Duke. Son, I have overheard what hath passt'd 
between you and your sister. Angelo had never 
the purpose to cdrrupt her; only he hath nunle an 
assay of Iht virtue to practice his judgment witli 
the disposition o!' natures: she, having tlie trutli of 
honour in her, liatli made him that gracious denial 
wliich he is most glad to receive. I am confessor 
to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore 
prepare yourself to death : do not satisfy your reso- 
lution with hopes that are fallilile : to-nnu-row you 
must die; go to your knees and make ready. 

C'lnud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so 
out of love with life that; I will sue to be rid of it. 

Duke. Hold you there : farewell. [Jij:it Claudio.] 
Provost, a word with you ! 

lie-enter Provost. 

Prov. What 's your will, father ? 

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone. 
Leave me awhile with tlie maid : my mind promises 
with my habit no loss shall touch "her by my com- 
pany. 

Prov. In good time. 

\_Exil Provost. TsnbeUn comes forivard. 

Duke. The hand tliat hath made you fair hath 
made you good : the goodness that is cheap in beauty 
makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being 
the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body 
of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hat li made. 
to you, fortune hath conveyed to my understaiidiiig : 
and, but tluit frailty hatirexamplcs lor liis tailing, 
I should wonder at Angelo. IIow will you do to 
content tliis substitute, and to save your brother V 

Isab. I am now going to resolve him : I had 
rather my brother die by the law than my son should 
be unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good 
duke deceived in Angelo ! If ever he return and I 
can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or 
discover his government. 

Duke. That shall not be much amiss: yet, as the 
matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; 
he made trial of you only. Therefore fasten your 
ear on my advisings: to the love I have in doing 
good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself 
believe that you may most uprighteously do a "poor 
■wronged lady a merited benefit ; redeem your 
brother from the angry law ; do no stain to your 
own gracious person; and much please the absent 
duke, it iieradventure he shall ever return to have 
hearing of tliis business. 

Isab. Let me hear you speak, father. I have 
spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the 
truth of my spirit. 

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. 
Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister 
of Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at 
sea y 

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words 
went with her name. 

Duke. (She should this Angelo have married ; was 
affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appoiutcil: 
between which time of the contra<t anil limit (d' 
the solemnity, her lirother Frederick was wrecked 
at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of 
66 



his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to 
the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and re- 
nowned brother, in his love toward her ever most 
kind and natural; witli him, the portion and sinew 
of her fortune, Iier marriage-dowry; with both, 
her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo. 

Isab. Can this be so? did Angelo so leave hery 

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of 
them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, 
pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, 
bestowed her on her own lamentation, which slie 
yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her 
tears, is washed with them, but relents not. 

Isab. What a merit were it in death to take this 
poor maid from the world! What corruption in 
tills life, that it will let this mau live! But how- 
out of this can she avail ? 

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal : 
and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but 
keeps you from dishonour in doing it. 

Isab. 8ho\v me how, good father. 

Duke. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the 
continuance of her first affection: his unjust un- 
kindness, that in all reason should have quenched 
her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, 
made it more vii dent and unruly, (ioyouto Angelii ; 
answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; 
agree with his demands to tlie point ; only refer 
yourself to this advantage, first, that your stay with 
"him may not be long; that the time may have all 
shadow and silence in it; and the jilace answer to 
convenience. This being granted in course, — and 
now follows all, — we shall advise this wronged 
maid to stead up your appointment, go in your 
place; if the encounter acknowledge itself here- 
after, it may comjiel him to her recompense : and 
here, by this, is ycnir brother saved, your honour 
untainted, the pocu' INIariaiui advantaged, and the 
corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will J frame and 
make fit for his attempt. If you tliink well to 
carry this as you may, the doi^leness of the benefit 
.defends the deceit from reproof. What think you 
of it ? 

/.«(!). The image of it gives me content already ; 
and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous per- 
fection. 

Duke. It lies much in your holding up. Haste 
you speedily to Angelo : if for this night he entreat 
you to his bed, give him pnnnise of satisfaction. 
I will presently to Saint Luke's: there, at the 
moated graii.ge, resides this dejected Mariana. At 
that place call upon me ; and dispatch with Angelo, 
that it may be quiidcly. 

I.-iab. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you 
well, good father. [Exeunt several};/. 

SCENE II. — The street before the prison. 

Enter, on one side, Duke disguised as before; on the 
other, Elbow, cmd Oflftcers icith Pompey. 

Elb. Nay^ if tliai'e be no remedy for it, but that 
you will needs buy and sell men and women like 
beasts, we shall have all the world drink broviii 
and white bastard. 

Duke. O heavens ! what stuff is here ? 

Pom. 'Tvi'as never merry world since, of two 
usuries, the merriest was jnit down, and the worser 
allowed by order of law a furred gown to keej) him 
warm; and furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to 
signify, that craft, being richer tlian innocency, 
stands for the facing. 

Elb. Come your" way, sir. 'Bless you, good 
father friar. 

Duke. And you, good brother father. What of- 
fence hath this man made you, sir? 

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, 
sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have 



T III. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE II. 



ml uiK)n liim, sir, a strauge picklock, which we ; 
I' sent to tlie deputy. 

iiikc. Fie, sinah ! a bawd, a wicked bawd ! 
e evil that thou causest to be doue, 
'I ' at is thy means to live. Do thou but think 
Wiiat 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back 
From such a filthy vice: say to thyself. 
From their aliominable and beastly touches 
I drink. I eat. array myself, and live. 
Canst tjidu believe thy living is a life, 
So stinkingly depending ? Go mend, go mend. 

Pom. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; V)ut 
yet, sir, I would prove — [for sin, 

Duke. Xay, if the devil have given thee proofs 
Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer: 
Correction and instruction must both work 
Ere this rude beast will profit. 

Elh. He must before the deputy, sir; he lias 
given him warning: the deputy caimot abide a 
whoremaster: if he be a wlioremonger, and comee 
before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. 

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be. 
From our faults, as faults from seeming, free! 

Elh. His neck will come to your waist, — a cord, sir. 

Pom. I spy comfort : I cry bail. Here "s a geu- 
tlemau and a friend of mine. 

Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ! AVhat, at the 
wheels of Ciesar "/ art thou led in triumph V What, 
is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made 
woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the 
pocket and extracting it clutched? What rejily, 
ha V What sayest thou to this tune, matter and 
method'? Is 't not drowned i' the last rain, ha'? 
Wliat sayest thou, Trot ? Is the world as it was, 
man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few 
words ? or how ? The trick of it ? 

Duke. Still thus, and thus ; still worse ! 

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? 
Procures she still, ha? 

Pom. Troth, sir, she hatli eaten up all her beef, 
and she is herself in the tub. 

Lucio. Why, 't is good ; it is the right of it ; it 
must be so : ever your fresh whore and your pow- 
dered bawd: an unshunned consequence; it must 
be so. Art going to prison, Pompey ? 

Pojn. Yes, faith, sir. 

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell : 
go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey ? 
or how ? 

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 

Lucio. Well, then, imprison him: if imprison- 
ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: 
bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity too ; bawd- 
born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to 
the prison, Pompey : you will turn good husband 
now, Pompey; yoii will keep the house. [Ijail. 

Pom. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my 

Lucio. Xo, mdeed, will 1 not, Pompey; it is not 
the wear. 1 will pray, Pompey, to increase your 
bondage : if you take it not patiently, why, your 
mettleis the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. " 'Bless 

Duke. And you. [you, friar. 

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha ? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir: come. 

Pom. You will not bail me, then, sir? 

Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news 
abroad, friar? wluit news? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 

Lucio. Go to kennel, Pompey; go. [Exeunt El- 
how, Pompey and Oj/iccr.s.] What news, friar, of 
the duke ? 

Duke. I know lione. Can you tell me of any ? 

Lucio. Some say he is witli the Emperor of Rus- 
sia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, 
think you ? 



Duke. I know not where; but wheresoever, I 
wish him well. 

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to 
steal from the state, and usurp the beggary lie was 
never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his 
absence ; he puts transgression to 't. 

Duke. He does well iu 't. 

Lucio. A little more leuity to lechery would do no 
harm in him: something too crabbed that way , friar. 

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
cure it. 

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 
kindred; it is well allied: but it is impossible to 
extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be 
put down. They say this Angelo was not made by 
man and woman after this downright way of crea- 
tion : is it true, think you ? 

Duke. How should he be made, then ? 

Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawned him ; 
some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. 
But it is certain that when he makes water his 
urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true: 
and he is a motion generative; that 's infallible. 

Duke. You are pleasant , sir, and speak apace. 

Lucio. Why, wiiat a ruthless thing is this in him, 
for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life 
of a man! AVould the duke that is absent have 
done tliis ? Ere he would have hanged a num for 
the getting a hundred bastards, he would have 
paid for the nursing a thousand : he had some feel- 
ing of the sport; he knew the service, and that in- 
structed him to mercy. 

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much de- 
tected tor women : he was not inclined that way. 

Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. 

Duke. 'T is not possible. 

Lucio. Wlio, not the duke? yes, your beggar of 
fifty ; and his use was to put a ducat iu her clack- 
dish : the duke had crotchets in him. He would 
be drunk too ; that let me inform you. 

Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 

Lucio. Sir, 1 was an inward of his. A shy fellow 
was the duke : and 1 believe I know the cause of 
his withdrawing. 

Duke. What, I prithee, might be the cause? 

Lucio. !N'o, pardon; 'tis a secret must be locked 
witliin tlie teeth and tlie lips: but this I can let 
you understand, the greater tile of the subject held 
the duke to be wise. 

Duke. AVise ! why, no question but lie was. 

Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing 
fellow. 

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis- 
taking : the very stream of his life and the business 
he hath helmed" must upon a warranted need give 
him a better proclamation. Let him be but testi- 
monied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall 
appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman and a 
soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully; or if 
your knowledge be more it is much darkened in 
your malice. 

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 

Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and 
knowledge with dearer love. 

Lucio. Come, sir. I know what I know. 

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know 
not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to 
make your answer before him. If it be lionest you 
have spoke, you have courage to maintain it : I am 
bound to call upon j'ou ; and ^ I pray j'o u , your name ? 

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known to the 
duke. 

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may 
live to report you. 

Lucio. I fear you not. 

Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more; 
67 



ACT IV. 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE I. 



or you imagine me too unluntful an opposite. But 
indeed 1 can do you little harm ; you 'U forswear 
tliis a.Liain. 

Liirio. I '11 be hanged first : thou art deceived in 
me. friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell 
if Claudio die to-morrow or no ? 

Duke. Wliy should he die, sir':" 

Luclo. Wliy ? For filling a bottle with a tun- 
dish. I would the duke we talk of were returned 
again : this ungenitured agent will unpeople the 
l>rovince with continency ; sparrows must not build 
in his house-eaves, because tliey are lecherous. The 
duke yet would have ihirk deeds darkly answered; 
he would never bring tlieni to light : would he were 
returned! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for 
untrussing. Farewell, good friar: 1 prithee, pray 
tor nie. Tlie duke, I say to thee again, would eat 
nnittou on Fridays. He 's not past it yet, and 1 
say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though 
she smelt brown bread and garlic ; say that I said 
so. Farewell. [Exit. 

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny 
The whitest virtue strikes. "What king so strong 
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue '( 
But who comes here V 

Enter Bscalus, Provost, and OflQcers with 
Mistress Overdone. 

Encal. Go; away with her to prison! 

Mrs. Ov. Good my lord, be good to me; your 
honour is accounted a merciful man ; ^ood my lord. 

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still 
forfeit in the same kind ! This would make mercy 
swear and play the tyrant. 

Proc. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may 
it i)!ease your honour. 

Mrs. Ov. My lord, this is one Lucio's informa- 
tion against me. Mi.stress Kate Keepdown was 
with cliild by him in the duke's time; he promised 
her marriage : his child is a year and a quarter old, 
come Philip and Jacob : I have kept it myself; an'd 
see how he goes about to abuse me! 

Esrnl. Tiiat fellow is a fellow of much license : 
let liim be called before us. Away with her to 
prison ! Go to ; no more w<mls. (Exeunt Officers 
with 3fistress Ov.] Provost, my brother Angelo 
will not be altered ; Claudio must die to-morrow: 
let him be furnished with divines, and have all 
charitable preparation. If my brother wi'ouglit by 
my pity, it should not be so with him. 

Pioc. So please you, this friar hath been with 
him ,and advised him for the entertainment of death. 

Escal. Good even, good father. 

Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! 

Escal. Of whence are you V 

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is 
To use it for my time: I am a brother [now 

• Of gracious onler, late come from the See 
In siierial business from his holiness. 

Escal. ^Vllat news abroad i' the world ? 



Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on 
goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: 
novelty is only in request ; and it is as dangenuis 
to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous 
to be constant in any undertaking. There is scjirce 
truth enough alive to make societies secure; but 
security enough to make fellowships accurst : much 
upon tins riddle runs the wisdom of the world. 
This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. 
I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the dukeV 

Escal. One that, above all other strifes, contended 
especially to know himself. 

Duke. What pleasure was he given to i* 

Escal. Bather rejoicing to see another merry, 
than merry at any thing whicli professed to make 
him rejoice: a gentleman of all tenii)erance. But 
leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may 
prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how 
you find Claudio prepared. I am made to under- 
stand that you have lent him visitation. 

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister 
measure from his ju<lge, V)ut most willingly hum- 
bles' himself to the determination of justice: yet 
had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his 
frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I 
by my good leisure have discredited to him, and 
now is he resolved to die. 

E.scal. You have paid the heavens your function, 
and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I 
have laboured for the poor gentleman to the ex- 
tremest sliore of my modesty: but my brother jus- 
tice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me 
to tell him he is indeed Justice. 

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his 
proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein if he 
chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. [well. 

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you 

Duke. Peace be with you [ 

[Exeunt E.^cahts and Provost. 
He who tlie sword of lieaven will bear 
Should be as holy as severe ; 
Pattern in himself to know, 
Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
jSIore nor less to others paying 
Than by self-offences weighing. 
Shame tohim whose cruel striking 
Kills for faults of his own liking; 
Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
To weed my vice and let his grow! 
O, what may man within liini hide. 
Though angel on the outward side! 
How may likeness made in crimes, 
>Iaking practice on the times. 
To draw with idle spiders' strings 
jMost iioiiderous and substantial things! 
Craft against vice I must apjilv: 
AVith An-eloto-ni-lit shalllio 
His old betrothed Jmt despised; 
So disguise shall, by tlie disguised. 
Pay with falseliuod false exacting. 
And perform an old contracting. [Exit. 



J^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— The moated grange at St. Luke^s. 

Enter Mariana and a Boy. 
Boy sings. 
Take, O, take those lips away, 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, bring again ; 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain. 
68 



3[ari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
Here comes a man of comfort, who.se advice [away : 
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. 

[Exit Boy. 

Enter Duke disguised as before. 

I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 

You had not found me here so musical : 

Let me excuse me, and believe me so, 

ily mirth it much displeased, but pleased my woe. 



cr IV. 



3IEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE 11. 



Duke. 'Tis good; though music oft hath such 
a cliarui 
To make bail good, and good provoke to harm. 
' pray you, tell lue, hath any body inquired for me 
liere to-day y much upon this time have 1 promised 
liere to meet. 

Mari. You have not been inquired after : I have 
sat here all day. 

Enter Isabella. 

Duke. I do constantly believe you. The time is 
come even now. I shall crave your forbearance a 
little: may be I will call upon you anon, for some 
ad\'antage to yourself. 

M'ii-i. I amahvays bound to you. [Exit. 

Duke. Yery wellmet, and well come. 
AVhat is the news from this good deputy ? 

li<ah. He liath a garden circummured with brick. 
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; 
And to that vineyard is a plauclied gate, 
That makes his opening with this liigger key: 
\This other doth command a little dixir 
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
There have I made my promise 
Upon the heavy middle of the night 
To call upon him. [way V 

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this 

Isah. I have ta'eii a due and wary note upon 't: 
With whisiiering and most guilty diligence, 
In action all of precept, he did sliow me 
Tlie way twice o'er. 

Duke. Are there no other tokens 

Between you 'greed conceriung her observance y 

Imh. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; 
And that 1 have ijossess'd him my most stay 
Can be but brief; for I have made him know 
I have a servant comes with me along, 
Tiiat stays upon me, whose persuasion is 
I come about my brother. 

Duke. 'T is well borne up. 

I liave not yet made known to JIariana 
A word of this. What, ho ! within ! come forth ! 

lie-enter Mariana. 
I pray you, he acquainted with this maid; 
She comes to do you good. 

Isab. I do desire the like. 

Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect 
you y [it. 

Ilari. Good friar, I know you do, and have found 

Duke. Take, then, this your companion by the 
Who hath a story ready for your ear. [liand, 

I shall attend ynur leisure: "but make haste; 
Tlie vapiu-ous uiglit approaches. 

Mari. Will "t please you walk aside ? 

[Exeunt Mariana and Isabella. 

Duke. O place and greatness ! millions of false eyes 
Are stuck upon thee : volumes of rejiort 
Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
Upon thy doings : thousand escapes of wit 
Make thee the fatlier of their idle dreams 
And rack thee in their fancies. 

Re-enter Mariana and Isabella. 

Welcome, how agreed ? 

Isab. She '11 take the enterprise upon her, father, 
If you advise it. 

Duke. It is not my consent, 

But my entreaty too. 

Isatj. Little have you to say 

When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 
' Remember now my brother.' 

Mari. Fear me not. 

Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. 
He is your husband on a jire-contract : 
To bring you thus together, 't is no sin, 
kSith that the justice of your title to him 



Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go : 
Our corn 's to reap, for yet our tithe 's to sow. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A room in the prison. 
Enter Provost and Pompey. 

Prov. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a 
man's head y 

Pom. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but 
if he be a jnarried man, he 's his wife's head, and I 
can never cut off a woman's head. 

Prov. Come, sir, leave me your .snatches, and 
yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are 
to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in" our 
prison a common executioner, who in his office 
lacks a helper: if you will take it on you to assist 
him, it shall redeem you from your gyves; if not, 
you shall have your full time of imprisonment anil 
your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for 
you have been a notorious bawd. 

Pom. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time 
out of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a law- 
ful hangman. I would be glad to receive some in- 
struction from my fellow partner. 

Prov. What, hoi Abhorson ! Where 'sAbhorson, 
there V _, 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor. Do you call, sir? 

Pror. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to- 
morrow in your execution. If you think it meet, 
compound with him by the year, and let him abide 
herewith you; if not, use him for the present and 
dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with 
you; he hath been a bawd. 

Abhor. A bawd, sir'/ he upon him! he will dis- 
credit our mystery. 

Prov. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather 
will turn the scale. [Exit. 

Pom. Pray, sir, by your good favour, — for surely, 
sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a 
hanging look, — do jou call, sir, your occupation a 

Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery. [mystery '/ 

Pom. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mys- 
tery ; and your whores, sir, being members of my 
occupation, using paint ing, do prove my occupation 
a mystery: but wliat mystery there should be in 
hanging, if I should be hanged, 1 cannot imagine. 

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 

Pom. Proof "y 

Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: 
if it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks 
it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, your 
thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's 
apparel fits your thief. 

i?e enter Provost. 

Pror. Are you agreed ? 

Pom. Sir, 1 wilf serve him; for I do find your 
hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd ; 
he doth oftener ask forgiveness. 

Prot'. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
axe to-morrow four o'clock. 

Abhor. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in 
my trade ; follow. 

Porn. I do desire to learn, sir: and I hope, if you 
have occasion to use me for your own turn, you 
shall find me yare; for truly, sir, for your kindness 
I owe you a good turn. 

Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : 

[Exeunt Ponqiey awl Abhorson. 
The one has my pity ; not a jot the other. 
Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 

Enter Claudio. 

Look, here 's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : 

'T is now dead midniglit, and by eight to-ruorrow 

69 



ACT IV. 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE II. 



Thou must Ije made immortal. Where 's Barnar- 
dine ? 
Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour 
When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : 
He will not wake. 

Prov. Who can do good on him ? 

AVell, go, prepare yourself. [Knockiny within.] 

But, hark, what noise ? 
Heaven give your spirits comfort! [Exit Claudia.] 

By and by. 
I hope it is some pardon or reprieve 
For the most gentle Claudio. 

Enter Duke disguised as before. 

Welcome, father. 
DuJcc. The best and wholesomest spirits of the 
night 
Envelope you, good provost! Who called here of 
late V 
Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 
Bulce. Not Isabel y 
Prov. No. 

Duke. They will, then, ere 't be long. 

Prov. What comfort is for Claudio ? 
Buke. There 's some in hope. 
Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 

Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd 
Even with the stroke and line of his great justice: 
He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
That in himself which he spurs on his power 
To qualify in others : were he meal'd with that 
^Vhich he corrects, then were he tyrannous; 
But this being so, he 's just. (Knocking within. 

Now are they come. 
[Exit Provost. 
Tills is a gentle provost: seldom when 
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. 

[Knockiyic/ within. 

How now ! what noise ? That spirit 's possessed 

with haste [strokes. 

That wounds the unsisting postern with these 

Ee-enter Provost. 

Prov. There he must stay until the officer 
Arise to let liim in: he is call'd up. 

Buke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, 
But he must die to-morrow ? 

Prov. None, sir, none. 

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, 
You shall hear more ere morning. 

Prov. Happily 

You something know; yet I believe there comes 
No (•(lunterniand; no such example have we: 
Besidi-s, \\\nm the very siege of justice 
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear 
Profess'd the contrary. 

Enter a Messenger. 

This is his lordship's man. 

B}ike. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 

Mes. [Giving a paper] My lord hath sent you this 
note; and by me tliis further charge, that you 
swerve not from the smallest article of it, neither 
in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good 
morrow ; for, as I take it, it is almost day. 

Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. 

Buke. [Aside] Tills is his pardon, purchased by 
For which the pardoner himself is in. [such sin 
Hence hath offence his quirk celerity, 
Wlien it is Vmrne in high autliority : 
Wlien vice makes mercy, mercy 's so extended, 
Tliat for the fault's love is the offender friended. 
Now, sir, what news? 

Prov. I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking 
me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un- 
wonted putting-on ; methinks strangely, for he hath 
not used it before. 

70 



Buke. Pray you, let 's hear. 

Prov. [Reads] , 

' Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let 
Claudio be executed by four of the clock ; and in 
tlie afternoon Barnardine : for my better satisfac- 
tion, let me have Claudio's head sent me by hve. 
Let this be duly performed; with a thouglit that 
more depends on it tlian we must yet deliver. Thus 
fail not to do your office, as you will answer it at 
your peril.' 
What say you to this, sir? 

Buke. What is that Barnardine who is to be exe- 
cuted in the afternoon '? • 

Prov. A Bohemian born, but here nursed up and 
bred ; one that is a prisoner nine years old. 

Buke. How came it that the absent duke had not 
either delivered him to his HI lerty or executed himV 
I have heard it was ever his nianiier to do so. 

Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves forhim : 
and, inileeil,liis fact, till now in tlie .udvernment of 
Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. 

Buke. it is now a|ipareut':' 

Prov. Most manilesl, and not denied by himself. 

Buke. Hath hebornehimself penitently in prison? 
how seems he to be touched ? 

Pi-ov. A man that apprehends death no more 
dreadfully but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck- 
less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to 
come; insensible of mortality, and desperately 
mortal. 

Buke. He wants advice. 

Prov. He will hear none : he hath evermore had 
the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape 
hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if 
not many days entirely drunk. "We have very oft 
awaked liim,"as if to carry him to execution, and 
sliowed him a seeming warrant for it : it hath not 
moved him at all. 

Buke. More of him anon. There is written in 
your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: if I 
read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but, 
in the boldness of niy cunning, I will lay myself in 
hazard. Claudio, wliom here you have warrant to 
execute, is no greater forfeit tothe law than An!;clo 
who hath sentenced him. To make you understand 
this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days' 
respite ; for the which you are to do me both a pres- 
ent and a dangerous courtesy. 

Prov. Pray, sir, in what ? 

Buke. In the delaying death. 

Prov. Alack, how may 1 do it, having the hour 
limited, and an express command, under penalty, 
to deliver liis head in the view of Angelo ? I may 
make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the 
smallest. 

Buke. By the vow of mine order I warrant you, 
if my instructions may be your guide. Let this 
Barnardine be tills morning executed, and his head 
borne to Angelo. 

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis- 
cover the favour. 

Duke. O, death 's a great disguiser; and you may 
add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; anil 
say it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared 
before his deatli : you know the course is common. 
If any thing fall to" you upon this, more than thanks 
and good fortune, by the saint wliom I profess, I 
will plead against it with my life. 

Prov. Pardon me, good father; it is against my 
oath. 

Buke. AVere you sworn to the duke, or to the 
deputy '^ 

Prov. To him. and to his substitutes. 

Buke. You will tliink you have made no offence, 
if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing":' 

Prov. But what likelihood is in that y 

Buke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 



IV. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE III. 



^ I see 5-ou fearful, tliat neither my coat, in- 
ity, nor persuasion can with ease attempt you, 
11 go further than I meant, to pluck all fears 
of "you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and 
seal of the duke : you know the character, I doubt \ 
not ; and the signet is not strange to you. 
Pi-ov. I know them both. 

Dule. The contents of this is the return of the \ 
duke : you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure ; 1 
where you shall Hnd, within these two days he will j 
be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not : ! 
for he this very day receives letters of strange 
^enour; perchance of the duke's death; perchance ; 
entering into some monastery; but, by chance, 
nothing of what is writ. Look, the unfolding star 
calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into amaze- , 
nient how these things should be: all ditficulties 
are but easy when they are Icnown. Call your exe- 
cutioner, and off with Barnardine's head: I will 
give him a present shrift and advise him for a better 
place. Yet you are amazed ; but this shall abso- 
lutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear 
dawn. \_Excunt. 

SCENE III. — Another room in the same. 
Enter Pompey. 
Pom. I am as well acquainted here as I was in 
our house of profession: one would think it were 
Jilistress Overdone's own house, for here be many 
of her old customers. First, here 's young ]SIaster 
Eash ; he 's in for a commodity of brown paper and 
old ginger, nine-score and seventeen pounds; of 
which he made five marks, ready money: marry, 
then ginger was not much in request, for the old 
women were all dead. Then is there here one 
Master Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile the 
mercer, for some four suits of peach-coloured satin, 
wliich now peaches him a beggar. Then have we 
here young Dizy,aud young Master Deep- vow, and 
lilaster Copper-spur, and blaster Starve-lackey the 
rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that 
killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the 
filter, and "brave Master Shooty tlie great traveller, 
and wild Half-can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, 
forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are 
now ' for the Lord's sake.' 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 

Pom. blaster Barnardine ! jou must rise and be 
hanged, blaster Barnardine I 

Alitor. What, ho, Baniardinel 

Liar. [Tr(7/(("(i] A pox o' your throats! AVho makes 
that noise there? What are you? 

Pom. Your friends, sir : the hangman. You must 
be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 

Bar. [Within] Away, you rogue, away! I am 
sleepy. 

Abhor. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly 
too. 

Pom. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you 
are executed, and sleep afterwards. 

Ahhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. 

Pom. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his 
straw rustle. 

Ahhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? 

Pom. Yery ready, sir. 

Enter Barnardine. 

Bar. How now, Abhorson ? what 's the news 
with you? 

Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into 
your jirayers ; for, look you, the warrant 's come. 

Bar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night ; 
I am not fitted for 't. 

Pom. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all 



night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may 
sleep the sounder all the next day. 

Abhor. Look you, sir; here comes 3'our ghostly 
father : do we jest now, think you ? 

Enter Duke disguised as before. 
Dule. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
how liastily you are to depart, I am "come to advi.-^e 
you, comfort you and pray with you. 

Bar. Friar," not I: I have beeil drinking hard all 
night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or 
they shall beat out my brains with liillets: I will 
not consent to die thisday, that 's certain. [you 
Duke. O, sir, you must : and therefore I beseech 
Look forward on the journey you shall go. 
Bar. I swear I will not die to-day for any man's 

persuasion. 
Duke. But hear you. '' 

Bar. Xot a word : if you have any thing to say to 
me, come to my ward ; for thence will not I to-dav. 

[Exit. 
Dulie. Unfit to live or die : O gravel heart ! 
After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 

[Exeunt Abhorson and Pompey. 

Se-enter Provost. 
Prov. Xow, sir, how do you find the prisoner? 
Duke. A creature unprepared, unmeet for death ; 
And to transport him in the mind he is 
Were damnable. 

Prov. Here in the prison, father, 

There died this morning of a cruel fever 
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, 
A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head 
Just of his colour. What if we do omit 
This reprobate till he were well inclined; 
And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ? 

Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides! 
Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on 
Prefix'd by Angelo :" see this be done. 
And sent according to command ; whiles I 
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 

Pror. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
But Barnardine must die this afternoon: 
And how shall we continue Claudio, 
To save me from the danger that might come 
If he were kno^^•n alive ? 

DuJce. Let this be done. 

Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and 

Claudio : 
Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting 
To the under generation, you shall find 
Y'our safety manifested. 
Pror. I am your free dependant. 
Duke. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to 
Angelo. [Exit Provost. 

Xow will I write letters to Angelo, — 
The provost, he shall bear them. — whose contents 
Shall witness to him I am near at home. 
And that, by great injunctions, I am bound 
To enter publicly: him 1 "11 desire 
To meet me at the consecrated fount 
A league below the city; and from thence, 
By cold gradation and "well-balanced form. 
We shall proceed with Angelo. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Here is the head ; I '11 carry it myself. 

Dulce. Convenient is it. Make a swift return ; 
For I would commune with you of such things 
That want no ear but yours. 

Prov. I "11 make all speed. [Exit. 

I.^ab. [Within] Peace, ho, be here! 

Duke. The tongue of Isabel. She 's come to know 
If yet lier brother's pardon be come hither : 
But I will keep her ignorant of her good,. 
71 



ACT IV. 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE VI. 



To make her heavenly comforts of despair, 
When it is least expected. 

Miter Isabella. 

Isab. Ho, by your leave ! • 

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 
daughter. 

Isal). The better, given me by so holy a man. 
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon ? 

Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from the 
His head i.s off and sent to Angelo. [world : 

isab. Nay, but it is not so. 

Duke. It is no other ; show your wisdom, daughter. 
In your close patience. 

Juab. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes ! 

Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. 

Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! wretched Isabel ! 
InjiTrious world ! most damned Angelo ! 

Duke. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot ; 
Fiulieiir it tlierefore; give your cause to heaven. 
Mink what I say, which you shall find 
15}- every syllable a faithful verity : [eyes ; 

The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your 
One of our convent, and his confessor. 
Gives me this instance : already he hath carried 
Notice to Escalus and Angelo, 
AVho do prepare to meet him at the gates, 
There to irive up their power. If you can, pace 

your wisddui 
In that n'ddd path that I would wish it go, 
And you .shall have your bosom on this wretch, 
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 
And general honour. 

Isab. I am directed by you. 

Duke. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give; 
'T is that he sent me of the duke's return : 
Say, by this token, I desire his company 
At Mariana's liouse to-night. Her cause and yours 
I "11 perfect liim withal, and he shall bring you 
Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo 
Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, 
I am combined by a sacred vow 
And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter : 
Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
With a liglit heart ; trust not my holy order. 
It I pervert your course. Who 's here V 

Enter Lucio. 

Liicio. Good even. Friar, where 's the provost ? 

Duke. Not within, sir. 

Lucio. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart 
to see thine eyes so red : thou must be patient. I 
am fain to dine and sup with water and bran ; I 
dare not for my head fill my belly; one fruitful 
meal would set me to 't. But tliey say the duke 
will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabtl, I 
loved thy brother: if the old fantastical duke of 
dark corners had been at home, he had lived. 

[Exit Isabella. 

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little behold- 
ing to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in 
them. 

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well 
as I do: he 's a better woodman than thou takest 
him for. 

Duke. Well, you '11 answer this one day. Fare 
ye well. 

Lucio. Nay, tarry; I '11 go along with thee: lean 
tell thee pretty tales of the duke." 

Duke. You have told me too many of him already, 
sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were enough. 

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a 
wench with child. 

Duke. Did you such a thing? 

Lucio. Yes, marry, did I : but I was fain to for- 
swear it ; they would else have married me to the 
rotten medlar. 

72 



Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. 
Rest you well. 

Lucio. By my troth, I '11 go with thee to the 
lane's end: if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have 
very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr: 
I shall stick. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— ^ room in AngeWs house. 
Enter Angelo arici Escalus. 

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched 
other. 

Anfj. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
His actions show much like to madness: prnv 
heaven his wisdom be not tainted ! And wliy mitt 
him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities 

Escal. 1 guess not. [there y 

Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour 
before his entering, that if any crave redress of 
injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the 
street ? 

Escal. He shows his reason for that: to have a 
dispatch of complaints, and to deliver us from de- 
vices hereafter, which shall then have no power to 
stand against us. 

Any. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed 
betimes i' the morn; I '11 call you at your house: 
give notice to such men of sort and suit as are 
to meet him. 

Escal. I shall, sir. Fare you well. 

Ang. Goodnight. [Exit Escalus. 

This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpreg- 

nant 
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
And by an eminent body that enforced 
The law against it ! But that her tender shame 
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss. 
How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares 

her no ; 
For my authority bears of a credent bulk. 
That no particular scandal once can toiich [lived. 
But it confounds the breather. He should have 
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense. 
Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, 
By so receiving a dishonour'd life 
With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had 

lived ! 
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot. 
Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not. 

[Exit. 
SCENE 'V.—Fidds icilhout the town. 

Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. 

Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me : 

[Giiimi Idlers. 
The provost knows our purpose and our plot. 
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, 
And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, 
As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavins' house, 
And tell him where I stay: give the like notice 
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; 
But send me Flavins first. 

Fri. P. It shall be speeded well. [Exit. 

Enter Varrius. 
Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made 
good haste : 
Come, we will walk. There 's other of our friends 
Willgreet ushereanon,mygentleVarrius. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Street near the city gate. 

Enter Isabella and Mariana. 
Isab. To speak so indirectly I am loath: 
I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so. 



V. 



31 E A SURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



is your part : yet I am advised to do it ; 
lys, to veil full purpose. 
iri. Be ruled by him. 

■h. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure 
lir peak aL';ii)ist me on the adverse side, 
1 sh^uhl lint think it strange; for 't is a physic 
That 's 1 litter tn sweet end. 
Mari. I would Friar Peter — 
Isab. O, peace! the friar is come. 



Enter Friar Peter. 

Fri. P. Come, I have found you out a stand most 
Wliere you may liave such vantage on the duke, [fit , 
He shall not i)ass j'ou. Twice have the trumpets 
The genennis and gravest citizens [sounded ; 

Have lu'iit tlie gates, and very near upon 
TliB duke is entering: therefore, hence, away! 

[Exeunt. 



^VCT V. 



SCENE l.—The city gate. 



Mariana irih-d, Isabella, and Friar Peter, at their stand. 

- Juiler Duke, Varrius, Lords, Angelo, Escalus, 

Lucio, Provost, Officers, a nd Citizens, at several duors. 

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met ! 
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. 

E^'l'il I ■^''^PPy return be to your royal'grace ! 

Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
We have made inquiry of you ; and we liear 
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 
Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, 
Forerunning more requital. 

Aiuj. You make my bonds still greater. 

Duke. O, your desert speaks loud; and 1 should 
wrong it, 
To lock it in tlie wards of covert bosom, 
When it deserves, with cliaracters of brass, 
A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time 
And razure of oblivion. Give me j'our hand, 
And let the subject see, to make them know 
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus, 
You must walk by us on our other hand ; 
And good supporters are you. 

Friar Peter and Isabella come forward. 

Fri. P. Xow is your time: speak loud and kneel 
before him. 

Imb. Justice, O royal duke ! Veil your regard 
Upon a ■wrong'd, I would fain liave said, a maid V 
O wortliy prince, dislionour not your eye 
By tlirowing it on any other object 
Till you have heard me in my true complaint 
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! 

Duke. Relate your wrongs : in what ^ by whom ? 
be brief. 
Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice: 
Reveal yourself to him. 

Isab. O worthy duke. 

You bid me seek redemption of the devil : 
Hear me yourself; for that wliich I must speak 
Must either punish me, not being believed, [here ! 
Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me. 

Any. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm : 
Slie hath been a suitor to me for her brother 
Cut off by course of justice, — 

Isab. By course of justice ! 

Awj. And she will speak most 1 litterly and strange. 

Isab. Most strange, but yet most t ruly ,will I speak: 
That Angelo 's forsworn • is it not strange ? 
Tliat Angelo 's a murderer; is 't not strange ? 
Tliat Angelo is an adulterous thief. 
An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; 
Is it not strange and strange V 

Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange. 

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo 
Tlian this is all as true as it is strange: 
Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth 
To the end of reckoning. 



Duke. Away with her! Poor soul, 

She speaks this In the infirmity of sense. 

Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest 
There is another comfort than tliis world, 
Tliat thou neglect me not, with that oiuuion 
That I am touch 'd with madness ! Make not im- 
possible 
That which but seems unlike: 't is not impossible 
But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground. 
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute 
As Angelo; even so may Angelo, 
III all his dressings, characts, titles, forms. 
Be an arch-villain ; believe it, royal prince : 
If he be less, he 's nothing ; but he 's more, 
Had I more name for badness. 

Duke. By mine honesty, 

If she be mad, — as I believe no otlier,^- 
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, 
Such a dependency of thing on thing. 
As e'er I lieard in madness. 

Isab. O gracious duke, 

Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason 
For inequality ; but let your reason serve 
To make tlie truth appear where it seems hid, 
And liide the false seems true. 

Duke. Many that are not mad 

Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you 

Isab. I am the sister of one Claud io, [say? 

Condemn'd upon the act of fornicatiwi 
To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo : 
I, in probation of a sisterhood, 
"\Vas sent to by my brother; one Lucio 
As then the messenger, — 

Lucio. That 's I, an 't like your grace : 

I came to her from Claudio, and desired her 
To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo 
For her poor brother's pardon. 

Isab. That 's he indeed. 

Duke. You were not bid to speak. 

Lucio. No, my good lord ; 

Nor wisli'd to hold my peace. 

Duke. I wish you now, then; 

Pray you, take note of it : and wlien you have 
A business for yourself, pray heaven you then 
Be perfect. 

Lucio. I warrant your honour. 

Duke. Tlie warrant's for yourself: take heed to "t. 

Isal). Tliis gentleman told somewhat of my tale,— 

Lwio. lliglit. 

Duke. It may be right; but you are i'the wrong 
To speak before your time. Proceed. 

Isab. I went 

To this pernicious caitiff deputy, — 

Duke. That 's somewhat madly spoken. 

Isab. ' Pardon it ; 

Tlie phrase is to the matter. 

Di(kr. Mended again. The matter ; proceed. 

Isah. In brief, to set the needless process by. 
How I persuailed, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, 
How he refell'd me, and how I replied, — 
For this was of much length, — the vile conclusion 
I now begin with grief and shame to utter : 
73 



ACT V. 



3IEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE T. 



He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 

To his eoiicupiscible inteni]iprate lust, 

Release my brother; and. after murli debatement, 

My sisterly remorse confutes miue honour. 

And I did yield to him : but the next morn betimes, 

His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 

For my poor brother's head. 

Dnke. This is most likely ! 

Jsah. O, that it were as like as it is true I 

Duke. By lieaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not 
what tliou speak'st, 
Or else thou art suborn \l against his honour 
In hateful practice. First, his iiitegrity 
Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason 
Tliat with such vehemency he should pursue 
Faults pniper to himself: if he had so offended, 
lie would have weigh'd thy brother by himself 
And not have cut him off." Some one hath set you 
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice [on : 
Thou camest here to complain. 

Isab. And is this all? 

Then, O you blessed ministers above. 
Keep me in patience, and with ripeu'd time 
Untold the evil which is here wrapt up [woe. 

In countenance! Heaven shield your grace from 
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! 

Duke. I know you 'Id fain be gone. An officer! 
To prison with her! Shall we thus permit 
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
On him so near us V This needs must be a practice. 
Who knew of your intent and coming hither V 

Isab. One that I would were here. Friar Lodowick. 

Duke. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows 
that Lodowick V 

Lucio. My lord, I know him ; 't is a meddling friar ; 
I do not like the man : had he been lay, my "lord, 
For certain ■words he spake against your grace 
In your retirement, I hail swinged him soundly. 

Duke. Words against me I tliis is a good friar, be- 
And to set on this wretched woman here [like ! 
Against our substitute ! Let this friar be found. 

Ludo. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar, 
I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, 
A very scurjry fellow. 

Frf. P. Blessed be your royal grace ! 
I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman 
IMost wrongfully accused your substitute, 
Who is as free from touch or soil with her 
As she from one ungot. 

Duke. We did believe no less. 

Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of V 

Fri. F. I know him for a man divine and holy ; 
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler. 
As he 's reported by this gentleman ; 
And, on my trust, a man that never yet 
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. 

Lucio. My lord, most villanously; believe it. 

Fri. P. Well, he in time may come to clear him- 
But at this instant he is sick, my lord, [self; 

Of a strange fever. Upon his mere retiuest, 
Being come to knowledge that tlii'rr was cuniplaint 
Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, ciiiii!' I liitlicr, 
To speak, as from liis moiitli, wliat iie doth know 
Is true and false; and what he with his oath 
And all probatiiin will make up full clear, 
Wliensoever lie 's .'(invented. First, for this woman. 
To justify tliis wiivtliy nobleman, 
.Sii vuluarly and iicrsonally accused, 
Ui'r shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
Till she herself confess it. 

Duke. Good friar, let 's hear It. 

[Isabella is carried off guarded; and 
Mariana comes forieard. 
Do you not smile at this. Lord Angelo ? 
O heaven, the. vanity of wretched fools ! 
Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo; 



In this I '11 be impartial : be you judge 

Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? 

First, let her show her face, and after speak. 

Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face 
Until my husband bid me. 

Duke. What, are you married ? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Duke. Are you a maid ? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Duke. A widow, then ? 

Mari. Neither, my loftl. 

Duke. Why, you are nothing then ; neither maid, 
widow, nor wife V 

Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk ; for many of 
them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. [cause 

Duke. Silence that fellow: I would he had some 
To prattle for himself. 

LucUi. AVell, my lord. 

Mart. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married; 
And I confess besides I am no maid : 
I have known my husband ; yet my husband 
Knows not that ever he knew me. [better. 

Lucio. He was dnudv then my lord : it can be no 

Duke. For the benefit of silence, would tliou wert 

Lucio. Well, my lord. [so too! 

Duke. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. 

Mari. Now I come to 't. my lord : 
She that accuses him of fornication. 
In .self-same manner doth accuse my husband, 
Aiul cliargrs liim, my lord, with such a time 
When I "11 ileiiose I had him in mine arms 
With all tlie effect of love. 

Ang. Charges she more than me? 

Mari. Not that I know. 

Duke. No? you say yoru' husband. 

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body. 
But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. 

Any. This is a strange abuse. Let 's see thy face. 

Mari. My husband bids me; now I will un- 
mask. [Unveiling. 
This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, 
Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on ; 
This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, 
Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body 
That took awaj' the match from Isabel, 
And did supply thee at tliy garden-house 
In her imagined person. 

Duke. Know you this woman ? 

Lucio. Carnally, she says. 

Duke. Sirrah, no more! 

Lvcio. Enough, my lord. 

A ng. My lord, I must confess I know this woman : 
And five years since there was some speech of mar- 
riage 
Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off, 
Partly for that her promised proportions 
Came short of composition, but in chief 
For that her reputation was disvalued 
In levity: since which tinn' of five years 
I never spake with her, saw her, nor h.eard from her, 
Upon my faith and honour. 

Mari. Noble prince, [breath. 

As there comes light from heaven and words from 
As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, 
I am affianced tliis man's wife as strongly 
As words could make up vows: and, my good lord. 
But Tuesday night last gone in 's garden-house 
He knew me as a wife. As this is true. 
Let me in safety raise me from my knees ; 
Or else for ever be confixed here, 
A marble monument. 

Ang. I did but smile till now: 

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; 
My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive 
These poor informal women are no more 
But instruments of some more mightier member 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE I. 



sets them on : let me have way, my lord, 
id this practice out. 

ke. Ay, with my heart ; 

jiiiu punish them to your heiglit of pleasure. 
Tliou'loolisli friar, and thou pernicious woman. 
Compact with her that 's gone, think'st thou thy 
oaths, [saint. 

Though tliey would swear down each particular 
Were "testimonies against his worth and credit 
Tliat V si'alM in approbation 'i You, Lord Escalus, 
Sit with my cdiisin; lend him your kind pains 
To linil out this al.mse, whence"'tis derived. 
Tliere is another friar that set them on ; 
Let him be sent for. [deed 

Fi-i. P. "Would he were here, my lord ! for he in- 
Ilatli set tlie women on to this complaint: 
Your provost knows the place where he abides 
And lie may fetcli him. 

Duke. Go do it instantly [Exit Procost. 

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, 
AVlioin it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
Do with your injuries as seems you best, 
In any chastisement: I for a while will leave you; 
But stir not you till you have well determined 
Upon these slanderers. 

Escal. My lord, we "11 do it thoroughly. 

[Exit Duke. 
Signior Lucio,did not you say you knew that Friar 
Lodowiek to be a dishonest person ? 

Lurin. 'Cucullus non facit monachum:' honest 
in notliinu- luit in his clothes; and one that hath 
spoke must vilhinous speeches of the duke. 

EsciiL We sliall entreat you to abide here till he 
come and enforce tliem against him : we shall find 
this friar a notable fellow. 

Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 

Eiicnl. Call that same Isaljel here once again : 
I would speak with her. [Exit an Attendant.'] Pray 
you, my lord, give me leave to question; you shall 
see how I '11 handle her. 

Lucio. Xot better than he, by her ov.'u report. 

Eseal. .Say you ? 

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her 
privately, she would sooner confess : perchance, pub- 
licly, she '11 be ashamed. 

Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 

Lucio. That 's the way ; for women are light at 
midnight. 

Be-entcr Officers loith Isabella ; and Provost with 
the Duke in hisfriar''s habit. 

EscdJ. Come on, mistress: here 's a gentlewoman 
denies all that you have said. 

Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; 
here with the provost. 

Escal. In very good time ; speak not you to him 
till we call upon you. 

Lucio. Mum. 

Escal. Come, sir : did you set these women on to 
slander Lord Angelo y they have confessed you did. 

Duke. 'T is false. 

Escal. How! know you where you are ? [devil 

DuJce. Respect to your great place! and let the 
Be sometime honor'd for his burning throne ! 
Where is the duke ? 't is he should hear me speak. 

Escal. Tlie duke 's in us ; and we will hear you 
Look you speak justly. [speak : 

Duke. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls. 
Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox y 
Good night to your redress ! Is the duke gone ? 
Tlien is your cause gone too. The duke 's unjust, 
Tlius to retort your manifest appeal. 
And put your trial in the villain's mouth 
Which here you come to accuse. 

Lucio. Tliis is tlie rascal ; this is he I spoke of. 

Escal. Wliy, tliou unreverend and unhallow'd 
friar. 



Is 't not enough thou hast suborn 'd tliese women 
To accuse this w'orthy man, but, in foul mouth 
And in the \,"itness of his proper ear. 
To call him villain V and tlien to ghmce from him 
To the duke himself, to tax liim with injustice? 
Take him hence ; to the rack with him ! "We '11 

touse you 
Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. 
What ' unjust ' ! 

Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 

Dare no more stretch this finger of mine tlian he 
Dare rack his own: his subject am I not, 
Nor here provincial. My business in this state 
Made me a looker on here in Vienna, 
"Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble 
Till it o'er-run the stew; laws tor all faults, 
But faults so countenanced, that tlie strong statutes 
Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
As much in mock as mark. [jirison ! 

Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to 
Any. AVhat can you vouch against him, Signior 
Is this the man that you did tell us of V [Lucio ? 
Lucio. 'T is he, my lord. Come hither, goodman 
baldpate : do you know me 'i* 

Duke. I remember you, sir, by the somid of your 
voice : I met you at the prison, in the absence of the 
duke. 

Lucio. O, did you so '/ And do you remember 
what you said of the duke? 
Duke. Most notedly, sir. 

Lucio. Do you so, sir'? And was the duke a flesh- 
monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported 
him to be '? 

Duke. You. must, sir, change persons with me, 
ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke 
so of him ; and much more, much worse. 

Lucio. O tliou damnable fellow !• Did not I pluck 
thee by the nose for thy speeches '? 
Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love myself. 
Any. Hark, how the villain would close now, 
after his treasonable abuses! 

Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. 
Away with him to prison ! Where is the provost '? 
Away with him to prison ! lay bolts enough upon 
him: let him speak no more. Away v.ith those 
giglots too, and with the other conlederate com- 
panion ! 
Duke. [To Provost] Stay, sir; stay awhile. 
^H^. What, resists he '? Help him, Lucio. 
Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foil, sir! 
Why, you baldpated, lying rascal,, you must be 
hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage, 
with a pox to you! show your sheep-biting face, 
and be hanged an hour ! Will 't not off '? 

[Pulls of the friar's hood, and discovers the Duke. 
Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er madest 
a duke. 
First, provost, let me bail these gentle three. 
[To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and 
Must have a word anon. Lay hold on liim. [you 
Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 
Duke. [To Escaliis] What you have spoke I par- 
don ; sit you down : [your leave. 
We '11 borrow place of him. [To Angclo] Sir, by 
Hast thou or word, or wit. or imjiudence, 
That yet can do thee oilice? If thou hast, 
Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 
Ancl hold no longer out. 

Any. O my dread lord, 

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness. 
To think I can be undisceriiible, 
When I perceive your grace, like power divine, 
Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince, 
No longer session hold upon my shame, 
But let my trial be mine own confession : 
Immediate sentence then and sequent death 
Is all the grace I beg. 



ACT V. 



3IEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE I. 



Duke. Come hither, Mariana. 

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman y 

Awj. I was, my lord. 

Duke. Go take her lience, and marry her instantly. 
Do you tlie olhce, friar; which consummate, 
Return liim liere again. Go with him, provost. 
[E.cei(nt jlngelo, Mariann, Friar Peter and Provost. 

Esud. My lord , I am more amazed at his dishonour 
Than at the strangeness of it. 

Duke. Come hither, Isabel. 

Your friar is now your prince : as I was tlieu 
Advertising and holy to your business, 
Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
Attorney'd at your service. 

Is(ib. O, give me pardon, 

Tliat I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
Your unknown sovereignty ! 

Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel : 

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; 
And you may marvel wliy I obscured myself. 
Labouring to save his life, and would not rather 
Itlake rash remonstrance of my hiiUlen power 
Tlian let him so be lost. O most kind maid. 
It was tlie .^wift celerity of liis dt-atli, 
"Wiiich I did think with slower foot came on, 
Tliat braiu'd my purpose. But, peace be with him ! 
That life is l)etter life, iiast fearing death. 
Than that wliicli lives to fear : make it your comfort, 
kjo liappy is your brother. 

laah. I do, my lord. 

lie-enter Angelo, Mariana, Friar Peter, and 
Provost. 

Duke. For this new-married man approaching 
"Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd [here. 
Your well defended honour, you nuist pardon 
For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your 
Being criminal, in double violation [brother, — 

Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach 
Thereon dependent, for your brother's life, — 
The very mercy of the law cries out 
Most aiulible, even from his proper tongue, 
' An Angelo for Claudio, death for death !' 
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure; 
Like doth quit like, and measure still for meas- 
Then, Angelo, thy fault 's tluis manifested ; [ure. 
Which, thougli thou wouldst deny, denies thee van- 
We do condemn thee to the very block [tage. 

Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. 
Away with l\im ! 

Mart. O my most gracious lord, 

I hope you will not mock nic witli a liusband. [band. 

Duke. It is your husband moekM you with a hus- 
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, 
I thought your marriage lit ; else imputation. 
For tliat he knew you, might reproach your life 
And choke your good to come: for his possessions, 
Although by confiscation they are ours, 
We do instate and widow >ou withal. 
To buy you a better husband. 

Mari. O my dear lord, 

I crave no other, nor no better man. 

Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 

Mari. Gentle my liege, — [Kneeling. 

Duke. You do but lose your labour. 

Away with him to death ! [ To LiKio] Now, sir, to you . 

3Ii'tri. Omygoodlord ! Sweet Isabel, take my part; 
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. 

Duke. Against all sense you do importune her : 
Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact. 
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 
And take her lience in horror. 

Mari. Isabel, 

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
Hold up your hands, say nothing; I '11 speak all. 
76 



They say, best men are moulded out of faults; 
And, for the most, become much more the better 
For being a little bad : so may my husband. 

Isabel, will you not lend a kiieeV 
Duke. He dies for Claudio's deatli. 

Isab. ^lo^t bounteous sir, [Kneeling. 

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn 'd. 
As if my brother lived : I partly think 
A due sincerity govern'd his deeds. 
Till lie did loolc on me: since it is so. 
Let liim- not die. My brotlier had but justice, 
In tliat he did the thing for which he died: 
For Angelo, 

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, 
And must be buried but as an intent 
That i-ierish'd by the way : thoughts are no subjects ; 
Intents but merely tlioughts. 

Mari. Merely, my lord. 

Duke. Your suit 's unprofitalile : stand up, I say. 

1 have bethought me of anotlier fault. 
Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded 
At an unusual hour V 

I'rov. It was commanded so. 

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ? 

Pr<iv. No.mygoodlord; it was by private message. 

Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office : 
Give up your keys. 

Prov. Pardon me, noble lord : 

I thought it was a fault, Ijut knew it not; 
Yet did repent me, after more advice : 
For testimony whereof, one in the prison, 
Tluit should by jirivate order else have died, 
I have reserved alive. 

Duke. What 'she? 

Prov. His name is Barnardine. 

Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. 
Go fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 

[Exit Provost. 

Escal. 1 am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
As you. Lord Angelo, have still nii]iear"d. 
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood. 
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 

Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure: 
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart 
That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 
'T is my deserving, and I do entreat it. 

Re-enter Provost, with Barnardine, Claudio 
muffled, and Juliet. 

Duke. Which is that Barnardine? 

Prov. This, my lord. 

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man. 
Sirrali. thou art said to have a stubborn soul. 
That ajipreheiids no further than this world, 
And squarest thy life according. Thou 'rt con- 
demn 'd: 
But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all ; 
And lu'ay thee take this mercy to provide 
For better times to come. Friar, advise him : [that ? 
I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow "s 

Prov. This is another prisoner that I saved, 
AVho should have died when Claudio lost his head ; 
As like almost to Claudio as himself. 

[f')i?)n(^es Claudio. 

Duke. [To I.mbella] If he be like your brother, 
for his .sake 
Is he pardon'd ; and, for your lovely sake. 
Give me your hand and say you will be mine. 
He is my brother too : but fitter time for that. 
By this Lord Angelo perceives he 's safe; 
Methinks I see a quickening in his eye. 
Well, Angelo, your evil ipiits you well : [yours. 
Look that you love your wife; her worth worth 
I find an apt remission in myself; 
And yet here 's one in jilace I cannot pardon. 
[To Lurio] You, sirrali, that knew me for a fool, a 
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; [coward, 



ACT V 



3IEASURE FOR 3IEASURE. 



SCENE I, 



AVliereiii have I so deserved of you, 
That you extol me tlius? 

Luc'io. 'Faitli, my lord, I spoke it but according 
to the trick. It' you will hang me for it, you may ; 
liut I had rather it would please you I might be 
whipt. 

JJukc. Whipt first, sir, and hanged after. 
Proclaim it, provost, round abnut tlie city. 
Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd tellow. 
As I have heard him swear himself there "s one 
AVliom he be^ot witli child, let lier appear. 
And he sliall marry iier: the nuptial hnish'd. 
Let him be wliipt and hanL;\l. 

Lucio. I beseech ydur highness, do not marry me 
r,o a whore. Your highness said even now, 1 made 
you a duke: good my lord, do not recompense me 
iu making me a cuckold. 

Buke. Upon mine honour, thou slialt marry her. 
Tliy slanders I forgive; and therewithal 
Keinit thy otiier forfeits. Take him to prison ; 
Aud see our pleasiu'e herein e-xeeuted. 



Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to 
death, whipping, and hanging. 

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. 

YExeuiit Officers with Lucio. 
She, Claudio. that you wrong'd, look you restore. 
Joy to you, Mariana ! Love her, Angelo : 
I liave confess'd her and I know her virtue. 
Tiianks, good friend Escalus, for thy much good- 
ness: 
There 's more behind that is more gratulate. 
Tlianks, provost, for thy care and secrecy: 
AVe shall employ thee in a worthier place. 
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
The head of Ragozine for Claudto's : 
The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, 
I have a motion much imports your good; 
AV'hereto if you '11 a willing ear incline. 
What 's mine is yours and what is yours is mine. 
So, bring us to our palace ; where we "11 sliow 
What "s yet behind, that 's meet you all should 
know. [Exeunt. 





s^^& 


mms^m -^'i- . 


R 


w 



Lucio.— I warrant, it is : and tliy head stands so tickle on thy 
shoulders, that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it offi 
Send after the duke, and appeal to him. 

Claudio. — I have done so, but he 's not to be found. 
I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service. 
This day my sister should the cloister euter, 
And there receive her approbation : 
Acquaint her with the danger of my state : 
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 
To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him : 
I have great hope in that ; for in her youth 
There is a prone and speechless dialect, 
Such as move men ; beside, she hath prosperous art, 
When she will play with reason and discourse. 
And well she «an persuade. — Act I., Scene iL 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Solinus, Duke of Ephesus. 
^g-eon, a merchaut of Syracuse. 
Antipholus of Ejiliesus, i twin brothers, and sous 
Antipholus of Syracuse, j to ^geon and yEmilia. 
Dromio of Ephesus, f'^'" brothers, and attend- 
Dromio of Syracuse, ^"'^ °° '^"^ ''™ Autipho- 

1. luses. 

Balthazar, a merchant. 
Angelo, a goldsmith. 
First Merchaut, friend to Autipholus of Syracuse. 



Second Mercliant, to whom Angelo is a deLtcr. 

Pinch, a schoolmaster. 

.ffimilia, wife to .-Egeon, an abbess at Ephesus. 

Adrlana, wife to Autipholus of Ephesus. 

Luciana, lier sister. 

Luce, servant to Adriaua. 

A Courtezan. 

Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. 



[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, 

^CT I. 



SCENE — iyjAesits. 

XLIV.] 



SCENE 1.—A hall in the Buke^s palace. 

Elder Duke, JEseon, Gaoler, Officers, and other 
Attendants. 

j^ye. Proceed, Solimis, tii procure my fall 
And by the doom of di'tith end woe.s and all. 

Duke. Jlercliaiit of Syrai'usa, jilead no more; 
I am not paitial to iiilriiiuc otir laws: 
Tlie enmity and discord wiiicli of late 
Sprung from the rancinnns (uitniKi' of your duke 
To merchants, our wcll-dealinit countrymen, 
AVlio wanting guilders to redeem tlieir lives 
Have seal'd his rignroiis statutes with their bhjods, 
Excluih's all pity from our tlireatening looks. 
For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
'Twixt tliy sediliiuis cdiintrymen aii<l us, 
It hath in solemn synods l)een deer<-eil. 
Both by the Syiacusians anil ourselves. 
To admit no tratUc to our adverse towns: 
Nay, more, 

If any born at Ephesus be seen 
At any Syracusian marts and fairs; 
Again: if any Syracusian born 
Come to the bay of Ei)hesus, he dies, 
His goods conhscate to the didve's di.spo.se, 
Unle.ss a thousaml marks Ije levied. 
To tiuit the penalty and to ransom him. 
Thy suV)stance, vtilued at the higliest rate, 
Cannot timonnt unto a hundred marks; 
Therefore Ijy law tliou art comlennrd to die. 

v£V/e. Yet this my comfoi t ; wlien your words are 
My woes end likewise witli the evening siui. [done, 

Duke. Well, Syraeusian, say in lirief the cause 
Wliy thou departed'st from tliy native home 
Antl for what cause thou earnest to Ejihesus. 

^ije. Aheaviertask eoidd not have been imposed 
Thaii I to speak my griefs unspeakalile : 
Yet, tliat tile world may witness that my end 
Was widugid by ntiture, not l)y vile offence, 
I '11 utter wliat my sorrow gives me leave. 
In Syracusa was I liorn, and wed 
Unto a woman, happy but for me. 
And Viy me, h;id not our hap been bad. 
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased 
I5y prosiierous voyages I often made 
To Epiilamnum ; till my factor's death 
And the great care of goods at random left 
78 



Drew me from kind embracements of my .=5pouse: 

From whom m> tilisence was not six months old 

Before lierself, almost ;it lainting under 

The pleasing imnislniient tliat women bear. 

Had made provision lor her following me 

And Soon an<l stile tiirived wliere 1 was. 

Tliere litid she not been long but slie bectime 

A joyful niotliet of two goodly sons; 

And', whicli w;is stranne, the Jme so like the otlier 

As could not be distinguish "d but by names. 

That very hotu- ;md in tlie self-same inn 

A meaner w'omaii was delivered 

Of such a biu'den, nitile twins, botli alike: 

Tliose, for tlieir jia rents were exceeiling poor, 

I bought and lirought up to attend my sons. 

Ify wife, not metinly proud of two such boys, 

Made daily motions lor our home return: 

Unwilling I agreed; tilas! too soon 

We came aljoard. "* 

A letigne from Epidamnum had we sail'd, 

Before the always wind-obeying deep 

Gave any tragic instance of our harm: 

But longer did we not retain much hope; 

For what obscured light the heavens diil grant 

Did but convey unto our fearful minds 

A (hnibtlul warrant of immeiliate death; 

Which though myself would gladly have embraced. 

Yet the incessant wee|iings (d' my wife, 

AVeeping liefoi-e lor what she saw must come. 

And piteous ])hiinings of the pretty lialies, 

Tliat mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear. 

Forced me to seek delays for them and me. 

And tliis it was, for other means wtis none: 

The sailors sought for safety by our boat. 

And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us: 

My wife, more careful for the latter-born. 

Had fasten VI him unto a small spare mast. 

Such ;is seaftiving men provide for storms; 

To him one of the othin- twins was bound. 

Whilst I had 1 n like heedful of the other: 

The children tlius disiiosed, my wife and I, 
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 
And floating straiglit, obeilient to the stretim. 
Were carrie'd towanls Corinth, as we thought. 
At length the sun. gazing ujion the earth, 
Dispersed those vtipours thttt offended us ; 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE II. 



uiil, by the benelit of his wished light, 
"hu seas wax'd euhii. and we discovered 
'wo sliips from far nuiking amain to us, 
)f Corinth that, of Epidauriis this: 
I 5ut ere they came, — O, let me say no more ! 
1 rather the sequel by that went before. [so ; 

Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off 
For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 

^<jc. 0,"had the gods done so, I had not now 
"Wortluly term'd tlieni merciless to us! 
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, 
We were encountered by a miglity rock ; 
Which being violently borne upon, 
Our lielpful sliip was splitted in tlie midst; 
So that, in this unjust divorce of us. 
Fortune had left to both of us alike 
Vhat to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
tier part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
'-V'ith lesser weiglit but not witli lesser woe, 
"iVas carried with more speed before tlie wind ; 
And in our siglit they three were taken up 
'-.jy fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
.' t length, saother ship had seized on us; 
'' nd, knowing whom it was their hap to save. 
Gave healthtul welcome to their sldpwreck'd guests; 
And would iiave reft the fishers of their prey, 
Had not their bark been very slow of sail ; 
And therefore homeward did they 1 jend their course. 
Thus have you heard me severM from my bliss, 
That by misfortunes was my life prolonged, 
To tell sad stories of my own misluips. [for, 

Duke. And for the sake of them tliou sorrowest 
Do me the favour to dilate at full 
What hath befaU'n of them and thee till now. 

^ije. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 
At eighteen years becamt; inquisitive 
After liis brother: and importuned me 
Tliat liis attendant — so his case was like, 
Reft of his brotlier, but retain'd his name — 
Might bear liim company in the quest of him : 
AVhoui whilst 1 labour'd of a love, to see, 
I hazarded the loss of whom 1 loved. 
Five summers have I spent in furtliest Greece, 
Koaming clean tlimugli tlie bounds of Asia, 
And, coasting homeward, came to Epliesus; 
Hopeless to find, yet loatii to leave unsought 
Or that or any place that harbours men. 
But here nuist end the story of my life ; 
And happy were I in my timely death, 
Could all iny travels warrant me they live. 

Duke. Hapless ^geon, whom the fates have 
To bear the extremity of dire mishap I [niark'd 
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
Wliicli princes, would' they, may not disannul, 
My soul sliould sue as advocate for thee. 
But, though thou art adjudged to the death 
And pas *d sentence may not be recall'd 
But to ir honour's great disparagement, 
Yet I Wiil favour thee in what I can. 
Therefore, merchant, I '11 limit tliee this day 
To seek thy life by beneficial help: 
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; 
Beg tliou, or borrow, to make up the sum. 
And live ; if no, then tliou art doom'd to die. 
Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 
Gaol. I will, my lord. 

jE(je. Hopeless and helpless doth ^Egeon wend, 
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— The Mart. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, Dromio of Syra- 
cuse, and First Merchant. 

First Mer. Therefore give out your are of Epidam- 
Eest tliat your goods too soon be conliscate. [uuui, 
This very day a Syracusian merchant 



Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
And not being able to buy out his life 
According to the statute of the town 
Hies ere the weary sun set in the west. 
Tliere is your money that I had to keep. 

Ant. IS. Go bear it to the Centaur, wliere we host, 
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 
Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
Till that, I '11 view the manners of the town, 
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings. 
And then return and sleep within mine inn. 
For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
Get thee away. 

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word, 
And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit. 

Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, 
Wlien 1 am dull with care and melancholy, 
Ligiitens my humour with his merry jests. 
AVhat, will you walk witli me about the town, 
Anil tiien go to my inn and dine witli mey 

l-'irstMtr. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, 
Of whom I hope to make much benefit ; 
I crave your pardon. Soon at live o'clock, 
Please you, I "11 meet with you upon the mart 
Anil afterward consort you till bed-time : 
My present business calls me from you now. 

Ant. S. Farewell till then : 1 will go lose myself 
And wander up and down to view the city. 

First Mer. Sir, I commedd you to your own con- 
tent. [Exit. 

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own con- 
Commends me to the thing I cannot get. [tent 
I to the world am like a drop of water 
Tliat in the ocean seeks another drop. 
Who, falling tliere to find his fellow forth, 
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: 
So I, to find a mother and a brother. 
In quest of them, unliapiiy, lose myself. 

Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
Here comes the almanac of my true date. 
Wliat now ? how chance thou art return 'd so soon ? 

Dro. E. Return 'd so soon! rather apiiroach'd too 
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit, [late : 
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; 
:My mistress made it one upon my cheek: 
Slie is so hot because the meat is cold; 
The meat is cold because you come not home ; 
You come not home because you have no stomach ; 
You have no stomach having broke your fast ; 
But we that know what 't is to fast and pray 
Are penitent for your default to-day. [pray: 

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me tliis, I 
Where have you left the money that I .gave you ':' 

Dro. E. 0\ — -sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday 
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ? [last 
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not. 

^l/i(. S. I am not in a sportive humour now: 
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money 'i 
We being strangers here, how darest thou trust 
So great a charge from thine own custody '^ 

Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: 
I from my mistress come to you in post ; 
If I return, I shall be post indeed. 
For she will score your fault upon my pate. 
Metliinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock 
And strike you home without a messenger. 

Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out 
of season ; 
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. 
Wliere is the gold I gave in charge to thee ? 

Dro. E. To me, sir ? why, you gave no gold to me. 

Ant. !S. Come on, sir knave, have done your fool- 
ishness 
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge. 

Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the 
mart 

79 



ACT II. 



THE C03IEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE I. 



Home to your house, the Phcenix, sir, to dhiuer: 
My mistress and her sister stays for you. 

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Clu-istiau, answer me 
In wliat safe place yi.iu have bestow'd my money, 
Or I sliall hreak that merry sconce of yours 
Tliat stands on tricks wlien I am luidisposed : 
AVliere is the tliousaiul marks thou liadst of me? 

JJro. E. I liave some niarks of Vdur.s uiion my pate, 
Some of my mistress" marks upon my shoulders. 
But not a thousand marks between you both. 
If I should pay your worship those again. 
Perchance you \\'\\\ not bear tliem patiently. 

Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, 
slave, liast thou ? [Phanix ; 

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner 
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. 



Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my 
face. 
Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. 

Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold 
your hands! 
Nay, an yon will not, sir, I 'II take mj^ heels. [Exit. 

Ant. (S. Upon my life, by some device or other 
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
They say this town is full of cozenage. 
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, 
Dark-working sorcerers tluit chaii.ne the mind, 
Soul-killing witches that deforui the body. 
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
And many such-like liberties of sin : 
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave : 
i 1 greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit. 



A^CT II. 



SCENE I.— The house of AntiphoJiis of Epiusus. 
Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd. 
That in such haste I sent to seek his master ! 
Sure, Luciana, it is two-o'clock. 

Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him 
And from the mart he "s somewhere gone to dinner. 
Good sister, let us dine and never fret: 
A man is master of his liberty : 
Time is their master, and when they see time 
They '11 go or come: if so, Ije patient, sister. 

Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more ? 

Luc. Because their business still lies out o' door. 

Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 

Luc. O, know he is the bridle of your will. 

Adr. There 's none but asses will be bridled so. 

Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. 
There 's nothing situate under heaven's eye 
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: 
The beasts, tlie fishes and the winged fowls 
Are their males' subjects and at their controls: 
Men, more divine, the masters of all these. 
Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, 
Indued with intellectual sense and souls. 
Of more pre-eminence than lish and fowls. 
Are masters to their females, and their lords: 
Then let your will attend on their accords. 

Adr. This servitude miikes you to keep unwed. 

Luc. Not this, but troubles "of tlie marriage-bed. 

Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some 
sway. 

Luc. Ere I learn love, I '11 practise to obey. 

Adr. How if your husband start some other 
where ? 

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. 

Adr. Patience unmoved ! no marvel though she 
pause ; 
They can be meek that have no other cause. 
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, 
We bid be quiet when we liear it cry; 
But were we burdenM with like weight of pain. 
As much or mare wc should ourselves complain : 
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. 
With urginu hclplrss piitience woiildst relieve me; 
But, if tiiou live to see like right l)ereft. 
This fool-begg'd patience in tliee will be left. 

LiK. Well, 1 will marry one day, but to try. 
Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh. 

Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? 
Dro. E. Nay, he \s at two bauds with me, and that 
mv two ears can witness. 
80 



Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st 
thou his mind ? 

Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear; 
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 

Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel 
his meanmg ? 

Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well 
feel his blows ; and withal so doubtitully that 1 could 
scarce understand them. 

Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home? 
It seems he hath great care to jilease his wife. [mad. 

Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn- 

Adr. Horn-mad, tliou villain ! 

Dro. E. 1 mean not cuckold-mad ; 

But, sure, he is stark mad. 
When I desired him to come home to dinner. 
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
' 'T is dinner-time,' quoth I ; ' My gold ! ' quoth he : 
' Your meat doth burn,' quoth I ; ' My gold ! ' quotli 
he: [he, 

' Will you come home ? ' quoth I ; ' My gold ! ' quoth 
' Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain ? ' 
'The pig,' quoth I,' isburn'd; "My gold ! 'quoth he: 
' My mistress, sir," quoth I ; ' Hang up thy mistress ! 
I know not thy mistress ; out on thy mistress ! ' 

Luc. Quoth who ? 

Dro. E. Quoth my master : 
' I know,' quoth he, 'no house, no wife, no mistress.' 
So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; 
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. [home. 

..ride. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him 

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? 
For God's sake, send some other messenger. 

Adr. Back, slave, or I will lireak thy pate across. 

Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other 
Between you I shall have a holy head. [beating : 

Adr. Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master 
home. 

Dro. E. Am I so round with you as you with me. 
That like a football you do spurn me thus ? 
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither : 
If I last in this service, you must case me iu leather. 

[Exit. 

Luc. Fie, liow impatience loureth in your face ! 

Adr. His company must do his minions grace. 
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
Hath homely age tiie alluring beauty took 
From my poor cheek? then he hath" wasted it: 
Are my "discourses ilull ? barren my wit ? 
If voluble and sliarji discourse be n'larr'd, 
Unkindness blunts it more tlian marble hard : 
Do their gay vestments his affections bait ? 
That 's not my fault ; he 'a master of my state : 



ACT II. 



THE C03IEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE II. 



Wliat ruins ;ire in me that can be found, 
By liiui iiiit ruiu'd? then is lie tlie ground 
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair 
A sunny look of his would soon repair : 
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale 
And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 

LxM. Self-harming jealousy ! fie, beat it hence ! 

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis- 
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; [peuse. 
Or else what lets it but he would be liere? 
Sister, you know he promised me a chain ; 
AVould that alone, alone he would detain, 
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed ! 
I see the jewel best enamelled 
Will lose his beauty ; yet the gold bides still, 
That others touch, and often touching will 
Wear gold: and no man that luith a name. 
By falsehood and corruption dutli it shame. 
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
I '11 weep what 's left away, and weeping die. 

Luc. Uow many fond fools serVe mad jealousy ! 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 11.— A puhlic place. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up 
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out 
By computation and mine host's report. 
I "could not speak with Uromio since at first 
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
How now, sir ! is your merry humour alter'd ? 
As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
You know no Centaur y you received no gold? 
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou mad. 
That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? [word ? 

Bio. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a 

Ant. S. Even uow, even here, not half an hour 
since. 

Bro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence. 
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 

Ant. iS'. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt 
And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner; 
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased. 

Bro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein: 
What means this jest ? I pray you, master, "tell me. 

Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the 
teeth ? 
Thmk'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and 
that. [llcatim/ liim. 

Bro. IS. Hold, sir, for God's sake ! now your jest is 
Upon what bargain do you give it me ? [earnest: 

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
Do use yoa for my fool and chat with you. 
Your saui iness will jest ujion my love 
And make a conunou of my serious hours. 
AVhen the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, 
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. 
If you will jest with me, know my aspect 
And fasliiou your demeanour to my looks. 
Or I will beat this metliod in your sconce. 

Bro. !S. Sconce call you it ? so you would leave 
battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use 
these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head 
and insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in 
my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? 

Ant. S. Dost thou not know? 

Bro. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten; 

Ant. S. Shall I tell you why? 

Bro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore : for they say every 
why hath a wherefore. 

Ant. S. Why, fir.st, — for flouting me; and then, 
wherefore, — 
For urging it the second time to me. 
6 



Bro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out 
of season. 
When in the why and the wherefore is neither 

rhyme nor reason ? 
Well, sir, I thank you. 

Ant. S. Thank me, sir! for what ? 

Bro. S. jSIarry, sir, for this something that you 
gave me for nothing. 

Ant. S. I '11 make you amends next, to give you 
nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner- 
time ? 

Bro. S. No, sir: I think the meat wants that I 

Ant. S. In good time, sir; what 's that ? [have. 

Bro. S. Basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 

Bro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it. 

Ant. S. Your reason? 

Bro. S. Lest it malce you choleric and purchase 
me another dry basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: 
there 's a time for all things. 

Bro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were 
so choleric. 

^liit. S. By what rule, sir? 

Bro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
bald pate of fatlier Time himself. 

Ant. S. Ijet 's hear it. 

Bro. S. There 's no time for a man to recover his 
hair that grows bald by nature. 

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 

Bro. S. Yes, to pay a fine "for a periwig and re- 
cover the lost hair of another man. 

Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, 
being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement ? 

Bro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows 
on beasts; and what he hath scanted men in hair 
he hath given them in wit. 

Ant. S. Why, but there "s many a man hath more 
hair than wit. 

Bro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit 
to lose his hair. 

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hiiiry men plain 
dealers without wit. 

Bro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet 
lie loseth it in a kind of jollity. 

Ant. S. For what reason ? 

Bro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 

Bro. S. Sure ones then. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 

Bro. S. Certain ones then. 

Ant. S. Name them. 

Bro. S. The one, to save the money that he 
spends in trimming; the other, that at dinner they 
should not drop in his porri.lge. 

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there 
is no time for all things. 

Bro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to 
recover hair lost by nature. 

^Int. S. But your reason was not substantial, wliy 
there is no time to recover. 

Bro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is bald 
and therefore to the world's end w^ill have bald fol- 
lowers. 

Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion: 
But, soft ! who wafts us yonder? 

Enter Adriana and Luciana. 
Adr. Ay, ay, Antipliolus, look strange and frown : 
Some other iiiistress hath thy sweet aspects ; 
I am not Adriana nor thy wife. 
Tlie time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow 
That never words were music to thine ear,. 
That never object pleasing in tliine eye. 
That never touch well welcome to thy hand. 
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, [thee. 
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touched, or carved to 
81 



ACT III. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE I. 



How comes it now, my husband, O, liow comes it, 

That tiiuu art thus estranged from thyself? 

Tliyself I call it, being strange to me, 

That, undividable, incorporate. 

Am better than thy dear self's better part. 

Ah, do not tear away tliyself from me! 

For know, my love, a.s easy mayst tliou fall 

A drop of water in the lueakiiig gulf 

And take unniiuslfd I hence that <lrop again. 

Without addition or diniiuisiiing. 

As take from nie thyself and not me too. 

IIow dearly would it touch thee to the quick, 

Siiouldst tliou but hear I were licentious 

And that this body, consecrate to thee, 

By ruHlan lust should be contaminate! 

AVouUlst thou not spit at me and spurn at me 

And hurl the name of husliand in my face 

And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow 

And frcun my false hand cut the wedding-ring 

And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? 

1 know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it. 

I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 

My blood is mingled with the crime of lust: 

For if we two be one and thou play false, 

I do digest the poison of tliy llesh. 

Being slrumpeted by tliy contagion. 

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; 

1 live unstain'd, tiiou undishonoured. [not: 

Ani. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know you 
In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 
As strange unto your town as to your talk ; 
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd. 
Want wit in all one word to understand. [you! 

Luc. Fie, brother ! liow the world is clianged with 
When were you wont to use my sister tluis V 
She sent for you by Dromio liome to dinner. 

Ant. S. By Dromio V 

Dro. S. By me ? 

Adr. By thee; and this tliou didst return from 
That he did buffet thee and in his blows [him. 

Denied my house for his, me for his wife, [woman ':" 

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- 
What is the course and drift of your compact ? 

IJro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. 

Ant. S. Villain, tliou liest ; for even lier very words 
Didst tliou deliver to me on the mart. 

JJro. :S. I never spake witli her in all my life. 

Ant. S. IIow can she thus then call us by our 
Unless it be by inspiration. [names, 

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity 
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave. 
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ! 



Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, 

But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 

Come, I will fas'ten on this sleeve of thine: 

Thou art an elm, my husliaiid, I a vine. 

Whose weakness married to thy stronger state 

Makes me with thy strength to communicate: 

If aught jiossess thee froni me, it is dross, 

Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; 

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 

Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion, [theme: 

^1)!;. 6'. To me she speaks; she moves me for her 
What, was I married to her in my dream? 
Or sleep I now and think I hear all this? 
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? 
Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
I '11 entertain the offer'd fallacy. 

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servaiits spread for dinner. 

JJw. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner. 
This is the fairy land : O spite of spites! 
We talk witli golilins, owls and sprites: 
If we obey them not, this will ensue, 
They '11 suck our breath or pinch us black and blue. 

Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself and an- 
swer'st not? 
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot ! 

Dro. S. I am traiisfoniieil, master, am I not? 

Ant. S. I think thou art in mind, and so am I. 

L)ro. S. Nay , master, both in mind and in my shape. 

Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 

Dro. S. Ko, I am an ape. 

Luc. If thou art clianged to aught, 't is to an ass. 

Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me and I long for 
'T is so, I am an ass ; else it could never be [grass. 
But I should know her as well as she knows me. 

Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, 
To put the finger in the.eye and weep, 
Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn. 
Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. 
Husband, I '11 dine above with you to-day 
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. 
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master. 
Say he dines forth and let no creature enter. 
Come, sister. Dromio. play the porter well. 

Ant. iS. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? 
Sleeping or VA'akiug ? mad or well-advised ? 
Known unto tliese, and to myself disguised! 
I '11 say as they say, and persever so. 
And in this mist at all adventures go. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gat 3? 

Adr. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I Ijreakyoui pate. 

Luc. Come, come, Aiitipholus, we dine too late. 

[E.aunt. 



.ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Before the house of Antiphohis of 
Ephesus. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of 

Ephesus, Angelo, uial Balthazar. 
Ant. E. Good Sigiiior Angelo, you must excu.se us 
My wife is shrewish wlien I keep not hours; [all; 
Say that I liuKcrM with you at your shop 
To see the making of her carcauet 
And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
But here 's a villain that would face ine down 
He met nie on the mart and that I beat him 
And chargcil him with a thousand marks in gold 
And th;it I did deny my wife and house. 
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this ? 
Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what 
I know ; 
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to 
sliow: 

82 



If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave 

were ink, 
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. 
Ant. E. I think thou art an ass. 
Dm. E. :Marry, so it doth appear 

Bv the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. 
I should kic-k,bciiig kick'd ; and, Vicing at that pass, 
You Would keep from my heels and lieware of an ass. 
Anl. E. You 're sad, Sigiiior Balthazar: pray God 
our cheer [here. 

May answer my good will and your good welcome 
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your 

* welcome dear. 

Ant.E. 0,Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, 

A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty 

dish. [affords. 

Bed. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl 

Ant. E. And welcome more common ; for that 's 

nothuig but words. 



A.CT in. 



THE C03IEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE II. 



Dal. Small clieer and great welcome makes a 

merry feast. 

Ant. E. Ay to a niggardly host and more sparing 

guest : Qiart ; 

Ii;it though my cates be mean, take them in good 

UcLter clieer may you have, but not witli better heart. 

But, soft ! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in. 

JDro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, 

Giiiii! 
Bro. S. [Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, cox- 
comb, idiot, patch! [hatch. 
Either get thee from the door or sit down at tlie 
Dost thou conjure for wenclies, that thou call'st 
for such store, [door. 
When one is one too many y Go get thee from the 
JJro. E. What patch is made our porter V My 

master stays in the street. 

Dro. S. [Within] Let him walk from whence he 

came, lest he catch cold on 's feet. [door ! 

Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the 

Bro. S. [Within] Right, sir; I 'U tell you when, 

an you '11 tell me wherefore. 
Ayit. E. Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not 

dined to-day. 
Bro. S. [Within] Xor to-day here you must not; 

come again when you may. 
Ant. E. Wliat art thou that keepestme out from 

the house I owe ? 
Bro. .S. [Within] The porter for this time, sir, 

and my name is Dromio. 
Bro. E. O villain! thou hast stolen both mine 
office and my name. 
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, 
Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name 
or thy name for an ass. 
Liice. [Within]^Yh■dt a coil is there, Dromio? 

who are those at the gate ? 
Bro. E. Let my master in, Luce. 
Luce. [Within] FfAth, no; he comes too late ; 
And so tell your master. 

Bro. E. O Lord, I must laugh ! 

Have at you with a proverb — Shall I set in my staff ? 
Luce. [ Within] Have at you with another; that 's — 

When ? can you tell V 
Bro. S. [Wittiin] If thy name be call'd Luce, — 

Luce, thdu hast aiiswer'd him well. 
Ant. E. Do your hear, you minion ? you '11 let us 

> in, I hope ? 
Lude. [Within] I thought to have ask'd you. 
Bro. S. [ Within] And you said no. 

Bro. E. So, come, help: well struck! there was 

blow for blow. 
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
Lure. []r/7/u'/i] Can you tell for whose sake? 
Bro. E. Master, knock the dour hard. 
Luce. [Within] Let him knock till it ache. 
Ant. E. You '11 cry for this, minion, if I beat 

the door down. 
Luce. [Witliin] What needs all that, and a pair 

of stocks in the town ? 
Adr. [ With in] Who is that at the door that keeps 

all this noise ? 
Bro. S. [Within] By my troth, your tovni is 

troubled with unruly boys. 
Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have 

come before. 
Adr. [Within] Your wife, sir knave I go get you 

friim the door. 
Bro. E. If you went in pain, master, this ' knave' 

would go sore. 
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: 

we would fain have either. 
Bed. In delwting which was best, we shall part 

with neitlier. 
Bro. E. They stand at the door, master: bid 
them welcome hither. 



Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that 

we cannot get in. 
Bro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar- 
ments were thin. 
Your cake there is warm within ; you stand here 

in the cold : 
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so 
bought and sold. 
Ant. E. Go fetch me something: I'll break ope 

the gate. 
Bro. S. [ Within] Break any breaking here, and 

I '11 break your knave's pate. 

Bro. E. A man may break a word with you. sir, 

and words are but wind, [hind. 

Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not be- 

'Bro. S. [ Within] It seems thou wanfst breaking : 

out upon thee, hind! 
Bro. E. Here 's too nmch ' out upon thee ! ' I 

pray thee, let me in. 
Bro. iS."[ Within] Ay, when fowls have no feathers 

and tish have no fln. 
Ant. E. Well, I '11 break in : go borrow me a crow. 
Bro. E. A crow without feather ? Master, mean 
you so ? [feather : 

For aiisli without a fin, there 's a fowl without a 
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we 'U pluck a crow 
together. 
Ant. E. Go get thee gone ; fetch me an iron crow. 
Bal. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so! 
Herein you war against your reputation 
And draw witliin the I'onipass of suspect 
The unviolatt'd limuiur of youi' wife. 
Once tliis, — your long exijerii-iicc nf her wisdom. 
Her sober virtue, years and niodi-sty. 
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
Be ruled by me: depart in patience. 
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner. 
And about evening come yourself alone 
To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
If by strong hand you offer to break in 
Now in the stuTing passage of the day, 
A vulc;ar i/omment will be made of it. 
And that supposed by the common rout 
Against your yet ungalled estimation 
That may witii foul intrusidu enter in 
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead; 
For slander lives upon succession. 
For ever housed where it gets possession. [quiet, 
Ant. E. You have prevail'd: I will depart in 
And, in desjiite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
I know a wench of excellent discourse. 
Pretty and witty, wilil and y<-t. too, gentle: 
There will we dine. This woman that I mean. 
My wife — but, I protest, without desert — 
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal : 
To her will we to dinner. [I'o Aug.] Get you home 
And fetch the chain ; by tins I kiiow 't is made : 
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentiue; 
For there 's the house: that chain will I bestow— 
Be it for nothing but to spite my wife — 
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste. 
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
I '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me. 
Anij. I '11 meet you at that place some hour hence. 
Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some ex- 
pense. [Exeunt. 
SCENE 11.— The same. 

Enter Luciana and AntipholuS of Syracuse, 
Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 

A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus, 
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? 

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? 
If you did wed my sister for her wealth, [ness: 

Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kind- 
83 



ACT III. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE II. 



Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; 

Muffle your false love with some show of blind- 
Let not my sister read it in your eye ; [ness : 

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ; 
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger; 
Bear a fair presence, though yoru' heart be tainted ; 

Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; 
Be secret-false : what need she be acquainted ? 

What simple thief brags of his "own attaint ? 
'T is double wrong, to truant with your bed 

And let her read it in thy looks at board : 
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; 

111 deeds are ih milled with an evil word. 
Alas, poor women I make us but believe, 

Being compact of credit, that you love us; 
Though others liave the arm, show us the sleeve ; 

We in your motion turn and you may move us. 
Then, ^'entle brother, get you in again ; 

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 
'T is holy sport to be a little vain, 

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
Ant. S. Sweet mistress, — what your name is else, 
I know not. 

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine, — [not 
Less in your knowledge and your grace you show 

Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine. 
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; 

Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, 
Smother'd in errors, teebfe, shallow, weak. 

The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
Against my soul's pure truth wliy lulHiur you 

a.'o make it wander in an unknown field "y 
Are you a god y would you create nie new ? 

Transform me then, and to yoiu'. power I '11 yield. 
But if that I am I, then well 1 know 

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe : 

Far more, far more to you do I decline. 
O, train me not, sweet uiermaid, witli thy note, 

To drown me in tliy sister's lloml of tears: 
Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote: 

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
And as a bed 1 '11 take them and tliere lie. 

And in that glorious suiiposition think 
He gains by death that hatli sucli means to die: 

Let Love, being liglit, be drowned if she sink! 

Luc. What, are you mad, tliat you do reason so ? 

Ant. S. Not mad, liut mated ; how, I do not know. 

Luc. It is a fault tliat sjiringeth from your eye. 

.4)if.iS. For gazing onyourbeams,fairsun,being by. 

Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear 
your sight. [night. 

Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on 

Luc. Why call you me love V call my sister so. 

Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 

Luc. That 's my sister. 

Ant. S. No ; 

It is thyself, mine own self's better part. 
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart. 
My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's aim, 
My sole eartli's lieaven and my heaven's claim. 

Luc. All this my sister is, or else shouUl be. 

Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee. 
Thee will I love and with tliee lead my life: 
Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife. 
Give me thy hand. 

Luc. O, soft, sir ! hold you still : 

I '11 fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Ejcit. 

Miter Dromio of Syracuse. 
Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio ! where ruun'st 
thou so fast '/ 

Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? 
am I your man V am I myself ? 

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
art thyself. 

84 



I)ro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man and 
besides myself. 

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides 
thyself ? 

l)ro. S. Marry, sir, liesides myself, I am due to a 
woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me, 
one that will have me. 

^l)i(. iS'. What claim lays she to thee? 

I)ro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay 
to yoiu- horse ; and she would have me as a beast : 
not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but 
that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim 
to me. 

Ant. S. What is she ? 

Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as 
a man may not -s|)eak of without he say ' Sir-rever- 
ence.' I have but lean luck in the match, and yet 
is she a wondrous fat marriage. 

Ant. S. llovf dost thou mean a fat marriage ? 

Lro. S. Marry, sir, she 's the kitclien wench and 
all grease ; and I know not what use to put her to 
but to make a lamp of her and run from her by her 
own light. I warrant, her rags and the tallow in 
them will bui^i a Poland winter: if she lives till 
doomsday, she '11 burn a week longer than the 
whole world. 

Ant. S. AVhat complexion is she of ? 

I)ro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
like so clean kept : for why, she sweats ; a man may 
go over shoes in the grime of it. 

Ant. S. That 's a fault that water will mend. 

Lro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could 
not do it. 

Ant. S. What 's her name ? 

Dro. S. Nell, sir; but liername and three quar- 
ters, that 's an ell and three quarters, will not meas- 
ure lier from lap to hip. 

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ? 

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot than from 
hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could 
find out countries in her. 

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks: I found it 
out by the bogs. 

Ant. S. Where Scotland ? 

Dro. 8. I found it by the barrenness ; hard in the 
palm of the hand. 

Ant. S. Where France ? 

Dro. S. In her foreliead ; armed and reverted, 
making war against lier liair. 

Ant. S. Where Englaiul ':' 

Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could 
find no whiteness in them ; but I guess it stood in 
her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
and it. 

Ant. S. Where Spain ? 

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot in 
her breath. 

Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? 

Dro. S. Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embel- 
lished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining 
their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain ; who 
sent whole armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her 
nose. 

Ant. 8. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? 

Dro. S. Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To con- 
clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; 
called me Dromio ; swore I was assured to her ; told 
me what privy marks I had about me, as, the mark 
of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, tlie great wart 
on my left arm, that I amazed ran from her as a 
witch : 
And, I think, if my breast had not been made of 

faith and my heart of steel. 
She had transform 'd me to a curial dog and made 
me turn i' the wheel. 

Ant. 8. Go hie thee presently, post to the road : 



CT IV. 



THE C02IEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE I. 



I Ml if the wind blow auy way from shore, 
'J will not harbour in this towii to-night: 
' any bark put fortli, come to tlie mart, 
ii'here I will walk till thou return to me. 
f every one Icnows us and we know none, 
is time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone. 
Bro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, 
So tly I from her that would lie my wife. [Eeit. 
Ant. S. There 's none but wit (dies do inhabit here; 
And therefore "t is high time tliat I were hence. 
She tliat doth call me hustiand, even my soul 
Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, 
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace. 
Of such enchanting presence and discourse, 
liatli aluK^st made'me traitor to myself: 
But, lest myself lie guilty to self-wrong, 
I "11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 

Enter Angelo with the chain. 
Ang. Master Antipholus, — 
Ant. S. Ay, that 's my name. 

Any. I know it well, sir : lo, liere is the chain. 



I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine: 
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 

Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with this ? 

Anij. What please yourself , sir : 1 have made it 
for you. 

Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not. 

Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you 
have. 
Go home with it and please your wife withal ; 
And soon at supper-time I '11 visit you 
And then receive my money for the chain. 

Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now. 
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more. 

Ang. You are a merrv man, sir : fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell : 
But this I think, there 's no man is so vain 
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. 
I see a man here needs not live by shifts, 
When in the streets lie meets such golden gifts. 
I '11 to the mart and there for Dromio stay : 
If auy ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. 



J^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— A 2nMic place. 

Enter Second Merchant, Angelo, and an 
Officer. 

Sec. Mer. You know since Pentecost the sum is 
And since I have not much importuned you ; [due, 
Xor now I had not, but that I am bound 
To Persia and want gtnlders for my voyage : 
Therefore make present satisfaction. 
Or I '11 attach you by tliis officer. 

Ang. Even just tlie sum tliat I do owe to you 
Is growing to me by Antiphdlus, 
And in the instant that I met with you 
He had of me a chain : at Ave o'clock 
I shall receive the money for the same. 
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
I will discharge my bond and thank you too. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of 
Ephesus/ro;u the courtezan''s. 

Off. That labour may you save: see where he 
comes. [thou 

Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go 
And buy a rope's end : that will I bestow 
Among my wife and her confederates, 
For locking me out of my doors by day. 
But, soft I I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone ; 
Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me. 

JDro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year : I buy a 
rope. [Exit. 

Ant. E. A man is well holp up tliat trusts to you : 
I promised your presence and the cliain; 
But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. 
Belike you thought om- love would last too long. 
If it were chain "d together, and therefore came not. 

Ang. Saving yoiu' merry humour, here 's the note 
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat. 
The fineness of the gold and chargeful fashion, 
Which doth amount to three odd clucats more 
Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 
I pray you, see him presently discharged. 
For lie is bomid to sea and stays but for it. 

Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present 
money ; 
Besides, I have some business in the towni. 
Good signior, take the stranger to my house 
And with you take the chain and Ind my wife 
Di.sburse the sum on the receipt thereof": 
Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 



Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her your- 

Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come not 
time enough. b"ou '' 

Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about 

Ant. E. An if I have not, sir", I hope you have ; 
Or else you may return without your money. 

Ang. Nay, come,. I pray jou, sir, give me the 
chain : 
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman. 
And I, to blame, have held him here t.;o long. 

..■ii!(. E. Good Lord I you use this dalliance to ex- 
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. [cuse 
I should have chid you for not bringing it. 
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl, [patch. 

Sec. Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, sir, dis- 

Ang. You hear how he importunes me; — the 
chain ! [money. 

Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife and fetch your 

Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even 
now. 
Either send the chain or send me by some token. 

AjU. E. Fie, now 3'ou run this himiour out of 
breath. 
Come, where 's the chain ? I pray you. let me see it. 

See. Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance. 
Good sir, say whether you '11 answer me or no : 
1£ not, I '11 leave him to the officer. 

Ant. E. I answer you ! what should I answer you ? 

Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain. 

Ant. E. I owe you none till I receive the chain. 

Ang. You know I gave it you half an hour since. 

Ant. E. You gave me none : you wrong me mucli 
to say so. 

Ang. You ^\Tong me more, sir, in denying it : 
Consider how it stands upon my credit. 

Sec. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 

Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name to 
obey me. 

Ang. This touches me in reputation. 
Either consent to pay this sum for me 
Or I attach you by tiiis officer. 

^liit. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had ! 
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if tliou darest. 

Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer. 
I would not spare my brother in this case. 
If he should scorn me so apparently. 

Off. I do arrest you, sir: you hear the suit. 

Ant. E. I do obey thee till I give thee bail. 
85 



ACT IV. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE III. 



But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as clear 
As all the metal iu your shop will answer. 

Any. Sir, sir, I shall have law iu Ephesus, 
To your notorious shame ; I doubt it not. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse, from the hay. 
■ Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum 
That stays but till her owner comes aboard 
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, 
I have couvey'd aboard and I have bought 
The oil, the balsamum and aqua-vitte. 
Tlie sliip is in lier trim; the merry wind 
Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at all 
But for tlieir owner, mast it, and yourself. 

Ant.E. IIowuow! amailman! Why, thou peevish 
"What sliip of Epidamnum stays for me ? [sheep, 

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftaye. 

Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope 
And told thee to wliat purpose asid what end. 

Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon : 
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a hark. 

Ant. E. I will debate tliis matter at more leisure 
Ami teacli your ears to list me with more lieed. 
To Adriana, villain, liie thee straight: 
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
Tliat 's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry 
There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it : 
Tell her I am arrested in the street 
And that shall bail me : hie tliee, slave, be gone ! 
On, officer, to prison till it come. 

\_Exnmt Sec. Merchant, Angela, 
Officer, and Ani. E. 

Dro. S. To Adriana! that is whej-e we dined. 
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: 
Slie is too big, I liope, for me to compass. 
Tliither I must, altlionyli ayaii-ist my will, 
Por servants must tlieir masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Tlie house of Antqjholus of Ephesus. 
Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Ah, Luniaua, ilid ]i" tempt thee so? 

Mightst tiiou perceive austerely in his eye 
That he did plead iu earnest? yea or no? 

Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily ? 
What observation madest thou in tliis case 
Of his lieart's meteors tilting in his face ? 

Lric. First he denied you had in him no right. 

Adr. He meant he did me none; the more my 
spite. 

Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger here. 

Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he 

Luc. Then pleaded I for you. [were. 

-^''''- And what said he ? 

Luc. Tliat love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me. 

Adr. With wOiat persuasion did he tempt tliy love ? 

Luc. With words that in an honest suit" might 
move. 
First he did praise my beautv, then my speech. 

Adr. Didst speak him fair ? 

-^"^- Have patience, I beseech. 

Adr. 1 cannot, nor I will not, liold me still; 
My tongue, though not mv heart. shall have liis will. 
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere. 
Ill-faced, worse- l)odic(l, sliai'cless everywhere; 
Vicious, ui.ucutlc, loolish, lihuit, unkind, 
btigmatiial in making, worse in mind. 

Luc. Wlio would he jealous then of such a one ? 
Ao evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 

Adr. All, but I think him better than I sav. 

And yet would herein otliers' eyes were worse. 
Far from her nest the lai)wiiig cries away: 

My heart praysforliim,tlH)ugh my tongiiedo curse. 
Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Here ! go ; tlie desk, the purse ! sweet, now, 
make haste. 



Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? 
Dro. S. By ranning fast. 

Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well ? 
Dro. S. No, he 's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. 
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him ; 
One whose hard lieart is buttnird up with steel ; i 
A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough ; ; 

A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; [mands 
A back-frieud, a shoiilder-elapiier. one that couiiter- 
The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow lands; 
A hound that inins counter and yet draws diy-foot 
well; [hell. 

One that before the judgment carries poor souls to 
Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? 
Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is 'rested 

on the case. 
Adr. What, is he aiTested ? Tell me fit whose .suit. 
Dro. H. I know not at whose suit he is arrested 
well; [I tell. 

But he 's in a suit of buff which 'rested him , that can 
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money 
in his desk ? 
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. [Exit Luciana.] 

Tins I wonder at, 
Tliat he, unkno^^^^ to me, should be in debt. 
Tell me, was he an-ested on a baud ? 

Dro. S. Kot on a band, but on a stronger thing; 
A chain, a chain ! Do you not hear it ring ? 
Adr. What, the chain ? 

Dro. S. Xo, no, the bell ; 't is timethat I were gone : 

It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes 

one. 

Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. 

Dro. S. O, yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, a' 

turns back for very fear. 
Adr. As if Time were in debt ! how fondly dost 

thou reason! 
Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt and owes more 
than he 's worth to season. 
Xay, he 's a thief too: have you not heard men say. 
That Time comes stealing on by night and day ? 
If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the 

way. 
Hath he hot reason to turn back an hour iu a day ? 

Be-enter Luciana ivith a 2n(rse. 
Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it 

straight, 
And bring thy master home immediately. 
Come, sister : I am press 'd down with conceit — 
Conceit, my comfort and my injury. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ puhlic place. 
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Ant. S. There "fe not a man I meet but doth salute 
As if I were their well-acquainted friend ; [me 

And every one doth call me by my name. 
Some tender money to me; some invite me; 
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; 
Some offer me commodities to buy: 
Even now a tailor callM me in his .shop 
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me 
And therewithal took measure of my body. 
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles 
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit liere. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
Dro. S. Master, here 's the gold you sent me for. 
What, have you got the picture of old Adam new- 
apparelled ? [mean ? 
^1)1*. »S. What gold is this? what Adam do.st thou 
Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the Paradise, 
but that Adam that keeps tlie jirison: he that goes 
in the ealfs skin that was killed for the Prodigal; . 
he that came liehind you, sir, like an evil angel, and 
bid you forsake your liberty. 



ACT IV. 



THE C03IEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE IV. 



Aut. S. I understand thee not. 

Dro. S. Tso ? whj% 't is a plain case : he that went, 
like a bass-viol, in a case of leather: tlie man, sir, 
tliat, when gentlemen are tired,, elves them a sob and 
"rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men 
and j^'ives them suits of durance ; he that sets up his 
rest to do more exploits w ith his mace than a morris- 

Ant. 8. What, thou meanest an officer ? [i)ike. 

Dro. S. xVy, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that 
brings any man to answer it that breaks his band ; 
one that thinks a man always going to bed and says 
' God give you good rest ! ' 

Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is 
there any ship puts forth to-night '? may we be gone ? 

Dro. 8. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour 
since that the Ixirk Expedition put forth to-night; 
and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry 
for the hoy Delay. Here are the angels that you 
sent for to deliver you. 

Ant. 8. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; • 
And here we wander in illusions : 
Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! 

Enter a Courtezan. 

Coiir. AVell met, well m"et. Master Antipholus. 
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
Is that the chain you promised me to-day ? 

Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt me not. 

Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan V 

Ant. S. It is the devil. 

Dro. 8. Kay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam ; 
and here she comes in the habit of a light wench : 
and thereof comes that the wenches say 'God 
damn me;' that's as much to say 'God make me 
a liglit wench.' It is written, they ai)pear to men 
like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and 
fire will burn ; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come 
not near her. 

Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, 

sir. [liere '? 

Will you go with me ? We '11 mend our dinner 

Dro. 8. ]Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat ; or 
bespeak a long spoon. 

Ant. 8. Why, Dromio? 

Dro. 8. ISfarry, he must have a long spoon that 
must eat with tiie devil. 

Ant. 8. Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me 
of supping ? 
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : 
I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. 

Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner. 
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised, 
And I '11 be gone, sir, and not trouble you. [nail, 

Dro. 8. Some devils ask but the parings of one's 
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pm, 
A nut, a cherry-stone ; 
But she, more covetous, would have a chain. 
Master, be wise : an if you give it her. 
The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it. 

Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain : 
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. [us go. 

Ant. 8. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, let 

Dro. 8. 'Fly pride,' says the peacock: mistress, 
that you know. ['Exeunt sint. S. and Dro 8. 

Cour. Now, out of douljt Antiiiliohis is mad, 
Else-would he never so demean liiniself. 
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats. 
And for the same he promised me a chain: 
Both one and other he denies me now. 
The reason that I gather he is mad. 
Besides this present instance of his rage. 
Is a mad tale he told to-ilay at dinner. 
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
Belike his wife, acquainted witii his tits, 
On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
ily way is now to hie home to his house, 
And tell his wife that, being lunatic, 



He rusli'd into my house and took perforce 

My ring away. This course I fittest choose; 

For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— A street. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and the Ofiacer. 

Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break away : 
I '11 give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money, 
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
iSIy wife is in a wayward mood to-day. 
And will not lightly trust the messenger. 
That I should l)e attach'd in Ephesus, 
I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. 

Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope''s end. 
Here comes my man ; I think he brings the money. 
How now, sir! have you that I sent you for? [all. 

Dro. E. Here 's that, I warrant you, will pay them 

Ant. E. But Where's the money? 

Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope ? 

^4)i(. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope V 

Dro. E. I '11 serve you, sir. live hundred at tlie rate. 

Ant. E. To what end did I bid tliec liie thee home-;- 

Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir; and to that end am 
I returned. 

Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome 
you. [Beatiny hint. 

Off. Good sir, be patient. • 

Dro. E. Kay, 't is for me to be patient ; I am in 
adversity. 

Off'. Good, now, hold thy tongue. 

Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his 
hands. 

Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! 

Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I 
might not feel your blows. 

Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, 
and so is an ass. 

Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may prove it by 
my long ears. I have served hiin from the hour of 
my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at 
his hands for my service but blows. When I am 
cold, he heats me with beating; when I am warm, 
he cools me with beating: I am waked with it 
when I sleep ; raised with it when I sit ; driven out 
of doors with it when I go from home ; welcomed 
home with it when I return : nay, I bear it on my 
shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat ; and, I think, 
when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from 
door to door. [der. 

Ant. E. Come, go along; my wife is coming yon- 

Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and 
Pinch. 

Dro. E. Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your 
end; or rather, the prophecy like the parrot, 'be- 
ware the rope's end.' 

Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk ? [Beating him. 

Cour. How say you now"? is not your husband 

Adr. His incivility confirms no less. mad? 

Good Doctor Finch, you are a conjurer; 
Establish liim in his "true sense again. 
And I will please you what you will demand. 

Buc. Alas, howfiery and how sharp he looks ! 

Cour. Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy ! [pulse. 

Pinch. Give me your hand and let me feel your 

Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your 
ear. [8triking'hiin. 

Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed within this 
To yield possession to my holy prayers [man. 

Anil to tliy state of darkness hie thee straight : 
I conjure tliee by all tlie saints in heaven ! [mad. 

^■l)i(. E. Peace, doting wizanl. peace! I am not 

Adr. O, that thou wert not. poor distressed soul ! 
' Ant. E. You minion, you, are these yom' custom- 
Did this companion with the saffron face [ers ? 
87 



ACT V. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE I. 



Revpl anil feast it at my house to-day, 

Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut 

And I denied to enter in my house 'f Piome ; 

Adr. O hiisliand, God doth know you dined at 
Where would you had rcniain'd until this time. 
Free from these slanders and this open shame! 

Ant. E. Dined at home! Thou villain, what sayest 
thou y 

Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at liome. 

Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up and I shut 
out ? [shut out. 

Bro. E. Perdie, your doors were lock'd and you 

Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there ? 

Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you there. 

Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt and 
scorn me r" [you. 

Bro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd 

Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence ? 

Bro. E. In verity you did ; "my bones bear witness, 
That since have felt the vigour of his rage. 

Adr. Is 't good to soothe hiui in these contraries ? 

Pinrh. It is no shame : the fellow finds his vein 
And yielding to him humours well his frenzy, [me. 

Ant. E. Thon hast suborn 'd the goldsmith to arrest 

Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you. 
By Dromio here, who came in iiaste for it. [might; 

Bro. E. Money by me! heart and good-will -you 
But surely, master, not a rag of money. [cats V 

Ant. E. Went'st not thi>u toherforapurse of du- 

Adr. lie came to me and 1 deliver 'd it. 

Lac. And I am witness with her that she did. 

Bro. E. G(id and the rope-maker bear me witness 
Tluit I was scut for notliing but a rope ! 

Pinrh. WistiTss.botli man and master ispossess'd; 
I know it by their iiale and dradly looks: 
Tiiey must be bciuiid and laid in some dark room. 

Ant. E. Say wherefore didst thou lock me forth to- 
And why dost tliou deny the liag of gold ? [day i* 

Adr. I did not, gentle liusbaiid, lock thee forth. 

Bro. E. And, gentle master, I received no gold; 
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. [both. 

Adr. IJissendjling villain, thou speak 'st false in 

Ant. E. Dissendiling harlot, thou art false in all 
And art confederate with a danniedpack 
To make a loathsome alijeet scorn of me: 
But with these nails I '1! pluck out these false eyes 
That would behold in me this shameful sport. 

Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives. 

Adr. O, bind him, bind him! let him not come 
near me. [him. 

Pinch. ISIore company ! The fiend is strong within 

Luc. Ay nie. poor man. how pale and wan lie looks! 

Ant. E. AVliat, will you murder me ? Thou gaoler, 
I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them [thou. 
To make a rescue ? 

Of. Masters, let him go : 

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 



Pinch. Go bind this man, for he is frantic too. 

[They offer to hind Bro. E. 

Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish ollicery 
Ilast thon deliglit to see a wretched man 
Do outragi^ anddispleasuie to biniseU'r' 

Off. He is my jirisoner : if I let him go. 
The debt he owes will be required of me. 

Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee: 
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor 
And, knowing liow the debt grows, I will pay it. 
Good master (loctor, see him safe convey'd 
Htmie to my house. O most unhappy day! 

Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet! 

Bro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond for you. 

Ant.E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost thou 
mad me ? 

Bro.E. Will you be bound for nothing ? bemad, 
good master : cry ' Tlie devil ! ' 

Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk ! 

»Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with 

me. [Exeunt all but Adriana, Luciana, 

Officer and Courtezan.] 

Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? 

Off. One Angelo, a goldsmitli : do you know him ? 

Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he owes ? 

Off. Two hundred ducats. 

Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 

Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him. 

Adr. He did bespeak a chain f( ir me, 1 mt had it not. 

Cour. When as your husband all in rage to-day 
Came to my house and took away my ring — 
Tlic ring 1 saw upon his linger now- 
Straight after did I meet him with a chain. 

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it. 
Come, gaoler, bring me wliere the goldsmith is : 
I long to know the truth hereof at large. 

Enter Antipliolus of Syracuse with his rapier 
drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse. 

Luc. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. 

Adr. And come with naked swords. 
Let 's call more help to have them bound again. 

Off'. Away! they '11 kill us. 

[Exeunt all but Ant. S. and Bro. S. 

Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of swords. 

Bro. S. She that would be your wife now ran 
from you. 

Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff 
from thence : 
I long that we were safe an^l sound aboard. 

Bro. S. Faith, stay here this night; they will 
surely do us no harm : you saw they speak us fair, 
give us gold: methinks they are such a gentle na- 
tion that, but for the mountain of mad llesh that 
claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to 
stay here still and turn witch. 

Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town ; 
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt. 



^OT V. 



SCENE l.~A street before a Prior;/. 
Enter Second Merchant and Angelo. 
Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you; 
But, I protest, he had the chain of me. 
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 

Sec. Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the 
Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir, [cityV 
Of credit infinite, highly beloved. 
Second to none that lives here in the city: 
His word miglit bear my wealth at any time. 
(Sec. Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he 
walks. 



Enter Antipholus of Syracuse ant? Dromio 
of Syracuse. 
Ang. 'T is so ; and that .self chain about his neck 
Which he forswore most monstrously to have. 
Good sir, draw near to me, I '11 speak to him. 
Signior Antipliolus. I wcmder much 
That you would i)ut nie fo this shame and trouble; 
And, not without some scandal to yourself, 
With circiunstance and oatlis so to deny 
This chain which now you wear so openly : 
Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment. 
You have done wrong to this my honest friend, 



ACT V. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE I. 



"Who, but for staj'iiig on our controversy, 
Had iioisted sail and put to sea to-day : 
Tliis chain you had of me ; can you deny it ? 
Ant. S. I tliiuk I had; I never did deny it. [too. 
Sec. Ma-. Yes, tliat you did, sir, and forswore it 
Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or forswear it V 
Sec. Mcr. Tliese ears of mine, thou kuow'st, did 
hear thee. 
Fie on tliee, wretch I 't is pity that thou livest 
To walk where any honest men resort. 

Ant. S. Tlidu art a villain to impeach me thus: 
I '11 prove mine honour and mine honesty 
Against tliee presently, if thou darest stand. 
Sec. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. 

[They drair. 

Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and 

others. 
Adr. Hold, hurt him not,forGod"s sake! he is 
Some get witliin him, take his sword away : [mad. 
Bind firomio too, and bear them to my house. 
Dro. S. Kun, master, run; for God's sake, take 
a house ! 
This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd ! 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory. 

Enter the Lady Abbess. 

Ahh. Be quiet, people. "Wherefore throng you 
hither '^ 

Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. 
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast 
And bear him home for his recovery. 

An(j. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. 

Sec. Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. 

Abb. How long hath this possession Iield the mau'^ 

Adr. This week lie luitli lieen heavy, sour, sad, 
And much different from the man he was; 
But till this afternoon his passion 
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. [sea':* 

Abb. Hatlr he not lost much wealth by wreck of 
Buried some dear friend "i* Hatli not else his eye 
8tray'd his aifection in unlawful love V 
A sin prevailing much in youthful men, 
"Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
"Whicli of these sorrows is he subject to 'f 

Adr. To none of these, except it be the last ; 
Namely, some luve that drew him oft from home. 

Abb. You sliould for that have reprehended him. 

Adr. Wliy, so I did. 

Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 

Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. 

.466. Haply, in private. 

Adr. And in assemblies too. 

.466. Ay, but not enough. 

Adr. It was the copy or our conference: 
In beil he slept not fur my urging it; 
At board he fed not for my urging it; 
Alone, it was the suljject of my theme; 
In conijiany I often glanced it; 
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 

-466. And thereof came it that the man was mad : 
The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing, 
And thereof comes it that his head is light. 
Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraid- 
Unquiet meals make ill digestions; [iugs 

Thereof the raging lire of fever lired ; 
And what 's a fever but a fit of madness ? 
Thou say'st his sports were hinder "d Ijy thy brawls 
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue 
But moody and dull melancholy. 
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair. 
And at her Iieels a huge infectious troop 
Of pale disteiii|ieratures and foes to life ? 
In food, in siiort and life-preserving rest 
To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast : 



The consequence is then thy jealous fits 

Have scared thy husband from tlie use of wits. 

Lite. She never reprehemled liim but mildly, 
"When he demean 'd himself rough, rude and wildly. 
"Why bear you these rebukes and answer not Y 

Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. 
Good people, enter and lay hold on him. 

^466. Ko, not a creature enters in iny house. 

Ailr. Then let yom" servants bring my husband 
forth. 

Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanctuary, 
And it shall privilege him from your hands 
Till I have brought him to his wits again. 
Or lose my labour in assaying it. 

Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, 
Diet his sickness, for it is my office. 
And will have no attorney" but myself ; 
And therefore let me have him home with me. 

-166. Be patient; for I will not let him stir 
Till I have used the approved means I have, 
AVith wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers, 
To make of him a formal man again : 
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
A charitable duty of my order. 
Therefore depart and leave him here witli me. 

.4c?)-'. I will not hence and leave my husband here : 
And ill it doth beseem your holiness 
To separate tlie husband and the wife. 

^166. Be quiet and depart: thou sbalt not have 
him. [Exit. 

Luc. Complain unto the duke of tliis indignity. 

^l(h-. Come, go: I will fall prostrate at his feet 
And never rise until my tears and prayers 
Have won his grace to come in persim luther 
And take perforce my husband from tlie abliess. 

Sec. Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five: 
Anon, I 'm sm-e. tlie duke himself in person 
Comes this way to the melancholy vale. 
The place of death and sorry execution, 
Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 

An(j. Upon what cause '? 

Sec. Mcr. To see a reverend SjTacusian merchant, 
"Wlio put unluckily into this bay 
Against the laws and statutes of this town. 
Beheaded publicly for his offence. [death. 

Any. See where they come : we will behold his 

Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey. 

Enter Duke, attended ; .ffigeon bareheaded ; with 
the Headsman and other Officers. 

Duke. Y'et once again proclaim it publicly. 
If any friend will pay the sum for liiin. 
He sliall not die; so mucli we tender him. [bess! 

Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the ab- 

Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady: 
It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. 

Adr. May it please your grace, Antipiiolus my 
"Whom I made lord of me and all I had, [husband, 
At your important letters, — this ill day 
A niost outrageous fit of madness todk him; 
That desperately he liurried through the street, — 
AVitli him his bondman, all as mad as he, — 
Duiug displeasure to the citizens 
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
Kings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
Once did I get him bound and sent him home, 
"Whilst to take order for the WTongs I went 
That here and there his fury had committed. 
Anon, I wot not by wliat strong escape. 
He broke from those that had the guard of him; 
And with his mad attendant and himself. 
Each one with ireful jiassion, with drawn swords, 
Met us again and madly lient on us 
Chased us away, till raising of more aid 
"Wc came again to bind them. Then they fled 
Into this aiibey, whither we pursued them: 
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us 
89 



ACT V. 



THE C03IEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE I. 



And will not suffer us to fetch him nut, 
Kor send him fortli that we may Ijear him Jience. 
Therefore, most gracious dulie, witli tliy command 
Let liira be brought forth and borne hence for 
help. [wars, 

Diike. Long since thy husband served me in my 
And I to thee engaged a prince's word, 
A\'lien thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
To do him all the grace and good I could. 
Go, some of you, knock at t!ie abbey-gate 
And bid the lady abbess come to me. 
I will determine" this before I stir. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself ! 
My master and his man are both broke loose. 
Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor, 
"Whose beard they have singed off with brands of 
And ever, as it bla/ed, they threw on him [lire ; 
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair: 
My master in-eaclics patience to him and the while 
His man with scissors nicks him like a fool, 
And sure, unless you send some present help, 
Between them they will kill the conjurer. 

Adr. Peace, fool! thy master and his man are 
And that is false tliou dost report to us. [here, 

Scrv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; 
I liave not breathed almost since I did see it. 
He cries for you and vows, if he can take you, 
To scorch your face and to disfigure you. 

[Cry within. 
Hark, hark! I hear him, mistress: fly, begone! 

Duke. Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard 
with halberds! 

Adr. Ay me, it is my husband I Witness you. 
That he is borne about invisible : 
Even now we housed him in the abbey Iiere; 
And now he 's there, past thought of human reason. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of 
Ephesus. 

Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant me 
justice! 
Even for the service that long since I did thee, 
■When I bestrid thee in the wars and took 
Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood 
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 

.^ije. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote. 
I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. [there ! 

Ant. E. .Justice, sweet prince, against that woman 
She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife, 
That hath abused and dishounur'd me 
Even in the strengtli and height of injury! 
Beyond imagination is the wrong 
That she this day hatli shameless thrown on me. 

Duke. Discover how, and tliou shalt lind me just. 

Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors 
upon me. 
While she with harlots feasted in my Iiouse. [so ? 

Duke. A grievous fault ! Say, woman, didst thou 

Adr. No, my good lord : myself, he and my sister 
To-day did dine tngetlier. So befall my soul 
As this is false he burdens me withal ! 

Luf. Ne'er may I Imik on day, nor sleep on night. 
But she tells to your highness simple truth ! 

Anfj. O perjured woinan ! 'i'hey are tjoth forsworn : 
In this the madman justly chargeth them. 

Ant. E. My lici^e, I am" advised what I say. 
Neither distui'lied witli the effect of wine. 
Nor heady-ras!i. provolied witli raging ire. 
Albeit my wmngs might make one wiser mad. 
This woman loek'd me out tliis day i'roni dinner: 
Tliat goldsmith there, were lie notpaek'd with her. 
Could witness it, for he was witli me then; 
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain. 
Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, 
Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
'JO 



Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
1 went to seek him : in the street I met him 
And in his comjiany that gentleman. 
There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down 
That I this day of him received the chain, 
AVhich, God lie knows, 1 saw not: for the which 
He did arrest me with an othcer. 
I did obey, and sent my peasant home 
For certain ducats : he with none return'd. 
Then fairly I bespoke the officer 
To go in person with me to my house. 
By the way we met 
]SIy wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
Of vile confederates. Along with them [lain. 

They brought one Finch, a hungry lean-faced vil- 
A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
A threadbare juggler and a fnrtune-teller, 
A needy, hollow-eyed. shar|i-looking wretch, 
A living-dead man : this pernicious slave, 
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer. 
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, 
And with no face, as 't were, outfacing me. 
Cries out, I was possessed. Then all together 
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence 
And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
There left me and my man, both bound together; 
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
I gain'd my ireedom and immediately 
Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech 
To give nie ample satisfaction 
For these deep shames and great indignities. Piim, 
Ang. ISIy lord, in truth, thus far I witness witli 
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
Duke. But had he sncli a chain of thee or noV 
Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in here. 
These people saw the cliain about his neck, [mine 
Sec. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these cars of 
Heard you confess you had the chain of him 
After you first forswore it on the mart : 
And thereupon I drew my sword on you ; 
And then you fled into this abbey here. 
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 

^bif. E. I never came within these abbey-walls, 
Nor ever didst thou draw thy swnrd on me: 
I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven! 
And this is false you liuiden me withal. 

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this! 
I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. 
If here you housed liim, here he would have been; 
If he were mad he wcudd not plead so coldly: 
You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here 
Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you V [tine. 
Dro. E. Sir, lie dined with her there, at the Porpen- 
Cour. He did, and from my linger snatch 'd that 

ring. 
Ant. E. 'T is true, my liege ; this ring I had of her. 
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? 
Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. 
Duke. "Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess 
I think you are all mated or stark mad. [hither. 
[Exit one to the Abhet^s. 
jEgc. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a 
Haply I see a friend will save my life [word : 

And pay the sum that may deliver me. 
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, wliat thou wilt. 
yEge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus':' 
And "is not that your bondman, Dromio? 

Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir. 
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords: 
Now am I Dnmiio and his man unbound. 
^Egc. I am sure ynu Imth of y(ui remember me. 
Dro. E. Ourselves we do reiiiendjer, sir, by you; 
For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ? 
^ge. Why look you strange oil me? you know 

me well. 
Ant. E. I never saw you in my life till now. 



ACT V. 



THE C03IEDY OF ERRORS. 



SCENE I. 



xEge. O, grief hath changed me since j'ou saw me 
last, 
And cart'tul hours witli time's deformed hand 
Have written strange defeatures in my face: 
Ijut tell uie yet, dost thou not know my voice ? 

Ant. E. Neither. 

^ije. Dromio, nor thou.? 

Dio. E. Xo, trust me, sir, nor I. 

^E(je. I am sure thou dost. 

Dro. E. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not ; and what- 
soever a man denies, you are now bound to believe 
him. 

^Ege. Not know my voice ! O time's extremity, 
Hast thou so eraek'd and splitted my poor tongue 
In seven short years, that here my only son 
Kiiows not my feeble key of untuned cares? 
Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow 
And all the conduits of my blood froze up, 
Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
My wasting lanips some fading glimmer left, 
My dull deaf ears a little use to liear: 
Ail these old witnes.ses — I cannot err — 
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. 

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 

^Erje. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, 
Thoii know"st we parted: but perhaps, my son. 
Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery. 

Ant. i'. The duke and all that know me in the 
Can witness with me that it is not so : [city 

I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 

Duke. I tell tliee, Syracusian, twenty years 
Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
During which time he ne"er saw Syracusa : 
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. 

Be-enter Abbess, vith Antipholus of Syracuse 
and Dromio of Syracuse. 

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
wrong'd. [All gather to see them. 

Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. 

Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other; 
And so of these. Which is the natural man. 
And which the spirit ? who deciphers them ? 

Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio: command him away. 

Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio: pray, let me stay. 

Ant. S. yEgeon art thou not ? or else his ghost ? 

Dro. S. O, my old master I who hath bound him 
here ? 

Abb. "Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds 
And gain a husband by his liberty. 
Speak, old .i-Egeon, if thou be'st the man 
Tliat hadst a wife once call'd .lEmilia 
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
O, if thou be'st the same yEgeon, speak, 
And speak unto tlie same ^Emili;i ! 

^Eye. If I dream not, thou art ^^3milia: 
If thou art she, tell me where is that son 
That floated with thee on the fatal raft? 

Abb. By men of Epidamnuni lie and I 
And the twin Dioniio all were taken up; 
But by and by rude lishermen of Corinth 
By force took Dnmuo and my sou from them. 
And me they left with those of Epidamnum. 
AVliat tlien became of them I cannot tell; 
I to this fortune tliat you see me in. 

Duke. "Why. here begins his morning story right: 
These two Antipholuses, these two so like. 
And these two Dromios, one in semblance, — 
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, — 
These are the parents to these eliildren, 
"Which accidentally are met together. 
Antipholus, thou earnest from Corinth first ? 

Ant. S. Xo, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. 

Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which is 
which. 



Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious 
lord, — 

Dro. E. And I with him. 

Ant. E. Brought to this towii by that most famous 
warrior, 
Duke ^lenaphon, your most renowned uncle. 

Adr. "Which of you two did dine with me to-day ? 

Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 

Adr. And are not you my husband ? 

Ant. E. Xo; I say nay to that. 

Ant. S. And so do I ; yet did she call me so : 
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here. 
Did call me brother. [To Luc] "What I told }-ou 
I hope I shall have leisure to make good; [then. 
If this be not a dream I see and hear. 

.^ifig. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 

Ant. S. 1 think it be, sir; I deny it not. 

Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. 

Aug. I think I did, sir; I deny it not. 

^■If')-. 1 sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
By Dromio; biit I think he brought it not. 

Dru. E. Xo, none by me. 

Ant. S. Tills purse of ducats I received from you 
And Dromio my man did bring them me. 
I see we still did meet eac'n other's man, 
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. 
And thereupon these errors are arose. 

.^(if. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 

Duke. It sliall not need : thy father hath his life. 

Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 

Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my 
good cheer. 

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains 
To go with us into the abbey here 
And hear at large discourse!! all our fortmies: 
And all that are assembled in this place. 
That by this sympathized one day's error 
Have sufter'd wrong, go keep us company. 
And we shall make full satisfaction. 
Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail 
Of you, my sons; and till this present hour 
My heavy burthen ne'er delivered. 
The duke, my husband and my children both, 
And you thecalendars of tlieir nativity. 
Go to" a gossips' feast, and go with me ; 
After so long grief, such festivity ! 

Duke. "With all my lieart, I "11 gossip at this feast. 
[Exeunt all but Ant. S., Ant. E., Dro. S., and 

Dro. E. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship- 
board ? 

Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou 
embark'd ? 

Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the 
Centaur. 

Ant. S. He speaks to me. I am your master, 
Dromio : 
Come, go with us : we '11 look to that anon : 
Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him. 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and ^Int. E. 

Dro. S. There is a fat friend at yom- master's 
house. 
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner: 
She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 

Dro. E. iilethinks you are my glass, and not my 
brother : 
I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. 
Will you wiilk in to see their gossiping? 

Dro. S. Xot I, sir; j'ou are my elder. 

Dro. E. That 's a question : how shall we try it ? 

Dro. S. We "11 draw cuts for the senior: till then 
lead thou first. 

Dro. E. Xay, then, thus: 
AVe came into the world like brother and brother; 
And now let 's go hand in hand, not one before 
another. [Excwd. 

91 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



DRAMATIS PEBSON^^. 



Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 

Don John, his bastard brotiier. 

Claudio, a young lonl of Florence. 

Benedick, a young lonl of Padua. 

Leonato, Governor of Messina. 

Antonio, Iiis brother. 

Balthasar, attendant on Don Pedro 

Conrade, 

Borachio 

Friar Francis. 

Dogberry, a constable. 

[For an Analysis of the Plot 



followers of Don John, 



Verges, a headborough. 

A Se.xton. 

A Boy. 

Hero, daughter to Leonato, 

Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 

argare , I ventlewonien attending on Hero. 
Ursula, J 

Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. 

SCENE— J/cssi)M. 
Piay, see Page XLV.] 



A.CT I. 



-SCENE I. — Before Lcrmato''s house. 

E^iter Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice, icith a 
Messenger. 

Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of 
Arragon comes this night to Messina. 

ilfe.v.s. lie is very near by tliis : he was not three 
leagues off when t left him. [action V 

Lcoii. How many gentlemen have you lost in this 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever 
brings home full numbers. I find here that Don 
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Flor- 
entine called Claudio. 

Mess. Much deserved on his part and equally re- 
membered by Don Pedro: he hath borne himself 
beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure 
of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath indeed better 
bettered expectation tlian you must expect of me 
to tell you how. 

Leon. He hatli an uncle here in Messina will be 
very much glad of it. 

Mess. I liave already delivered him letters, and 
there appears much joy in him; even so much that 
joy coulil not show itself modest enough without a 
bad;;c (if bitterness. 

Ltnii. Did he break out into tears? 

Mess. In great measure. 

Lion. A kind overllow of kindness: there are no 
faces truer than those that are so washed. How 
much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at 
weeping ! 

Befit. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned 
from the war's or no ? 

Miss. I know none of that name, lady : there was 
none such in the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 

Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of 
Padua. " [he was. 

Mess. O, he 's retiu'ned ; and as pleasant as ever 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and 
challenged Cupid at the flight ; and my uncle's fool, 
reading the challpnge, subscrilied for Cupid, and 
challenged him at the bird-bdlt. I prav you, how 
many hath he killed and eaten in these wars V But 
liow many hath he killed ? for indeed I promised to 
eat all of his killing. 

92 



Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too 
much; but lie '11 be meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Mess. He hath done good .service, lady, in these 
wars. 

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp 
to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man; he 
hath an excellent stoniacli. 

Miss. And a. good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady : but what is 
he to a lord y 

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed 
with all honourable virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed ; he is no less than a stuffed 
man : but for the stuliing, — well, we are all mortal. 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. 
There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Bene- 
dick and her: they never meet but there 's a skir- 
mish of wit lietween them. 

Bent. Alas! lie gets nothing by that. In our last 
conflict four of his live wits went halting off, and 
now is the whole man guveined with one: so that 
if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let 
him bear it for a difference lietween himself and liis 
horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to 
be known a reasonable creature. Who is liis com- 
panion now? lie hath every month a new sworn 

Mess. Is 't possible ? [brother. 

Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith but 
as the fashion of his liat; it ever changes with the 
next block. [books. 

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your 

BeeU. No; an he were, I would liiirn my study. 
But, I pray you, who is his eoniiianion ? Is there 
nil young sipiarer now that will make a voyage with 
him to tlie devil? 

Miss. He is most in the company of the right 
noble Claudio. / 

Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a ni.s- 
ease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and 
the taker runs jiresently mad. God liel|i the noble 
Claudio! if he lune caught the Benedick, it will 
cost him a thou.saiid lumiid ere a" be cured. 

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 



ACT I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE I. 



Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, 
and Balthasar. 

B. Pedro. Good Siguier Leonato, you are come to 
meet your trouble : the fashion of "tlie world is to 
avoid cost, and you encouuter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the like- 
ness of your grace : for trouble being gone, comfort 
should remain ; but when you depart from me, sor- 
row abides and happiness takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. 
I thiuk tills is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 

Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her V 

Leon. Siguior Benedick, no; tor then were you a 
child. 

JD. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may 
guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, 
the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady ; for you 
are like an ho:iourable father. 

Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would 
not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, 
as like him as she is. 

Beat. I wouder that you will still be talking, 
Signior Benedick : nobody marks you. [living ? 

Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain ! are you yet 

Beat. Is it possible disdain should die while she 
hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick V 
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come 
in her presence. 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is cer- 
tain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : and 
I would I could find in my heart that I had not a 
hard heart ; for, truly, I love none. 

Beat. A dear happiness to women : they would 
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. 
I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your 
humour for that : I had rather hear my dog bark 
at a crow than a man swear he loves me. 

Bene. God keep your ladyship .still in that mind ! 
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predesti- 
nate scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 
't were such a face as yours were. 

Bene. Well, j'ou are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast 
of yours. 

Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your 
tongue, and so good a coutinuer. But keep yoiir 
way, i' God's name; I have done. 

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick : I know 
you of old. 

B. Pedro. That is the sum of all, Leonato. 
Signior Claudio and Signior Benedick, my dear 
friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we 
shall stay here at the least a m<inth ; and he heartily 
prays some occasion may detain us longer. I dare 
swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be for- 
sworn. [Tb Bon John] Let me bid you welcome, 
my lord: being reconciled to the prince your 
brother, I owe you all duty. 

B. .John. I thank you: I am not of many words, 
but I thank you. 

Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 

B. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go to- 
gether. [E.ceunt edl except Bencdiclc and Claudio. 

Ck(ud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of 
Simior Leonato ? 

Bene. I noted her not; but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? 

Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man 
should do, for my simple true judgment: or would 
you have me speak after my custom, as being a pro- 
fessed tjTant to their sex ? 

Claud. Xo; I pray thee speak in sober judgment. 

Bene. AVhy, i' faith, methinks she 's too low for 



a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too 
little for a great praise: only this commendation I 
can afford her, that were she other than she is, she 
were unhandsome ; and being no other but as she 
is, I do not like her. 

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport : I pray thee 
tell me truly how thou likest her. [her ":' 

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel y 

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak 
you this with a sad brow V or do you play the tioiit- 
ing Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good harefiuder and 
Yulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in what key shall 
a man take you, to go in the song ? 

Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that 
ever I looked on. 

Bene. I can see yet wdthout spectacles and I see 
no such matter: there's her cousin, and she were 
not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in 
beauty as the first of May doth the last of Deceru- 
ber. "But I hope you have no intent to turn hus- 
band, have you ? 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had 
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 

Bene. Is't come to this y In faith, hath not the 
world one man but he will wear his cap with sus- 
picion y Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore 
again ? Go to, i' faith ; and thou wilt needs thrust 
thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh 
away Sundajs. Look; Don Pedro is retmned to 
seekj'ou. ^ „ „ 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

B. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
you followed not to Leonato 's 'if [tell. 

Bene. I would your grace would constrain me to 

B. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, Count Claudio : I can be secret 
as a dumb man; 1 would have you think so; but, 
on my allegiance, mark you this, on my allegiance. 
He is in love. With who V now that is }'our grace's 
part. Mark how short his answer is; — With Hero, 
Leonato's short daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : ' it is not so, 
nor 'tw^as not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should 
be so.' 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God 
forbid it should be otherwise. 

B. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is 
very well worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

B. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 

Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, 
I spoke mine. 

Claud. That I love her, I feel. 

B. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she shoidd be loved 
nor know liow she should be worthy, is the opinion 
that fire cannot melt out of me: I \\ill die in it at 
the stake. 

B. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic 
in the despite of beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part but in 
the force of liis will. 

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her ; 
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most 
humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat 
winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an 
invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me. 
Because I will not do them the wTong to mistrust 
any, I will do myself the right to trust none ; and 
the fine is, for the which I may go the finer, I will 
live a bachelor. 

B. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale 
with love. 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, 
93 



ACT I. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCEXE III. 



my lord, not with love: prove tliat ever I lose more 
lilood with love than I will get again with drink- 
ing, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen 
and hang me up at tlie door of a brothef-house for 
tlie sign of blind Cupid. 

D. Palro. Well, il; ever thou dost fall from this 
faitli, thou w'ilt prove a notable 'argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and 
shoot at me; and hethat hits me, let him be clap- 
ped on the shoulder, and railed Adam. 

D. Pedrn. Well, as time sliall try: 
' In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.' 

Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sensi- 
ble Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns and 
set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely 
painted, and in such great letters as tliey wTite 
' Here is good horse to hire,' let them signify under 
my sign ' Here you may see Benedick the married 
man.' 

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst 
be horn-mad. 

I). Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for tliis shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. 

1). Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the 
hours. In the meantime, good Signior Benedick, 
repair to Leonato's: commend me to him and tell 
him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he 
hatli made great preparation. 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for 
suidi ail embassage; and so I commit you— 

CltiJid. To the tuition of God: Prom my house, if 
I had it,— 

B. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend, 
Benedick. 

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. Tlie body of 
your discourse is sometime guarded with frag- 
ments, and the guards are but slightly basted on 
neither: ere you flout old ends any furtlier, exam- 
ine your conscience : and so I leave you. [Exit. 

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me 
good. Plow, 

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach : teach it but 
And tliou Shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 

Cliiiid. Ilatli Leonato any son, my lord? 

B.Pidro. Xo cliild but liero; she 's his only heir. 
Dost tliou affect her, Claudio ? 

Claud. O, my lord. 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
Tliat liked, but liad a rouglier task in hand 
Tlian to drive liking to tlie name of love : 
But now I am ri'tuniM and that war-thoughts 
Have h'lt their jilaces va<-ant, in their rooms 
Conic tlii(iii'_;iiig scilt and dflicale desires. 
All inoinpting me how fair young Hero is. 
Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars. 

I). Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently 
And tire the hearer with a book of words. 
If thou dost love fair Hero, clierisli it. 
And I will break with her and with her father 
Anil tliou Shalt have her. Was 't not to tliis end 
Tiiat tliou began'st to twist so fine a story V 

Cliind. How sweetly you do minister to love, 
That know love's grief by his complexion ! 
But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salved it with a huiger treatise. 

B. Pulro. What need tlie bridge much broader 
tliaii tlie Hood V 
The fairiest grant is the necessity. 
Look, what will serve is fit : 't is once, thou lovest. 
And I will fit thee with tlie remedy. 
I know we shall have revelling to-night: 
I will assume thy part in some disguise 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio, 
And in her bosom I '11 unclasp my heart 
94 



And take her hearing prisoner with the force 

And strong encounter of my amorous tale ; 

Then after to her father will I break; 

And the conclusion is, she shall be thine. 

In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A room in Leonato''s house. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting. 

Leon. How now, brother! Where is my cousin, 
your son ? hath he i>rovided this music !* 

^-liit. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I 
can tell you strange news that you yet dreamt not of. 

Leon. Are they good V 

Ant. As the event stamps them : but they have a 
good cover ; they show well outward. The prince 
and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached 
alley in mine orchard, were thus much overheard 
by a man of mine: the prince discovered to Clau- 
dio that he loved my niece your daughter and 
meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and 
if he found lier accordant, he meant to take the 
present time by the top and instantly break with 
you of it. 

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this ? 

Ant. A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; 
and question liim yourself. 

Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it 
appear itself: but I will acquaint my daugliter 
withal, that she may be the better prepared for an 
answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and 
tell her of it. \_Enter attendants.] Cousins, you 
know what you have to do. O, I cry you mercy, 
friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. 
Good cousin, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— The same. 
Enter Don John and Conrade. 

Con. What the good-year, my lord ! why are you 
thus out of measure sad ? 

B. .John. There is no measure in the occasion 
that breeds ; therefore the sadness is without limit. 

Con. You should hear reason. 

D. .John. And when I have heard it, what bless- 
ing brings it ? [sufferance. 

Con. If not a present remedy, at least a patient 

B. John. I wonder that thou, being, as thou say- 
est thou art, born under Saturn, goest about to 
ajiply a mural medicine to a mortifying mischief. 
I cannot hide what lam: I must be sad when I 
have cause and smile at no man's jests, eat when 
I have stiiiiiach and wait for no man's leisure, sleep 
when I am drowsy and tend on no man's business, 
laugh when I am merry and claw no man in his 
humour. 

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show 
of this till you may do it without controlment. 
You have of late stood out against your brother, 
and lie liatli ta'en you newly into his grace; where 
it is im]iossible yoii shonld take true root but by 
tlie fair weatlier'tliat you make yourself: it is need- 
ful that you frame the season for your own harvest. 

D. .John. 1 liad rather be a canker in a hedge tlian 
a rose in his grace, and it better fits my blood to be 
disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob 
love from any: in this, though I cannot fie said to 
be a flattering honest man. it must not be denied 
but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with 
a muzzle and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I 
have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my 
mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would, 
do my liking : in the meantime let me be that I am 
and seek not to alter me. 

Con. Can you make no use of your discontent ? 

B. John. I make all use of it, tor I use it only. 
Who comes here y 



ACT ir. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCEXE I. 



Eater Borachio. 
What news, Boracliio ? 

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper: the 
prince your brother is royally entertained by Leon- 
ato ; and I can give you intelligeivce of an intended 
marriage. 

D. John. Will it serve for any model to build 
mischief on ? What is he for a fool that betroths 
liiniself to unquietness? 

lioi-d. iSIarry, it is your brother's right hand. 

B.Jolui. Who? the most exquisite Claudio y 

Bora. Even he. 

D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and who i* 
which way looks he ? [Leonato. 

Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of 

D. .John. A' very forward March-chick! How 
came you to this 'i 



Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was 
smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and 
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt 
me behind the arras; and there heard it agreed 
ui)on that the prince should woo Hero for himself, 
and liaving obtained her, give her to Count Clau- 
dio. 

D.John. Come, come, let us thither: this may 
prove food to my displeasure. That young start-up 
hath all the glory of my overthrow : if I can cross 
him any way, I bless myself every way. You are 
butli sure, and will assist me ? 

Von. To the death, my lord. 

B. John. Let us to the great supper : their cheer 
is the greater that I am subdued. Would the cook 
were of my mind ! Shall we go prove what "s to be 
done V 

Bora. We '11 wait upon yoiu: lordship. {Exeunt. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I.— A hall in Leonato's house. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and 
others. 

Leon. Was not Count John here at supper ? 

Ant. I saw him not.- 

Bent. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never 
can see him but I am heart-burned an hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man that were made 
just in the midway between him and Benedick : the 
one is too like an "image and says nothing, and the 
other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tat- 
tling. 

Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue m 
Count .John's mouth, and half Count John's melan- 
choly in Signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and 
money enough in his purse, such a man would win 
anv woman in the world, if a' could get her good- 
will. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee 
a husband, if "thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 

Ant. In faith, she 's too curst. 

Beat. Too curst is more than curst : I shall lessen 
God's sending that way; for it is said, 'God sends 
a curst cow short horns;' but to a cow too curst he 
sends none. 

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you 
no horns. 

Jieat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the 
which blessing I am at him upon my knees every 
morning and evening. Lord, I could not endure a 
husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie 
in the woollen. 

Leon. You may light on a husband that hath 
no beard. 

Beat. Whatshouldldowithhimy dresshiminmy 
apparel and make him my waiting-gentlewoman ? 
lie tliat hath a beard is more than a youth, and he 
tliat hatli no lieard is less than a man: and he that 
is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is 
less than a maii, I am not for him: therefore I will 
even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and 
leail his apes into hell. 

Lion. AVell. then, go you into hellV 

Beat. Xo, but to the gate ; and there will the devil 
meet me, like an old cuckold, with liorns on his 
head, and say, ' Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get 
you to heaven ; here 's no place for you mai<ls : ' so 
deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for 
the heavens; he shows me where the baclielors sit, 
and there live we as merry as the day is long. 



Ant. [To Herol Well, niece, I trust you will be 
ruled by your father. 

Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make 
curtsy and say, ' Father, as it please you.' But yet 
for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, 
or else make another curtsy and say, ' Father, as it 
please me.' 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted 
with a husband. 

Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be 
overmastered with a piece of valiant dust V to make 
an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl V 
No, uncle, I '11 none : Adam's sons are my brethren ; 
and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if 
the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know 
your answer. 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if 
you be not wooed in good time : if the prince be 
too important, tell him there is measure in every 
thing, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, 
Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch 
jig, a measure, and a cinque pace : the first suit is 
hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as t'autas- 
tical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, 
full of state and ancientry; and then coiui's iciient- 
ance and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque 
pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. 

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 

Beat. I have a good eye, micle ; I can see a church 
by daylight. 

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother ; make 
good room. [All put on their 7)iasks. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, 
Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, 
masked. 

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
friend V 

Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly and 
say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and espe- 
cially when I walk away. 

D." Pedro. With me in your company ? 

Hero. I may say so, when I please. 

I). Pedro. And when please you to say so ? 

Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend 
the lute should be like the case ! 

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within 
the house is Jove. 

Hero. .Why, then, your visor should be thatched. 

D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 

[Drawing her aside. 
95 



ACT II. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE I. 



Balth. Well, I would you did like me. 

Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for I 
have many ill qualities. 

BaUh. "VVhich is one ? 

Marg.. I say my prayers aloud. 

Bcdth. I love you the better: the hearers may 
cry, Amen. 

Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! 

Balth. Amen. 

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when 
the (iaiiee is done! Answer, clerk. 

Balth. No more words: the clerk is answered. 

'^^■>'^. I know you well enough ; you are Siguier 
Antonio. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

JJrs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 

Ant. To tell you true, I counteifeit him. 

IJrs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless 
you were tlie very man. Here 's liis dry hand up 
and down : you are he, you are he. 

Ant. At a word, I ani not. 

(7rs. Come, come, do you think I do not know 
you by your excellent wit i* can virtue hide itself V 
Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and 
there 's an end. 

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so ? 

Ue?!e. No, you shall pardon me. 

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ? 

Bene. Not now. 

Beat. Tliat I was disdainful, and that I had my 
good wit out of the ' Ilimdred Merry Tales : ' — well, 
this was Sinnior Benedick that said so. 

B<:nc. Wiuit'she? 

Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. 

Bene. Not I, believe me. 

Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? 

Bene. I pray you, what is he ? 

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull 
fool; only his gift is in devising impossible slan- 
ders: none but libertines delight in him; and the 
commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany; 
for he both pleases men and angers them, and then 
they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is 
in the fleet : I would he had boarded me. 

Bene. When I know the gentleman, I '11 tell him 
what you say. 

Beat. Do, do : he '11 but break a comparison or 
two on me ; which, peradventure not marked or not 
laughed at, strikes liim into melancholy; and then 
tliere "s a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat 
no supper that night. [J/ifsic] We must follow the 

Bene. In every f^ood thing. [leaders. 

Beat. Nay, if tney lead to any ill, I will leave 
them at the next turning. 

{Dance. Then exeunt all except Bon John, 
Borachio, and Claudio. 

D. John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and 
hath withdrawn her father to break with him about 
it. The ladies follow her and but one visor remains. 

Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by his 
bearing. 

D. John. Are not you Signior Benedick ? 

Claiul. You know me well ; I am he. 

D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother 
in his love : he is enamoured on Hero ; I pray you, 
dissuade him from her : she is no equal for his birth : 
you may do the part of an honest man in it. 

Claud. How know you he loves her ? 

J). John. I heard him swear his affection. 

Bora. So did 1 too ; and he swore he would marry 
her to-night. 

B. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 

[Exeimt Bon John and Borachio. 

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. 
'Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself. 
Friendship is constant in all other things 
96 



Save in the oflice and affairs of love : 

Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 

Let every eye negotiate for itself 

And trust no agent ; for beauty is a witch 

Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. 

This is an accident of hourly proof. 

Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore. Hero ! 

He-enter Benedick. 

Bene. Count Claudio ? 

Claud. Yea, the same. 

Bene. Come, will you go with me ? 

aaud. Whither? 

IScne. Even to the next willow, about your own 
business, county. What fashion will you wear the 
garland of ? about your neck, like an usiu-er's chain ? 
or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf V You 
must wear it one way, fur the prince hath got your 
Hero. 

Claud. I wish him joy of her. 

Bene. Why, that 's spoken like an honest drovier : 
so they sell bullocks. But did you thmk the prince 
would have served you thus ? 

Claud. I pray you, leave me. 

Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man : 
't was the boy that stole your meat, and you '11 beat 
the post. 

Claud. If it will not be, I '11 leave you. [Exit. 

Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! now will he creep 
into sedges. But that my Lady Beatrice should 
know me, and not know me! The prince's fool! 
Ha ? It may be I go under that title because I am 
merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself wrong; 
I am not so reputed: it is the base, though bitter, 
disposition of Beatrice that puts the world into her 
jierson, and so gives me out. Well, I '11 be revenged 
as I may. ^ _ „ 

Be-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. Now, signior, where 's the count ? did 
you see him ? 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of 
Lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a 
lodge in a warren: I told him, and I think 1 told 
him true, that your grace had got the good will of 
this young lady; and I offered him my company to 
a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, as 
being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being 
wortliy to be whipped. 

D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What 's his fault ? 

Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, 
being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest, shows it 
his companion, and he steals it. 

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres- 
sion ? The transgression is in the stealer. 

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been 
made, and the garland too; for the garland he 
might have worn himself, and the rod he might 
have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen 
his bird's nest. 

B. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re- 
store them to the owner. 

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my 
faith, you say honestly. 

D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to 
you : the gentleman that danced with her told her 
she is much wronged by you. 

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of 
a block ! an oak but with one green leaf on it would 
have answered her; my very visor began to assume 
life and scold witli her. She told me, not thinking 
I had been myself, that I was the prince's jester, 
that I was duller tlian a great thaw ; huddling jest 
upon jest with such impossible conveyance ujinn 
me that I stood like a man at a mark, witli a whole 
army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and 
every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as 
her terminations, there were no living near her; 



ACT II. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE II. 



she would infect to the north star. I would not 
marry her, though she were endowed with all that 
Adam had left him before he transgressed : she 
would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, 
and have cleft his clulj to make the fire too. Come, 
talk not of her: you shall find her the infernal Ate 
in good apparel. I would to God some scholar 
would conjure her; for certainly, while she is here, 
a man nuiy live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; 
and people sin upon purpose, because they woidd 
go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror and per- 
turbation follows her. 
D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 

Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato. 

Bene. "Will your grace connnand me any service 
to the world's end? I will go on the slightest 
errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise 
to send me on ; I will fetch you a tooth-picker now 
from the furtliest inch of Asia, bring you the length 
of Prester John's foot, fetch you a hair off the great 
Cliam's beard, do you any embassage to the Pig- 
mies, rather than hold three words' conference with 
this harpy. You have no employment for me ? 

D. Pedro. Xone, but to desire your good company. 

Bene. O God, sir, here 's a dish I love not : I can- 
not endure my Lady Tongue. [Exit. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the 
heai't of Signior Benedick. 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; and 
I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single 
one : marry, once before he won it of me with false 
dice, tlierei'ore your grace may well say I have lost it. 

I). Pedro. You liave put him down, lady, you 
have put him down. 

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, 
lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have 
brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. 

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count! wherefore are 
you sad V 

Claud. Not sad, my lord. 

D. Pedro. How then ? sick ? 

Claud. Neither, my lord. 

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
merry, nor well ; but civil count, civil as an orange, 
and something of that jealous complexion. 

-D. Pedro. V faith, lady, I think your blazon to 
be true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his con- 
ceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy 
name, and fair Hero is won: I have broke with 
lier fatlier, and liis good will obtained: name the 
day of marriage, and Gud give thee joy! 

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with 
her my fortunes : his grace hath made the match, 
and all grace say Amen to it. 

Bcfit. Spealc, count, 'tis your cue. 

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I 
were but little happy, if I could say how much. 
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away 
myself for you and dote upon the exchange. 

Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his 
mouth with a kiss, an<l let not him speak neither. 

J). Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 

Beat. Yea, my lord; I "thank it, poor fool, it 
keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin tells 
him in his ear that he is in her heart. 

Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every 
one to tlie world but I, and I am sunbiu'nt; I may 
sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband ! 

I>. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 

Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
getting. Hath yoiu' grace ne'er a brother like 
you ? Your fatlier got excellent husbands, if a 
inaid could come by them. 

D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady? 

Beat. No, my lord, unless I migiit have another 
7 



for working-days: your grace is too costly to wear 
every day. But I beseech your grace, jiaidon me: 
I was born to speak all mirth and no luatU-r. 

I). Pedro. Your silence most ohends me, and to 
be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, 
you were bom in a merry hour. 

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried ; but 
then there was a star danced, and under that was 
I born. Cousins, God give you joy! 

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 
you of ? 

Bent. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace's 

pardon. [Exit. 

'D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-si>irited lady. 

X«))(. There 's little of the melancholy element 
in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she 
sleeps, and not even sad then; for I have heard 
my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of un- 
happiness and waked herself with laughing. 

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a 
husband. 

Leon. O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers 
out of suit. [dick. 

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene- 

Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week 
married, they would talk tliemselves mad. 

D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go 
to church ? 

Claud. To-morrow, my lord : time goes on crutches 
till love have all his rites. 

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is 
hence a just seven-night; and a tune too brief, too, 
to have all things answer my mind. 

L>. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long 
a breathing : but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
shall not go dully by us. I will in the interim un- 
dertake one of Hercules' labours: wliich is, to 
bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into 
a niiiuntain of affection the one with the other. I 
would fain have it a match, and I doubt not but to 
fasliion it, if you three will but minister such assist- 
ance as I shall give you direction. 

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 
ten nights' watchings. 

Claud. And I, my lord. 

L). Pedro. And joii too, gentle Hero? 

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to 
help my cousin to a good husband. 

B. Pedro. And Benedick is not theunhopefullest 
husband that I know. Tlius far can I praise him ; 
he is of a noble strain, of approved valour and 
confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to hu- 
mour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with 
Benedick ; and I, with your two lielps. will so prac- 
tise on Benedick that, "in despite of his quick wit 
and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with 
Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an 
archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the. only 
love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my 
drift. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The same. 

Enter Don John and Borachio. 

B. John. It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry 
th? daugliter of Leonato. 

Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. 

D. .John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment 
will bemedicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure 
to him, and whatsoever comes athwart Ins affec- 
tion ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou 
cross tills marriage ? 

Bora. Not lionestly, my lord; but so covertly 
that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 

I). John. Show me briefly how. 

Bora. I think I told your lordship a year since, 
how much I am in tlie favour of Margaret, the 
waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. 
97 



ACT II. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCEIifE III. 



D. John. I remember. 

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
night, appoint her to loolc out at her lady's cham- 
ber-window. 

I). John. What life is in that, to be the death of 
this marriage y 

Jiora. Tlie poison of that lies in you to temper. 
Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell 
• him that he liath wronged his honour in marrying 
the renowned Claudio — whose estimation do you 
mightily hold up — to a contaminated stale, such a 
one as Hero. 

1). .John. What proof shall I make of that V 

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
Claudio, to undo Hero and kill Leonato. Look you 
for any other issue ? 

D. .John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour 
anything. 

Bora. Go, then ; find me a meet hour to draw Don 
Pedro and the Count Claudio alone: tell them tluit 
j'ou knowtliat Hero loves me ; intend a kind of zeal 
both to tlie |irhiee and Claudio, as, — in love of your 
bnitlii'r's iKinnur. who liath made this match, and 
his t'riciurs i-cputation, who is t bus like to be cozened 
with tlie semblance of a niaiil, — that you have dis- 
covered thus. Tliey will scmrcly brlirve this with- 
out trial: offer them instamcs; wliirh shall bear 
no less likeliliood than to sec me at her chamber- 
winilow, hear me call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret 
term me Claudio; and bring them to see this the 
very night before the intended wedding, — for in 
the meantime I will so fashion the matter that 
Hero shall be absent, — and there shall appear such 
seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty that jealousy 
shall be called assurance and all the preparation 
overthrown. 

D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 
1 will put it in practice. Be cunning in tlie work- 
ing this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my 
cunning shall not shame me. 

D. .John. I will presently go learn their day of 
marriage. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Leonato's orchard. 

Enter Benedick. 

Bene. Boy ! 

JSnter Boy. 

Boy. Signior? 

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book : bring 
it hither to me in the orchard. 

Boi/. I am here already, sir. 

Bene. I know that ; but I would have thee lience, 
and here again. [Erit 7?ov.] I do nuich wonder 
that one man, sering Ikiw nnich another man is a 
fo(d when lie dcilicatcs his liehaviours to love, will, 
after he liatli laughed at sm-h shallow follies in 
others, lii'coiiii' the argumrnt nf his own sctu'u by 
falling in lox e : and such a man is Cliiudio. I have 
known wlicu there was no nuisic with him but the 
drum and the life; and now had he rather hear the 
tabor and tlie pipe: I have known when he would 
have walked ten mile a-foot to see a good armour ; 
and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the 
fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak 
plain and to the purpose, like an honest man and a 
soldier; and now is he tunitMl orlhograijliy ; his 
words are a very fantastical liau(inct, just so' many 
strange dishes. May I be si i ci inverted and see with 
these eyes? I cannot tell ; I think not: I will not 
be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster; 
but I '11 take my oath on it, till he have made an 
oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. 
One woman is fair, yet I am well ; another is wise, 
yet I am well ; another virtuous, yet I am well ; but 
till all graces be in one woman, oaie woman shall 
98 



not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that "s 
certain ; wise, or I '11 none ; virtuous, or I '11 never 
cheapen her; fair, or I '11 never look on her; mild, 
or come not near me ; noble, or not I for an angel ; 
of good discourse, an excellent musician, andher 
hair shall be of what colour it please God. Ha ! the 
l)rince and Monsieur Love ! I will hide me in the 
arbour. [ Withdraws. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 

D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? 

Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the even- 
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! fiiig is, 

I). Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid him- 
self? 

Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended, 
We '11 flt the kid-fox with a pennyworth. 

Enter Balthasar with Iltisic. 

D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we '11 hear that song 
again. 

Bcdth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
To slander music any more than once. 

B. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency 
To put a strange face on his own perfection. 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 

Jialth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; 
Since many a wooer doth commence liis suit 
To her he tliinks not worthy, yet he wooes, 
Yet will he swear he loves. 

B. I'cdro. Now, pray thee, come ; 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
Uo it in notes. 

Bcdth. Note this before my notes ; 

There 's not a note of mine that 's worth the noting. 

B. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he 
speaks ; 
Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. [.4!>. 

Bene. Now, divine air! now is his soul ravisiied ! 
Is it not strange that sheeps' guts should hale souls 
out of men's bodies Y Well, a horn for my money, 
when all 's done. 

THE SONG. 

Bcdth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, 

Men were deceivers ever, 
One foot in sea and one on shore, 

To one thing constant never : 
Then sigh not so, but let them go, 

And lie yon blithe and bonny. 
Converting all your sounds of woe 

Into Hey iioimy, iionny. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, 
Of dumjis so dull and heavy; 

The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer lirst was leafy : 
Then sigh not so, &c. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 

Bcdth. And an ill singer, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well 
enough for a shift. 

Bene. An he had been a dog that should have 
howled thus, they wnuld have hanged him: and I 
pray God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had as 
lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague 
could have come after it. 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? 
I iiray thee, get us some excellent music ; for to- 
morrow night we would have it at the Lady Hero's 
chamber-window. 

Bcdth. The best I can, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exit Bcdthasar. 
Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me 
of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with 
Signior Benedick '( 



ACT II. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE III. 



Claitd. O, ay: stalk on. stalk on; the fowl sits. 
I did never think that lady would have loved any 
man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful 
that she should so dote on Siguior Benedick, whom 
she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to 
abhor. 
Bene. Is "t possible ? Sits the wind in that corner ? 
Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what 
to think of it "but that she loves him with an en- 
raged affection; it is past the inhuite of thimght. 
B. Pedro, ilay be she doth but counterfeit. 
Claml. Faith, like enough. 

Lena. O God, counterfeit! There was never 
counterfeit of passion came so near the life of pas- 
sion as she discovers it. 
D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? 
Chind. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. 
Lco>i. What effects, my lord ■? Slie will sit you, 
you lieard my daughter tell you how. 
Claud. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ? You amaze 
me : I would have thought her spirit had been in- 
vincible against all assaults of affection. 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; espe- 
cially against Benedick. 

Bene. I should tliiuk this a gull, but that the 
w'hite-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, 
sure, hide himself in such reverence. 

Claud. He hath ta'eil the mfection: hold it up. 
B. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to 
Benedick ? 

Leon. No; and swears she never will : that 's her 
torment. 

Claud. 'T is true, indeed; so j'our daughter says : 
' Shall I,' says slie, ' that have so oft encountered 
him with scorn, WTite to him that I love him V ' 

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning 
to write to him ; for she '11 be up twenty times a 
night, and there she will sit in her smock till she 
liave \\T:it a sheet of paper: my daugliter tells us all. 
Claud. Now you talk of a" sheet of paper, I re- 
member a pretty jest your daughter told us of. 

Leon. O, when shehad wTit it and was reading 
it over, she fouud Benedick and Beatrice between 
the sheet ? 
Claud. That. 

Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand half- 
pence; railed at herself, that she should be so im- 
modest to write to one that she knew would flout 
her; ' I measure him,' says she, ' by my own spirit; 
for I sliould flout him," if he writ to me; yea, 
though I love him, I should.' 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, 
weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, 
curses ; ' O sweet Benedick ! God give me patience ! ' 
Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: 
and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my 
daughter is sometime afeard she will do a desperate 
outrage to herself: it is very true. 

B. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it 
by some other, if she will not discover it. 

Claud. To what end? He would make but a 
sport of it and torment tlie poor lady worse. 

B. Pedro. An he shoulil, it were an aUns to hang 
him. She's an excellent sweet lady; and, out of 
all suspicion, she is virtuous. 

Claud,. And she is exceeding wise. 

B. Pedro. In everything but in loving Benedick. 

Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating 

in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that 

blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I 

have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. 

B. Pedro. I would she had bestowed tliis ilotage 

on me: I would have daffed all other respei-ts and 

made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of 

it, and hear what a' will say. 



Leon. Were it good, think you ? 
Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die; for she 
says she will die, if he love her not, and she will die, 
ere she make her love kno\vn, and she will die. if lie 
woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her 
accustomed crossness. 

B. Peelro. She doth well: if she should make 
tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; 
for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible 
Cletvjd. He is a very proper man. [spirit. 

B. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward hap- 
piness. 

Clauel. Before God! and, in my mind, very wise. 
" B. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks tliat 
are like wit. 

Cknid. And I take him to be valiant. 
B. Peelro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the 
managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for 
either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. 

Leon. If he do fear God, a' must necessarily keep 
peace : if he break the peace, he ought to enter into 
a quarrel with fear and trembling. 

B. L'edro. And so will he do; for the man doth 
fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some 
large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your 
niece. Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of 
her love ? 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it 
out with good counsel. 

Leon. Nay, that "s impossible: she may wear her 
heart out first. 

B. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by 
your daugliter : let it cool the while. I love Bene- 
dick well : and I could ^^ ish he would modestly ex- 
amine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so 
good a lady. 
Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready. 
Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I V\ill 
never trust my expectation. 

B. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for 
her: and that must your daughter and her gentle- 
women carry. The sport will be, when they hold one 
an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter : 
tliat 's the scene that I would see, which will be 
merely a dumb-show, Let us send her to call him in 
to dinner. [Exeunt Bon Peelro, Cleiudio, anel Leemedo. 
Bene. [Corniny feiru-arel] This can be no trick: 
the conference w"as sadly borne. Tliey have the 
truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the 
lady : it seems her affections have their full bent. 
Love me ! why, it must be requited. I hear liow I 
am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, 
if I perceive the love come from her; they say too 
that she will rather die than give any sign of affec- 
tion. I did never think to marry : I must not seem 
proud: happy are they that hear their detractions 
and can put them to "mending. They say tlie lady 
is fair; 't is a truth, I can bear them witness; and 
virtuous ; 't is so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but 
for loving me ; by my troth, it is no addition to her 
wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will 
be horribly in love witli her. I may chance have 
some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, 
because I have railed so long against marriage : but 
doth not the appetite alter'' a man loves the meat 
in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. 
Shall quips and sentences and tliese iiaperlnilletsof 
the brain awe a man from the career of his hium mr y 
No, the world must be peopled. When I said I 
would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live 
till I were married. Here comes 13eatriee. By this 
day ! she 's a fair lady : I do spy some marks of love 
in her. _, „ ^ . 

Enter Beatrice. 

Beeit. Against my will I am sent to bid you come 
in to dinner. 



ACT III. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE T. 



Bene. Fair Beatrice, I tlianli you for your ixuiis. 

Beat. I took no more pains for tlKjse thanks tlian 
you take pains to tliauk me : if it had been painful, 
I would not have come. 

Jkne. You take pleasure then in the message ? 

Bcdt. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a 
knife's point and choke a daw witlial. You have 
no stomach, siguior : fare you well. [EMt. 



Bene. Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to Lid you 
come in to dinner;' there's a double meaning in 
that. ' I took no more pains for those thanks tluin 
yqj-i took pains to thank me ; ' that 's as much as to 
say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy us 
thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a vil- 
1am; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will ^o 
get her picture. [Exit. 



-A.CT III. 



SCENE 1.— Lconato''s garden. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour; 
There shalt thou tind my cousin Beatrice 
Piiijiiising with the prince and Clan lio : 
AV'Jiisper lier ear and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in tlie orcliard and our wiiole dis.;ourse 
Is all of her; say that tliou overheard'st us; 
^Vud bid her steal into the jileached bower, 
AVhcre honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
Torbid the sun to enter, like favourites, 
-Made proud by princes, tliat advance their pride 
Against tliat power that bred it : there will she hide 
To listen our purpose. This is thy office ; [her, 
Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. 

Marg. I '11 make her come, I warrant you, pres- 
ently. [Exit. 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 
As we do trace this alley up and down, 
Our talk must only be of Benedick. 
"Wlien I do name him, let it be thy part 
To praise him more than ever man did merit: 
Jly talk to thee must be how Benedick 
Is sick in love v/ith Beatrice. Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
Tliat only wounds by hearsay. 

Enter Beatrice, behind. 

Now begin ; 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 

Urs. The pleasant 'st angling is to see the fish 
Cut with her gulden iiars the silver stream. 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
Is couched in the woodbine coverture. 
Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose noth- 
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. [ing 

[Approaching the hoicer. 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; 
I know her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggerds of the rock. 

Urs. But are j'ou sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? 

Hero. 8o says the prince and my new-trothed lord. 

Urs. Anil did they bid you tell her of it, madam V 

Hero. They did entreat mo to acipiaint her of it; 
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, 
To wish him wrestle with affection. 
And never to let Beatiiee know of it. 

Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman 
Deserve as full as" fortunate a bed 
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? 

Hero. O god of love! I know he doth deserve 
As much as may be yielded to a man : 
But Nature never framed a woman's heart 
Of jirouder stuft than that of Beatrice; 
DisiUiin and scorji ride sparkling in her eyes, 
ISiisprising what tliey look on, and her wit 
Values itself so highly that to her 
All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
100 



Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 

She is so self -endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so ; 

And therefore certainly it \^'ere not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw 
man. 
How wise, how nolile. young, hov,' rarely featured. 
But she Would spell him liaekward: if fair-faced. 
She would swear the gentleman shiiuld lie her sister ; 
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique, 
Made a foul blot ; if tail, a lance ill-headed; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut; 
[f speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she' every man the wrong side out 
And never gives to truth and virtue that 
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 

Urs. Sure, sure, such cariiing is not commendable. 

Hero. No, not to be so odd and fi'om all fashions 
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: 
But who dare tell h.T so ? If I should speak. 
She would mock me into air ; O, she would laugh me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd Hre, 
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: 
It were a better death tiian die with mocks, 
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 

Urs. Yet tell her of it : hear what she will say. 

Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick 
And counsel him to fight against liis passion. 
And, truly, I '11 devise some honest slanders 
To stain my cousin with: one doth nut know 
TFIow much" an ill word may empoison liking. 

Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
Slie cannot be so much without true judgment — 
Having so swift and excellent a wit 
As she is prized to have — as to refuse 
So rare a gentleman as Siguior Benedick. 

Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear C'laudio. 

Urs. I pray you, be not :;ngry with me, madam, 
Speaking my" fancy: Signior Bene<lick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument and valour, 
G-oes foremost in report tJirough Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. 

Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. 
When are you married, madam ? 

Hero. AV'hy, every day, to-morrow. Come, go in: 
I '11 show thee some atlJires, and have thy comisel 
Which is the best to furnisli me to-morrow. 

Urs. She'slimed,I warrant you: wc have caught 
her, madam. 

Hero. If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 

[E.ecunt Hero and Ursula. 

Beat. [Coming feirirard] What fire is in mine ears ? 
Can this be true V 

Stand I condemn 'd for pride and scorn so much? 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 

No glory lives behind the back of such. 
And, Benedick, love on ; 1 will reiiuite tliee, 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand : 



ACT III. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE III. 



If thou dost love, my kindness sliall incite tliee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band ; 
For others say thou dost deserve, and I 
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A room in LeonaWs house. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudlo, Benedick, and 
Leonato. 

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be con- 
summate, and then go I toward Arragon. 

C'diid. I '11 bring you thither, my lord, if you '11 
vouchsafe me. 

B. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the 
new gloss of your marriage as to show a child his new 
coatlmd forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold 
witli Benedick for his company ; for, from the crown 
of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth : he 
hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string and the 
little hang-man dare not shoot at him ; he hath a 
heart as sound as a bell and his tongue is tlie clapper, 
for what his heart thinks bis tongue speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 

Leon. So say I : methinks you are sadder. ■ 

Claud. I hope he be in love. 

B.Pedro. Hang him, truant! there 's no true drop 
of blood in him, to be truly touched with love : if he 
be sad, he wants money. 

Bene. I have the toothache. 

B. Pedro. Draw it. 

i?e?i6. Hang it! [wards. 

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it atter- 

B. Pedro. What! sigli for the toothache !* 

Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm. 

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but he 
that has it. 

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 

B. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, 
unless it be a fancy that he liath to strange disguises ; 
as, to be a Uutcliinan to-day, a Frenchman to-mor- 
row, or in the sliape of two countries at once, as, a 
German from the waist downward, all slops, and a 
Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless 
he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath , 
he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear 
he is. 

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
there is no believing old signs: a' brushes his hat 
o' mornings; what sliould that bode? 

B. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's ? 

Chmd. No, l)ut the liarber's man hath been seen 
with him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath 
already stuffed tennis-balls. 

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by 
the loss of a beard. 

B. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet : can 
you smell him out by that ? [in love. 

Claud. That 's as mucli as to say, the sweet youth ' s 

B. Pedro. Thegreatestnoteof it ishismelanclidly. 

Claud. And when was lie wont to wasli his l'ac('V 

B. Pedro. Yea, or to p;iint himself V for the which, 
I hear what they say of him. 

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now 
crept into a hite-string and now governed by stops. 

B. Pfdro. Inilecd, tluit tells a heavy tale for him : 
conclnile, cunrlude he is in love. 

Clauil. Xay, Imt I know who loves him. 

B. Pcdio. That would I know too: I warrant, 
one that knows him not. 

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in despite 
of all, dies for him. [wards. 

B. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- 

Bene. Yet is tliis no charm torthe toothache. Old 
signior, walk aside with me : I have studied eight or 
nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby- 
horses must not hear. 

[Exeunt Benedick emd Leonato. 



B. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
Beatrice. 

Claud. 'T is even so. Hero and Margaret have by 
this played their parts with Beatrice; and then the 
two bears will not bite one another when they meet. 

Enter Don John. 

B. John. My lord and brother, God save j'ou ! 

B. Pedro. Good den, brother. 

B. John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
with you. 

B. Pedro. In private ? 

B. John. If it please you : yet Count Claudio may 
hear; for what I wmild speak of concerns him. 

B. Pedro. Wliat "s the matter? 

B.John. [To Claudia] Means your lordship to be 
married to-morrow ? 

B. Pedro. You know he does. [linow. 

B. John. I know not that, when he knows what I 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you 
discover it. 

B. John. You may think I love you not : let that 
appear hereafter, and aim better at me liy that I 
now will manifest. For my brother, I tliink lie 
holds you well, and in dearness of heart hatli liojp 
to effect your ensninu' marriage; — surely suit ill 
spent and labour ill bestowed. 

B. Pedro. Why, wliat 's the matter? 

B. John. I came hitherto tell you; and, circum- 
stances shortened, for she has been too long a talk- 
ing of, the lady is dislo}'al. 

Clentd. Who, Hero? 

B.John. Even she; Leonato' s Hero, your Hero, 
every man's Hero. 

aaud. Disloyal? 

B. Jfjhn. The word is too good to paint out her 
wickedness; I could say she were worse : think you 
of a worse title, and Iwill fit her to it. Wonder 
not till further warrant : go but with nie to-night, 
you shall see her chamber-window entered, eventlie 
night before her w'edding-day : if you love her then, 
to-morrow wed her ; but it would better fit your 
honour to change your mind. 

Claud. "Mdx this be so ? 

B. Pedro. \ will not think it. 

B. .John. If you dare not trust that you see, con- 
fess not that you know: if you will follow me, I 
will show you enough; and'wlien you have seen 
more and heard more, proceed accordingly. 

Claud. If I see anything to-night why I should not 
marry her to-morrow, in tlie congregation, where I 
should wed, th.ere will I slianie her. 

B. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, 
I will join with thee to disgrace her. 

B. John. I will disparage her no farther till you 
are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, 
and let the issue sliow itself. 

B. Pedro. O day Tuitowardly turned! 

Claud. O mischirl stiangi-!\ thwarting! 

B. Jiiliii. O plat;ue right well prevented I so will 
you say when you have seen the se(iuel. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— 4 street. 

Enter Dogberry anel Verges with the Wcdch. 

Boy. Are you good men and true ? 

]'er(jc. Yen, or else it were pity but they should 
suffer salvation, body and soul. 

Boy. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
them, if they should have any allegiance in them, 
being chosen for the prince's watch. 

Verye. Well, give them their charge, neighbour 
Dogberry. 

Boy. First, who think you the most desartless 
man to be constable ? 

First Watch. Hugh Otecake, sir, or George Sea- 
cole; for they can write and read. 
101 



ACT III. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE III. 



Dog. Come liitlier, neighbour Seacole. God hath 
lilessed you with a i;uo(l uuuie : to be a well-favoured 
man is tlie gift of fortune; but to write and read 
comi's liy nature. 

.Sir. Wiiiih. Both which, master constable, — 

D'Kj. You have: I knew it would be your answer. 
Welli tor yoiu' favour, sir, why, give God thanks, 
and make no boast of it; and for your writing 
and reading, let that appear when there is no need of 
such vanity. You are tliought here to be the most 
senseless and fit man for the constable of the 
watch ; tlierefore bear you the lantern. This is 
your charge: yim shall comprehend all vagrommen; 
you are to liid any man stand, in tlie jirince's name. 

Sec. Wiitr/i. llo'w if a' will not stand "? 

I>o(j. AVliy, tlien, take no note of him, but let him 
go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together 
and tliank God you are rid of a knave. 

Very. If he will not stand when lie is bidden, he 
is none of the prince's subjects. 

Bog. True, and they are to meddle with none but 
the prince's subjects. You sliall also make no noise 
in the streets ; tor, tor the watch to babble and to 
talk is most tolerable and not to be endured. 

Watch. We will rather sleep than talk : we know 
what belongs to a watch. 

Borj. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
quiet watchman; tor I cannot see how sleeping 
sliould offend : only , have a care that'your bills be not 
stiilen. Well, you are to call at all" the ale-houses, 
and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 

Watch. How it tliey will not':' 

Dog. Why, then, let tliem alone till they are sober : 
if they make you not tlieu the better answer, you 
may say they are not the men you took them tor. 

Watch. Well, sir. 

Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, 
by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and, for 
such kind of men, tlie less you meddle or make witli 
tliem, why, the more is for your honesty. 

Watch.' It we know him to be a thief , shall we 
not lay hands on him ':* 

Dog. Truly, by your office, you may ; but I think 
_they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peace- 
'able way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let liim 
.showhimself wliat he isandstealoutof yourcompany. 

Verg. Y'ou have been always called a merciful 
man, partner. 

Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, 
much more a man wlio hath any honesty in lain. 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you 
must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 

Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not 
hear us y 

Dog. Wliy, then, depart in peace, and let the 
cliild wake iier with crying; for the ewe that will 
not hear her la.inb when it baes will never answer 
a calf when he Ijleats. 

Verg. 'T is very true. 

Dog. This is the end of the charge: — you, con- 
stable, are to present the prince's own person: if 
you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. 

Very. Nay, by 'r lady, that I tliink a' cannot. 

Dog. Five sliillings to one on 't, with any man 
that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, 
not without tlie prince be willing; for, indeed, tlie 
watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence 
to stay a man against his will. 
Verg. By 'r lady, I think it be so. 

Dog. Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night : an 
tliere be any matter of weight chances, caltui) me : 
keep your fellows' counsels and your own ; and good 
night. Come, neighbour. 

Watch. AVell, masters, we hear our charge: let 
us go sit here upon the church-bencli till two, and 
then all to bed. 

Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray 
102 



you, watch about Signior Leonato's door; for the 
wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great 
coil to-iiight. Adieu: be vigitant, I beseech you. 
[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 

Enter Borachio a?ic? Conrade, 

Bora. What, Conrade I 

Watch. [J.v/i//] Peace! stir not. 

Bora. Coniafle, I .^ay! 

Con. Here, man; I am at thy elbow. 

Bora. ]Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought 
there wiuild a scab follow. 

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that : and now 
forward with thy tale. 

B(/ra. Stand thee close, then, under this pent- 
house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true 
drunkard, utter all to thee. 

Watch. [^-Isitk] Some treason, masters: yet stand 
close. 

Bora. Tlierefore know I liave earned of Don John 
a thousand ducats. 

Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so 
dear ? 

Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were pos- 
sible any villany sliould be so rich; for when rich 
villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make 
what price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 

Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou 
knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or 
a cloak, is notliing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes, the fashion is tlie fashion. 

Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool's the 
fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief 
this fashion is 'f 

Watch. [Aside'] I know that Deformed; a' has 
been a vile thief this seven year; a' goes up and 
down like a gentleman : I remember his name. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear someliody ? 

Coy\. No; 'twas the vane <iii the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, wliat a deformed 
thief this fashion is? how giddily a' turns about 
all the hot bloods between fourteen and five-and- 
thirty y sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's 
soldiers In the reeky painting, sumetime like god 
Bel's priests in the old church-window, sometime 
like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm- 
eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy 
as his club ':' 

Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion 
wears out more apparel llian tlie man. But art not 
thou tliyscir gi(l<ly witli the fashion too, that thou 
hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the 
fashion '? 

Bora. Not so, neither: but know that I have 
to-night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's gentle- 
woman, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at 
her mistress' chamber-window, Viids me a tliousand 
times good-niglit, — 1 tell this tale vilely: — I should 
first tell thee how the prince, Claudio and my mas- 
ter, planted and placed and possessed by my mas- 
ter Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this 
amiable encounter. 

Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero ? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio ; 
but the devil my master knew she was Margaret; 
and partly by his oaths, which first possessed tliem, 
partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, 
laiit chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any 
slander that Don .John hail made, away went Clau- 
dio enraged; swore he would meet her, as he was 
ajipointed, next morning at the temple, and there, 
before the whole congregation, shame her with 
what he saw o'er night and send her home again 
without a husband. 



ACT III. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE V. 



First Watch. We charge you, iu tlie prince's 
name, stand ! 

Sec. Watch. Call up the right master constable. 
"We have here recovered the most dangerous piece 
of lechery that ever was known iu tiie common- 
wealth. 

First Watch. And one Deformed is one of them: 
I know him ; a' wears a lock. 

Con. Masters, masters, — 

Sec. Watch. You 11 be made bring Deformed 
fortli, I warrant you. 

Con. ^Masters, — 

First Watch, ^ever speak : we charge ydli let us 
obey you to go with us. 

Bora. AVe are like to prove a goodly commodity, 
being taken up of tliese men's bills. 

t'oii. A commodity iu question, I warrant you. 
Come, we '11 obey you. [Fxeunt. 

SCENE TV.— Hero's apartment. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, emet. Ursula. 

Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, 
and desire her to rise. 

Vrs. I will, lady. 

Hero. And bid her come hither. 

Urs. Well. [Exit. 

Manj. Troth, I think your other rabato were 
better. 

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I '11 wear this. 

Marg. By my troth, 's not so good; and I war- 
rant your cousin will say so. 

Hero. My cousin 's a fool, and thou art another: 
I '11 wear none but this. 

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if 
the hair were a tliought bro^^^ler ; and your gown 's 
a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the Duchess of 
Milan's gowii that they praise so. 

Hero. "O, that exceeds, tliey say. 

Marg. By my troth, 's but a night-gown in re- 
spect of yours: cloth o' gold, and "cuts, and laced 
with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side 
sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with a bluish 
tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful and excellent 
fashion, yours is worth ten on 't. 

Hero. God give me joy to wear it ! for my heart 
is exceeding lieavy. 

Marg. 'T will be lieavier soon by the weight of a 

Hero. Fip up')n tliee! art not asliamed V [man. 

Marg. ()f wiiiit. lady':* of speaking lionourably? 
Is not niairiau'i' honourable in a beggary Is not 
yoiu' lord honourable without marriage? I think 
you would have me say, ' saving your reverence, a 
husband:' an bad thinking do not wrest true 
speaking, I'll offend nobody: is tliere any harm 
in ' the heavier for a husband ' V None, I think, 
an it be the right luisband and the right wife; 
otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy: ask my Lady 
Beatrice else; here slie comes. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Hero. Good morrow, coz. 

Beett. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 

Hero. Why, how now '{ do you speak in the sick 
tune y 

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 

Marg. Clap's into 'Light o' love;' tliat goes 
without a Ijunlen : do yousing it, and I '11 dance it. 

Beat. Ye liglit o' love, with your heels! then, if 
your liusltand have stables enough, you'll see he 
shall lack no barns. 

Mvrg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that 
with my heels. 

Jj\rt(. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time 
you were ready. By my troth, 1 am exceeding ill : 
heigh-ho ! 

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 



Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 

Marg. AVell, an you be not turned Turk, tliere 's 
no more sailing by the star. 

Bent. What means the fool, trow? 

Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their 
heart's desire! 

ILro. These gloves the count sent me; they are 
an excellent perfume. 

Beat. I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell. 

Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there 's goodly catch- 
ing of "cold. 

Beat. O, God help me! God help me! how long 
have you professed apprehension ? 

Marg. Even since you left it. Doth not my wit 
become me rarely ? 

Beeit. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in 
your cap. By my troth, I am sick. 

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 
Benedictus, and lay it to your heart: it is the only 
thing for a qualm. 

Hero. There thou priekest her with a thistle. 

Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have 
some moral in this Benedictus. 

Marg. Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral 
meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may 
tliink perchance that I think you are in love: nay, 
by 'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list, 
nor I list not to think what I can, nor indeed I 
cannot think, if I would tliink my heart out of 
thinking, that you are in love or that you will be 
in love or that you can be in love. Yet Benedick 
was such another, and now is he become a man : 
he swore he would never marry, and yet now, in 
despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudg- 
ing : and how you may be converted I know not, but 
methinks y( ai io(_)k with your eyes as other women do. 

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? 

Marg. Not a false gallop. 

Be-enter Ursula. 

XJrs. Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, 
Signior Benedick, Don .John, and all the gallants 
of the town, are come to fetch you to church. 

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good 
Ursula. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE v. — Another room in Leonato^s house. 

Enter Leonato, icith Dogberry and Verges. 

icon. What would you with me, honest neighbour? 

Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some coufidence 
with you that decerns you nearly. 

Leon. Brief, I pray you ; for you see it is a busy 
time with me. 

JJog. Marry, this it is, sir. 

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 

Leon. What is it, my good friends? 

Dog. Goodman Verges, sir. speaks a little off the 
matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so 
blunt as, God help, I would desire they were; but, 
in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. 

Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any 
man living that is an old man and no honester 
than I. 

Dog. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neigh- 
bour Verges. 

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 

Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we 
are the poor duke's officers: but truly, for mine 
ownr part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could 
find it in my heart to bestow iKall of your worship. 

Leon. All' thy tediousness on me, ah ? 

Dog. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more 
than "'t is ; for I hear as good exclamation on your 
worsliip as of any man in the city ; and thougli I 
be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. 

Verg. And so am I. 

103 



ACT IV. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE T. 



Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. 

Venj. Marry, sir, our watcli to-niglit, excepting 
your worsliip's presence, ba' ta'eu a couple of as 
arrant knaves as any in Messina. 

Doij. A good old man, sir; lie will be talking: as 
they say. When the age is in, the wit is out: God 
help us! it is a world to see. Well said, i' faith, 
neighbour Verges: well, God's a good man; an 
two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An 
honest soul, i' faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever 
broke bread ; but God is to be worshipped ; all men 
are not alike; alas, good neighbour! [you. 

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of 

Dog. Gifts that God gives. 

Leon. I must leave you. 

Bo(j. One word, sir: our watch, sir, liave indeed 
comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would 
have them this morning examined before your 
worship. 



Leon. Take their examination yourself and bring ' 
it me : I am now in great haste, as it may appear ; 
unto you. j 

Boij. It shall be suffigance. 

Leon. Drink some wiiie ere you go : fare you well. 

Enter a. Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your 
daughter to her husband. '■ 

Leon. I '11 wait upon them : I am ready. ' 

\_E.ceunt Leonuto and Messenger. ! 

Log. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis j 
Seacolfe ; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the | 
gaol : we are now to examination these men. 

Verg. And we must do it wisely. : 

Dog. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; 
here 's that shall drive some of them to a noncome : 
only get the learned writer to set down our excom- 
munication and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt, j 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— A church. 



Enlrr Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar Fran- 
cis, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, and Atten- 
dants. 

Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief ; only to the 
plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
particular duties afterwards. [lady. 

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this 

Claud. No. 

Leon. To be married to her : friar, you come to 
marry her. [count. 

Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this 

Hero. 1 do. 

Friar. M either of you know any inward impedi- 
ment why you sliould not be conjoined, I charge 
you, on your souls, to utter it. 

Claud. Know you any. Hero ? 

Hero. None, my lord. 

Friar. Know you any, count ? 

Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 

Claud. O, what men dare do! what.men may do I 
what men daily do, not knowing what they do! 

Bene, lldwnow! interjections V Why, tlien, some 
be of laugliing, as, aii, ha, he! [leave: 

C7i(«(/." Stand thee liy, friar. Father, by your 
Will you with free and unconstrained soul 
Give me this maid, your daughter? 

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 

Claud. And wiuit have I to give you liark. w'.iosp 
May counterpoise this rich and precious ..^iit ? [wortli 

L>. Pedni. Nothing, unless you render her a.uain. 

Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank- 
There, Leonato, take her li:ick a'^ain: [fulness. 
Give not this rotten orange tn your friend; 
She's but the sign and senililuiR-e of her honour. 
Behold how like a mai<l she blushes hei'e ! 
O, what authority and show of truth 
Can cunning sin cover itself withal! 
Conies not that blood as modest evidence 
To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear. 
All you that see her, that she were a maid, 
By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed; 
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 

Leon. What do you mean, my lord V 

Cleiud. Not to be married. 

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 

Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof. 
Have vanquish "(I tlie resistance of her youth. 
And made defeat of her virginity, — [known her, 

Claud. I know what you would say : if I have 
104 



You will say she did embrace me as a husband, 

And so extenuate the "forehand sin: 

No, Leonato, 

I never tempted her with word too large ; 

But, as a brother to his sister, show'd 

Bashful sincerity and comely love. 

Lfero. And seeni'd I ever otherwise to you ? [it : 

Cletud. Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against 
You seem to me as Dian in her orb. 
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ; 
But you are more intemperate in your blood 
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
That rage in savage sensuality. 

Hero. Ismylord well, that he doth speak so wide ? 

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you 'i 

D. Pedro. What should I speak ? 

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about 
To link my dear friend to a common stale. 

Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream ? 

D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things 

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. [are true. 

Hero. True! O God! 

Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? 
Is this the prince? is this the prince's brother? 
Is this face Hero's ? are our eyes our own ? 

Leon. All this is so: but what of this, my lord? 

Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
And, by that fatherly and kindly power [daughter; 
That you have in l;er, bid her answer truly. 

Lrnn. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. 

Hero. O, God defend me! how am I beset! 
What kind of catechising call you this? 

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 

Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name 
With any just reproach ? 

Claud. IMarry, that can Hero ; 

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
AVhat man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
Out at your window lietwixt twelve and one ? 
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 

B. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. Leo- 
nato, 
I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour, 
Myself, my brother and this grieved count 
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night 
Talk with a rutlian at her chanilier-window; 
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
ContVss'd the vile encounters they have had 
A thousand times in secret. [lord, 

B. .Tnhn. Fie, lie! they are not to be named, my 
Not to be spoke of ; 



ACT IV. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE I. 



There is not chastity enough in language 
"Witliout offence to utter them. Thus, prettj'lady, 
1 am sorry for tliy much misgovernment. 

Claud. O Hero, what a Hero hadst tliou been, 
If half tliy outward graces Iiad been placed 
About tliy thoughts and counsels of thy heart ! 
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell. 
Thou pure Impiety and impious purity I 
For thee I '11 lock up all the gates of love, 
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, 
To turn all beauty into tliciuglits of harm. 
And never shall it nmre lie gracious. 

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? 
[Hero sicoons. 

Beat. Why, how now, cousin ! wherefore sink you 
down '? 

D. John. Come, let us go. These tilings, come 
thus to light. 
Smother her spirits up. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudia. 

Bene. How doth the lady ? 

Beat. Dead, I think. Help, uncle! 

Hero ! why. Hero ! Uncle ! Signior Benedick I 
Friar! 

Leon. O Fate ! take not away thy heavy hand. 
Death is the fairest cover for her siiame 
That may be wish'd for. 

Beat. How now, cousin Hero ! 

Friar. Have comfort, lady. 

Leon. Dost thou look upV 

Friar. Yea, wherefore sliould she not ? [thing 

Leon. Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly 
Cry shame upon her ? Could slie here deny 
The story that is printed in her blood y 
Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : 
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, 
Thougiit I thy spirits were stronger "than thy 

"shames, 
ISIyself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 
Strike at tliy life. Grieved I, I had but oney 
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame? 
O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ? 
Why ever wast thou lovely in my e.ves? 
Why had I not witli charitable hand 
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates. 
Who smirch'd thus and mired with infamy, 
I might have said ' Xo part of it is mine : 
This shame derives itself from unknown loins ' ? 
But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised 
And mine that I was proud on, mine so much 
That I myself was to myself not niinej 
Valuing of her, — why, she, O, she is fallen 
Into a pit of ink, tliat the wide sea 
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again 
And salt to(i little which may season give 
To her foul-tainted flesh ! 

Bene. Sir, sir, be patient. 

For my part, I am so attired in wonder, 
I know not what to say. 

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ? 

Beat. J7o, truly not; although, until last night, 
I have this twelvemontli been her Viedfellow. 

Leon. Confirm 'd, conflrin'd! O, that is stronger 
made 
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! 
AVould tlie two princes lie, and Claudio lie, 
Wlifi loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness. 
Wash "d it with tears ? Hence from her ! let her die. 

Friar. Hear me a little ; for I have only been 
Silent so long and given way unto 
This course of fortune .... 
By noting of the lady I have mark'd 
A thousand blushing apparitions 
To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames 
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes; 
And in lier eye tliere hatli appear 'd a tire, 



To burn the errors that these princes hold 

Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool; 

Trust not my reading nor my observations, j 

Wliich with e.xperimental seal dotli warrant ; 

The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, '' 

My reverence, calling, nor divinity. 

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 

Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be. 

Tliou seest that all the grace that she hath left 
Is that she will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury; she not denies it: 
Wliy seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness? 

Friar. Lady, what nian is he you are accused of? 

Hero. They know tliat do accuse me ; I knowuone : 
If I know more of any man alive 
Tlian that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy ! O my father, 
Prove you tliat any man with me conversed 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, 
Refuse me, hate me.torture me to death ! 

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the ' 

princes. - [our; 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of hon- ' 

And if their wisdoms be misled in this. 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 
AVhose spirits toil in frame of villanies. [lier, 

Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of 
These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her lion- 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. [our, 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, 
Xor age so eat up my invention, 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, 
Nor my bad life reft me so mucli of friends. 
But they shall fin<l, awaked in such a kind, 
Both strength of liinb and policy of mind, . 

Ability in ineans and choice of fiiends, j 

To quit me of tlieni throughly. i 

Friar. Pause awhile, ] 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead : ! 

Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 1 

And publish it that she is dead indeed; ; 

jNIaintain a mourning ostentation ' 

And on your family's old monument i 

Hang moifruful epitaphs and do all rites 
That appertain unto a bm-ial. [do? i 

Leon. What shall become of this ? what will tliis 'l 

Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her be- 
half 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
But not for that dream I on this strange course. 
But oil this travail look for greater birth. ' 

i-'je dying, as it must be so maintain'd, 
L'ponthe instant that she was accused, 
Sliall be lamented, pitied and excused 
Of every hearer: for it so falls out ; 

That what we have we prize not to the worth ' 

Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, ! 

Why, then we rack the value, tlien we find 
The" virtue that possession woidd not show us 
Wliiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio : 
When he shall hear she died upon his words. 
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination, 
And every lovely organ of her life 

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, * 

More moving-delicate and full of life. 
Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
Than when she lived indeed : then shall he mourn. 
If ever love had interest in his liver. 
And wish he had not so accused her, ] 

No, though he thougiit liis accusation true. j 

Let this be so, and doubt not but success j 

Will fashion the event in better sliape. ; 

105 , 



ACT IV. 



MUCH ABO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE II. 



Than I rnxi \\\v it rtnwn in lil^elilinnd. 
But if all iiiinl.ut this lu' I.-veird false, 
Tlie sniiiMisiliiai of tln' la.ly^s ik-ath 
AV'ill qufuch the woniler nl lier infamj': 
And if it sort not well, yon may conceal her, 
As best befits lier wouiidcd ivijutation, 
In some reclusive and relinicnis life, 
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries. 

Bene. Signior Leonato, K-t the friar advise you : 
And thougli yon know my inwardness and love 
Is very mucli unto the prince and Claudio, 
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this 
As secretly and justly as your soul 
Should with your body. 

Leon. Being that I flow in grief. 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'T is well consented : presently away ; 
For to strange sores struii^ely they strain the cure. 
Come, lady, die to live : this wedding-day 
Perhaps is but prolong'd: have jiatience and en- 
dure. [Exeunt nil but Jknedirk emel Beeitrice. 

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this 
while ? 

Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 

Bene. I will not desire tliat. 

Beat. You have no reason ; I do it freely. 

Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is 
wronged. 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of 
me that would right her ! 

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship V 

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 

Bene. May a man do it V 

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as 
you: is not that strange ? 

Beat. As strange as the thing I l?now not. It 
were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so 
well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not ; 
I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry 
for my cousin. 

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 

Beat. Do not swear, and eat it. 

Bene. I will swear liy it that you love me; and I 
will make him eat it that says 1 love not you. 

Beat. AV^ill you not eat your word? 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I 
protest I love thee. 

Beat. Why, then, God forgive me! 

Bene. Wliat offence, sweet Beatrice ? 

Beat. You have stayed me in a liappy hour : I 
was about to protest I loved you. 

Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that 
none is left to protest. 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. o 

Beat. Kill Claudio. 

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. 

Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. 

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 

Beat. I am gone, though I am here ; there is no 
love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go. 

Bene. Beatrice, — 
' Beat. lu faith, I will go. 

Bene. We '11 be friends first. 

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than 
fight witli mine enemy. 

Bene. Is Claudio tliine enemy? 

Beat. Is he not ai)iuovrd in'the height a villain, 
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonored my kins- 
woman y O that I were a man ! What, bear her 
in hand until they come to take hands; and then, 
with public accusation, uncovered slander, un- 
mitigated rancour, — O God, that I were a man! I 
would eat his heart in the market-place. 

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice,— [saying! 

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ! A proper 
106 



Bene. Kay, but, Beatrice, — 

Beat. Sweet Hero ! Slie is wronged, she is slan- 
dered, she is undone. 

Btnr. JSeat — 

JUdt. I'rineis and counties! Surely, a princely 
testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet 
gallant, surely I that I were a man for his sake ! 
or that I had any friend would be a man for my 
sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, 
valour into compliment, and men are only turned 
into tongue, and trim ones too : he is now as valiant 
as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I 
cannot be a man with wishing, therefore 1 will die 
a woman with grieving. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love 
thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
swearing by it. 

Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio 
hath wronged Hero V 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul. 

Bene. Enough, I am engaged; I w'ill challenge 
him. I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By 
tills hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account. 
As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort 
your cousin : I must say she is dead : and so, fare- 
well. [Exeunt. 
SCENE II.— A 2)rison. 

Enter Xiogherry, Verges, and Sexton, in gonms; 

and the "Watch, witli Conrade and Borachio. 

Doej. Is our whole dissembly appeared V 

!'«•(/. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton. 

Sex. Wliich be the malefactors? 

Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that 's certain ; we have the exhi- 
bition to examine. 

Sex. But which are the offenders that are to be 
examined ? let them come before master constable. 

-Dof/. Yea, marry, let them come before me. 
What is your name, friend ? 

Bora. Borachio. 

Bog. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, sirrah ? 

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Con- 
rade. 

-Dog. Write down, master gentleman Conrade. 
Masters, do you serve God ? 

Bom. 1 Yea,.sir, we liope. 

Bog. AVrite down, that they hope they serve God : 
and write God first ; for God defend but God should 
go before such villains! Masters, it is proved al- 
ready that you are little better than false knaves; 
and it will go near to be thougiit so shortly. IIow 
answer you for yourselves? 

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 

Bog. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; 
but I will go about with him. Come you hither, 
sirrah; a word in your ear: sir, I say to you, it is 
thought you are false knaves. 

Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none. 

Bog. Well, stand aside. 'Fore God, they are 
both in a tale. Have you writ down, that they are 
none ? 

Sex. Master constable, you go not the way to ex- 
amine : you must call forth the watch that are their 
accusers. 

Bog. Yea, marry, that 's the eftest way. Let the 
watch come forth. Masters, I charge you, in tlie 
prince's name, accuse these men. 

Fiivt Wiitrli. This man said, sir, that Don John, 
the iirinee's brother, was a villain. 

Bixj. AVrite down Prince John a villain. Why, 
this is tiat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. 

Bora. Master constable, — 

Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy 
look, I promise thee. 



ACT V. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE I. 



Sex. What heard you him say else ^ 

Sec. W<dch. Marry, that he had received a thou- 
sand ducats of Don John for accusing the Lady 
Hero wrongfully. 

Doq. Flat burglary as ever was committed. 

Ver<j. Yea, by mass, that it is. 

Sex. What else, fellow V 

First Watch. And tliat Count Claudio did mean, 
upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole 
assein)>lv, and not marry her. 

i>o(/. 'O villain 1 thnii wilt be condennied into 
everlasting redemptidn for this. 

Sex. What else V 

Watch. This is all. 

SccK. And this is more, masters, than you can 
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
away; Hero was in this manner accused, in this 
very manner refused, and upon the grief of this sud- 
denly died. Master constable, let these men be 
bound, and Virought to Leonato's: I will go before 
and show him their examination. [£.ci<. 



Dog. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Vcrij. Let them be in the hands — 

Con. Off, coxcomb! 

Dotj. God 's my life, where 's the sexton ? let him 
write down the prince's officer coxcomb. Come, 
bind them. Thou naughty varlet ! 

(Jon. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 

Doy. Dost thou not suspect my place 'i dost thou 
not suspect my years ? O that lie were here to write 
me down an ass! But, masters, nnirmlier that I 
am an ass: though it be not written down, yet for- 
get not that 1 am an ass. Ko, thou villain, thou 
art full of piety, as shall be proved uimn thee by 
good witness. I am a wise fellow, and. which is 
more, an officer, and, which is more, a householder, 
and, which is more, as pretty a piece of tlesh as any 
is in iSIessina, and one that knows the law, go to; 
and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that 
hath had losses, and one that hath two gowns and 
every thing handsome about him. Bring him away. 
O that I had been writ down an ass ! YEjieunt. 



.ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Before Leonato's house. 

Enter Leonato and Antonio. 

Ant. If yon go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
And "t is not wisdom thus to second grief 
Against yourself. 

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel. 

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 
Km- let no comforter delight mine ear 
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
Bring me a father that so loved his child. 
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine. 
And bid him speak of patience; 
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine 
And let it answer every strain for strain, 
As thus for thus and such a grief for such. 
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: 
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard. 
Bid sorrow wag, cry ' hem ! ' when he should groan. 
Patch grief witli proverbs, make misfortune drunk 
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me. 
And I of him will gather patience. 
But tliere is no such man : for, brother, men 
Can coiniscl niid speak comfort to that grief 
Which thcv themselves not feel; .but, tasting it. 
Their I'lunisel turns to passion, which before 
Would give preceptial medicine to rage. 
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 
Charm ache with air and agony with words: 
No, no ; 't is all men's office to speak patience 
To those that wring under the load of sorrow, 
But no man's virtue nor suthcieucy 
To be so moral when he shall endure 
Tlie like himself. Therefore give me no counsel : 
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. 

Leon. I pray thee, peace. I will be tlesh and blood ; 
For there was never yet philosopher 
That could endure the toothache patiently, 
However they have writ the style of gods 
And made a push at chance and sufferance. 

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
Make those that do offend you suffer too. 

Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will 
do so. 
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied ; 
And that shall Claudio know ; so shall the prince 
And all of them that thus dishonour her. 

Ant. Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily. 



Enter Don Pedro f(ncZ Claudio. 

D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 

Claud. Good day to both of you. 

Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 

Leon . Some haste, my lord ! well, fare you well, my 
Are you so hasty now? well, all is one. [lord: 

B. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good 
old man. 

Ant. If he coidd right himself with quarreling, 
Some of us would lie low. 

Claud. Who wrongs liim V 

Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dis- 
sembler, thou : — 
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword ; 
1 fear thee not. 

Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, 

If it should give your age such cause of fear: 
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 

Leon. Tush, tusli, man ; never tleer and jest at me: 
I speak not like a dotard nor a fool. 
As under privilege of age to brag 
What I have done being young, or what would do 
Were I not old. Know, Claudio. to thy head. 
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innoeenl eliild and me 
That I am forced to lay my reveriMice by 
And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days. 
Do cliallenge thee to trial of a man. 
I say thou hast belied mine innocent child; 
Thy slander hath gone through and through her 

heart. 
And she lies buried with her ancestors ; 
O, in a tomb where never scandal slept. 
Save this of hers, framed by thy villany ! 

Claud. My villany V 

Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. 

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, 

I '11 prove it on his body, if he dare. 
Despite his nice fence and his active practice, 
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. 
Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with you. 

Leon. Canst thou sodaffme? Thou hast kill'd 
my child : 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed : 

But that 's no matter ; let him kill one first ; 

Win me and wear me ; let him answer me. [me : 

Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow 

107 



ACT V. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE I. 



Sir boy, I '11 whip you from your foining fence ; 
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 

Leon. Brother, — [niece; 

Ant. Content yourself. God knows I loved my 
And she is dead, slauder'd to death by villains, 
That dare as well answer a man indeed 
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 
Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops ! 

Leon. Brotlier Antony, — 

Ant. Hold you content. "What, man! 1 know 
tliem, yea, 
And what they weigh, even to the utmost .scruple, — 
Scanililing, out-facing, fashion-monging boys. 
That lie and cog and llout, deprave and slander. 
Go anticly, show outward liideousuess. 
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, 
How tliey might hurt their enemies, if they durst ; 
And this is all. 

Leon. But, brother Antony, — 

Ant. Come, 't is no matter : 

Do not you meddle ; let me deal in this. 

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake 
your patience. 
Jly heart is sorry foi- your daughter's death : 
But, on my honour, she was charged with nothing 
But what was true and very full of proof. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, — 

D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 

Leon. No? Come, brother; away! I will be heard. 

Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it. 
[Exeimt Leonato and Antonio. 

D. Pedro. See, see; here comes the man we 
went to seek. 

Enter Benedick. 

Claud. Now, signior, what news ? 

Bene. Good day, my lord. 

I). Pedro. Welcome, signior :j'ou are almost come 
to part almost a fray. 

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
snapped off with two old men without teeth. 

L.Pedro. Leonato and his brother. Whatthink- 
est thou y Had we fouglit, I doubt we should have 
been too young for tliem. 

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. 
I came to seek you both. 

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ; 
for we are high-proof melancholy and would fain 
have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy wit V 

Bene. It is in my scabljard : shall I draw it ? 

D. Pedro. Dost "thou wear thy wit by thy side? 

Claud. Never any did so, though very many have 
been beside their wit. 1 will bid thee draw, as we 
do the minstrels ; draw, to pleasure us. 

L). Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. 
Art thou sick, or angry V 

Cfeiirf. What, courage, man! AVhat though care 
killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill 
care. 

Bene. Sir, I shajl meet your wit in the career, an 
you charjje It against me. I pray you choose an- 
other subject. 

Claud. Nay, then, give him another .staff: this 
last was broke cross. 

B. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
more: I tliink he be angry indeed. 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ( ar? 

Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 

Bene. [A.Hd.e to Claxidio] You are a villain ; I jest 
not: I will make it good how you dare, witli what 
you dare, and when you dare. Do me right, or I 
will protest your cowardice. You have killed a 
sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. 
Let me liear from you. 

Claud. AV'ell, I will meet you, so I may have 
good cheer. 

108 



D. Pedro. 1Vhat, a feast, a feast ? 

Claud. I' faith, I thank him : he hath bid me to a 
calf's head and a capon ; the which if I do not carve 
most curiously, say my knife 's naught. Shall I not 
find a woodcock too V 

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. 

B. Pedro. I '11 tell thee how Beatrice praised thy 
wit the other day. I said, thou hadst a line wit : 
'True,' said she, 'a fine little one.' 'No,' said I, "a 
great Vv'it: ' 'Right,' says she, 'a great gross one.' 
'Nay,' said I, 'a good wit:' 'Just,' said she, 'it 
hurts nobody.' ' Nay,' said I, ' the gentleman is 
wise:' 'Certain,' .said she, 'a wise gentleman.' 
'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the tongues: ' 'Tliat I be- 
lieve,' said she, ' tor he swore a thing to me on Mon- 
day night, which he forswore on Tuesday morn- 
ing ; there 's a double tongue ; there 's two tongues.' 
Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy par- 
ticular virtues : yet at "last slie concluded with a 
sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy. 

Claud. For the which slie wept heartily and said 
she cared not. 

B. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all that, 
an if she did not hate him deadly, she would lovfe 
him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. 

Claud. All, all; and, moreover, God saw him 
when he was hid in the garden. 

B. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's 
horns on the sensible Benedick's head? 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells 
Benedick the married man ! ' 

Bene. Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. 
I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: 
you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, 
God be thanked, hurt not. My lord, for your many 
courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your 
company: your brotlier the bastard is tied from iles- 
sina: you have aniong you killed a sweet and inno- 
cent lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and I 
shall meet: and, till then, peace be with him. [Kelt. 

B. Pedro. He is in earnest. 

Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I "11 war- 
rant )-ou, for the love of Beatrice. 

B. Pedro. And hath challenged thee. 

Claud. Mo.st sincerely. 

B. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when he 
goes in hi.3 doublet and hose and leaves off his wit ! 

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape; but then is 
an ape a doctor to such" a man. 

B. Pedro. But, soft you, let me be: pluck up, my 
heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my brother was 
Hed':' 

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the 'Watcli, zdth 
Conrade and Borachio. 

Borj. Come jou, sir: if justice cannot tame you, 
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance: 
nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must 
be looked to. 

B. Pedro. How now? two of my brother's men 
bound ! Borachio one ! 

Claud. Ilearken after their offence, my lord. 

B. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men 
done y 

Boij. Marry, sir, they have committed false re- 
port ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; sec- 
ondarily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they 
have lielied alady; tliinlly, t licy have verihed inijust 
things; and, to conclude, tlirv are lying knaves. 

B. 7^c.7ro. First, I ask thee what they have done; 
thirdly. I ask thee what "s their offence; sixth and 
lastly, why they are conunitted; and, to conclude, 
what you lay to their charge. 

Claud. Rightly ri-asoned. and in his own division; 
and, by my troth, there "s one meaning well suited. 

B. Pcdrn. Who have you offended, masters, that 
you are thus bound to jour answer? this learned 



ACT V. 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. scene ir. 



constable is too cunning to be understood : what 's 
j'our offence 'i 

Bora. Hweet prince, let nie go no farther to mine 
answer : do you hear me, and let this count kdl nie. 
I have deceived even your very eyes: what your 
wisdoms could not discover, these shallow tools 
liave brought to light; who in the night overheard 
me confessing to this man how Don John your 
brother incensed me to slander the Latly Hero,"how 
you were brought into the orchard and saw me 
court Margaret in Hero's garments, how you dis- 
graced her, when you should marry her: my villany 
tliey have upon record; which I had rather seal 
with my death than repeat over to my shame. The 
lady is dead upon mine ami my master's false accu- 
sation ; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward 
of a villain. 

JJ. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
your blood ':' 

Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. 

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this y 

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice 
of it. 

I). Pedro. He is composed and framed of treach- 
And fled lie is upon this villany. [ery: 

Claiul. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear 
In tlie rare semblance tliat I loved it flrst. 

Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by tliis 
time our sexton hatli reformed Signior Leonato of 
the matter: and, masters, do not forget to specify, 
when time and ])lace shall serve, that 1 am an ass. 

Very. Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, 
and tlie sexton too. 

He-enter Leonato and Antonio, rcith the Sexton. 

Leon. Which is the villain ? let me see his eyes, 
That, when I note another man like him, 
I may avoid liim : which of these is he ':" [me. 

Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on 

Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath 
Mine innocent child y [hast kill'd 

Bora. Yea, even I alone. 

Leon. No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself: 
Here stand a pair of honourable men; 
A third is fled, that had a hand in it. 
I tliank you, princes, for my daughter's death : 
Eecord it with your high and worthy deeds: 
'T was bravely done, if'you bethink you of it. 

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience; 
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself ; 
Impose me to what penance your invention 
Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not 
But in mistaking. 

1). Pedro. By my soul, nor I : 

And yet. to satisfy this good old man, 
1 would bend under any heavy weight 
Tliat he '11 enjoin me to. 

Leon. I cannot biil you bid my daughter live; 
That were impossible: but, I pray you both, 
Possess the people iu Messina iiere 
How innocent she died : and if your love 
Can labour auglit in sad invention. 
Hang her an eiiitaiih upon her tomb 
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night: 
To-morrow morning come you to my house, 
And since you could not be my son-in-law. 
Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter. 
Almost the copy of my child that 's dead, 
And she alone is heir to both of us: 
Give her the right you should have given her cousin. 
And so dies my revenge. 

Claud. O noble sir, 

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me! 
1 do endjrace your offer; and dispose 
For henceforth of po(ir Claudio. 

Lam . To-morrow then I will expect your coming ; 
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man 



Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
Who I believe was packed in all this wrong, 
Hired to it by your brother. 

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not, 

Nor knew not what she did when slie spoke to me. 
But always hath been just and virtuous 
In any thing that I do know by her. 

Diiij. Miiri'dver, sir, which indeed is not under 
white and black, this plaintiff liere, the offender, 
did call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered 
in his punishment. And also, the watch heard them 
talk of one Deformed : they say he wears a key in 
his ear and a lock hanging by it, and borrows money 
in God's name, the which he hath used so long and 
never paid that now men grow hard-hearted and 
will lend nothing for God's sake: pray you, examine 
him upon that point. 

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. 

Boy. Your worship speaks like a most thankful 
and reverend youth : antl I praise God for you. 

Leon. There 's for thy pains. 

Boy. God save the foundation ! 

Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and 
I thank thee. 

Boy. I leave an arrant knave with yoxu' worship- 
which I beseech yoiu- worship to correct yourself, 
for the example of others. God keep your worship ! 
I wish your worship well ; God restore you to healtli ! 
I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry 
meeting" may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, 
neighbour. [Exeunt Boyherry and Verges. 

Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 

Ant. Farewell, my lords: we look for you to- 

B. Pedro. We will not fail. [morrow. 

Claud. To-night I '11 mourn with Hero. 

Leon. [To the Watch] 13ring you these fellows on. 
We '11 talk with Margaret, 

How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. 
[Exeunt, severally. 

SCENE II.— iconofo's garden. 

Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. 

Bene. Pray thee, sweet JNIistress Margaret, de- 
serve well at my hands by helping me to the speech 
of Beatrice. 

Mary. Will you then -write me a sonnet in praise 
of my beauty i:' 

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man 
living shall come over it ; for, in most comely truth, 
thou deservest it. 

Mnry. To have no man come over me ! why, shall 
I always keep below stairs '? 

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
mouth ; it catches. 

Mary. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, 
which'hit, but" hurt not. 

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret ; it will not 
hurt a woman : and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: 
I give thee the bucklers. 

Mary. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of 
our o\vn. 

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put 
in the pikes with a vice; and" they are dangerous 
weapons for maids. 

Mary. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I 
think hath legs. 

Bene. And therefore will come. [Exit Margaret. 

[Sings] The aod of love. 

That sits above. 
And knows nie. and knows me. 
How pitiful I deser\e, — 

I mean in singing ; but in loving, Leander the good 

swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pandei-s, 

and a whole bookf ul of these quondam carpet-mon- 

109 



ACT V. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE IV. 



gers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even 
road of a blank verse, why, they were never so 
truly turned over and over as my fjoor self in love. 
Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme : I have tried : I 
can find out no rhyme to ' lady ' but ' baby,' an in- 
nocent rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a hard rhyme; 
for, 'school,' 'fool,' a babblini; rliyme; very omi- 
nous endings: no, I was not liorn under a rhyming 
planet, norl cannot woo in l'e.sti\al terms. 

Enter Beatrice. 
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called 
thee ? 

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 

Bene. O, stay but till then! 

Bent. ' Then"' is spoken ; fare you well now : and 
yet, ere I go, let me go with tliat I came; whicli 
IS, with knowing what hath passed between you 
and Claudio. 

Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will kiss 
thee. 

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind 
is but foul lirciith, and fold breath is noisome; 
therefore I will depart unkisscd. 
• Bene. Thou hast frislited the word out of his 
right sense, so forciljle is tliy wit. But I must tell 
thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and 
either I must shortly hear from him, or I will sub- 
scribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell 
me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall 
in love with me ? 

Beat. For them all together ; which maintained 
so politic a state of evil that they will not admit 
any good part to intermingle with them. But for 
which of my good parts did you first suffer love 
forme ? 

Bene. Suffer love! a good epithet! I do suffer 
love indeed, for I love thee against my will. 

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor 
heart! If you spite it for my sake, 1 will spite it 
for yours; for I will never love that which. my 
friend hates. 

Bene. Thou and I are too wi.se .to woo peaceably. 

Beat. It ai)pears not in this confession : there 's 
not one wise man among twenty tliat will praise 
himself. 

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that 
lived in the time of good neighbours. If a man do 
not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he 
shall live no longer in monument tliau the bell rings 
and the widow weeps. 

Beat. And how long is that, think you ? 

Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour and a 
quarter in rheum : therefore is it most expedient 
for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no 
impediment to tlie contrary, to be the trunii*t of 
his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for 
praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, 
is praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your 
cousin y 

Beat. Very ill. 

Bene. And how do you V 

Beat. Very ill too. 

Bene. Serve God, love me and mend. There will 
I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 

Enter Ursula. 
TJrs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. 
Vender's old coil at home: it is proved my Lady 
Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and 
Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the 
author of all, who is fled and gone. "Will you come 
presently ? 
Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior':* 
Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and 
be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with 
thee to thy uncle's. [E.aunt. 

110 



SCENE III.— .A ehureh. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and three or four with 
tapers. 
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato i* 
A Lord. It is, my lord. 
Claud. [Beadimj otit of a scroll] 

Done to death by slanderous tongues 
Was the Hero tliat here lies: 

Death, in guerdon of her wrongs. 
Gives her fame which never dies. 

So tlie life that died witli shame 

Lives in deatli with glorious fame. 

Hang thou there upon the tomb, 
Praising her when I am dumb. 
Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 

SONG. 

Pardon, goddess of the night, 
Tiiose that slew thy virgin knight ; 
For the which, witii songs of woe. 
Round about her tomb they go. 

JNIidniglit, assist our moan; 

Help us to sigh and groan. 
Heavily, lieavily: 

Graves, yawn and yield your dead, 

Till death be uttered. 
Heavily, heavily. 

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! 

Yearly will I "do this rite. [out : 

I). Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; ijut your torches 
The wolves have jirey "d : and look, tlie gentle day, 
Before the wheels of Plia?bus. round about 

Dapples the drow.sy east with spots of grey. 
Thanks to you all. and leave us: fare you well. 
Claud. Good UKJrrow, masters: each his several 

way. 

D. Futro. Come, let us hence, and put on other 

And then to Leonato's we will go. [weeds; 

Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds, 

Than this for whom vverender'd up this woe. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A room in Leonato''s house. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, 

Margaret, Ursula, Friar Francis, and Hero. 

Friar. Did I not trll you .she was innocent? 

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accused 
her 
LTjion the error that you lieard debated : 
But Margaret was in some fault for tliis, 
AltlKiugli against licr will, as it appears 
In the true rdiuse of all the ijuestion. 

Ant. Well, 1 am glad that all things sort so well. 

Bene. Ami so am I, being else by i'aith enforced 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 

Lean. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all. 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves. 
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd. 

[Exe^int Ladies. 
The prince and Claudio promised by this hour 
To visit me. You know your office, brother: 
You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
And give her to young Claudio. 

Ant. Which I will do with confirm 'd countenance. 

Jknc. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 

Friar. To do what, signior? 

Bene. To bind me. or undo me ; one of them. 
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior. 
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. 

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 't is most 
true. 

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 



ACT V 



3IUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



SCENE IV. 



Leon. The sislit whereof I think yon luul from me, 
From Chiudio and the prince: But what "syourwiU':' 

Bene. Your answer, sir, is euigniatieal : 
But, for my will, my will is your good will 
May stand with ours, tliis day to be conjoin'd 
In the state of lionourable marriage: 
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 

Leon. My heart is with your liking. 

Fi-iar. And my help. 

Here comes the prince and Claudio. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, and two or three 
others. 
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
Leon. Good morrow, prince ;-good morrow, Clau- 
dio: 
V,'e here attend you. Are you yet determined 
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? 
Claud. I "11 hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. 
Leon. Call her forth, brother; here's the friar 
ready. [Exit Antonio. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick. Why, what 's 
the matter. 
That you liave such a February face. 
So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness? 

Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull. 
Tush, fear not, man ; we '11 tip tliy horns with gold 
And all Eiiropa shall rejoice at thee, 
As once Eurnpa did at lusty .Jove, 
When he would play the noble beast 'n love. 
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow, 
And got a calf in that same noble feat 
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
Claud. For this I owe you: here comes other 
reckonings. 

i?e-o!(fr Antonio, with the Ladies masl^eel. 
"Which is the lady I must seize upon ? 

Ant. Tills same is she, and I do give you her. 

Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let me see 
your face. 

Leon . Xo, tliat you shall not, till you take her hand 
Before this friar and swear to marry iier. 

Claud. Give me your hand : before this holy friar, 
I am y jur husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife: 

[ Unmasking. 

And when you loved, you were my other husband. 

Claud. Another Hero ! 

Hero. Xothing certainer : 

One Hero died defiled, but I do live. 
And surely as I live, I am a maid. 

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! 

Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander 
lived. 

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; 
AVhen after tliat tlie lioly rites are ended, 
1 '11 tell yiiu largely of fair Hero's death: 
Meantime let wonder seem familiar, 
And to the chapel let us presently. 

Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? 

Beat. [Uu masking] I answer to that name. What 
is your wiU ? 



Bene. Do not you love me? 

Beat. Why, no ; no more than reason. 

Bene. Why, then your uncle and the prince and 
Have been deceired"; they swore you did. [Claudio 

Beat. Do not you love me ? 

Bene. Troth, no ; no more than reason. 

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret and Ursula 
Are much deceived: for they did swear you did. 

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick forme. 

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead 
for me. [me ? 

Bene. 'T is no such matter. Then you do not love 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gen- 
tleman. 

Claud. And I "11 be sworn upon 't that he loves 
For here 's a paper written in his hand, [her • 

A halting soimet of his own pure brain, 
Fashiou'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here 's another 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

Bene. A miracle ! here 's our own hands against 
our hearts. Come, I will have thee ; but, by this 
light, I take thee for pity. 

Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this good 
day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and partly to 
save yom- life, for I was told you were in a con- 
sumption. 

Bene. Peace! I will stop your mouth. [A'i's«?ig/ier. 

D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the mar- 
ried man ? 

Bene. I '11 tell thee what, prince; a college of wit- 
crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost 
thou think I care for a satire or an epigram ? Xo : 
if a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear 
nothing handsome about hin^. In brief, since I do 
purpose to marry, 1 will tliink nothing to any pur- 
pose that the world can say against it ; and there- 
fore never flout at me for what I have said against 
it ; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclu- 
sion. For thy part, Claudio, I did thhik to have 
beaten thee , but in that thou art like to be my kins- 
man, live unbruised and love my cousin. 

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied 
Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of 
thy single life, to make thee a double-dealer ; which, 
out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not 
look exceeding narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, come, we are friends: let 's have a 
dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our 
own hearts and our wives' heels. 

Leon. We '11 have dancing afterward. 

Bene. First, of my word ; tlierefore play, music. 
Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a 
wife: there is no staft more reverend than one 
tipped with horn. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, your brother .John is ta'en in flight, 
And brouglit witli armed men back to ^Messina. 

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow : I '11 devise 

thee brave pimishmeuts for him. Strike up, pipers. 

[Danee. — Exeunt. 




Dogberry.— Bost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years ?— Act V., Scene ii. 



HI 



LOVE S LABOUR'S LOST. 



i>J?.lil/.12'/S PERSONS. 



Ferdinand, King of Navarre. 

Biron, | 

Longaville, V lords attending on the King. 

Dumain, ) 

Boyet, ] lords attending on the Princess of 

Mercade, i France. 

Don Adriano de Armado, a fantastical Spaniard. 

Sir Nathaniel, a curate. 

Holofernes, a schoolmaster. 

Dull, a coiistable. 

Costard, a clown. 



Moth, page to Armado. 

A Forester. 

The Princess of France. 

Rosaline, ] 

Maria, > ladies attending on the Princess. 

Katharine, ) 

Jaquenetta, a country wench. 

Lords, Attendants, &c. 

SCENE —Navarre. 



[Fo 



of the Plot of this Plaj 

^OT I. 



SCENE l.—The hing of Namrre's ixirk. 

Enter Ferdinand, Kinp; nf Navarre, Biron, 
Longaville, and Dumain. 

Kinr/. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, 
Live reuisterVl updn our brazen tombs 
And tlien srace us in the disurace of death ; 
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, 
The endeavour of this i)resent breath may buy 
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge 
And make us heirs of all eternity. 
Therefore, brave conquerors, — for so you are, 
That war against your own affections 
And the huue aruiy of the world's desires, — 
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: 
Navarre shall 1)P the wonder of the world; 
Our court shall be a little Academe, 
Still and contemidative in living art. 
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me 
My fellow-scliolars and to keep those statutes 
That are recorded in this scliedule here : [names. 
Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe yoiu- 
That his own hand may strike his honour dowii 
That violates the sinalicst liraiicli licnnn: 
If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do. 
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keei) it too. 

Long. I am resolvecl; 'tis but a three years' fast: 
Theiiiind shall banquet, though tlie body pine : 
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits 
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite tlie wits. 

Dam. My loving lord, Dmnaui is mortified : 
The grosser manner of these world's deliglits 
He throws ui)on the gross world's baser slaves: 
To love, to wealth, to ponij), I pine and die ! 
With all these living in philosojihy. 

Biron. I can but say their protestation over; 
So much, dear liege, t have already sworn, 
That is, to live and study hiae three years. 
Bat there are other strict ol)servance's; 
As, not to see a woman in tliat term. 
Which I hope well is not enrolled there; 
And one day in a week to touch no food 
And but one meal on every day beside. 
The which I hope is not enrolled tliere ; 
And then, to sleep but three hoitrs in the night, 
112 



And not be seen to wink of all the day — 
When I was wont to think no harm all night 
And make a dark night too of half the day — 
Whicli 1 hope well is not enrolled there: 
O, these are Ijarren tasks, too hard to keep, 
Not to see ladies, sludy, fast, not sleep! 

King. Youroatli i^lla^s■d to pass away from these. 

Biron. Let me say no. my liege, anif you please: 
I only swore to study with your grace 
And stay here in your court for three years' space. 

Long. You swore to that, Binni, and to the rest. 

Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then 1 swore in jest. 
What is the end of study V let me know. 

King. Why, that to know, which else we should 
not know. 

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from 
common sense V 

King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. 

Biron. Come on, then; I will swear to study so, 
To know the thing I am forbid to know: 
As thus, — to study where I well may dine, 

When I to feast expres.sly am forbid ; 
Or study where to meet some mistress fine, 

When mistresses from cinmiion sense are hid; 
Or, havinu' sworn too liard a kee]iiug oatli, 
Study to break it and not lireak my troth. 
If study's gain be tims amtthis l)e so. 
Study kiious tliat \\ liicli yet it doth not know: 
Swear me to tliis. and I will ne'er say no. 

King. These lie the stojis that hinder study quite 
And train our intellects to vain delight. 

Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that most 
vain, 
Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain: 
As, painfully to pore upon a liook 

To seek the light of truth : while truth the while 
Doth falselv blind the evesi-Id of his look: 

Ligld seeking liglit doth light of light beguile: 
So, ere you liml wliere light in darkness lies, 
Your light grows <lark by losing of your eyes. 
Study me how to please the eye indeed 

By lixing it upon a fairer eye. 
Who dazzling so, tliat eye shidl be his heed 

And give him light that it was blinded by. 
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun 

That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks: 



ACT r. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCEXE I. 



Small have continual plodders ever won 

Save base authority from others' books. 
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights 

That give a name to every tixed star 
Have no more profit of tlieir shining nights 

Tlian tlinse that walk and wot not what they are. 
Too mucli to know is to know nought but fame ; 
And every godfather can give a name. [reading ! 

Kiny. How well he 's read, to reason against 

Bum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding ! 

Lowj. He weeds the corn and still lets grow the 
weeding. [a-breeding. 

Biron. The spring is near when green geese are 

Bum. How follows that y 

Biron. Fit in his place and time. 

Bum. In reason nothing. 

Biron. Something then in rhyme. 

Kiny. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost 

That bites the flrst-bom infants of the 
spring. 

Uicoii. Well, say I am; why should proud sum- 
mer boast 
Before the birds have any cause to sing ? 
Wliy should 1 joy in any abortive birth ? 
At Christmas I no more desire a rose 
Tlian wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth ; 
But like of each thing that in season grows. 
So you, to study now'it is too late. 
Climb o'er the house to unlock tlie little gate. 

Kiny. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron : adieu. 

Biron. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay 
with you : 
And though I have for barbarism spoke more 

Than for that angel knowledge you can say, 
Yet confident I '11 keep what I have swore 

And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
Give me tlie paper; let me read the same ; 
And to the strict "st decrees I '11 write my name. 

Kiny. How»well this yielding rescues thee from 
shame ! 

Biron Ircads]. ' Item, That no woman shall come 
within a mile of my court : ' Hath this been pro- 

Bony. Four days ago. [claimed ? 

Biron. Let 's see tlie penalty. [fffarZs] ' On pain 
of losing her tongue.' Who devised this penalty ? 

Lony. Marry, that did I. 

Biron. Sweet lord, and why y [penalty. 

Lony. To fright them hence with that dread 

Biron. A dangerous law against gentility! 

[Bcmh] ' Itt'iii, If any mail be seen to talk with 
a woman witliin the term of three years, he sliall 
endure such public shame as the rest of the court 
can possibly devise.' 
This article, my liege, yourself must break; 

For well you know liere comes in embassy 
The Frencli king's daughter with yourself to speak — 

A maid of grace ami complete majesty — 
About surrender up of Aquitaine 

To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father : 
Therefore this article is made in vain. 

Or vainly comes the admired princess hither, 

Kiny. What say you, loi'ds? why, this was quite 

Biron. So study evermore is overshot : [forgot. 
While it doth study to have what it would 
It doth forget to do the thing it should, 
And wlieii it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
'T is won as towns with lire, so won, so lost. 

Kiny. We must of force dispense with this decree ; 
She must lie here on mere necessity. 

Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 

Three thousand' times within this three years' 
For every man with his affects is born, [space ; 

Not by might master "d but by special grace: 
If I break faitli, this word shall speak for me; 
I am forsworn on ' mere necessity.' 
So to the laws at large I write my name : [Subscribes. 

And he that breaks them in the least degree 



Stands in attainder of eternal shame : 

Suggestii-iiis are to other as to me ; 
But 1 believe, although I seem so loath, 
I am the last that will last keep liis oatli. 
But is tliere no quick recreation grauud ? 

Kiny. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is 
haunted 

With a refined traveller of Spain ; 
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 

That hath a mint of plirases in his brain ; 
One whom the music of his own vain tongue 

Doth ravish like enchanting harmony ; 
A man of complements, wli(.>ni right and wrong 

Have chose as umpire^of tlieir mutiny: 
This child of fancy tliat'Arinado hight 

For interim to our studies shall relate 
In high-born words the worth of many a kniglit 
From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate. 
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ; 
But, I protest, 1 love to hear him lie 
And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 

Biron. Armado is a most ilUistrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashimrs own knight. 

Lony. Costard the swain and lie shall be our sport; 
And so to study, three years is but short. 

Enter Dull with a letter, and Costard. 

Bull. Which is the Duke's own person V 

Biron. This, fellow: what wouldst ? 

Bull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I 
am his grace's tharborough : but I would see his own 
person in flesh and blood. 

Biron. This is he. 

Bull. Signior Anne — Arme — commends you. 
There 'svillany abroad : this letter will tell yon more. 

Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching 
me. 

Kiny. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 

Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God 
for high words. 

Lony. A high hope for a low heaven : God grant 
us patience! 

Biron. To hear? or forbear laughing':* 

Lony. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moder- 
ately: or to forbear both. 

Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us 
cause to climb in the merriness. 

Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning 
Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with 
the manner. 

Biron. In what manner 'i* 

Cost. In manner and form following, sir ; all those 
three : I was seen witli her in the manor-house, sit- 
ting with her upon the form, and taken following 
her into the park; which, p:;t together, is in man- 
ner and form following. N ow, sir, for the manner, 
— it is the manner of a man to speak to a woman : 
for the form, — in some form. 

Biron. For the following, sir? 

Cost. As it shall follow in my correction: and 
God defend the right ! 

Kiny. Will you hear this letter with attention ? 

Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 

Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken 
after the riesh. 

Kiny [rciuls]. 'Great deputy, the welkin's vice- 
gerent and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's 
earth's god, and body's fostering patron.' 

Cost. Not a word of. Costard yet. 

Kiny [reads]. 'So it is,' — 

Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, he is, in 
telling true, but so. 

Kiny. Peace ! 

C'lsi. Be to me and every man that dares not fight. 

Kiny. No words! 

Cost. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 

Kiny [reads]. ' So it is, besieged with sable-coloured 
113 



ACT I. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE 



melancholy, I ditl commend the Maek-iiiiiu-rssiiig 
humour to the most wliolesomeiihy.sic (if tl]y health- 
giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, lutook my- 
self to walk. The time when. About the sixth 
hour; when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and 
men sit down to that nourishment wliich is called 
supper: so much for the time when. Now for the 
ground which; which, I mean, I walked upon: it 
IS ycleped thy park. Then for the place where; 
where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene and 
most preposterous event, that draweth from my 
snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which here 
thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest : but to 
the place where ; . it standeth north-north-east and 
by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted 
garden: there did I see that low-spirited swain, 
that base minnow of thy mirth,' — 

Cost. Me? 

King [reads], 'that unlettered small-knowing 

Cost. Me? [soul,'— 

King [reacts], 'that shallow vassal,' — 

Cost. Still me '{ 

King [reads]. ' which, as I remember, hight Cos- 

Cost. O, me! [tard,'— 

King [reads], 'sorted and consorted, contrary to 
thy established proclaimed edict and continent 
canon, which with,— O with — but with this 1 pas- 
sion to say wherewith, — 

Cost. With a wench. 

King [reads], 'with a child of our grandmother 
Eve, a female; or, for thy more sweet understand- 
ing, a woman. Ilim I, as my ever-esteemed duty 
pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed 
of punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Anthony 
Dull ; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and 
estimation.' [Dull. 

Bull. Me, an 't shall please you ; I am Antliony 

King [reads]. ' For Jaquenetta, — so is the weaker 
vessel called which I apprehended with the afore- 
said swain, — Ikeepherasa vesselof tliy law's fury ; 
and shall, at tlie least oT thy sweet notii-e. bring her 
to trial. Tliine, in all ciiiuplinientsof devoted and 
heart-burning heat of duly. 

Don Adriano de Armado.' 

Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but the 
best that ever I heard. 

King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, 
what say you to tliis V 

Cost. Sir, I confess tlie wench. 

King. Did you liear the proclamation V 

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but 
little of the marking of it. 

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, 
to be taken with a wench. 

Cost. I was taken with none, sir: I was taken 
with a damsel. 

King. Well, it was proclaimed 'damsel.' 

Cost. This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a 
virgin. ['virgin.' 

King. It is so varied too; for it was proclaimed 

Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity ; I was taken 
with a maid. 

King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 

King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence : you 
shall fast a week with bran and water. 

Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and 
porridge. 

King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. 
My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er: 
And go we, lords, to put in practice that 
Which each to other liath so strongly sworn. 

[Exeunt King, LongaviUe, and Bumain. 

Biron. I '11 lay my head to any good man's hat, 
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. 
Sirrah, come on. 

Cast. 1 suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is, I 
114 



was taken witli Jaquenetta, and .Jaquenetta is a ; itu 
girl; and tlierefore welcome tlie sour cup of lov-- 
perity! Aliiictiou may one day smile again, aiiO 
till then, sit thee down", sorrow! [Ex^ 'w' ■ 

SCENE II.— Tlie same. 

Enter Armado and Moth. 

Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great 
spirit grows melancholy ? 

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 

Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self -same thing, 
dear imp. 

Moth. No, no; O Lord, sir, no. 

^ )■))!. How canst thou part sadness and melan- 
choly, my tender juvenal V 

3Ioth. By a familiar demonstration of the work- 
ing, my tough senior. 

^lr)ii. AVhy tough senior i* why tough senior? 

Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal ^ 

Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent 
epitheton appertaining to thy young days, whieli 
we may nominate tender. 

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent 
title to your old time, which we may name tough. 

Arm. Pretty and apt. 

Molh. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my 
saying apt ? or I apt, and my saying pretty ? 

Arm. Thou pretty, because little. [apt? 

Moth. IJttle pretty, because little. Wherefore 

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 

Molh. Speak you this in my praise, master ? 

Arm. In thy condign praise. 

Molh. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 

Arm. What, that an eel is ingenious? 

Molh. That an eel is quick. 

Arm. I do say thou art quick in answers: thou 
heatest my blood. 

Moth. I am answered, sir. 

Arm. I love not to be crossed. 

Molh. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary; 
crosses love not him. 

Arm. I have promised to study three years with 
the duke. 

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 

Arm. Impossible. 

Motli. How many is one thrice told ? 

Arm. I am ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit 
of a tapster. 

Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. 

Arm. I confess both: they are both the varnish 
of a complete man. 

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the 
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 

Arm. It dotli amount to one more than two. 

Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. 

Arm. True. 

Molh. AVhy, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
Now here is three studied, ere ye '11 thrice wink : 
and how easy it is to put ' years ' to the word 
'three,' and study three years in two words, the 
dancing horse will tell you. 

Arm. A most tine figure! 

Moth. To prove you a cipher. 

Arm. I will hereujion confess I am in love: and 
as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love 
with a base wench. If drawing my sword against 
tlie humour of affection would deliver me from the 
reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire pris- 
oner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a 
new-devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh : nie- 
thinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : 
what great men have been in love ? 

Moth. Hercules, master. 

Arm. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, 
dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let 
them be men of good repute and carriage. 



ACT ri. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE I. 



Mnth. Sainson, master: he was a man of good 
carriage, great carriage, for he carried tlie town- 
gates on his back like a porter : and lie was in love. 

Arm. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Sam- 
son ! I do excel thee in my rapier as much as thou 
di'lst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. 
"Who was Samson's love, my dear Mothy 

Molk. A woman, master. 

Arm. Of wliat comple.xion ? 

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, 
or one of tiie four. 

Arm. Tell me precisely of what comple.xion. 

Moth. Of the scii-water green, sir. 

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions ? [too. 

Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them 

Arm. Green indeed is the colour of lovers; but 
to have a love of that colour, methinks Samson 
had small reason for it. He surely affected her for 
her wit. 

ilolh. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit. 

Arm. My love is most immacidate white and red. 

Molh. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask- 
ed under sucli colnurs. 

Ar)a. Dfliiie, detine, well-educated infant. 

Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue, 
assist me ! 

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty 
and pathetical ! 

Moth. If she be made of white and red. 
Her faults will ne'er be known, 
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred 

And fears by pale white shown : 
Then if she fear, or be to blame,' 

By this you shall not know. 
For still her cheeks possess the same 
Which native she doth owe. 
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of 
white and red. 

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and 
the Beggar ? 

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a bal-' 
lad some tliree ages since: but I think now 'tis 
not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither 
serve for the writing nor the tune. 

Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, 
that I may example my digression by some mighty 
precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl that 
I took ill the park with the rational hind Costard : 
she deserves well. 

Moth. [Aside] To be whipped ; and yet a better 
love than my master. 

Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. 

Moth. And that 's great marvel, loviiig a light 
wench. 

Arm. I say, sing. 

Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 

Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. 

Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep 
Costard safe : and you must suffer him to take no 



delight nor no penance ; but a' must fast three days 
a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the 
park : she is allowed for the day-woman. Fare you 
well. 

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid ! 

Jaq. Man ';* 

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 

./(('/. That "s hereby. 

Ann. I know where it is situate. 

Jaq. Lord, how wise you are! 

Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 

Jaq. With that face ? 

Arm. I love thee. 

Juq. So I heard you say. 

Arm. And so, farewell. 

Jiiq. Fair weather after you ! 

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away ! 

[Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. 

Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere 
thou be pardoned. 

Cos;. Well, sir, I hoi^e, when I do it, I shall do it 
on a full stomach. 

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 

Cost. I am more bound to you tiian your fellows, 
for they are but lightly rewarded. 

Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up. 

Molh. Come, you transgressing slave; away! 

Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, 
being loose. 

Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou 
shalt to prison. 

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of 
desolation that I have seen, some shall see. 

Moth. What shall some see? 

Cost. Nay, nothing. Master Moth, but what they 
look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent 
in their words; and therefore I will say nothing: I 
thank God I have as little patience as another man ; 
and therefore I can be quiet. 

[Exeunt Moth and Costard. 

Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, 
where lier shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, 
which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, 
which is a great argument of falsehood, if I love. 
And how can that be true love which is falsely at- 
tempted? Love is a familiar; Love is a devil: 
there is no evil angel but Love. Yet was Samson 
so tempted, and he had an excellent strength ; yet 
was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good 
wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' 
club; and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's 
rapier. The flrst and second cause will not serve 
my turn ; the passado he respects not, the duello he 
regards not : his disgrace is to be called boy ; but 
his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour ! rust, 
rapier! be still, drum! for your manager is in love; 
yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extehiporal god of 
rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, 
wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in 
folio. [Exit. 



J^CT II. 



SCENE I.— Tlie same. 



Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, 
Katharine, Boyet, Lords, a)i(Zo(/icr Attendants. 
Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
spirits : 
Consider who the king your father sends. 
To whom he sends, and what 's his embas.sy : 
Yourself, held prcciuus in the world's esteem. 
To parley witli the sole inheritor 
Of all perfections that a man may owe. 



Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen. 
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace 
As Nature was in making graces dear 
When she did starve the general world beside 
And prudiyallv gave them all to you. [mean, 

Prin. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but 
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise : 
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye. 
Not utter'd by base sale of chainnen's tongues: 
I am less proiid to hear you tell my worth 
115 



ACT II. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE r. 



Than yon much williiiL;- to be counted wise 

In spending;' your wit in tlie praise of mine. 

]5nt now to tasl< tlic tasl<cr: sood Boyet, 

You arc not ignorant, all-tcllinii- fame 

Doth noise al)road, Navarre liatli made a vow, 

Till luiinful study shall outwear three years, 

No woman may approach his silent court: 

Therefore to 's seemetli it a needful course, 

Before we enter his forliidden .uates. 

To Ivuow his pleasure; and in that behalf. 

Bold of your worthiness, we single you 

As our best-moviny fair solicitor. 

Tell him, the daugliter of the King of France, 

(Jn sfri(uis Inisiness, craving quick dispatch, 

Imiioituncs personal conference with his grace: 

Haste, signify so much ; while we attend. 

Like humble-visaged suitors, his higli will. 

Boijet. Proud of eniploynient, willingly I go. 

Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. 

[Exit Boyet. 
Who are the votaries, my loving lords. 
That are vow-fellows with tliis virtuous duke? 

First Lord. Lord Longaville is one. 

Prin. , Know you the man ? 

Mar. I know liim, madam: at a marriage- feast, 
Between Lord Perii;ort and the beauteous" heir 
Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized 
In Normandy, saw I tliis Longaville: 
A man of S(Tvereign parts he is esteem'd ; 
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms: 
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. 
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil. 
Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ; 
Wiiose edge liath power to cut, whose will si ill wills 
It sliould none spare that come within his power. 

Prill. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is 't so ? 

Mar. They say so most that most his humours 
know. [grow. 

Prin. Such short-lived wits do wither as they 
Who are the rest ? 

Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplished 
youth, 
Of all that virtue love for virtue loved : 
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ; 
For he hath wit to make an ill shape gooil, 
And shape to win grace tliough he liall no wit. 
I saw him at the Duke Alenvon's once; 
And much too little of that good I saw 
Is my report to his great wortliiness. 

Bos. Anotlier of tliese students at that time 
Was there with him, if I liave heard a truth. 
Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, 
Witliin tlie limit of Tjeconiing mirth, 
I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
His eye begets occasion for his wit; 
For every object that the one doth catch 
The otlier turns to a mi'th-nioving jest, 
Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor, 
Delivers in sueli apt and gra(-ious words 
That aged ears play truant at his talcs 
And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 

Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love. 
That every one her own hath garnished 
With such bedecking ornaments of praise? 

First Lord. Here comes Boyet. 

lie-enter Boyet. 

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ? 

Boi/ft. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ; 
And he and his cnmiietitors in oath 
Were all addressM to meet you, gentle lady. 
Before I came. INIarry, thus much I have learnt : 
He rather means to lodge you in the field. 
Like one that comes here to besiege his court, 
Than seek a dispensation for his oath, 
116 



To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
Here comes Navarre. 

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, a ' 
Attendants. 

Kinq. Fair princess, welcome to the court 
Navarre. 

Prin. 'Fair' I give you back again; and 'w. 
come ' I liave not yet : the roof of this court is t 
high to be yours ; and welcome to the wide fields 
too base to be mine. 

King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. 

Prin. I will be welcome, then: conduct me 
thither. 

King. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. 

Prin. Our Lady help my lord ! he '11 be forswiu'ii. 

King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 

Prin. AVliy, will shall break it ; will anil nothing 
else. 

King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. 

Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, 
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping : 
'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord. 
And sin to break it. 
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold: 
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, 
And suddenly resolve nie in my suit. 

King. IMadanj, I will, if suddenly I may. 

Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away; 
For you '11 prove perjured if you make me stay. 

i'iroii. Did not I dance witli you in Brabant once? 

Bos. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? 

Biron. I know you did. [tion ! 

Bos. How needless was it then to ask the ques- 

Biron. You must not be so quick. 

Bos. 'T is 'long of you that spur me with such 
questions. ['t will tire. 

Biron. Your wit 's too liot, it speeds too fast, 
' Bos. Not till it leave the rider in tlie mire. 

Biron. What time o' day ? 

Bos. The hour tliat fools should ask. 

Biron. Now fair befall your mask! 

Bos. Fair fall the face it covers! 

Biron. And send you many lovers! 

Bos. Amen, so you be none. 

Biron. Nay, then will 1 be gone. 

King. Mattam, your father here doth intimate 
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; 
Being but tlie one-half of an entire sum 
Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
But say that lie or we, as neither have. 
Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid 
A hundred thousand more ; in surety of the which, 
One part of Acpntaine is l)ouiid to us. 
Although not valued to the money's worth. 
If then the king your father will restore 
But tliat one-half which is unsatisfied, 
AVe will give up our right in A(iuitaine, 
And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
But that, it seems, he little jHirjioseth, 
For here he doth demand to have repaid 
A hundred tlmusand crowns; and not demands, 
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns. 
To have his title live in Aipiitaiiie ; 
AVhich we much rather had depart withal 
And have the money by our father lent 
Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is. 
Dear princess, were not his requests so far 
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast 
And go well satisfied to France again. 

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong 
And wrong the reputation of your name, 
In so unseeming to confess receipt 
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. 



ACT III. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE I. 



Kinij. I do protest I never heard of it ; 
And if you prove it, I '11 repay it back 
Or yield up Aquitaiue. 

Prin. We arrest your word. 

Boyet, you can produce acquittances 
For sueli a sum from special officers 
Of Charles his father. 

King. Satisfy me so. 

Boiict. So please your grace, the ]>acket is not come 
Where that and other specialties are t.iound: 
To-morrow ynu sliall liuve a si^lit of them. 

Kiaij. It shall sulHce nie: at which interview 
All liberal reason 1 will yield unto. 
Meantime receive sucli welccnne at my hand 
As honour without breach of honour may 
Make tender of to thy true worthiness: 
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates; 
But here witlmut you shall be so received 
As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, 
Though so dcni<'d fair harliour in my house. 
Yoiu" own godil thonglits excuse me, and farewell: 
To-morrow shall we visit you again. [grace! 

Prill. Sweet health and fair desires consort your 

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place I 

[Exit. 

Biroii. Lady, I will commend you to mine own 
lieart. 

Pris. Pray you, do my commendations ; I would 
be glad to see it. 

lliron. I would you heard itgroa* 

Ji'o.s. Is the fool sick '? 

Pi ran. Sick at the heart. 

Poii. Alack, let it blood. 

Biron. Would that do it good ? 

Mos. My physic says ' ay.' 

Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye? 

Pos. No point, with my knife. 

i?iron. JNow, God save thy life ! 

Pos. And yours from long living ! 

Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring. 

Bum. Sir, I pray you, a word : what lady is that 
same ? 

Boyet. The heir of AleuQon, Katharine her name. 

Bum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Long. I beseech you a word : what is she in the 
white y 

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in 
the liglit. 

Long. Perchance light in the light. I desire her 
name. 

Boyet. She hath but one for herself ; to desire that 
were a shame. 

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daugliter? 

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. 

Long. God's blessing on your beard! 

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended. 
She is an heir of Falconbridge. 

Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
She is a most sweet lady. - 

Boyet. Not unlike, sir, that may be. [Exit Long. 

Biron. What 's her name in the cap ? 

^oyet. Kosaline, by good hap. 

Biron. Is she wedded or no V 



Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 
Biron. You are welcome, sir: adieu. 
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. 
[Exit Biron. 
Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord : 
Not a word with him but a jest. 
Boyet. And every jest but a word. 

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his 
word. [board. 

Boyet. 1 was as willing to grapple as he was to 
Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry. 
Boyet. And wherefore not ships V 

No siieep, sweet lamb, uidess we feed on your lips. 
3Iar. You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish 
Boyet. So you grant pastm-e for me. [the jest V 
[Offering to kiss her. 
Mar. Not so, gentle beast : 

My lips are no common, thougli several they be. 
Boyet. Belonging to whom 'i 
Mar. To my fortunes and me. 

Prin. Good wits will be jangling ; but, gentles, 
agree: 
This civil war of wits were much better used 
On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 't is abused. 
Boyet. If my observatiiin. which very seldom lies. 
By the heart's still rheturic disclosed with eyes. 
Deceive me not now, Navarre is iufected. 
Prin. With what y 

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle affected. 
Prin. Your reason y [retire 

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their 
To the court of his eye, peeping lliorough desire: 
His heart, like an agate, with your print inipress'd, 
Priiud witli his fcirni, in his eye pride express'd: 
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see. 
Did stund)le with haste in liis eyesight to be; 
All senses tothat sense did make their repair, 
To feel only h Hiking on fairest of fair: 
Methought all liis senses were luck 'd in his eye, 
As jewels in crystal tor some prince to buy ; 
Who, tendering their own worth from where they 

were glass"d. 
Did point yon to buy them, along as you pass'd: 
His face's own margent did (piote such amazes 
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted witli gazes. 
I '11 give you Aquitaine and all that is his. 
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. 
Prin. Come to our pavilion : Boyet is disposed. 
Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye 
hath disclosed. 
I only have made a mouth of his eye. 
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 
Pos. Thou art an old love-monger and speakest 

skilfully. 
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather and learns news 

of him. 
Eos. Then was Venus like her mother, for her 

father is but grim. _ ^ 

Boyet. Do you hear, my nia'd wenches ? 
Mar. No. 

Boyet. What then, do you see ? 

Pe)s. Ay, our way to be gone. 
Boyet. You are too hard for me. 

[Exeunt. 



A^CT III. 



SCENE l.—The same. 

Enter Armado and Moth. 

Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense 
of liearing. 

Moth. Concolinel. [Singing. 

Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take 
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him 



festinately hither : I must employ him in a letter to 

my love. [Ijraw 1 V 

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French 

Arm. How meanest thou y brawling in Frencli V 

Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a 

tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, 

humour it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note 

and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if 

117 



ACT III, 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCEN] 



you swallowed love with sinsincj love, sometime 
tlirough tlie nose, as if you snutfeil up love l>y siiirll- 
iua; love; with your hat peutlinuse-likc o'er the shop 
of your eyes; witli your arms crossed on your thin- 
iielly doublet like a ralOiit on a spit; or your hands 
in y<)ur pocket like a num after tlie old painting ; and 
keep not too long in one tune, luit a snip and away. 
These are complements, tliese are humours; these 
lietray nice wenclies, tliat would be betrayed with- 
out these; and make them men of note — do you 
note nieV — that most are alfei'ted to these. 

Arm. How liast tiiou }iurcliased this experience? 

Moth. By my penny of observation. 

Arm. ]3utO,— but'O,— 

Moth. 'The hobby-liorse is forgot.' 

Arm. Callest thou my love ' hobby-horse ' ? 

Moth. No, master; the liobhy-horse is but a colt, 
and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you 
forgot your love V 

Arm. Almost I had. 

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. 

Arm. By heart and in lieart, boy. 

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three 
I will prove. 

Arm. What wilt thou prove? 

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and with- 
out, upon the instant : by lieart you love her, because 
your heart cannot come- by her; in heart you love 
iier, because your heart is in love with her; and out 
of heart you love her, being out of heart that you 
cannot enjoy her. 

Arm. I am all these tliree. 

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet 
notliing at all. 

Arm. Fetch hither the swain : he must carry me 
1 a letter. 

Moth. A message well sympathized ; a horse to be 
ambassador for an ass. 

^li-Hj. 1 1 a, ha! what sayest thou ? 

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the 
horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But 1 go. 

Arm. The way is but short: away! 

Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 

Arm. The meaning, pretty ingenious? 
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? [no. 

Moth. Minimfi. honest master; or rather, master, 

Arm. I say lead is slow. 

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so : 

Is that lead slow whieli is tired from a gun ? 

Ai-in. Sweet smoke of rlietorie ! 
He rejiutes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that 's he : 
I slioot thee at the swain. 

MoUi. Thump then and I flee. [Exit. 

Arm. A most acute Juvenal; volable and free of 
grace ! [face : 

By thy fa\onr, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy 
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. 
My herald is return 'd. 

Be-enter Moth with Costard. 
Moth. A wonder, master ! here 's a costard broken 
in a shin. [voy ; begin. 

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy I'en- 
Cost. No egma, no riddle, no I'envoy ; no salve' 
in the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain i)lantain ! 
no Tenvoy, no I'envoy ; no salve, sir, but a iilantain ! 
Arm. By virtue. thoiienforcestlangliter; thy silly 
thoui^ld in>' spleen ; Ihe heaving of my lungs pro- 
vokes me to riilicnlons smiling. (), panlon me, my 
stars! Doth the iueonsiderate take salve for I'en- 
voy, and the word I'envoy for a salve? 
Moth. Do the wise tliiiik them other ? is not I'en- 
voy a salve ? 
Arm. No, page ; it is an epilogue or discourse, to 
make plain 
Rome obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 
I will example it: 

118 



The fox, the ape and the humble-liee, 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
There's the moral. Now the i'envoy. 

Moth. I willadd the I'einoy. Say tiie moral ag ■. ;' 

Arm. The fox, tlie ape, the Inimlile-bee, 
Were still at odds, being but tliree. 

Moth. Until the goo.se came out of door. 
And stay'd the odds by adding four. 
Now will I Ijegin your moral, and do you fo 
with my I'envoy. 

Tlie fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
Were still at odds, being but tliree. 

Arm. Until the goose came out of door. 
Staying tlie odds by adding four. 

Moth. A good I'envoy, ending in the goose: would 
you desire more ? 

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 
that 's Hat. 
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose Vie fat. 
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose ; 
Let me see ;"a fat I'envoy ; ay, that 's a fat goose. 

Arm. Come hither, come higher. How did this 
argument begin ? 

Moth. By saying that a costard was broken in a 
Then call'd you for the I'envoy. [shin. 

Cost. True, and I for a plantain : thus came your 
argument in; [bought; 

Then the boy's fat I'envoy, the goose that j'ou 
And he ended the market. 

Arm. But tell me; how was there a costard 
broken in a shin ? 

Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will 
speak that I'envoy: 

I Costard, running out, that was safely witliin. 

Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 

Cost. Till there be more matter in tlie sliin. 

Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 

Cost. O, marry me to one Frances : I smell some 
I'envoy, some goose, in this. 

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at 
liberty, enfreedoming thy jierson : thou wert im- 
mured, restrained, captivated, liound. 

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my purga- 
tion and let me loose. 

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur- 
ance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
but tliis: bear tliis signilii-ant [ijirlmj n hlti r] to the 
country maid .laquelietta : there is reinuneralion; 
for tlie best wanl of mine honour is rewarding my 
dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. 

Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu. 

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my.incony 
Jew ! [Exit Moth. 

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunera- 
tion ! O, that 's the Latin word for three fartliings : 
three farthings — remuneration.- — ' What 's the price 
of this inkle ? ' — ' One penny.' — ' No, I '11 give you 
a remuneration:' why, it carries it. Remunera- 
tion ! why, it is a fairer name than French crown. 
I will never buy and sell out of this word. 

Enter Biron. 

Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly 
well met. 

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon 
may a man buy for a remuneration ? 

Biron. What is a remuneration ? 

Cost. Marry, .sir, halfpenny fartliing. 

Biron. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk. 

Cost. I tliank j'oiu' worship : Kod be wi' you ! 

Biron. Stay, slave; I must employ thee: 
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, 
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 
' Cost. Wlien would you have it done, sir? 

Biron. Tills afternoon. 



CT IV. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE I. 



Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well. 

Biron. Thou knowest not what it is. 

Cost. I shall know, sir. when I have done it. 

Biron. Why, villain, tnou must know first. 

Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morn- 
ing. 

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, 
slave, it is but this : 

Tlie princess comes to hunt here in the park, 
And in her train there is a geutle lady ; [name. 
When tonsues speak sweetly, then tliey name her 
And Rosaline they call her: ask for her; 
And to her white hand see thou do command 
This seal'd-up counsel. There 's thy guerdon ; go. 
[Oiving him a sliiUing. 

Cost. Gardon, O sweet gardon ! better than re- 
muneration, a 'leven-pence fartliing lietter: most 
sweet gardon ! I will do it, sir, in print. Gardon ! 
Remuneration! [Exit. 

Biron. And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have 
been love's whip; 
A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable; 
A domineering pedant o'er the boy; 
Thau whom no mortal so magnificent! 
This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy; 



This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; 

Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms. 

The anointed sovereign of sighs and gixjans, 

Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, 

Dreail prince of plackets, king of codpieces, 

Scilf impi-rator and great general 

Of trotting 'paritors: — O my little heart! — 

And I to be a corporal of his field. 

And wear Ids colours like a tumbler's hoop ! 

What, I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife! 

A woman, that is like a German clock, 

Still a-repairing, ever out of frame. 

And never going aright, being a watch. 

But being watch'd that it may still go right! 

Xay, to be perjured, wliicli is worst of all; 

And, among three, to love tlie worst of all; 

A wightly wanton witli a velvet brow, 

With'two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes; 

Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed 

Tliough Argus were her eunuch and her guard: 

And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! 

To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 

Tliat Cupid will impose for mv neglect 

Of his almighty dreadful little might. 

Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan : 

Some men must love my lady and some Joan. [Exit. 



J^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— 27ie same. 



\ 



Enter the Princess, onfZ her train, a Forester, 
Boyet, Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine. 

Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse 
Against the steep uprising of the hill ? [so liard 

lionet. .1 know not; but I think it was not he. 

Prill. Whoe"er a' was. a' show'd a mounting mind. 
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch: 
On Saturday we will return to France. 
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush 
That we must stand and play the nunilerer in ? 

For. Ilereliy, upon tlie edge of yonder coppice; 
A stand wliere you may make tlie fairest shoot. 

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, 
And thereviiion thou speak'st the fairest shoot. 

-For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 

Prin. What, wliat ? first praise me and again say 
O short-lived pride! Xntfair? alackforwoe! [no? 

For. Yes, madam, fair. 

Prin. Xay, never paint me now : 

Wliere fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: 
Fair payment for foul words is miire than due. 

For. Kotliing but fair is that which 5-ou inherit. 

Prin. See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit ! 
O heresy in fair, fit for these days! 
A giving liaud, thougli foul, shall have fair praise. 
But come, the bow: "now mercy goes to kill, 
And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot : 
Xot wounding, pity would not let me do 't; 
If wounding, then it was to show my skill, 
That iiKue for praise than piu-pose meaut to kill. 
And out of question so it is sometimes, 
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes. 
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part. 
We bend to that the working of the heart; 
As I for praise alone now seek to s|iill 
The poor deer's lilood, that my heart means no ill. 

Bot/ct. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty 
Only for praise sake, when they strive to be 
Lords o'er their lords y 

Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford 
To any lady that subdues a lord. 



Boyet. Here comes a member of the common- 
wealth. „ 

Enter Costard. 

Cost. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is 
the head lady 'f 

Prin. Tiiou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest 
that have no heads. 

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ? 

Prin. The thickest and the tallest. [is truth. 

Cost. The thickest and the tallest! it is so ; truth 

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit. 

One 0' these maids' girdles for your waist should 

be fit. [here. 

Are not you the chief woman ? you are the thickest 

Prin. What 's your will, sir ? what 's your will ? 

Cost. 1 have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one 
Lady Rosaline. [of mine : 

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter! he 's a good frieud 
Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve; 
Break up this capon. 

Boi/ct. I am bound to serve. 

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; 
It is writ to Jaquenetta. 

Prin. We will read it, I swear. 

Break tlie neck of the wax, and every one give ear. 

Boi/ct [reads]. 'By heaven, that thou art fair, is 
most'infallible ; true, that thou art beauteons ; truth 
itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, 
beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, 
have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The 
magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua \ 
set e.ve upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar ' 
Zeneloplion; and he it was that might rightly say, 
Veni, villi, vici; which to amiothanize in the vul- 
gar, — O base and obscure vulgar! — videlicet. He 
came, saw, and overcame : he came, one ; saw, two ; 
overcame, three. Who came'? the king: why did 
he come '? to see : why did he see ? to overcome : to 
whom came he'? to the beggar: what saw he? tlie 
beggar: who overcame he?" the beggar. The con- 
clusion is victory: on whose side? the king's. The 
captive is enriched: on M'hose side? the beggar's. 
Tlie catastrophe is a nuptial : on whose side ? the 
king's: no, on both in one, or one in both. I am 
the king ; for so stands the comparison : thou the 
119 



ACT IV. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I 
command thy love 'f I may : shall I enforce thy love y 
I could: shall I entreat thy love'i' I will. AVhat 
Shalt tliou exchange for rags i* robes ; for tittles i 
titles; for thyself y me. Thus, expecting thy reply, 
I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy pic- 
ture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in 
the dearest design of industry, 

Don Adriano de Armado.' 
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, tliat standest as his prey. 
Submissive fall his prim-i'ly feet before. 

And he from forage will incline to play: 
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then y 
Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited 
this letter'? • [better r* 

What vane 'i what weathercock V did you ever hear 
Boijet. I am much deceived but I remember the 
style. [erewhile. 

Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it 
Boijct. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps 
here in court; 
A phantasime, a Monarclio, and one that makes sport 
To the prince and his bookmates. 

Prin. Thou fellow, a word : 

AVlio gave thee this letter ? 

Cost. I told you ; my lord. 

Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it V 
Cost. From my lord to my lady. 

Pi-Mi. From which lord to wliich lady V 
Cost. From niylmil liiicnua uond master of mine, 
To a lady nf France that In' call'd Rosaline. 
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, 

lords, away. 
[To Bos.'] Here, sweet, put up this : 't will be thine 
anotlier day. {EMunt Princess and train. 

Boyct. Who is the suitor V who is the suitor ? 
Bos. Shall I teacli you to know V 

B'jyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 
Eos. Why, she that bears the bow. 

Finely put off ! 
Boijet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if thou 
■ marry. 
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 
Finely put on ! 
Ros. Well, then, I am the shooter. 
Boyet. And who is your deer V 

Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself come 
not near. 
Finely put on, indeed ! 
Mar. Yim still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she 

strikes at the brow. 
Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : have I hit her 

now y 
Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, 
that was a man when King Pepin of France was a 
little boy, as touching tlie hit it V 

Boyet. So 1 may answer thee with one as old, that 
was a woman when (iui'pii (Juinover of Britain was 
a little wench, as touching the hit it. 

Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, 

Tliou canst not hit it, my good man. 
Boyet. An I cannot, caimot, cannot. 
An I cannot, another can. 

[E.vciint Ros. and Kath. 
Cost. By my troth, most pleasant: how both did 

. fit it ! 
Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both 

did hit it. 
Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ! A mark, 
says my lady ! [be. 

Let the mark have a prick in 't, to meet at. If it may 
Mar. Wide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand 
is out. 
. Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or <he '11 ne'er 
hit the clout. 

120 



Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike your 

hand is in. 
Cost. Then will she get the upshoot V)y cleaving 
the pin. [grow foul. 

Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily ; your lips 
Cost. She 's too hard for you at pricks, sir : chal- 
lenge lier to bowl. 
Boyet. 1 fear too much rubbing. Good-night, my 
good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. 

Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clown ! 
Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down ! 
O' my troth, most sweet jests! most iucony vulgar 

wit! 
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it 

were, so fit. 
Armado o' th' one side,— O, a most dainty man ! 
To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan ! 
To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' 

will swear! 
And his i)age o' t' other side, that handful of wit ! 
Ah, heavens, it is a most patlietical nit ! 
Sola, sola! [IShout -within. — Exit Costard, running. 

SCENE JI.— The same. 

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Kath. Very reverend sjiort, truly; and done in 
the testimony of a good conscience. 

Hoi. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood ; 
ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel 
in the ear of caelo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven ; 
and anon fallctli like a crab on the face of terra, the 
soil, the land, the earth. 

Nath. Truly, !Master Holofernes, the epithets are 
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least : but, sir, 
I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. 

Hoi. Sir Natluiniel, baud credo. 

Bidl. 'T was not a hand credo ; 't was a pricket. 

Hoi. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of 
insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explica- 
tion; facere, as it were, replication, or rather, os- 
tentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, after 
his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, 
untrained, or rather, unlettered, or ratherest, un- 
confirmed fashion, to insert agam my baud credo 
for a deer. 

Bull. I said the deer was not a hand credo ; 'twas 
a pricket. 

Hoi. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!' [look! 
O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou 

Kath. Sir, he liatli never fed of the dainties that 
are bred in a l)(Kik; 
he hatli not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not drunk 
iidc: his intellect is not replenished; he is only an 
animal, only sensilile in tlie duller jiarts: 
And .sucli barren plants are set before us, that we 

thankful shoidd be, 
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts 

that do fructify in us more than he. 
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, 

or a fool. 
So were there a patch set on learning, to see him 

in a school : 
But omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's mind. 
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind. 

Bull. You two are book-men : can you tell me by 
your wit 
AVhat was a month old at Cain's birth, that 's not 
five weeks old as yet V [man Dull. 

Hoi. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynua, good- 

Dull. What is liietymia? 

Kath. A title to I'hcebe, to Luna, to the moon. 

Hoi. Tlie uKion was a month old when Adam was 

no more, . [score. 

And raught not to five weeks when he came to flve- 

The allusion holds in the exchange. [ex^change. 

Bull. 'T is true, indeed ; the collusion holds in the 



-^ 



:i'ii!iriiiri 




-* 



. ( 



ACT IV. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE III. 



Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu- 
sion holds in tlie exchange. 

Dull. And I say, the pollusion holds in the ex- 
clianse; for the moon is never but a month old: 
and I say beside that, 't was a pricliet that the prin- 
cess killed. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
epitaph on the death of tlie deer? And, to huuioar 
the ignorant, call I tlie deer the princess killed a 
pricket. 

Nath. Perge, good Master Holof ernes, perge ; so 
it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 

Hoi. I will something affect tlie letter, for it 
argues facility. 

Tlie preyful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty 
pleasing pricket; 

Some say a sore: but nut a sore, till now made 
sore with sliooting. 
The dogs did yell ; put L to sore, then sorel jumps 
from thicket; Piootiug. 

Or pricket sore, or else sorel ; the people fall a- 

If sore be sore, tlieu l to sore makes fifty sores one 

sorel. [more l. 

Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one 

Nuth. A rare talent ! 

Dull. [-l.s(V(] If a talent be a claw, look bow he 
claws him witli a talent. 

Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simiile, simple; a 
foolish extravagant si>irit. full of bums, hgures, 
shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, niotioiis, revo- 
lutions : these are begot in the ventricle of memory, 
nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered 
upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is 
good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thank- 
ful for it. 

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you : and so may 
my parishioners: for their sons are well tutored by 
you, and their daughters prolit very greatly under 
you: youareagood menilicrcif thecommoiiwealtli. 

Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they 
shall want no instruction; if their daughters be 
capable, I will put it to tliem : but vir sapit qui 
pauca loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 

Jnq. God give \ou good morrow, master Parson. 

H(jI. Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if oue 
should be pierced, which is tlie oneV 

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest 
to a hogshead. 

Hoi. Piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of con- 
ceit in a tuft of earth ; tire enough for a flint, pearl 
enough for a swine ; 't pretty; it is well, 

Jaa. Good master Parson, be so good as read me 
this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent 
me from Don Armado : I beseech you, read it. 

Hoi. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne 
sub umbra Kuminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old 
^lantuan ! I may speak of thee as the traveller 
doth of Venice; 

Venetia, Venetia, 
Chi non ti vede non ti pretia. 
Old Mantuan, old Mantuan ! who understandeth 
thee not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. 
Under pardon, sir, what are the contents ? or rather, 
as Horace says in his — What, my soul, verses V 

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. [domine. 

Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, 

Nath. [reacl.^] 
If love make me forsworn , how shall I swear to love ? 

Ah , never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd ! 

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'llfaithful 

prove ; [bow'd. 

Those t hi nights to me were oaks, to thee like osiers 
Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine eyes, 

AViiere all those pleasures live that art would 
comprehend : 



If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suf- 
fice; 
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
commend, [der; 

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without won- 

W^hich is to me some praise that I thy parts admire: 
Thy eye Jov-e's lightning bears, tliy voice liis dread- 
ful thunder, 

AVhich, not to anger bent, is music and sweet lire. 
Celestial as thou art, O, i)ardon love this wrong, 
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 
tongue. 

Hoi. You find not the apostraphas, and so miss 
the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here 
are only numbers ratihed; but, for the elegancy, 
facility, and golden cadence of poe.sy, caret. Ovid- 
ius Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso, but 
for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, 
the jerks of invention y Imitari is nothing : so doth 
the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired 
horse his I'ider. But, damosella virgin, was this 
directed to you V 

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of 
the strange queen's lords. 

Hoi. I will overglaiice the superscript: 'To the 
snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosa- 
line.' I will look again on the intellect of the letter, 
for tlie nomination of the party writing to the per- 
son written unto: 'Your ladyship \s in all desired 
emiiloyiaeiit, Biron.' Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is 
one of the votaries with the king ; and here he hath 
framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, 
which accidentally, or l)y the way of progression, 
hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet ; deliver 
this paper into the royal hand of the king: it may 
concern much. Stay not thy compliment ; I forgive 
thy duty : adieu. [your life ! 

Jaq. Good Co.stard, go with me. Sir, God save 

Coxt. Have with thee, my girl. 

[E.ecunt Cost, and Jaq. 

Nath. Sir, you have done tliis in the fear of God, 
very religiously; and, as a certain father saith, — 

Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear col- 
ourable colours. But to return to the verses: did 
they please 5'ou, Sir Xathaiiiel ? 

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. 

Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain 
pupil of mine; where, if, before repast, it shall 
please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, 
on my privilege I have with the parents of the fore- 
said cliild or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; 
where I will jnove those verses to be very unlearned, 
neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention; I 
beseech your society. 

Nath. And thank you too; for society, saith the 
text, is the happiness of life. 

Hoi. And, certes, the text most infallibly con- 
cludes it. [To Dull] Sir, I do invite you too: you 
shall not say me nay: pauca verlia. Away! the 
gentles are at their game, and we will to our recre- 
ation. [Exeunt. 
SCENE III.— The same. 

Enter Biron, with a paper. 
Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am 
coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; I am 
toiling in a pitch, — pitch that defiles: defile! afoul 
word. Wfll. set thee down, scjrrow ! for so they say 
thefoolsaid,aiidsosay I,aiidl thefool : well proved, 
wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it 
kills sheep ; it kills me, I a sheep : well proved again 
o' my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i' 
faith, I will not. O, but her ej^e, — by this light, 
but for her eye, I would not love Iier; yes, for her 
two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, 
and lie in my tliroat. By heaven, I do love: and it 
bath taught me to rhyme and to be melancholy ; and 
121 



ACT IV. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE III. 



here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. 
Well, she liath one o' my sonnets already : the clown 
bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it : sweet 
clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady ! By the world, 
I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. 
Here comes one with a paper : God give him grace 
to groan ! [Stands aside. 

Enter the King, ivith a jxiper. 

King. Ay me ! 

Biron. [ylsWc] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet 
Cupid : thou hast thumiaed him with thy bird-bolt 
imder the left pap. In faith, secrets! 

King [i-cads]. 
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 

To those fresli nioniing drops upon the rose, 
As thy eye-beams, wlien their fresh rays liave smote 

The niglit of dew tliat on my cheeks down flows: 
Nor shines the sil\('r nidoii one lialf so l)right 

Through the transparent bosdiii of the deep. 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light: 

Thou shinest in ev<-ry tear that I do weep : 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee; 

So ridest thou triuniiihing in my woe. 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me. 

And thev thy ^lorv throULih mv grief will show: 
But do not hive thyself; then tliou wilt keep 
My tears for glasses, and still make me wei-i). 
O queen of queens! how far dust tlidii excel. 
No thought can tliiuk, nor tongue of nmrtal tell. 
How shall she knowmy griefs? I '11 droji tlie|«per! 
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he coiues heie V 

[SI, i„ aside. 
What, Longaville ! and reading! listen, ear. 
Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear! 

Enter Longaville, with a paper. 

Long. Ay me, I am forsworn ! 

Biron. Why he comes in like a perjure, wearing 
papers. 

King. In love, I hope : sweet fellovv'ship in shame ! 

Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. 

Long. Am I the first that have been perjured so ? 

Biron. I could put thee in comfort. Not by two 
that I know: [ety. 

Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of soci- 
The sliape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up sim- 
plicity, [move. 

Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to 
O sweet Maria, empress of my love! 
These numbeis will 1 tear, and write in prose. 

Biron. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's 
Disfigure not his slop. [hose : 

Long. This same shall go. [Reads. 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 

'Gainst wlioni tlie world cannot hold argument, 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury '? 

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; 

Thy grace lieing gain'd cures all disgrace in me. 
Vows are but lireath, and breath a vapour is: 

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, 
Exhalest this vapour vow; in thee it is: 

If broken then, it is no fault of mine: 
If by me broke, wliat f(wl is not so wise 
To lose an oath to win a paradise ? [a deity. 

Biron. This is the liver-vein, Avhich makes flesh 
A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry, [way. 
God amend us, God amend! we are much out 'o the 

Long. By whom shall I send thisV — Company! 
stay. [Steps aside. 

Biron. All hid, all hid; an old infant play. 
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky, 
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 
More sacks to the mill ! O lieavens, I'have my wish ! 
122 



Enter Dumain, with a paper. 
Dumain transform 'd ! four woodcocks in a dish ! 
Bum. O most divine Kate! 
Biron. O naist jirofane coxcomb! 
Bum. By lieaven, the wonder in a mortal eye! 
Biron. By eartli, she is not, corporal, there you lie. 
Bum. Ileranilier hair for foul hath amber quoted. 
Biron. An aiidier-eolour'd raven was well noted. 
Bum. As upright as the cedar. 
Biron. Stoop, I say; 

Her shoidder is with child. 
Bum. As fair as day. [shine. 

Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must 
Bum. O that I had my wish ! 
Long. And I had mine ! 

King. And I mine, too, good Lord ! [word ? 

Biron. Amen, so I had mine: is not that a good 
Bum. I would forget her; but a fever slie 
Reigns in my blood and will reinemberVl lie. 

Biron. A fever in ytiar blood! why, then incision 
Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision ! 
Bum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have 
writ. [wit. 

Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary 
Bum. [reads.] 

On a day — alack the day ! — 
Love, wliose month is ever May, 
Sjiied a blossom passing fair 
I'laying in the wanton air: 
Tlirongh the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, can passage find; 
That the lover, sick to death. 
Wish himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, tliy cheeks may blow; 
Air, would I might triumph so! 
But, alack, my hand is sworu 
Ne'er to jiluck thee from thy thorn; 
A'ow, alack, for youth immeet. 
Youth so ai)t to "pluck a sweet ! 
Do not call it sin in me. 
That I am forsworn for thee ; 
Thou for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 
This will I send and something else more plain, 
That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 
O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville, 
Were lo'vers too! Ill, to example ill. 
Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note : 
For none offend where all alike do dote. 
Long, [advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from 
"charity. 
That in love's grief desirest society:' 
You may look pale, but I sliould b'hisli, I know. 
To be o'erlieard and taken napping so. 
King, [iidniiiriiiij] Come, sir, you blush; as his 
your case is such; 
You chide at liini, offending twice as much : 
You do not love Maria; Longaville 
Did never sonnet for her sake compile. 
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
His loving bosom to keep down his heart. 
I have been closely shrouded in this bush 
And mark'd you both and for yon liotli did blush : 
I heard your guilty rhymes, oliserved your fasliion. 
Saw sighs reek from you, noted ^^•ell your passion: 
Ay me! says one; OJove! the other cries; 
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the otlier's eyes: 
[2b Long.] You would for paradise break faith and 
troth ; [an oath. 

[To Bum.] And Jove, for j-our love, would infringe 
What will Biron say wlien that lie shall bear 
Faith so infringed, which such zeal did swear? 
How will he scorn! how will he spend his wit! 
How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it! 



ACT IV. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE III. 



For all the wealth that ever I did see, 
I would not have him know so much by me. 
Biron. Xow step I forth to whip hypocrisy. 

[^Adcanchui. 
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me! 
Good heart, what grace liast thou, thus to reprove 
These worms for loving, that art most in love V 
Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears 
There is no certain princess that appears ; 
You "11 not be perjured, 't is a hateful thing ; 
Tusli, none ))ut minstrels like of sonneting! 
]jut are you not asliamedV nay, are you not, 
All tliree of you, to be tiius much o'ersliot ? 
You found his mote; tlie king your mote did see; 
But I a beam do find in eacli of tliree. 

0, what a scene of foolery have I seen. 
Of siglis, of groans, of sorrow and of teen ! 

me, witli what strict patience have I sat, 
To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 

To see great Hercules wliipiiing a gig. 
And profound .Solouion to tune a jig. 
And Xestor i)lay at pusli-pin with the boys. 
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys! 
Where lies tliy grief, O, tell me, good Dumaiu? 
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain 'i 
And wliere my liege's V all about the breast : 
A caudle, ho ! 

King. Too bitter is thy jest. 

Are we betray 'd thus to thy over-view ? 

Biron. Xot you to me, but I betray 'd by you: 

1, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin 
To break the vow I am engaged in ; 

1 am betray'd, by keeping company 
With men like men of inconstancy. 

AVhen shall you see me write a thing in rhyme V 
Or groan for love y or spend a minute's time 
In pruning me 'i Wlien shall you hear that I 
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
A leg, a limb V 

Kiwj. Soft ! whither away so fast ? 

A true man or a thief that gallops so y 

Biron. I post from love: good lover, let me go. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 
Jaq. God bless the king ! 

King. What present hast thou there V 

Cost. Some certain treason. 
King. AVhat makes treason here y 

Cost. 'Sfay, it makes notHing, sir. 
King. If it mar nothing neither, 

The treason and you go in peace away together. 

Jaq. 1 beseech your grace, let this letter be read : 
Our parson misdoubts it; 't was treasun, lie said. 

King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the paper. 
Where liadst thou it y 
Jaq. Of Costard. 
King. Where hadst thou it ? 
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. 

[Biron tears the letter. 
King. How now ! what is in you y why dost thou 

tear it y 
Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy: your grace needs 

not fear it. 
Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 

let 's hear it. 
Bum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. 
[Gathering up the pieces. 
Biron. [To Costard] Ah, you whoreson logger- 
head ! you were born to do me shame. 
Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess. 
King. Whaty 

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to 
make up the mess : 
He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I, 
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. 



Bum. Kow the number is even. 

Biron. True, true; we are four. 

Will these turtles be gone V 

King. ' Hence, sirs; away! 

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors 
.stay. [E.rcunt Costard, «(i(Z Jaquenetta. 

Biron . Sweet h irds, sweet h ivers, O, let us embrace ! 

As true we are as tiesh and blcidd can be: 
The sea will ebb and How, heaven show his face; 

Y'^oung blood doth not obey an old decree: 
We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn. 

King. What, did these rent lines show some love 
ofthiiiey [ly Rosaline, 

Birou. Did tliey, quoth yoiiy Who sees the heaven- 
That, like a ruile and savage man of Inde, 

At the first opening of tlie gorgeous east, 
Bows not his vassal head and strncken blind 

Kisses tlie l.iase ground witli obedient breast ? 
What ]ieieiiiptory eagle-sighted eye 

Dares look upon the heaven of iier brow. 
That is not blinded by her majesty y [now? 

King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee 
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; 

Slie an attending star, scarce seen a light. 

Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron: 

O, but for my love, day would turn to night ! 
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty 

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek. 
Where several worthies make one dignity, 

AVlieie nothing wants that want itself doth seek. 
Lend me the llmuish of all gentle tongues, — 

Fie, painted rhetoric ! O, she needs it not : 
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs. 

She passes prai.se ; then praise too short doth blot. 
A wither'd hermit, flve-score winters worn, 

Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : 
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born. 

Ami gives the crutch the cradle's infancy : 
O, 'tis the sun that maketli all things shine. 

King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 

Biron. Is ebony like her y O wood divine ! 

A wife of such wood were felicity. 
O, who can give an oath y wliere is a booky 

Tliat I may swear beauty doth beauty lack. 
If that she learn not of her eve to look: 

Xo face is fair that is not full so black. 

King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell, 

Tliehue of dungeons and the suit of night; 
And beauty's crest becomes the hea\Tiis well. 

Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of 
O, if ill black my lady's brows be deck'd, [light. 

It UKiurns that painting and usurping hair 
Should ravisli doters with a false aspect; 

And tlierefore is she fioni to make black fair. 
Her favour turns the fashion of the days, 

For native blood is counted painting now; 
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, 

Paints itself lilack, to imitate her brow. 
Bum. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black. 

Long. And since her time are colliers counted 
bright. [crack. 

King. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion 

Bum. Dark needs no caudles now, for dark is 
light. 

Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, 

For fear their colours should be wash'd away. 
King. 'T were good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you 

I '11 find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. [plain, 

Biron. I '11 prove her fair, or talk tiU doomsday 

here. [she. 

King. No devil will fright thee then so much as 

Bum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. 

Long. Look, here 's thy love : my foot and her 
face see. 
Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, 

Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! 
123 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE I. 



Bimi. O vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies 

The street should see as she walk'd overhead. 

Kinij. But what of this? are we not all in love? 

Biron. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn. 
King. Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now 
prove 

Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 
Dum. Ay^ nuirry, then^; smne llattcry lor this evil. 

Lotig. O, some authority luiw to i)ro(/e('d; 
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. 

Dam. Some salve for perjury. 

Biron. 'T is more than need. 

Have at you, then, affections men at ariu^s. 
Consiilei' wliat ynx lirst did swear unto. 
To fast, t(i study, and to sec no woman; 
Flat treason 'gainst the kindly state of youth. 
Say, can you fast? ycn-.r slonuiehs are too young; 
And abstinence engenders makidies. 
And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 
In that each of you have forsworn las book, 
Can j'ou still dream and pore and tliereon look ? 
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, 
Have fomid the ground of study's excellence 
Without the beauty of a woman's face';' 
[From wouii'u's eyes this iloetrine I derive; 
Tlieyare the grdiiml. the l)(ioks, the aeademes 
From wlieiieeilolh s|>ring the true l-*roiuetliean fire.] 
Why, universal plodding piiisons up 
The nimble spirits in tlie arteries. 
As motion and long-diuing action tires 
The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 
You have in that forsworn the use of eyes 
And study too, the causer of your vow ; 
For where is any author in tlie world 
Teaches sueli beauty as a woman's eye ? 
Learning is but an adjunct to (lurself 
And where we are our learnin;4 likewise is: 
Then when ourselves we see in hulics' eyes, 
Do we not likewise see our learning tliere y 
O, we have made a vow to study, lords. 
And in tliat vow we have forsworn our books. 
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 
In leaden coideniplation Ikivc found out 
Such fiery nundjers as the i)riimptiug eyes 
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with'? 
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; 
And therefore, finding barren practisers, 
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil: 
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
But, with the motion of all elements. 
Courses as swift as thought in every power, 
And gives to exeiy (iowit a doulile power, 
Above their functions and their ortices. 
it adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 



A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle lilind ; 

A lover's ear will hear the lowest sf>uud. 

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd: 

Love's feeling is more soft and sensible 

Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; 

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: 

For valour, is not Love a Hercules, 

Still clind)ing trees in the Hesperides? 

Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical 

As bright Apollo's lute, strung with liis hair: 

And wlieu Love speaks, the voice of idl the gods 

Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. 

Never durst poet touch a pen to write 

Until his ink were tenijier'd with Love's sighs; 

O, then his lines would ravish savage ears 

And jilant in tyrants mild humility. 

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: 

They sparkle still tlie right Prometliean fire; 

They are the books, the arts, the academes. 

That show, contain and nourish all the world: 

Else none at all in ought proves excellent. 

Then fools you were these women to forswear. 

Or keeping what is sworn, you will ])rove fools. 

For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love. 

Or for love's sake, a W(u-d that loves all men. 

Or for men's sake, the authors td' these women, 

Or women's sake, by whom we men are men, 

Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, 

Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. 

It is religion to be thus forsworn, 

For charity itself fulfils the law, 

And wdio can sever love from charity'? 

King. Saint (_'npid, then ! and, soldiers, to the field! 

Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, 
lords ; 
Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advised, 
In confiict that you get the sun of them. 

Long. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by: 
Shall we resohe to woo these girls of France '? 

Jiiiif/.— And win them too : therefore let us devise 
Some entertainment for them in their tents. 

Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them 
thither ; 
Then homeward every man attach the hand 
Of his fair mistress: in tlie afternoon 
We will with some strange [lastime solace them, 
Such as the shortness oi' the time can shape; 
For revels, dances, masks and merry hours 
Foreriui fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. 

King. Away, away! no time shall be omitted 
That will betimc, and may by us be fitted. 

Biron. Allons! allons!' Sow'd cockle reap'd no 
corn ; 
And justice always whirls in equal measure: 
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn ; 

If so, our copper buys uo better treasure. [Kxeimt. 



.ACT V. 



SCENE 1.— TIte scunc. 



I^Uer Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Hoi. Satis quod sufflcit. 

Nath. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons at 
dinner have been shar]) aiid sententious; pleasant 
without scurrility, witty without affection, auda- 
cious without inqiudency, learne<l without opinion, 
and strange without heresy. I did converse this 
(luondam day with a companion of the king's, who 
is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de 
Armado. 

Hoh Novi hominem tanquam te: his huTuour is 
lofty, his discourse peremptory, liis tongue filed, his 
124 



eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general 
behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is 
too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it 
were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. 

Nuth. A most singular and choice eiuthet. 

[Dr<iii:-< (mt liis tdhlc-hool-. 

Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
finer than the stajile of his argument. I alihorsuch 
fanatical pliantasimes, sucli iusociable and ])oint- 
devise com|iauious; such rackers ot orthograpliy, 
as to speak <lout. line, when he should say doidjt ; 
det, when lie should pronounce debt, — d,e,"b,t,not 
d,e,t: he clepetliacalf,cauf ; hair,liauf; neighbour 
vocatur neliour; neigh abbreviated ne. This is ab- 
homiuable, — which lie would call abbominable: it 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



insimiatetf ) me of insanie : aniie intelligis, domiiie ? 
to make frantic, lunatic. 

Nath. Laus Deo, bene intelligo. 

Hoi. Bon, bon, fort bou, Priscian! a little 
scratched, 't will serve. 

Nath. Videsne quis venit i* 

Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. 

Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 

jlrju. Cliirrah ! [^Fo Moth. 

Hoi. Quare chirrah, not sirrah ? 

Arm. Men of peace, well encountered. 

Hoi. ilost military sir, salutation. 

Moth. [A.'ihhHo Custard] They liavcljeen at agreat 
feast of lantjua.uvs, and stok-n the scraps. 

Cost. O, they have lived long on the alms-basket 
of word.s. I marvel thy master hatli not eaten thee 
for a word; for thou art not so long Ijy the liead as 
honorilicabilitiidinitatiljas; tliou art easier swal- 
lowed tlian a llaii-dranon. 

Moth.. Peace! the peal begins. 

Arm. {To Hoi.] Monsieur, are you not lettered ? 

Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the liorn-book. 
What is a, b, spelt backward, with the horn on his 

Hoi. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. [head? 

Moth. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You 
hear his learning. 

Hoi. Quis, quis, thou consonant ? — 

Moth. Tlie tliird of the Ave vowels, if you repeat 
them; or tlie fifth, if I. 

Hoi. I will repeat them, — a, e^ i, — [o, u. 

Moth. The sheep: the other two concludes it, — 

Arm. Now, by the salt wave of tlie Mediterra- 
neum, a sweet touch, a quick venue of wit! snip, 
snap, quick and home! it rejoiceth my intellect: 
true wit ! [wit-old. 

Moth. Offered by a child to an old man ; which is 

Hoi. What is the figure '? what is the figure y 

Moth. Horns. [gig. 

Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant : go, whip thy 

Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will 
whip about your infamy circum circa, — a gig of a 
cuckold's horn. 

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou 
shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is 
the very remuneration I had'of thy master, thou lialf- 
penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. 
O, an the heavens were so pleased that tiiou wert but 
my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst tliou make 
me! Goto; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the tuigers' 
ends, as they say. 

Hoi. O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem. 

Arm. Arts-man, preanibulate, we will lie siiiguled 
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at 
the charge-house on the top of the mountain V 

Hoi. Or mons, the hill. 

Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. 

Hoi. I do, sans question. 

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and 
affection to congratulate the princess at lier pavilion 
in the posteriors of this day, whicli the rude multi- 
tude call tlic afternoon. 

Hoi. The \i(isterior of the day, most generous sir, 
is liable, congruent and measurable for the after- 
noon: the word is well culled, chose, sweet and apt, 
I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and my 
familiar, I do assure ye, very good friend : for what 
is inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee, 
remember thy courtesy; I beseech thee, apjiarel thy 
head : and among other important and nmst serious 
designs, and of great import indeed, tuo, but let 
that pass: for I must tell thee, it will please his 
grace, l)y the world, sometime to lean upon my poor 
shoulder, and with his royal finger, thus, dally with 
my excrement, with my mustachio; but, sweet 
lieart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no 



fable: some certain special honours it pleaseth his 
greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of 
travel, that hath seen the world ; but let that pass. 
The very all of all is, — but, sweet heart, I do im- 
plore secrecy, — that the king would have me present 
the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful 
ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antique, or fire- 
work. Now, understanding that the curate and 
your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sud- 
den breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have ac- 
quainted you withal, to the end to crave your 
assistance. 

Hoi. Sir, you shall present liefore her the Nine 
Worthies. Sir, as concerning some entertainment 
of time, some show in the p<isterior of this day, to 
Ije rendered by our assistants, at the king's com- 
mand, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned 
gentleman, before the princess; I say none so fit as 
to present the Nine Worthies. 

Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to 
present them y 

Hoi. Joshua, yourself; myself and this gallant 
gentleman, .Judas Maccateus; this swain, because 
of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the 
Great; the page, Hercules, — 

Arm. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity 
enough for that Worthy's thumb : he is not so big 
as the end of his club. 

Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall present Her- 
cules in minority : his enter and exit shall be stran- 
gling a snake: and I will have an apology for that 
purpose. ^ 

Moth. An excellent dEvice! so, if any of the au- 
dience hiss, you may cry 'Well done, Hercules! 
now thou crushest the snake ! ' that is the way to 
make an offence gracious, though few have the grace 
to do it. 

Arm. For the rest of the Worthies? — 

Hoi. I will play three myself. 

Moth. Thrice- worthy gentleman! 

Arm. Shall I tell you a thing? 

Hoi. We attend. 

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antique. 
I beseech yon, follow. 

Hoi. Via, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no 
word all this while. 

Didl. Nor understood none neither, sir. 

Hoi. Allons ! we will employ thee. [play 

Dull. I '11 make one in a dance, or so ; or I will 
On the tabor to the AVorthies, and let them dance 
the hay. 

Hoi. jMost dull, honest Dull! To our sport, 
away! {^Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— 37ic same. 

Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and 

Maria. 
Prin . Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart. 
If fairings come thus plenlil'ully in : 
A lady wall'd about with diamonds! 
Look you what I have from the loving king. 
Bos. Madame, came nothing else along with that ? 
Prin. Nothing but this! yes, as much love in 
rhyme 
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper. 
Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all. 
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 

Ros. That was the way to make his godhead wax, 
For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 
Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 
Fios. You'll ne'er befriends with him; a' kill'd 

your sister. 
Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; 
And so she died: had she lieen light, like you, 
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit. 
She might ha' been a grandam ere she died : 
And so may you; for a light heart lives long. 
125 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



Eos. What 's your dark meaning, mouse, of this 

liglrt word 'i 
Kalh. A lit;iit condition in a beauty darlv. 
Bos. We need more liuhtti) Hnd your meaning out. 
Kath. You "11 Hiurthe H,i;lit by taking it in snuff; 
Tlierefore I "11 darkly end the argument. 
Ros. Loolc, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. 
Kath. So do not you, for you are a light weneh. 
Ros. Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light. 
Kath. You weigh me not'r' O, that's you care 

not for me. 
Hos. Great reason ; for ' past cure is still past care.' 
Prin. Well luindicdboth ; a set of wit well play 'd. 
But, Rosaline, ycm have a favour too: 
Who sent it ? and what is it V 

Bos. I would you knew : 

An if my face were but as fair as yours, 
My favour were as great ; be witness this. 
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron : 
The numbers true; and, were the numbering too, 
I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. 
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! 
Prill. Any thing like y , 

Bos. ]Much in the letters; nothing in the praise. 
Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. 
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 
Piw. '^Vurc pencils, ho! let me not die your debtor. 
My red dniuiiiical, my golden letter: 
O that your lace were not so full of O's! 
Kath. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all 

shrows. ^ 

Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from 

fair Dinnain V 
Kath. Madam, this glove. 

Prin. Did he not send you twain V 

Kath. Yes, madam, and moreover 
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover, 
A huge translation of hypocrisy. 
Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. [ville : 

Mar. This and these pearls to me sent Longa- 
The letter is too long liy lialf a mile. 

Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish inheart 
The chain were louncr ami the letter short V 
liar. Ay, or I w(udd these hands might never part. 
Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. 
Bos. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. 
That same 15iron I '11 torture ere I go : 
O that I kuew he were but in by the week! 
How I woulil make him t'awu and beg and seek 
And wait the season and oliserve the times 
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes 
And shape his servii-e wholly to niy bests 
And make him iiroud to make me proud that jests'! 
So perttaunt-like would 1 o'ersway his state 
That he should be my fool and I his fate. 
Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are 
catch 'd. 
As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch 'd, 
Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school 
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 

Bos. The blood of youth burns not with such ex- 
As gravity's revolt to wantonness. [cess 

J/ar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note 
As foolery iii the wise, when wit doth dote; 
Since all the power thereof it doth apply 
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 
Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 

Enter Boyet. 
Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where 's 

her grace ? 
Prill. Thy news, Boyet ? 

Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! 

Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are 
Against your peace : Love doth approach disguised. 
Armed iii arguments ; you '11 be surprised : 
126 



Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; 
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 

Prin. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they 
That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, say." 

Boyit. tinder the cool shade of a sycamore 
I tlio'ught to close mine eyes some half an hour; 
When, lo! to interrupt my purposed rest. 
Toward that shade I might behold addrest 
The king and his companions: warily 
I stole into a neighbour thicket by, 
Anil o\erlieard what yon shall overhear; 
That, by and by, disguised they will be here. 
Their herald is a pretty knavisli page. 
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage: 
Action and accent did they teach him there; 
' Thus must thou speak,' and ' thus thy body bear:' 
And ever and anon they made a doubt 
Presence majestical would put him out; 
'For,' quoth the king, 'an angel shalt thou see; 
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.' 
The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil; 
I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.' 
AVith that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the 

shoulder. 
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder : 
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and Heer'd and swore 
A better speech was never spoke before ; 
Another, with his finger and his thumb. 
Cried ' Via ! we will do 't, come what will come ;' 
The third he caper'd, and cried, 'AH goes well; ' 
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 
AVith that, they all did tundile on the ground, 
AVitli such a zealous laughter, so profound, 
That in this spleen ri<lieidons appears. 
To elieek their folly, passion's solemn tears. 
I'fin. Bid what, but what, come they to visit us '? 
Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparell'd thus. 
Like Muscovites or Kussians, as I guess. 
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance: 
And every one his love-feat will advance 
Unto his several mistress, which they '11 know 
By favours several which thev did bestow. 

Priu. And will theyso":' The gallants shall be 
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ; [task'd ; 
And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. 
Hold, Eosaline, this favour thou shalt wear. 
And then the king will court thee for his dear : 
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, 
So sliall Biron take me tor Rosaline. 
And change you la\<iuis too; so shall your loves 
Woo contrary, decei\ed by these removes, [sight. 
Bos. Come on, then; Avear the favours most in 
Katli. But in this changini; what is j'our intent ? 
Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs : 
They do it but in mocking merriment; 
And mock tor mock is only my intent. 
Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal 
Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
AVith visages display'd, to talk and greet. 
Bos. But shall we dance, if they desire us to "t V 
Prin. No, to the death, we will not move a foot; 
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace. 
But while 't is spoke each turn awav her face. 
Boyet. AVhy, that contempt will kill the speak- 
er's heart, 
And quite divorce his memory from his part. 

Prin. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt 
The lest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
There 's no sueli siiort as sport liy sp(U't o'erthrown. 
To make theirs ours and ouis none but our own : 
So shall we stay, mocking intended game, 
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 
[TrtiiiiiKts sou7id icithin. 
Boyet. The trumpet sounds: be mask'd; the 
" maskers come. [ JVic Ladies musk. 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



Enter Blackamoors with music; Moth; the King, Biron, 
Longaville, and Dumain, in Mussian habits, and 
masked. 

' Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the 
earth ! — 

Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. 

Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest chimes. 

{The Ladies turn their hacls to him. 
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal views! 

Biron. [Aside to Jfof/i] Their eyes, villain, their 
eyes. [views ! — ' 

Moth. That ever turned their eyes to mortal 
Out — 

Boyet. True; out indeed. [safe 

Moth. Out of yourfavours, heavenly spirits,vouch- 
Not to behold — 

Biron. [Aside to Motli\ Once to behold, rogue. 

Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, 
with your sun-beamed eyes — 

Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ; 
You were best call it ' daughter-beamed eyes.' 

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me 
out. 
' Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you 
rogue! [Exit Moth. 

Bos. What would these strangers ? know their 
minds, Boyet; 
If they do speak our language, 't is our will 
That some plain man recount their purposes : 
Know what they would. 

Beiyet. "Wliat would you with the princess? 

Biron. Xnthing Ijul jieace and gentle visitation. 

Bos. What would they, say they V 

Beiyct. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. 

Bo's. Why, that they have; and bid them so be 
gone. 

Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 

King. Say to her, we have measured many miles 
To tread a measure with her on this grass, [a mile 

Boyet. They say, that they have measured many 
To treatl a measure with you on this grass. 

Bos. It is not so. Ask them how many inches 
Is in one mile : if they have measured many. 
The measure then of one is easily told. [miles, 

Boyet. If to come hither you have measured 
And many miles, the princess bids you tell 
How many inches doth fill up one mile. 

Biron. Tell her, "we measure them by weary steps. 

Boyet. She hears herself. 

Bos. How many weary steps. 

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone. 
Are number 'd in the travel of one mile ? [you : 

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for 
Our duty is so rich, so infinite. 
That we may do it still without accompt. 
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face. 
That we, like savages, may worship it. 

Bos. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 

King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds 
do ! [shine. 

Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to 
Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne. 

Bos. O vain petitiiiiier! beg a greater matter ; 
Thou now re(iaesfst but moonshine in the water. 

King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe 
one change. 
Thou bid'st me" beg: this begging is not strange. 

Bos. Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it 

soon. [Music plays. 

Not yet ! no djince ! Thus change I like the moon. 

Kinej. AVill you not dance? How come you thus 
"estranged ? [changed. 

-Bos. You took the moon at full, but now she 's 

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. 

Bos. Our ears vouchsafe it. 

King. But your legs should do it. 



Bos. Since you are strangers and come here by 
chance, 
AVe '11 not be nice : take hands. AVe will not dance. 

King. AVhy take we hands, then ? 

Bos. Only to part friends : 

Curtsy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends. 

King, ilore measure of this measure ; be not nice. 

Bos. AVe can alTurd no more at such a price. 

King. Prize you yourselves : what buys your com- 

Bos. Your absence only. [pany ? 

King. That can never be. 

Bos. Then cannot we be bought : and so, adieu ! 
Twice to your visor, and half once to you.' 

King. If you deny to dance, let 's hold more chat. 

Bos. In private, then. 

King. I am best pleased with that. 

[They converse apeirt. 

Biron. AVhite-handed mistress, "one sweet word 
with thee. 

Brin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three. 

Biron. Nay then, two lireys, and if you grow so 
nice, 
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run, dice! 
There 's half-a-dozen sweets. 

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu: 

Since you can cog, I '11 play no more with you. 

Biron. One word in secret. 

Prin. Let it not be sweet. 

Biron. Thou grievest mv gall. 

Prin. ' Gall! bitter. 

Biron. Therefore meet. 

[They converse apart. 

Bum. AA^ill you vouchsafe with me to change a 

J/ar. Name it. [weird? 

Bum. Fair lady, — 

3Iur. Say you so ? Fair lord, — 

Take that for your fair lady. 

Bum. Please it you, 

As much in private, and I '11 bid adieu. 

[They converse (t}i(trt. 

Kath. AA^hat, was your vizard made Viithout a 
tongue ? 

Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 

Kath. O for your reason! quickly, sir; I long. 

Long. You have a double tongue within your 
mask , 
And would afford my speechless vizard lialf. 

Kath. Veal, quoththe Dutchman. Is not 'veal' 

Lemq. A calf, fair lady ! [a calf ? 

Ketili. No, a fair lord calf. 

Long. Let 's part the word. 

Kath. No, I '11 not be your half : 

Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. [mocks ! 

Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp 
AVill you give horns", chaste lady ? do not so. 

Keith. Then die a calf. 1 icfore your horns do grow. 

Long. One word in jirivate with you, ere I die. 

Kath. Bleat softly then; the butcher hears you 
cry. [Tliey converse apart. 

Boyet. The tongues of mocking Wenches are as 

As is the razor's edge invisible, [Ifeen 

Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen, 

Above the sense of sense ; so sensible 
Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have wings 
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter 
things. [break olf. 

Bos. Not one word more, my maids; break olf . 

Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with luue scoff ! 

King. Farewell, mad wenches: you have simple 

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Jiuscovits. [wits. 
[B.ceunt King. Lords, and Bluckamejors. 
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at ? 

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths 
puff'd out. [fat. 

Bos. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, 

Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor fiout ! 
AVill they not, thiiik you, hang themselves to-night ? 
■ 127 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



Or ever, but in vizards, sliow their faces ? 
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 

Ros. O, they were all in lamentable cases! 
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 

Prin. "Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 

Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword: 
No point, quoth I ; my servant straight was mute. 

lOdh. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart ; 
And trow you what he called me V 

Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 

Kath. Yes, in good faith. 

Prin. Go, sickness as thou art ! 

Bos. Well, better wits have worn plain statute- 
caps. 
But will you hear ? the king is my love sworn. 

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me. 

Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. 

Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. 

Boi/ct. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: 
Immediately they will agani be here 
In their own shapes; for it can never be 
They will digest this harsh indignity. 

Prin. Will they return y 

Boyet. Tliey will, they will, God knows. 
And leap for Joy, though they are lame with lilows : 
Therefore change favours; and, when they rciwir, 
Blow like sweet roses in tliis summer air. [stood. 

Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be under- 

Boyet. Fair hulii's mask'd ai'e roses in their bud; 
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, | 
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 

Prill. Avauut, perplexity ! What- shall we do, 
If they return in their own shapes to woo ? 

Po-f. Good madam, if by me you '11 be advised. 
Let 's mock them still, as well known as disguised : 
Let us complain to them what fools were here, 
Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; 
And wonder what they were and to what end 
Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penu'd 
And their rough carriage so ridiculous. 
Should be presented at our tent to us. 

Boyd. Ladies,withdraw : the gallants are at hand. 

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land. 

[Exeunt Princess, BosaUnc, Katharine, and Maria. 

Pe-enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and 'Dn- 
main, in their proper habits. 

King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where 's the 
princess ? 

Boyet. Gone to her tent. Please it your majesty 
Command me any service to her thitlier ? [word. 

King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one 

Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. 

[Exit. 

Biron. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease. 
And utters it again when God doth please : 
He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares 
At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; 
And we tliat sell by gross, the Lord dotli know. 
Have not tlie grace to grace it with such show. 
This gallant pins the wenches on his. sleeve; 
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve; 
A' can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he 
That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy; 
Tliis is the ape of form, monsieur the' nice. 
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
In honoural.ile tern;.; : nay, he can sing 
A mean most meanly ; and in ushering 
Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet; 
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet : 
This is the flower that smiles on every one. 
To show his teeth as white as whale's bone; 
And consciences, that will not die in debt. 
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 

King. A blister on his sweet tongue,w"ith my heart, 
That put Armado's page out of his part ! " [thou 

Biron. See where it comes ! Behaviour, what wert 
128 



Till this madman show'd thee ? and what art thou 
now ? 

Re-enter the Princess, ushered by Boyet ; Rosaline, 

Maria, and Katharine. 
King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day! 
Prin. ' Fair ' in ' all hail ' is foul, as I conceive. 
King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 
Prin. Then wish me better ; I will give you leave. 
King. We came to visit you, and puriiose now 

To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then. 
Prin. This lield shall liold me; andso hold your vow: 

Nor God, nor 1, delights in perjured men. 
King. Rebuke me not fm- tliat which you provoke: 

The virtue of your eye nuist break my oath. 
Prin. You nickname virtue ; vice you should have 
spoke ; 

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure 

As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
A world of tl.trnients though I should endure, 

I would not yield to be your house's guest; 
So much I hate a breaking cause to be 
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 

King. O, you have lived in desolation here, 

LTnseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 

Prin. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear ; 

We have had pastimes here and pleasant game : 
A mess of Russians left us but of late. 

King. How, madam! Russians! 

Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord; 

Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. 

Iteis. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord; 
My lady, to the manner of the days. 
In courtesy gives undeserving praise. 
We four indeed confronted were with four 
In Russian habit : here they stay'd an hour, 
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, 
They did not bless us with one happy word. 
1 dare not call them fools : hut this I think. 
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. 

Biron. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet, 
Your wit makes wise things foolish : when Vi'e greet, 
■With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, 
By light we lose light: your capacity 
Is of that nature that to your huge store 
Wise things seem foolish and ricii things but poor. 

Bos. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye, — 

Biron. I am a fool, and full nf poverty. 

Bos. But that you take what duth to you belong, 
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 

Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess! 

Bos. All the fool mine ? 

Biron. I cannot give you less. 

Bos. Which of the vizards was it that you wore ? 

Biron. Where? when? what vizard? why de- 
mand you this? [case 

Bos. There, then, that vizard ; that superfluous 
That hid the worse and show'd the better face. 

King. We are descried ; they '11 mock us now 
downright. 

Bum. Let us confess and turn it to a jest, [sad ? 

Prin. Amazed, my lord ? why looks your highness 

Bos. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon!" Why 
look you pale ? 
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 

Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per- 
jury. 

Can any face of brass hold longer out ? 
Here stand I : lady, dart thy sicill at «ie ; 

Bruise me witli scnni, ipnfouud me with a flout; 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite thriiUL;ii my ignorance; 

Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; 
And I will wish tJiee never more to dance. 

Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd. 

Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue, 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



Nor never come in vizard to my friend, 

Xor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song ! 
Taffeta plirases, "silken terms precise, 

Three-piled liyperl Miles, spruce affectation, 
Figures pedantieal; these summer-flies 

Have blown nie full of maggot ostentation : 
I do forswear them; and I here protest, [knows! — 

By this white glove, — how white the hand, God 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be expressed 

In russet yeas and honest kersey noes : 
And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la ! — 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or tlaw. 

Eos. Sans sans, I pray you. 

Biron. Yet I have a trick 

Of the old rage : bear with me, I am sick ; 
I '11 leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see: 
Write, ' Lord have mercy on us ' on those tluree ; 
They are infected; in their heaiis it lies; 
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes ; 
These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. [us. 

Prin. Jfo, they are free that gave these tokens to 

Biron. Our states are forfeit : seelc not to undo us. 

Bos. It is not so; for how can this be true, 
That you stand forfeit, being tliose that sue ? 

Biron. Peace ! for I will not have to do with you. 

Bos. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 

Biron. Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end. 

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans- 
Some fair excuse. [gression 

Prin. The fairest is confession. 

Were not you here but even now disguised ? 

King. Madam, I was. 

Prin. And were you well advised ? 

King. I was, fair madam. 

Prin. When you then were here, 

What did you whisper in your lady's ear y [her. 

King. That more than all the world I did respect 

Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re- 

King. Upon mine honour, no. [ject her. 

Prin. Peace, peace ! forbear : 

Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. 

King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine. 

Prin. I will : and therefore keep it. Rosaline, 
What did tlie Russian whisper in your ear ? 

Bos. Madam, he swore that lie did hold me dear 
As precious eyesight, and di 1 value me 
Above this world ; adding thereto moreover 
That he would weil me, or else die my lover. 

Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord 
Most honourably doth uphold his word. 

King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my 
I never swore this lady such an oath. [troth. 

Bos. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain, 
You gave me this: but take it, sir, again. 

King. My faith and this the princess I did give : 
I knew her l)y this jewel on her sleeve. 

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; 
And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear. 
What, will you have me, or your pearl again ? 

Biron. Neither of either ; I remit both twain. 
I see the trick on 't : here was a consent, 
Knowing aforehand of our merriment, 
To dash it like a Christmas comedy : 
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany. 
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some 

Dick, 
That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick 
To make my lady laugh when she 's disposed. 
Told our intents' before; which once disclosed, 
The ladies did change favours : and then we, 
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
Now, to our perjury to add more terror, 
We are again forsworn, in will and error. 
JIuch upon tlus it is : and might not you 

[To Boyd. 
Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue V 
9 



Do not you know my lady's foot by the squier. 

And laugh upon the apple of her eye ? 
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, 

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily 'i 
You put our pa^e out : go, you are allow 'd ; 
Die when you will, a smock sliall be your shroud. 
You leer upon me, do you ? there 's an eye 
Wounds like a leaden sword. 

Bo yet. Full merrily ^ 

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 

i'iron. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have 
done. „ 

Enter Costard. 

Welcome, pure wit ! thou partrst a fair fray. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know 
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no. 

Biron. What, are there but three y 

Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 

For every one puxsents three. 

Biron. And three times thrice is nine. 

Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope 
it is not so. 
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we 

know what we know : 
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, — 

Biron. Is not nine. 

Cost. Lender coiTectiou, sir, we know whereuntil 
it doth amount. 

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for 
nine. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your 
living by reckoning, sir. 

Biron. How much is it ? 

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the 
actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: 
for mine own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect 
one man in one poor man, Pom'pion the Great, sir. 

Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies';' 

Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of Poni- 
pion the Great: for mine own part, I know not the 
degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand for him. 

Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will take 
some care. [Exit. 

King. Biron, they will shame us: let them not 
approach. 

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 'tis 

some policy [I'auy. 

To have one show worse than the king's and his corh- 

King. I say they shall not come. 

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now : 
That spoi-t best pleases that doth least know how : 
Where zeal strives to content, and tlie contents 
Dies in the zeal of that whicli it presents: 
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth. 
When great things labouring perLsh in their birth. 

Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. 

Enter Armado. 
Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy 
royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words. 
[Converses apart with the King, and 
dcUrers him a paper. 
Prin . Doth this man serve God "? 
Biron. AVhvaskyou"? 

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. 
Arm. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey mon- 
arcli ; for. I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding 
fantastical; too too vain, too too vain : but we will 
put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish 
you the peace of mind, most royal couplement ! 

King. Here is like to be a good presence of Wor- 
thies. ' He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, 
Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; 
Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant^ Judas Mac- 
cabieus : 

129 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOURIS LOST. 



SCENE II. 



And if these four AVortliies in their first sliow thrive, 
Tliese four will change habits, and present the other 

Biron. There is five in the first show. [five. 

Kiny. You are deceived ; 't is not so. 

Birbn. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- 
priest, the fool and the boy : — 
Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again 
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. 

Kintj. The ship is under sail, and here she comes 
amain. 

Enter Costard, /w Fompey. 

Cost. I Pompey am, — 

Bm/et. You lie, you are not he. 

Cost. I Pompey am, — 

Boi/ct. With libbard's head on knee. 

Biron. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be 
friends with thee. 

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big, — 

Bum. The Great. 

Cost. It is, • Great," sir :— 

Pompey sumamed the Great ; 

That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make 
my foe to sweat : [by chance. 

And travelling along this coast, I here am come 

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass 
of France. [liad done. 

If your ladyship would say, ' Thanks, Pompey,' I 

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 

Cost. 'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was 
perfect : I made a little fault in ' Great.' 

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the 
best Worthy. 

Enter Sir Nathaniel, /or Alexander. 

N'ath. When in the world I lived, I was the 
world's commander ; 
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my con- 
quering might; 
My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander, — 

Boijet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it 
stands too right. 

Biron. Your nose smells 'no' in this, most ten- 
der-smelling loiight. [Alexander. 

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good 

N'ath. AVhen in the world 1 lived, I was the 
world's commander, — [sander. 

Boyet. Most true, 't is right ; you were so, Ali- 

Biron. Pomijey the Great, — 

Cost. Your servant, and Costard. [sander. 

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- 

Cost. \_To Sir Nidh.] O. sir, you have overthrown 
Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped out 
of the i)ainted cloth for this: your lion, that holds 
his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to 
Ajax: he will )n' the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, 
and al'eard to speak! run away for shame, Alisan- 
der. [Nath. retires] There, an 't shall please you; a 
foolish mild man; an h.onest man, look you, and 
soon dashed. He is a marvellous good neighlKiur, 
faith, and a very good bowler : but, for Alisander, — 
alas, you see iiow'tis, — a little o'erparted. But 
there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind 
in some other sort. 

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 

J^nter Holofernes, for Judas; and Moth, for - 

Hercules. 
Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp. 

Whose club kill'd rcrberns, that three-headed 
And when he wasa lialii',a chilil,:! shrimp, [canis; 

Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. 
Quoniam he seenietli in minority. 
Ergo I come with this apology. 
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. 

[Moth retires. 
Judas I am,-:— 

130 



Dnm. A .Judas ! 

HA. Not Iscariot, sir. 

Judas I am, ycliped Maccaba?us. 

D-iim. Judas Maccaba^us dipt is plain Judas. 

JUrnn. A kissing traitor. How art thou proved 

Hal. Judas I am, — [Judas? 

Bum. The more shame for you, Judas. 

Hoi. What mean you, sirV 

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 

Hoi. Begin, sir; you are my elder. [elder. 

Biron. Well followed: Judas was hanged on an 

JIdl. I will not be put out of countenance. 

Jiiron. Because thou hast no face. 

Hnl. What is this? 

lUiiiit. A cittcrn-Iiead. 

Biun. The head of a bodkin. 

Jiiron. A Death's face in a ring. 

LiiiKj. The lace of an old Ivoman coin, scarce seen. 

Boyd. The jKimmel of Casar's falchion. 

Bion. The carved-bone face on a fiask. 

Biron. Saint George's lialf-cheek in a brooch. 

Bum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 

Biron. Ay. and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. 
And now forward ; for we have put thee in counte- 
nance. 

Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 

Biron. False; we have given thee faces. 

Hoi. But you have out-faced them all. 

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 

Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
And "so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou stay ? 

Bum. For the latter end of his name. 

Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him : — 
Jud-as, away ! 

Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. 

Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas! it grows dark, 
he may stumble. [Hoi. retires. 

Prin. Alas, poor Maccabajus, how hath he been 
baited ! 

Enter Arm ado, /o?' Hector. 

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hec- 
tor in arms. 

Bum. Though my mocks come home by me, I 
will now be merry. 

Kimi. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this. 

J!(ui,t. But is this llectcir':' 

Kiiiij. I think Hector was not so clean-timbered. 

Lonij. His leg is too big for Hector's. 

Bum. More calf, certain. 

Boyet. No_; he is best indued in the small. 

Biron. This cannot be Hector. 

Bum. He 's a god or-a painter ; for he makes faces. 

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- 
Gave Hector a gift. — [mighty, 

Bum. A gilt nutmeg. 

Biron. A lemon. 

Long. Stuck with cloves. 

Bum. No, cloven. 

Arm. Peace! — 
The armi|)ofeiit Jtlars, of lances the almighty. 

Gave Ilecliir a gift, tlie heir of Ilion ; 
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight ; yea 

From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 
I am that flower, — 

Bum. That mint. 

Lonrj. That columbine. 

Arm. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 

Lomj. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs 
against Hector. 

Bum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhoiuid. 

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten ; 
sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: 
when he breathed, he was a man. But I will for- 
ward with my device. [Tb the Princess] Sweet 
royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing, [lighted. 

Prin. Speak, brave Hector: we are much de- 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



At-ra. I do adore tliy sweet grace's slipper. 

lUii/et. [Axidtio Bum.] Loves her by the foot. 

Ddm. [A:<i(h to Boi/et.] He may not by the yard. 

Arm. Tills Hector far surmounted Hannibal, — 

Cost. Tlie party is gone, fellow Hector, she is 
gone ; she is two inonths on her way. 

Arm. What meanest thou V 

Cost. Faitli, unless you play the honest Troyan, 
the poor wench is castaway: she's quick: the child 
brags in her belly already : 't is yours. 

Arm. Dost tiiou infamonize me among poten- 
tates ? thou shalt die. 

Cnst. Then shall Hector be whipped for .Jaque- 
retta that is quick by him and hanged for Pompey 
that is dead by him. 

Dum. Most rare Pompey ! 

lioijet. Renowned Pompey! 

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great 
Pompey! Pomjiey the Huge! 

Bum. Hector tremliles. 

Biron. Pompey is ni( ived. Slore Ates, more Ates ! 
stir tliem on ! stir tliem on ! 

Bum. Hector will challenge him. 

Biron. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood in 's 
belly than will sup a Ilea. 

Arm. By the north pole, I do cliallenge thee. 

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
man : I '11 slash ; I '11 do it by the sword. I bepray 
you, let me borrow my arms again. 

Bum. Room for the incensed Worthies ! 

Cost. I '11 do it in my shirt. 

Bum. Most resolute Pompey! 

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole 
lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for tlie 
combat? VVhat mean you'i' You will lose your 
reputation. 

Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will 
not combat in my shirt. 

Bum. You ma'y not deny it : Pompey hath made 
tlie challenge. 

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 

Biron. What reason have you for 't "? 

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I liave no shirt ; 
I go woolward for penance. 

Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome 
for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he 
wore none but a dishclout of .Jaquenetta's, and that 
a' wears ne.xt his heart for a favour. 

Enter Mercade. 

Mer. God save you, mailam ! 

Prill. Welcome, Mercade ; 
But that tliou interrupt 'st our merriment. 

Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring 
Is lieavy in my tongue. The king your father — 

Prin. Dead, for my life! 
. Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. 

Biron. Worthies, away ! the scene begins to cloud. 

Ann. For mine own part, I breatlie free lireaUi. 

I have seen the day of wrong through the little hcilu 

of discretion, and I will riglit myself like a soldier. 

[Exeunt Worthies. 

King. How fares your majesty ':' 

I'rin. Boyet, pre])are; I will away to-night. 

King. ]Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. 

Frin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, 
For all j'our fair en.leavonrs; and entreat, 
Out of a new-sad soul, tliat you vouchsafe 
In your ricli wisdom to excuse or hide 
Tlie liberal opposition of our spirits. 
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
111 the converse of breath : your gentleness 
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord ! 
A heavy heart bears not ;i nimble timgiie: 
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks 
For my great suit so easily olrtain'd. 

King. The extreme parts of time extremely forms 



All causes to the purpose of his speed, 

And often at his very loose decides 

That which long process could not arbitrate : 

And though the mourning brow of progeny 

Forbid the smiling cnuitesy of love 

Tlie holy suit whicli fain it would convince. 

Yet, since love's argument was first on foot. 

Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 

From what it purposed ; since, to wail friends lost 

Is not by much so whoh-sonie-protitable 

As to rejoice at friends but ne«ly found. 

Prin. I understand > on not : my griefs are double. 

Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of 
grief ; 
And by these badges understand the king. 
For your fair sakes liave we neglected time, 
Play'd foul play witli our oaths : your Vieauty, ladies. 
Hath much defmiu'd us, fashioning our humours 
Even to the opposed end of our intents: 
And what in us liath seem'd ridiculous, — 
As love is full of unbefitting strains. 
All wanton as a child, skipiiing and vaia, 
Form'd by the eye and theretbre, Uke tlie eye, 
Full of strange shapes, of haliits and of forms, 
Varying in suljjecls as tlie eye doth roll 
To evei\v varieil object in his glance: 
Which pai'ti-coate(l presence ot loose love 
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, 
Have misbecoined our oatlis and gravitiies. 
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, 
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, 
Oul- love being yours, the error that love makes 
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false. 
By being oiice false for ever to be true 
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you: 
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin. 
Thus purities itself and turns to grace. 

Prin. We have received your letters full of love; 
Your favours, the auiliassadors of love; 
And, in our maidi'ii cnuiieil. rated them 
At Courtship, pleasant Jest and courtesy, 
As bombast and as lining to the time: 
But more devout than this in our respects 
Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves 
In their own fashion, like a merriment. • [jest. 

Bum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than 

Long. So did our looks. 

Ros. We did not quote them so. 

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, 
Grant us your loves. 

Prin. A time, methinks, too short 

To make a world-without-end bargain in. 
Xo, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much. 
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore tliis: 
If for my love, as there is no sucli cause. 
You will do aught, this shall you do for me: 
Your oatli I will not trust; bid go with speed 
To some forlorn and naked lierinitage. 
Remote from all the pleasures of the world; 
Tliere stay until the twelve celestial signs 
Have brought about the annual reckoning. 
If this austere insociable life 
Change not j'our offer made in heat of blood; 
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds 
Nip not the gaudv blossoms of \(iur love. 
But that it liear this trial ami last love; 
Then, at the expiration of the year. 
Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts, 
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, 
I will be thine; and till that instant shut 
My woeful self up in a mourning house. 
Raining the tears of lamentation 
For the remembrance of my father's death. 
If this thou do deny, let our hands part, 
Neither intitled in the other's heart. 

King. If tliis, or more than tliis. I would deny, 

To flatter up these powers of mine with re.st, 
131 



ACT V. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



SCENE II. 



The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! 

Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 

{Biron. And wliat to me, my love? and what to 
nie y 

Bos. You must be purged too, your sins are rack'd, 
You are attaint with faults and perjury: 
Therefore if you my favour mean to get, 
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest. 
But seek the weary beds of petiple sick.] 

Dum. But what to me, my love '{ but what to me V 
A wife ? 

Kath. A beard, fair health, and honesty; 
"With three-fold love I wish you all these three. 

Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife'? 

Kath. Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day 
I '11 mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say : 
Come when the king doth to my lady come ; 
Then, if I have much love, I '11 g;ive you some. 

Bum. I '11 serve thee true and faithfully till then. 

Kath. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. 

Ijong. What says Maria V 

Mar. At the twelvemonth's end 

I '11 change my black gown ftir a faithfid friend. 

Lon(/. I'll stay with patience; but the time is 
long. 

il/ar. The liker you ; few taller are so young. 

Biron. Studies my lady ? mistress, look on me ; 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
What humble suit attends thy answer there: 
Impose some service on me for thy love. 

Hos. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Blron, 
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, 
Which you on all estates will execute 
That lie within the nieicy of your wit. 
To weed this wormwood froni your fruitful brain. 
And therewitlial to win me, if you please. 
Without the which I am not to be won. 
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
Visit the speechless sick and still converse 
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be, 
With all the tierce endeavour of your wit 
To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 

Biron' To move wild laughter in the throat of 
death ? 
It cannot be ; it is impossible : 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 

Ilos. Why, that 's the way to choke a gibing spirit. 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: 
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
Of hini tliat makes it: then, if sickly ears, 
Deaf 'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, 
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then. 
And I will have you and that fault withal ; 
But if they will not, throw away that spirit. 
And I shall find you empty of that fault, 
Ri"ht joyful of your reformation. 

Biron. A twelvemonth! well; befall what will 
befall, 
I '11 jest a twelvemonth iu an hospital. 

Prill. [To the King] Ay, sweet my lord; and so I 
take my leave. 

King. No, madam; we will bring you on your 
way. 

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ; 
Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
Might well have made our sport a comedy. 
132 



King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, 
And then 't will end. 
Biron. That 's too long for a play. 

lie-enter Armado. 

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — 

Prin. Was not that Hector? 

Bum. The worthy knight of Troy. 

Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. 
I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold 
the plough for her sweet love three years. But, 
most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue 
that the two learned men have compiled in praise 
of the owl and the cuckoo ? it should have followed 
in the eud of our show. 

King. Call them forth quickly ; we will do so. 

Arm. Holla! approach. 

Re-enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, 

and others. 
This side is Hiems, AVinter, this Ver, the Spring; 
the one maintained by the owl, the other by the 
cuckoo. Ver, begin. 

THE SONG. 

Spring. 
When daisies pied and violets blue 

And lady-smocks all silver-white 
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 

Do paint the meadows with delight, 
The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear I 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws 
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws. 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks. 

The cuckoo then, on every tree. 

Mocks married men ; for "thus sings he. 
Cuckoo ; 

Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear 1 . 

WlKTER. 

When icicles hang by the wall 
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail 

And Tom bears logs into the hall 
And milk comes frozen home in pail. 

When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, 

Then nightly smgs the staring owl, 
Tu-whit; 

Tu-who, a merry note. 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

When all aloud the win<l doth blow 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw 

And birds sit broodini; in the snow 
And Marian's nose looks red and raw. 

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl. 

Then nightly sings the staring owl. 
Tu-whit; 

Tu-who, a merry note. 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the 
songs of Apollo. You that way : we this way. 

[Exeunt. 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



in love with Ilermia. 



Thesevis, Duke of Athens. 
Egeus, father to Hermia. 
Lysander, 
Demetrius, 
Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseus. 
Quince, a carpenter. 
Snug, a joiner. 
Bottom, a weaver. 
Flute, a bellows-mender. 
Snout, a tinker. 
Starveling-, a tailor. 

Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, betrothed to 
Theseus. 



Hermia. daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysaude 
Helena, in love with Demetrius. 
Oberon, king of the fairies. 
Titania, queen of the fairies. 
Puck, or Itobin Goodfellow. 
Peaseblossom, 
Cobweb, 
Moth, 

Mustardseed, 
Other fairies attending their King and Queen. At- 
tendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 



fairies. 



[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, 

A.CT I. 



SCENE — Athens, and a wood near it. 
;e XLVll.] 



SCENE 1.— Athens. The pnlace c,f Tlicscus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and 
Attendants. 

The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace : four happy days bring in 
Another moon : but, O, methinks, how slow 
This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, 
Like to a step-dame or a dowager 
Long witliering out a young man's revenue, [night ; 

Hip. Four days will (|iiickly steep themselves in 
Four nights will quickly dream away the time; 
And theji the moon, like to a silver bow 
New-bent in heaven, shall behold tiie night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, PliilostratP, 

vStir up the Athenian youth tn merriments; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth: 
Turn melancholy forth to fimerals; 
The pale companion is not for our pomp. 

[Exit Philostrate. 
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword. 
And won thy love, doing thee iiijiuies; 
But Lwill wed thee in another key. 
With pomp, with triumph and witli revelling. 

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and De- 
metrius. 

Er/e. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 

Tiie. Thanks, good Egeus : what 's the news 
with thee ? 

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Ilermia. 
Stand forth, Demetrius, isiy noble lord. 
This man hath my consent to marry her. 
Stand forth, Lysander: and, my gracious dulvp. 
This man hath bewitch 'd the bosom of my child : 
Thou, thou, Lysander. thou hast given her rhymes 
And interchanged hive-tokens witli my child: 
Tliiui hast by moonlight at her window sung 
With feigning voice verses of feigning love. 
And stolen the imiiression of her fantasy 
AVith bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits. 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers 
Of strong prevailment in uuharden'd youth : 



With cunning hast thou filch 'd my daughter's heart, 

TuruM her oliedience, which is due to me. 

To sluliliorn liaishness: and, my giaci(jus duke, 

Be it so she will not here before your grace 

Conseut to marry with Demetrius, 

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, 

As slie is mine, I may dispose of her: 

Which sliall lie eitlier to this gentleman 

Of to her death, according to our law 

Immediately ju'ovided in that case. 

77i( . What say you. Ilermia y lie iulvifsed, fair maid: 
To you your tiither should lii' as a god; 
One that composed your beiiuties, yea, and one 
To whom you an' liut as a form in wax 
By liim inipiiiilecl and within his power 
To leave the tigiue or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 

Her. So is Lysander. 

The. In himself he is ; 

But in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
The other must be held the worthier. 

Her. I woidd my father look'd but with my eyes. 

TIte. Ratlier your eyes nuist with his judgment 

Ikr. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. [look. 
I know not by what power I am made bold, 
Nor how it may concern my modesty. 
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts; 
But I beseech your grace that I may know 
The worst tliat ma\ lu'tall me in this case, 
If I refuse to wed i)emetrius. 
' The. Either to tlu' the death or to abjure 
For ever tlie society of men. 
Therefore, fair Ilermia, question your desires; 
Know of yoiu' youth, examine well your blood. 
Whether," if you yield not to your father's choice, 
You can endure the livery of a nun, 
For aye to be in shady cloister niew'd, 
To live a liarren sister all your life. 
Chanting faint liynnis to the cold fruitless moon. 
Thrice-lilesscd they that master so their blood, 
To underuo such maiden pilgrimane ; 
But carthlierhapiiy is tlie rose distill'd, 
Tlian that which withering on the virgin thorn 
Grows, lives and dies in single Vilessedness. 

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
133 



ACT I. 



A 3IIDSUMMER-NIGHT\S DREA3L 



SCENE I. 



Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 

The. Take time to pause; and, by the next new 
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, [moon — 
For evprlasthi'4' bond of fellowship — 
Upon that day citlier prciiare to ilie 
For ilisi>lii'(li('ni-f to your father's will. 
Or else to we<l Demetrius, as he would; 
Or on Diana's altar to protest 
For aye austerity and single life. 

Dcin. Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
Let me have Ilermia's : do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander! "true, he liath my love, 
And what is mine my love sliall render him. 
And she is mine, and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well derived as he, 
As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
My fortunes every way as fairly ranli'd. 
If not witli vantage, as Demetrius'; 
And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
I am beloved of beauteous llermia : 
Wljy should not 1 then prosecute my right? 
Demetrius, I '11 avouch it to his head. 
Made love to.Nedar's daugliter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. 
Upon tliis spotted and inconstant man. 

The. I must confess tliat I luive heard so muchj 
And with Demetrius thougiit to liave spoke tliereot ; 
But, being over-full of sclf-alfairs. 
My mind did lose it. But, Denutrius, come; 
And come, Egeus; you siiall go with me, 
1 have some private schooling" for you both. 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To ht your fancies to your father's will ; 
Or else tlie law of Athens yields you up — 
Whieli l)y no means we may extenuate — ■ 
To deatli, or to a vow of single life. 
Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love? 
Demetrius and Egeus, go along: 
I must emjiloy you in some business 
Against our nuptial and confer with you 
Of something nearly that i-oucerns yourselves. 

Egc. AVith duty anil desire we follow you. 

{Exi:u,at all hut Lij^iindvr inul Hermia. 

ij/s. How now, my love! why is Vdui- cheek so pale? 
How chance the ro.ses there do faile so fast ? 

Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could well 
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. 

Lys. Ay me! for auglit that I could ever read, 
Could ever hear by tale (u- history. 
The course of true hive never did run smooth; 
But, either it was different in blood, — 

Her. O cross! too high to be euthrall'd to low. 

Lys. Or else raisgrafled in respect of years, — 

Her. O spite I too old to be engaged to young. 

Lys. Or else it stoml upon the clioice of friends, — 

Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eyes. 

Lys. Or, if tliere were a sympathy in clioice, * 
"War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 
Making it momentany as a sound. 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the lightniiig in tlie collied night. 
That, in a sjileen, nufnUls botli heaven and earth. 
And ere a man liath power to say ' l^ehold! ' 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, 
It stands as an edict in destiny : 
Then let us teacli our trial patience, 
Because it is a customary cross. 
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs. 
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. 
134 



Lys. A good persuasion: therefore, hear me,; 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Henuia. 

Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; 
And she respects me as her only son. 
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; 
And to tliat plai'e the sliarp Athenian law 
Cannot imrsue us. If thou Invest me tlien. 
Steal fortii tliy father's house to-morrow night; 
And in the wood, a league without the town. 
Where I did meet thee once witli Helena, 
To do observance to a mom of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 

Her. My good Lysander ! 

I swear to tliee, by Cupid's strongest bow, 
By his best arrow witli the golden head, . 
By the simplicity of "N'enus' doves. 
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves. 
And by that lire which burn'tl the Carthage queen, 
AVheii the false Troyan under sail was seen. 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
In number more th;in ever \\omen spoke. 
In that same place thou hast appointed me. 
To-morrow truly will 1 meet with tliee. [ena. 

Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Hel- 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! whither away? 

Hel. Call you nie fair? that fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves your fair : O hajipy fair ! [air 

Your eyes are loile-stars ; and youi' tongue's sweet . 
More tuneable than lark to sliepherd's ear, 
"When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
Sickness is c;+ehing: O, were favour so. 
Yours wnnld 1 catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; 
My ear should latil; your voice, my eye your eye. 
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
Were the world mine, Demetrius lieing liated, 
Tlie rest I 'Id give to be to you translated. 
O, teach me how you look, and with what art 
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 

Her. Ifrown upon him, yet lie loves me still. 

Hel. O that your frowns' would teach my smiles 
such skill ! 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 

Hel. O that my jirayers could such affection move ! 

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 

Her. llisfnlly. Helena, is no fault of mine, [mine! 

Hel. Koiie.but your beauty : would that fault were 

//(}-. Take Cdiii'fort : he n<i more shall see my face; 
Lysander and myself will Hy tliis place. 
Befiire tlie time 1 did Lysander see, 
Seeni'd Athens as a paradise to me: 
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell. 
That he hatli turn'd a heaven unto a hell! 

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: 
To-morrow night, wlien Pluelie doth behold 
Her silver visage in the watery glass. 
Decking with liquid pearl the biaded grass, 
A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, 
Tlirough Athens' gates have we devised to steal. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose-l.ieds were wont to lie, 
Emiityiiig our bosoms of their counsel sweet. 
There iny Lysander and myself shall meet; 
And theiice'from Athens turn away our eyes. 
To seek new friends and stranger conqianies. 
Farewell, sweet iilayiVllow: jiray thou for us; 
And guild luck grant thee tliy Demetrius! 
Ki'i'ii word, Lysander: we must starve our sight 
From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. [Exit Herm. 

Helena, adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit. 

Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be ! 
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 



ACT I. 



A 3IIDSU3I3IER-NIGHT\S DREA3L 



SCENE II. 



But wliat of tliat ? Demetrius thinks not so; 

He will not know what all Imt he do know: 

And as he errs, doting on Ilerniia's eyes, 

So I, admiring of his qualities : 

Tilings base and vile, holding no quantity, 

Love can transpose to form and dignity : 

I>ove looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 

And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind : 

Nor liath Love's mind of any judgment taste; 

Wings aud no eyes figure unheedy haste: 

And therefore is Love said to be a child, 

Because in choice he is so oft beguiled. 

As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 

So the boy Love is perjiu'ed e\t'ry where : 

For ere Demetrius lookM un Ilermia's eyne, 

He hail'd down oaths tliat he was only mine; 

And when this hail some heat from Ilermia felt. 

So he dissolved, and sliowers of oat lis did melt. 

I will go tell him of fair Ilermia's llight: 

Then to the wood will he to-morrow iiight 

Punsue her; and for tliis intelligence 

If I have thanks, it is a dear expense: 

But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 

To have his, sight thither and back again. {Exit. 

SCENE 11.— Alliens. Quince^s house. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 
Quin. Is all our company here ? 
Bot. You were best to call them generally, man 
by man, according to the scrip. 

' Qaiit. Here is "the scroll of every man's name, 
which is thought tit, through all Athens, to play in 
our interlude before the duke and the duchess, on 
his wedding-day at night. 

But. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
treats on, then read the names of the actors, and so 
grow to a point. 

Quin. Marry, our play is. The most lamentable 
comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and 
Thisby. 

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, 
and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth 
your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread your- 
selves. 

Quin. Answer as I call you. Kick Bottom, the 
weaver. 

Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and pro- 
ceed. 

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyr- 
amus. 
Bot. AVhat is Pyramus V a lover, or a tjTant ? 
Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for 
love. 

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true perform- 
ing of it : if I do it, let the audience look to their 
eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some 
measure. To the rest : yet my chief humour is for 
a tyrant : I could jilay Ercles rarely, or a part to 
tear a cat in, to make all split. 
The r;ii;ing recks 
An<l shivering shocks 
Shall break the locks 
Of prison gates; 
And Pliibbus' car 
Shall shine irom far 
And make and mar 
The foolish Fates. 
This was lofty ! Now name the rest of the players. 



This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is more 
condoling 

Qtdn. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 

QiUn. Flute, you must take Thisby on you. 

Flu. What is Thisby y a wandering knight '? 

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 

Flu. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have 
a beard coming. 

Quin. That 's all one : you shall play it in a mask, 
and you may speak as small as you will. 

Bot. An I may hide my facej let me play Tliisby 
too, I '11 speak in a monstrous little voice, 'Thisne, 
Thisne;' 'Ah Pyramus, my lover dear! thy Thisby 
dear, and lady dear 1 ' 

Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus: and. 
Flute, you Thisby. 

Bot. Well, proceed. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 

Star. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. Robin- Starveling, you must play Thisby 's 
mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You, Pyramus' father : myself, Thisby "s 
father. Snug, the joiner ; you, the lion's part : and, 
I Iiope, here is a play fitted. 

Snug. Have you the lion's part written V pray 
you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
but roaring. 

Bot. JM me i^lay the lion too : I will roar, th;it I 
will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will roar, 
that I "will make the duke say ' Let him roar again, 
let him roar again.' 

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would 
fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would 
shriek; and that were enough to bang us all. 

All. That woidd hang us. every mother's son. 

Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright 
the ladies out of their wits, they would have no 
more discretion but to hang us : but I will aggra- 
vate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as 
any sucking dove ; I will roar you an 't were any 
nightingale. 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus; for 
Pyramus is a sweet -faced man; a proper man, as 
one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely 
gentleman-like man : therefore you must needs play 
Pyramus. 

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were 
I best to play it in ? 

Quin. Why, what you will. 

Bot. I will discliarge it in either your straw-colour 
beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in- 
grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, 
your perfect yellow. 

Quin. Some of your French cro\%Tis have no hair 
at all, and then you will play barefaced. But, mas- 
ters, here are your parts: and I am to entreat you, 
request you and desire you, to con them by to-mor- 
row night ; and meet me in the palace wood, a mile 
without the town, by moonlight ; there will we re- 
hearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged 
with company, and our devices known. In the 
meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such as 
our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. 

Bot. We will meet ; aud there we may rehearse 
most obscenely and courageously. Take pains ; be 
perfect : adieu. 

Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 

Bot. Enough ; hold or cut bow-strings. [Exeunt. 
135 



A 3IIDSU3IMER-NIGHTS DREA3L 



SCEPTE I. 



A^CT II. 



SCENE I. — A wood near Athens. 

Enter, from opposite sides,, a Fairy, and Puck. 
Puck. How now, spii-it ! whither wauder you ? 
Fai. Over hill, over dale, 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
I do wander every where, 
Swifter than the moon's sphere; 
And I serve the fairy queen. 
To dew her orbs upon the green. 
The cowslips tall her pensioners be : 
In their gold coats spots you see ; 
Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
In those freckles live their savours : 
I must go seek some dewdrops here 
And hang a iiearl iji every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell, thciu lob of spirits ; I '11 be gone : 
Our queen ami all \ivv elves come here anon. 
Puck. The king dcitli keeii his revels hereto-night : 
Take heed the queen come not within his sight; 
Fdr Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
Because that she as her attendant hath 
A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king; 
She never had so sweet a changeling ; 
And jealous Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ; 
But she perforce withholds the loved boy. 
Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy : 
And now they never meet in grove or green. 
By fountain clear, or sjiangled starlight sheen. 
But they do square, that all their elves for fear 
Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there. 
Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making 
quite, 
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 
C'all'd Itobin Goodfellow: are not you he 
Tliat frights the maidens of the villagery ; 
Skim milk, and sometimes laliour in the quern 
And bodtless make the breathli-ss housewife churn ; 
And sometime make the diink to bear no barm; 
]Mislea<l niglit-wamlerers. laugliing at their harm? 
Tliose that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Tuck, 
You do tiieir work, and they shall have good luck : 
Are not you he V 

Puck. Thou speak'st aright; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon and make Iiim smile 
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
!Neighing in likeness of a Hlly foal:" 
And sometime lurk I in a. gossiii's bowl. 
In very likeness of a roasted crab. 
And when slie drinks, ag;iinst her lips I bob 
And on her wither "d ilewiap pour tlje ale. 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
Sometime for tliree-l'oot stool niistaketh me; 
Then slip I from her lium. down topples she. 
And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough; 
And then the whole (luireliold tlieir hijisand laugh. 
And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there. 
But, room, fairy ! here comes Uberon. [gone! 

Fai. And here my mistress. Would that he w.ere 

Enter, from one side, Oberon, u'ft/t his train; from 
the other, Titania, witli hers. 

Obe. Ill met by moonliglit, proud Titania. 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence: 
I have forsworn his bed and company. 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton : am not I thy lord? 

Tita. Then I must be thy lady: but I know 
When thou hast stolen away from fairy laud, 
And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 
136 



Playing on pipes of corn and versing love 

To amorous Fhillida. Why art thou here, 

Come from the farthest steppe of India ? ' 

But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 

Your buskin 'd mistress and your warrior love, 

To Theseus must be wedded, and you come 

To give their bed joy and i)ros|)erity. 

Obe. How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, 
Glance at my credit with Ilippolyta, 
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? [night 

Didst thou not lead him tlu'ough the glimmering 
From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? 
And make him with fair ^gle break his faith, 
With Ariadne and Antiopa ? 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy: 
And never, since the middle summer's spring. 
Met We on hill, in dale, forest or mead. 
By paved fountain or by rushy lirook, 
Or in the beached margent of the sea. 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain. 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs; which falling in the land 
Have every pelting river made so proud 
That they have overborne their continents : 
The ox hath tlierefore stretch 'd his yoke in vain. 
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn 
Hath rotted ere his youth attainM a beard; 
The fold stands empty in the drowned lield. 
And crows are fatted with the nnirrion flock; 
The nine men's morris is fiU'd up with mud, 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green 
For lack of tread are undistinguishable: 
The human mortals want their winter here; 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest: 
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air. 
That rheumatic diseases do al^ound : 
And thorough this distemperature we see 
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, 
And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown 
An odorous chapl^t of sweet summer buds 
Is, as in mockery, set : the spring, the summer. 
The childing autunm, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, 
By tlieir increase, now knows not which is wliich : 
And this same progeny of evils comes 
From our debate, from our dissension; 
We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then; it lies in you: 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 
1 do but beg a little changeling boy. 
To be my henchman. 

Tita. Set your lieart at rest : 

The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a votaress of my order: 
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side. 
And sat with me on Xeptune's vellow sands. 
Marking tlie emliarked tracUns on the Hood, 
When we have laughM to see tlie sails C(uiceive 
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind; 
Which she, with pretty and with swinnning gait 
Following, — her womb tlien rich with my young 
Would imitate, and sail upon the land, [squire, — 
To fetcli me trifles, and ri'turn again. 
As from a voyage, rich with mercliandise. 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; 
And for her sake do I rear up lier boy. 
And for her sake I will not part with liim. 

Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay ? 

Tita. Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day. 



ACT II. 



A 3IIDSU3I3IER-NIGHrS BREAM. 



SCENE IT. 



If j'ou will patiently dance in our round 
And see our nioouli;4ht revels, go with us; 
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with tliee. 

Titii. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away I 
We shall chide downright, it I longer stay. 

[Exit Titfinid ii'ith her train. 

Obe. Well, go thy way : thon slialt not from this 
Till I torment thee for this injury. [grove 

My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest 
Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
And heard a mermaid on a doliihin's back 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at lier song 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Puck. I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw, but thou couldst 
not, 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal throned by the west. 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a luindred thousand hearts; 
But I mi^iht see young Cujiid's fiery shaft 
Quench'd in tlie chaste beams of the watery moon. 
And the imperial votaress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where tlie bolt of Cupid fell: 
It fell upon a little western flower, 
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound. 
And maidens call it love-in-idlcness. 
Fetch me that flower; tlie herli I shew'd thee once: 
The juice of it on sleeping- cye-liils laid 
Will make or man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again 
Ere the leviathan can swim a^ league. 

Puck. I '11 put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. [Exit. 

Obe. Having once this juice, 

I '11 watch Titania when she is asleep, 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes. 
The next thing then she waking looks upon. 
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 
Ou meddling monkey, or on busy ape. 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love . 
And ere 1 take this charm from otf her sight. 
As I can take it with another herb, 
I 'II make her render up her page to me. 
But who comes here V I am invisible ; 
And I will overhear their conference. 

Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. 

Bern. I love thee not, thei'efore pursue me not. 
Where is Lysander and fair Ilernna 'i 
The one I '11 slay, the other slayeth me. 
Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood; 
And here am I, and worte within this wood. 
Because I cannot meet my Ilermia. 
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 

Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; 
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 

Beiti. Do I entice you V do I speak you fair V 
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 
Tell you, I do not, nor 1 cannot love you ? 

Ud. And even for that do I love you the more. 
I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, 
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me. 
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave. 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I lieg in your love, — 
And yet a place of high respect with me, — 
Thau to be used as you use your dog 't 



Bern. Tempt not too much the hatred of my 
spirit, 
For I am sick when I do look on thee. 

Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 

Bern. You do impeach yo* modesty too much, 
To leave the city and commit yourself 
Into the hands of one that loves you not ; 
To trust the opportunity of night 
And the ill counsel of a desert place 
AV'ith the rich worth of your vir^jinity. 

Hel. Your virtue is my privilege : for that 
It is not niglit when I do see your face, 
Therefore I think I am not in the night ; 
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company. 
For you in my respect are all the world : 
Then how can it be said I am alone. 
When all the world is here to look on me ? 

Bern. I'll run from thee and hide me in the 
brakes, 
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 

Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
Run when you will, the story shall be changed: 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; ' 

The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
Makes speed to catch the tiger ; bootless speed, 
When cowardice pursues and valour flies. 

Bern. I will not stay thy questions ; let me go : 
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field. 
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 
We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
We should be woo'd and were not made to woo. 

[Exit Bern. 
I '11 follow thee and make a heaven of hell. 
To die u)ion tlie hand I love so well. [Exit. 

Obe. Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave tliis 
Thou Shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love, [grove, 

Be-enter Puck. 
Hast thou the flower there V Welcome, wanderer. 

Puck. Ay, there it is. 

Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows. 
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows. 
Quite over-eanopied with lusci(ms woodbine. 
With sweet musk-roses and witli eglantuie: 
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, 
Luird in these flowers with dances and delight; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : 
And with the juice of this I 'H streak her ej'es, 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: 
A sweet Atlienian hidy is in love 
With a disdainful youth : anoint his e.yes; 
But do it wlien tlie next thing he espies 
May lie the lady : thou slialt know tlie man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Efl'ect it witli some care that lie may prove 
More fond on her than she upon her love: 
And look tliou meet me ere the first cock crow. 

Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant sliall do 
so. [E.ceunt. 

SCENE II. — Another part of the wood. 
Enter Titania, with her train. 
Tita. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose liuds. 
Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings. 
To make my small elves coats, and some keep back 
The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders 
At our quaint siiirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
Then to your offices and let me rest. 

137 J 



ACT II. 



A 3IIDSUM3rER-NIGHT' S DREA3I. 



SCENE II. 



Tlie Fairies s!nrj. 
You spotted snakes witli double tongue, 

Thorny hedgehoj;s, lie not seen; 
Newts and blin4>-"iiriiis, do no wrong, 
Come not near our fairy queen. 
Pliilomel, with melody 
Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla,"lulla, lullaby: 
Never harm, 
Nor spell nor charm, 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 
Weaving spiders, come not here ; 

Hence, you long-leggM spinners, hence I 
Beetles black, approach not near; 
Worm nor snail, do no offence. 
Philomel, with melody, &c. 

A Fairy. Hence, away I now all is well: 
One aloof stand sentinel. 

[Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. 

Enter Oberon, and squeezes the flower on Titania's 
eyelids. 
Obe. AVhat thou seest when thou dost wake. 
Do it for thy true-love take, 
I.ove and languish for his sake : 
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
Pard, or boar with liristled hair. 
In thy eye that sluill aiii)ear 
AVhen thou wakest, it is thy dear: 
AVake when some vile thing is near. [Exit. 

Enter Lysander and Hermia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint witli wandei'ing in the 

And to s])eak troth, I have for.ii'ot our way : [wood; 
We '1! rest us, Hermia, if you think it good. 

And tarry for the comfort of the day. 

Her. Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed; 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 

Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both ; 
One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 

Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear. 
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. 

Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence ! 
Love takes the meaning in love's conference. 
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit 
So that but one heart we can make of it; 
Two bosoms interchained with an oath; 
So then two bosoms and a single troth. 
Then by your side no bed-room me deny ; 
For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 

Her. Lysander riddles very prettily: 
Now much beshrew my manners ami my pride. 
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. 
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
Lie further off; in human modesty. 
Such separation as may well be said 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, 
So far be distant ; and, good night, sweet friend : 
Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end ! 

Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair iirayer, say I; 
And then end life when I end loyalty ! 
Here is my bed: sleep give tliee all his rest! 

Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
press "d! [They sleep. 

Enter Puck. 
Puck. Through the forest have I gone, 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I might apjirove 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence. — Wlio is here ? 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear: 
This is he, my master said, 
138 



Despised the Athenian maid; 

And here tlie maiden, sleejiing sound, 

On the dank and dirty ground. 

Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 

Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. 

Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 

All the power this charm doth owe. 

When thou wakest, let love forbid 

Sleep his seat on thy eyelid : 

So awake when I am gone; 

For I must now to Oberon. 



[Exit. 



Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 

Hel. Stay, thougii thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 

Dem. 1 charge thee, heuce, ami do not haunt me 
thus. 

Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so. 

Dem. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go. [Exit. 

Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies; 
For siie hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so 1 iright V Not with salt tears : 
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear; 
For beasts that meet me run away for fear: 
Tlierefore no marvel though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, lly my laesence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me comjiare witli Herniia's sphery eyne? 
But who is here V Lysander ! on the ground ! 
Dead r' or asleep V I see no blood, no wound. 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 

Lys. [Airalinij] And run through fire I will for 
thy sweet sake. 
Transparent Helena ! Nature shows art. 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
AVhere is Demetrius V O, how fit a w ord 
Is that vile name to perisli on my sword ! 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so. 
What though he love your Hermia":' Lord, what 

though y 
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 

Lys. Content with Hermia! No; I do repent 
The' tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia but Helena I love: 
Who will not cliange a raven for a dove V 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd; 
And reason says you are tlie worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season: 
So I, oeing young, till now ripe not to reason; 
And touching now the point of human skill, 
Eeiisoii becomes the niarslial to my will 
And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook 
Love's stories written in love's richest book. 

Hel. "Wherefore was I to this keen mockery 
born y 
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn V 
Is 't not enough, is 't not enough, young man, 
That I did never, no, nor never can. 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye. 
But you must tlout my insufficiency y 
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
But fare you well: iierforee 1 must confess 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
O, that a lady, of one man refused, 
Should of another therefore lie aliused ! [Exit. 

Lys. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou 
there : 
And never mayst thou come Lysander near ! 
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
The deepest loatliing to the stomach brings, 
Or as the heresies that men do leave 
Are hated most of tliose they did deceive, 
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, 
Of all be hated, but the most of me! 



ACT III. 



A 3IIDSU3I3rER-NIGHT\S DREA3L 



SCENE I. 



And, all my powers, address your love and might 
To liouour Heleu aud to be her kuight ! \lSxit. 

Her. [Aicakiny] Help me, Lysauder, help me! 
do thy best 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
Ay me, for pity ! what a dream was here ! 
Lysauder, look how I do quake with fear : 



^Meth.ought a serpent eat my heart away. 
And you sat smiling ut his cruel prey. 
Lysauder! what, removed? Lysauder! lord! 
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? 
Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear; 
Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear. 
!N o ? then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
Either death or you I '11 find immediately. [Exit. 



J^CT III. 



SCENE I. — The wood. Tilania hjing asleep. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 

Eot. Are we all met Y 

Quia. Pat, pat; and here 's a marvellous conven- 
ient place for our rehearsal. Tills green plot shall 
be our stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring-house ; 
and we will do it in action as we will do it before the 

But. Peter Quince, — [duke. 

Quid. What sayest thou, bully Bottom? 

JJdt. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus 
and Thisby that will never please. First, Pyranuis 
must draw a sword to kill himself ; which the ladies 
cannot abide. How answer you that ? 

Snout. By 'r lakiu, a parlous fear. 

Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, 
when all is done. 

Bot. Jfot a whit : I have a device to make all well. 
Write me a prologue ; and let the prologue seem to 
say, we will do no harm with our s\vor<ls and that 
Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more 
Vietter assurance, tell them that I Pyramus am not 
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put 
them out of fear. 

Qiiin. Well, we will have such a prologue; and 
it shall be written in eight and six. 

Bill. Xo, make it two more; let it be written in 
eight and eight. 

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the liou? 

Stai-. I fear it, I promise you. 

But. Masters, you ought to consider with your- 
selves; to bring in — God shield us! — alion among 
ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a 
more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living ; and 
we ought to look to 't. 

Snout. Therefore another prologue must tell he 
is not a lion. 

Bot. ifay, you must name his name, and half his 
face must be seen through the lion's neck : and he 
himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the 
same defect, — ' Ladies,' — or ' Fair ladies, — I would 
wish you,' — or ' I would request you,' — or ' I would 
entreat you, — not to fear, not to tremble: my life 
f(jr yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it 
were pity of my life : no, I am no such thing ; I 
am a nuin as otlier men are ; ' and there indeed let 
him name his name, and tell them plainly he is 
S:iug the joiner. 

ViiiH. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard 
things; that is, to bring the moonlight into a cham- 
ber ; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by 
moonliglit. [our play? 

Snoiil. Doth the moon shine that night we play 

Jjiit. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the almanac ; 
find out UKJonshine, find out moonshine. 

Quill. Yes, it doth shine that night. 

Bot. Why, then may you leave a casement of the 
great chamber-window, where we play, open, and 
the moon may sliine in at the casement. 

Qiiin. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush 
of thorns and a lanthoru, aud say he comes to <lis- 
l!guie,iU'toi>reseiit,th('iiers(in of Moonshine. Then, 
there is another thing : we uuist have a wall in the 



great chamber; for PjTamus and Thisby, says the 
story, did talk through tlie chink of a wall. 

Snout. You can never bring in a wall. What say 
you. Bottom ? 

Bot. Some man or other must present AVall : aral 
let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some 
rough-cast about him, to siginfy wall; and let him 
hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall 
Pyramus aud Tliisby whisper. 

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts, 
Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your 
speech, enter into that brake: aud so every one 
according to his cue. 

Enter Puck behind. 

Fuel,:. What hempen home-spuns have we swagger- 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? [iug here, 
What, a play toward ! I '11 be an auditor; 
An actor too perhaps, if I see cause. 

Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. 

Bot. Tliisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet, — 

Quin. Odours, odours. 

Bot. odours savours sweet : 

So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. 
But hark, a voice! stay thou Ijut here awhile, 

Aud by and by I will to tliee appear. [Exit. 

Fuck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played 
here. [Exit. 

Flu. Must I speak now ? 

Quin. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must under- 
stand lie goes but to see a noise that he heard, and 
is to come again. 
Flu. Most radiant PjTamus, most lily-white of hue, 

Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
Most brii^ky ju\ cnal and eke most lovely Jew, 

As true as truest liorse that yet would never tire, 
I '11 meet thee, Pyramus, at 2sinny's tomb. 

Quin. 'isinus' tomb,' man: why, you must not 
speak that yet; that you answer to Pyramus: j-ou 
speak all your part at once, cues and all. Pyramus 
enter; your cue is past; it is, 'never tire.' 

Flu. O, — As true as truest horse, that yet would 
never tire. 

Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass''s head. 

Bot. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine. 

Quin. O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. 
Pray, masters! fly, masters! Help! 

[Exeunt Quince, Snug, Flute, Snout , a nd Starrelinc/. 
Puck. I '11 follow you, I '11 lead you about a round. 

Through bog, through bush, through brake, 
througli brier: 
Sometime a liorse I '11 be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a lieadless bear, sometime a fire ; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and bum, 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 

[Exit. 

Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery 
of them to make me afeard. 

Re-enter Snout. 
Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I 
see ou thee ? 

139 



ACT III. 



A 3IIDSU3I3IER-NIGHT'S DREA3L 



SCENE II. 



Bfit. What do you see ? you see an ass-heail of 
your own, do you V \^Exit ISiwul. 

lie-enter Quince. 

Quill. Bless thee, Uottom! bless thee! thou art 

translated. [Exit. 

Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass 

of me; to fright me, if they could. But I will not 

stir from this place, do what they can: I will walk 

up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall 

Lear I am not afraiil. \_Sinijs. 

The ousel cock so black of hue, 

With orangc-tawiiy Viill, 
The throstle with his note so true. 
The wren with little quill, — 
Tita. {Airnkin[f\ What angel wakes me from my 

flowery bed ■? 
Bot. [Simjs] 
The finch, the sparrow and the lark. 

The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
Whose note full many a man doth mark. 
And dares not answer nay ; — 
for, indeed, wlio would set his wit to so foolish a 
bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 
' cuckoo ' never so V 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: 
!Mine ear is nuich enamour'd of thy note; 
So is mine e3'e enthralled to thy shape; 
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me 
On the lirst view to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Jiletliinks, mistress, you should have little 
reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason 
and love l<eep little company together now-a-days; 
the more the pity that some honest neighbours will 
not make them" friends. Nay, I can gleek upon 
occasion. 

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
Bot. Kot so, neither: but if I had wit enough 
to get out of tills wood, I have enough to serve 
mine own turn. 

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go : 
Thou slialt remain liere, wliether thou wilt or no. 
1 am a spirit of no conunon rate: 
The summer still doth tend upon my state; 
And I do love thee: tlierefore, go with me; 
1 '11 give thee fairies to attend on thee. 
And they sliall fetch thee jewels from the deep. 
And sing wliile thou on pressed flowers dost sleep: 
And I will jun-ge thy mortal grossness so 
Tliat thou slialt like an airy spirit go. 
Teaseblossom ! Cobweb! Motli! and Mustardseed! 

Enter Peaseblossom, Cob-w^eb, Moth, aiuZ 
Mustardseed. 

Bens. Ready. 

Ojh. And I. 

ILith. And I. 

Ihis. And I. 

All. Wliere shall we go ? 

Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
IIoi> in his walks and ganiliol in liis eyes; 
Feed liini with apricncks and dewberries, 
AVitli purple grapes, green ligs, and mullierries; 
Tiie lioney-bags steal from tlic humlile-bees, 
And for niglit-taiH'rs croji tlicir waxen thiglis 
And ligiit them at tlie tiery glow-worm's eyes. 
To have my love to bi'd and to arise; 
And pluck the wings from jiainted butterflies 
To fan tlie moonbeams frmn his sleeping eyes: 
Nod to him, elves, and do him comtesies. " 

Bcas. Hail, mortal! 

Coh. Hail! 

Moth. Hail! 

Mus. Hail! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily : I be- 
seech your worship's name. 

Coh. Cobweb. 

140 



Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
good Master Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall 
make bold with you. .Your name, honest gentle- 

Peas. Peaseblossom. [man ? 

Bot. I pray you, connnend me to Mistress Squash, 
your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. 
Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of 
more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech 
you, sir'!* 

Mus. Mustardseed. 

Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your 
patience well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
liouse : I promise you your kindred hath made my 
eyes water ere now. I desire your more acquaint- 
ance, good Master Mustardseed. 

Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. 

The moon methinks looks with a watery eye ; 
And when she weeps, weei)s every little flower, 

Lamenting some enforced chastity. 

Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— Another XMrt of the wood. 
Enter Oberon. 
Ohc. I wonder if Titania be awaked ; 
Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
Which she must dote on in extremity. 

Enter Puck. 
Here comes my messenger. 

How now, mad spirit ! 
W^hat night-rule now' about this haunted grove? 

Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
Near to her close and consecrated bower. 
While she w^as in her dull and sleeping hour, 
A crew of patches, ruile meclianicals, 
That work for l>read upon Athenian stalls. 
Were met togetlier to reliearse a play 
Intended fur great Tlieseus' nuptial-day. 
The shallowest thick-skin of tliat barren sort. 
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake: 
When I did him at this ad\'antage take. 
An ass's nole I fixed on his head : 
Anon his Thisbe must be answered. 
And forth my mimic comes. "When they him spy, 
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye. 
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort. 
Rising and cawing at the gun's report. 
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, 
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ; 
And, at ourstamp, here o'er and o'er one falls; 
He murder cries and help from Athens calls, [strong. 
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus 
Made senseless tinngs begin to do them wrong; 
For briers and tlirirns at tlieir apparel snatch; 
Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things 
I led them on in tliis distracted iear, [catch. 

And left sweet Pyramus translated there: 
When in that moment, so it came to pass, 
Titania waked and straigldwav loved an ass. 

Ohc. Tliis falls out better tlian I could devise. 
But hast thou y<'t lati/lTd tiie Atlienian's eyes 
Witli the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? 

Puch. I took liini sleeping, — that is finish 'd too, — 
And the Athenian wmnan by his side; 
That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed. 

Enter Hermia and Demetrius. 

Ohe. Stand close : this is the same Athenian. 

Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man._ 

Dem. O, why rebuke you him tliat loves you so? 
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 

tier. Now I but chide ;" but I .should use thee worse, 
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 



ACT III. 



A 3IIDSU3I3IER-NIGHT'S DREA3L 



SCENE II. 



If tlion hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 

Beinoc o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep. 

And kill me too. 

The sun was not so true unto the day 

As he to me : would lie have stolen away 

From sleeping Hermia 'f I '11 believe as soon 

This whole earth may be bored and that the moon 

May through the centre creeii anil so displease 

Her brother's noontide with tlu' Antipodes. 

It cannot be but thou liast nuuiler'd him; 

So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. 

Dan. So should tlie murder'd Imik, and so should I, 
Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty: 
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear. 
As j-'onder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 

Her. What 's this to my Lysander? where is he? 
Ah, Mod Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? 
Dcin. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. 
Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past 
tlie bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then ? 
Henceforth be never number'd among men ! 
O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake I 
Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake. 
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping ? O brave touch I 
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue 
Thau thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 

Bern. You spend your passion on a misprised mood: 
I am not guilty of Lysander 's blood; 
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
Her. I pray thee, tell me then tliat he is well. 
Dem. AJi if I could, what should I get therefore? 
Her. A privilege never to see me more. 
And from thy hated presence part I so : 
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. {Exil. 
Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein : 
Here therefore for a while I will remain. 
So sorrow's heaviness doth lieavier grow 
For debt that bankrupt sleep dotli sorrow owe; 
Which now in some slight measure it will pay. 
If for his tender here I make some stay. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
Obc. What hast thou done ? thou hast mistaken 
quite 
And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight: 
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
Some true love turn'd and not a false turn'd true. 
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules, tliat, one man holding 
troth, 
A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 

Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, 
And Helena of Athens look thou find: 
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, 
AVith sighs of love, tliat costs the fresh blood dear : 
By some illusion see thou bring her here : 
I '11 charm his eyes against she do appear. 

Puck. I go, I go; look how I go. 
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. 
Obe. Flower of this purple dye. 
Hit with Cupid's archery, 
Sink in apple of his eye. 
When his love he dotli espy. 
Let her shine as gloriously 
As the Venus of the .sky. 
When thou wakest, if she be by, 
Beg of her for remedy. 

Re-enter Puck. 
Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 

Helena is here at hand; 

And the youth, mistook by me. 

Pleading for a lover's fee. 

Shall we their fond pageant see ? 

Lord, What fools these mortals be ! 
Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make 

Will cause Demetrius to awake. 



Puck. Then will two at once woo one ; 
That must needs be sport alone ; 
And those things do best please me 
That befal preposterously. 

Enter Lysander and Helena. 
Lys. Why should you think that I should woo In 

Scorn and derision never come in tears : [scorn ? 
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born. 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem .scorn to you. 
Bearing the badge of faith, to jirove them true ? 
HeJ. You do advance your cunning more and more. 

When truth kills triith, O devilish-holy fray! 
These vows are Ilermia's: will you give her o"er? 

Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: 
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales. 
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. 

Lys. I had no judgment when to her 1 swore. 

Hel. Nor none, in my mmd, now you give her o'er. 

Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 

IJem. [Airakhuj] O Helen, goddess, nymfih, per- 
fect, divine ! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine e3nie? 
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
Tliy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting gi'ow ! 
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow 
When thou hold'st up thy band : O, let me kiss 
This prince.ss of pure white, this seal of bliss I 

Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
To set against me for your merriment : 
If you were civil and knew courtesy. 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do. 
But you must join in souls to mock me too ? 
If you were men, as men you are in show, 
You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts. 
When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. 
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
And now both rivals, to mock Helena: 
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise. 
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's ej-es 
With your derision ! none of noble sort 
Would so offend a virgin and extort 
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 

Lijs. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; 
For'you love Hermia ; this you know I know : 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
In Ilermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
"Wliom I do love and will do till my death. 

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 

Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none: 
If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. 
iSIy heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn 'd, 
And now to Helen is it home return 'd. 
There to remain. 

Ltjs. Helen, it is not so. 

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
Lest, to thy perfl, thou aby it dear. 
Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. 

Re-enter Hermia. 
Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
takes. 
The ear more quick of apprehension makes; 
Wlierein it doth impair the seeing sense. 
It pays tlie hearing double recompense. 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? [to go ? 
Lys. Why should he stay, wliom love doth press 
Her. What love could press Lysander from my 

side ? 
Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let liim bide, 
141 



ACT III. 



A MIDSU3I3IER-NIGHT'S DREA3L 



SCEXE ir. 



Fair Helena, who more engilds the night 

Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 

"Why seek'st thou me 'i could not this make thee 

know, 
The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? 

Her. You speak not as you tliink : it cannot be. 

Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three 
To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid! 
Have you conspired, have you with these contrived 
To bait me with this foul derision ? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shared, 
Tlie sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
AVhen we have chid the hasty-footed time 
For iiarting us, — O, is it all forgot? 
All scIiool-(hiys' friendship, chiidhood innocence ? 
'\0e, Ilerniia, like two artiliciul gods. 
Have with our needles created both one flower, 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key, 
As if ohr hands, our sides, voices and minds, 
Ilail been incorporate. So we grew together, 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, 
But yet an union in partition; 
Two lovely berries moulded oh one stem ; 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; 
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry. 
Due but to one and crov/ned with one crest. 
And will you rent our ancient love asunder, 
To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? 
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly: 
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, 
Though I alone do feel the injury. 

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words. 
I scorn you not : it seems that you scorn me. 

Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, 
To follow me and praise my eyes and face ? 
And made your other love, Demetrius, 
AVho even but now did spurn me with his foot, 
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare. 
Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this 
To lier he hates 'i and wherefore doth Lysander 
Deny your love, so rich within his soul. 
Anil tender me, forsooth, affection. 
But liy your setting on, by your consent ? 
"What though I be not so in grace as you, 
So hung upon with love, so fortunate. 
Bat miseralile most, to love unloved V 
This you should pity rather than despise. 

Hi r. I understand not what you mean by this. 

Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, 
IMake mouths upon me when I turn my back; 
"WHuk each at other; hold the sweet jest up : 
Tills sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
If you liave any pity, grace, or manners. 
You ^vould not make me sucli an argument. 
But fare ye well : 't is partly my own fault ; 
AViiich death or absence soon shall remedy. 

Lijs. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse : 
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 

Hel. O excellent! 

Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 

Dem. If she cannot oitreat. I can compel. 

Lijs. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat : 
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak 
Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do: [prayers. 

I swear by that wliich I will lose for thee. 
To prove him false that says I love thee not. 

Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do. 

Lijs. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. 

Hem. Quick, come! 

Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this V 

Lys. Away, you Ethiope ! 

Hem. No, no; he'll . . . 

Seem to break loose : take on as you would follow. 
But yet come not : you are a tame man, go ! 
142 



Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, 
let loose. 
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent ! 

Her. Why are you grown so rude '{ what change 
Sweet love, — [is this V 

Lijs. Thy love ! out, tawny Tartar, out ! 

Out, loathed medicine! liated potion, hence ! 

Her. Do you not jest 'i 

Hel. Yes, sooth ; and so do you. 

Lijs. Demetrius, I will keep my word with tliee. 

Hem. I would I had your bond, for I perceive 
A weak bond liolds you : 1 '11 not trust your word. 

Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her 
dead V 
Although I hate her, I '11 not harm her so. 

Her. What, can you do me greater harm than hate ? 
Hate me! wherefore V Orne! what news, my ^ove! 
Am not I Hermia y are not you Lysander? 
I am as fair now as 1 was erewhile'. [me : 

Since night you loved me; yet since night you left 
Why, then you left me — O, the gods forbid ! — " 
In earnest, shall I say ? 

Lys. Ay, by my life ; 

And never did desire to see thee more. 
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt; 
Be certain, nothing truer ; 't is no jest 
That I do hate thee and love Helena. 

Her. O me ! you juggler! you canker-blossom ! 
Yoit thief of love ! what, have you come by niglit 
And stolen my love's iieart from him ? 

Hel. Fine, i' faith ! 

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame. 
No touch of bashfulness V AVhat. will you tear 
Impatient answers from my gentle longue ? 
Fie, fie! you counterfeit, \iiu pupiK-t, you! 

Her. Puppet ? why so ? ay , that way goes tlie game. 
Now I perceive that she hath madi'compare 
Between our statures; she hath urged her lieight ; 
And with her personage, her tall personage, 
Her height, forsooth, she liath prcvail'd with him. 
And are you grown so high in his esteem. 
Because I am so dwarfish and so low ? 
How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak; 
How low am I ? I am not >et so low 
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, 
Let her not hurt me : I'was never curst ; 
I have no gift at all in shrewishness; 
I am a right maid for my cowardice: 
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think, 
Because she is something lower than myself, 
That I can match her. 

Her. Lower! hark, again. 

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; 
Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
I told him of your stealth unto this wood. 
He follow'd yiiu; for love I follow'd him; 
But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd me 
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
And now, so you will let me quiet go. 
To Athens will I bear my folly back 
And follow you no further: let me go: 
You see h.ow simple and how fond I am. [you? 

Her. Why, get you gone : who is 't that hinders 

Hel. A foolish lieartl^ that I leave here behind. 

Her. What, with Lysander ? 

Hel. With Demetrius. 

Lys. Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, 
Helena. [part. 

Dem. No, sir, she shall not, though you take her 

Hel. O, when she 's angry, she is keen and shrewd ! 
She was a vixen when she went to school; 
And though she lie but little, she is fierce. 

Her. ' Little ' again ! nothing but ' low ' and ' lit- 
tle'! 



ACT III. 



A 3IIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREA3L 



SCEKE II, 



AVliy will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
Let me come to her. 

iys. Get you goue, you dwarf ; 

You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made ; 
You bead, you acorn. 

Dcm. You ai-e too officious 

In lier behalf that scorns your services. 
Let her alone : speak not of Helena ; 
Take not her part ; for, if thou dost intend 
Xever so little show of love to her, 
Thou slialt aby it. 

Lijs. Now she holds me not ; 

XoVv follow, if thou darest. to try whose right. 
Of tliine or mine, is most in Helena. 

Dem. Follow ! nay, I '11 go with thee, cheek by 
jole. [Exeunt L'lsander and Demetrius. 

Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you: 
Xay, go not back. 

Ilel. I will not trust j'ou, I, 

Xor longer stay in your curst company. 
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, 
ily legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit. 

Her. I am amazed, and know not what to sav. 

[Exit. 

Obc. This is thy negligence: still thou mistakest. 
Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully. 

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
Did not you tell me I should know the man 
By the Atlienian garments In- liad on? 
And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 
Tiiat I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes; 
And so far am I glad it so did sort 
As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 

Obf. Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to fight : 
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night; 
T!ie starry welkin cover thou anon 
With drooping fog as black as Acheron, 
And lead these testy rivals so astray 
As one come not within another's way. 
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue. 
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 
And sometime rail tlum like Demetrius: 
And from each other look thou lead them thus. 
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
AV'itli leaden legs and batty wings doth creep: 
Then crush this herb into Lysander "s eye; 
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property. 
To take from thence all error witli liis might. 
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. 
When they next wake, all this derision 
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision. 
And liack to Athens .shall the lovers wend, 
A\'itli league whose date till death shall never end. 
AS'hiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
I '11 to my queen and beg her Indian boy ; 
And then I will her ehanned eye release 
From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. 

Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste. 
For night's swit't dragons cut the clouds full fast. 
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; [there. 
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and 
Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all, 
Tiiat in crossways and floods have burial. 
Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
For fear lest day should look their shames upon. 
They wilfully themselves exile from light 
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 

Ubc. But we are spirits of another sort : 
I with tlie morning's love have oft made sport. 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread. 
Even till the eastern gate, all tierv-red. 
Opening on Neptune with lair lilessed beams. 
Turns into yellow gold liis salt green streams. 
But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: 
We may effect this business yet ere day. " [Exit. 

Puck. Up and down, up and down, 

I will lead them up and down: 



I am fear'd in field and town : 
Goblin, lead them up and down. 
Here comes one. 

Ee-enter Lysander. 
Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak 

thou now. 
Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where 

art thou ":* 
L;is. I will be with thee straight. 
Puck. Follow me, then, • 

To plainer ground. 

[Exit Lifsandcr. as following the voice. 

He-enter Demetrius. 
Bern. Ly.sanderl speak again: 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
Speak ! In some bush V Where dost thou hide thy 
head y 
Puck. Thou coward, artthoubraggingtothestars, 
TeUing the bushes that thou look'st for wars. 
And wilt not come y Come, recreant ; come, thou 
I '11 whip thee with a rod : he is defiled [child'; 

That draws a sword on thee. 
Dem. Yea, art thou there? 

Puck. Follow my voice : we '11 try no manhood 
here. _ [Exeunt. 

He-enter Lysander. 

Lys. He goes before me and still dares me on: 
When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
The villain is much lighter-heel 'd than I: 
I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly; 
That fallen am I in dark luieven way. 
And here will rest me. [Licsdoii:n.'\ Come,thougen- 

tleday! 
For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
I '11 find Demetrius and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. 

Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. 
Puck. Ho,ho,ho! Coward, why comestthounot? 
• Bern. Abide me. if thou darest ; for \\'e!l I wot 
Thou runn'st liefore me, shifting every place. 
And darest not stand, nor look me in the face. 
Where art thou now V 
Puck. Come hither: I am here. 

Bern. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy 
this dear. 
If ever I thy face by daylight see : 
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
By day's approach" look" to be visited. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 

Ee-enter Helena. 
Jfel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, 

Abate thy hours ! Shine comforts from the east. 
That I may back to Athens by daylight, 
. From these that my poor company detest : 
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
Steal me awhile from mine own company. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
Purk. Yet but three ? Come one more ; 
Two of both kinds makes up four. 
Here she comes, curst and sad : 
Cupid is a knavish iad. 
Thus to make poor females mad. 

Ee-enter Hermia. 
Her. Never so weary, never so in woe. 

Bedabbled with tlie dew and torn with briers, 
I can no further crawl, no further go; 

My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
Here will I rest me till tlie lireak of day. 
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
Puck. On the ground 

Sleep sound : 
143 



ACT IV. 



A MIDSU3I3IER-NIGHT'S DEFA3L 



SCENE I, 



I '11 apply 


Of thy former lady's eye : 


To your eye, 


And the country proverb known, 


Gentle lover, remedy. 


Tliat every man should take his ovm, 


[Squerzin'i the juicf on Lxjsander''s eyes. 


In your waking shall be shown : 


Wlii'ii thou wakest, 


Jack shall have Jill ; 


Thoutakcst 


Nought shall go ill ; 


True deliylit 


The man shall have his mare again, and all shall 


In the sight 


be well. [EmI. 



_A.CT IV. 



SCENE I. — The same. Lysander, Demetrius, Hel- 
ena, and llcrmia lying asleep. 

Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, 

Moth, Mustardseed, and oilier Fairies attending; 

Oberon bekind unseen. 
Titu. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 

While I thy amiable cheeks do coy. 
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 

Bot. Where 's Peaseblossom ? 

Peas. Ready. 

Hot. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where 's 
Mounsieur Cobweb V 

Cob. Ready. 

Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get 
you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red- 
liippcd Imnible-bee on the top of a thistle; and, 
good nidunsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not 
fret yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; 
and, good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag 
break not ; I would be loath to have you overflown 
with a honey-bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur 
Mustardseed y 

Mris. Ready. 

Bot. Give me your neaf , Mounsieur Mustardseed. 
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur. 

Mus. What 's your will V 

Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Caval- 
ery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, 
mounsieur; for methinks I am marvellous hairy 
about the face ; and I am such a tender ass, if my 
hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
love y 

Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let 's 
have the tongs and the bones. 

Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to 
eat. 

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could munch 
your good dry oats. Methinks I have a great de- 
sire to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath 
no fellow. 

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 

Bot. 1 liad rather have a handful or two of dried 
peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir 
me: I have an exposition of slco]) come upon me. 

Tt7rt. Slee]) tlion. and I will wind thee in my arms. 
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 

[Kteurt t fa iries. 
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 
Gently entwist; t'le female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee I iniey sleep. 

Enter Puck. 
Ohe. [Advancinef] Welcome, good Robin. See'st 
thou this sweet sight V 
Her dotage now I do begin to pity : 
For, meeting her of late behind the wood. 
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, 
I did upbraid her and fall out with her ; 
144 



For she his hairy temples then had rounded 

Witli coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
And that same dew, wliich souirtime on the buds 
Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, 
Stood now witliin tlie ]>retty flowerets' eyes 
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
Wlien I had at my pleasure taunted her 
And she in mild terms begg'd my patience, 
I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
Which straight she gave me, and Iter fairy sent 
To bear himto my bower in fairy land. 
And now I liave the boy, I will undo 
This hateful imperfection of her eyes: 
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
From off the liead of tliis Athenian swain; 
That, he awaking when the other do, 
May all to Atlieiis back again rejiair 
And think no more of tliis niglit's accidents 
P>ut as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
But first I will release the fairy queen. 
Be as thou wast wont to be ; 
See as thou wast wont to see : 
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
Hatli such force and blessed power. 
Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 
Tita. My Oberon! what visions have I seen! 
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 
Obe. There lies your love. 

I'ita. How came these things to pass ? 

O, how mine ej'es do loathe his visage now! 

Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. 
Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
Tlian common sleep of all these five the sense. 
Tita. Music, ho! music, such as charmeth sleep! 
[Music, still. 
Puck. Now, when thou wakest, with thine own 
fool's eyes peep. [with me, 

Ohe. Sound, music I Come, my queen, take hands 
And rock tiie ground whereon these sleepers be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity 
And will to-morrow midnight solemnly 
Dance in Duke Tlieseus' house triumphantly 
And bless it to all fair prosperity : 
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jidlity. 
Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark: 

I do hear the morning lark. 
Obe. Then, my queen, in siliMice sad. 
Trip we after the night's sliade: 
We the globe can coniimss soon. 
Swifter than the wandering moon. 
Tita. Come, my lord, and in our tliglit 
Tell me how it came this niglit 
That I sleeping here was found 
With these mortals on the ground. 

[Exeunt. 
[Horns winded icitkin. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; 
For now our observation is perform 'd ; 
And since we have the vaward of the day. 
My love shall liear the music of my hounds. 



fWWfr 




ACT IV. 



A 3IIDSU3IMER-NIGHT'S DREA3L 



SCENE II. 



Uncouple in the western valley ; let them go : 
Dispatch, I say, and find the forester. 

[Exit an Attendant. 
"We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip. I was with Hercules .mil ( ':i(hnus once, 
AVlien in a wood of Crete they liay'il the bear 
With hounds of Sparta: never did 1 hear 
Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 
Tlie skies, the fountains, every region near 
SeemM all one mutual cry: I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

37« . My luiunds are bred out of the Spartan kind. 
So flew'di so sanded, and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew; 
Crook-knce'd, and dew-lap'p'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but match 'd in mouth like bells, 
Each under eacli. A cry more tuneable 
Was never holla 'd to, nor cheer'd with liorn, 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in The.ssaly : [these ? 

Judge when you hear. But, soft ! what nymphs are 

Eye. INIy lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; 
And this,"Lysander; this Demetrius is; 
This Helena, old Xedar's Helena: 
I wonder of their being here together. 

Thi . Is'o doubt they rose up early to observe 
The rite of May, and, hearing our intent. 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
But speak, Egeus; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice? 

Ege. It is, my lord. 

The. Go, bid the huntsman wake them with their 
horns. [Horns and shout leithin. L>js.,Dem., 
Hel., cmd Her., icake anel start u}!. 
Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past: 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? 

Li/s. Pardon, my lord. 

T'kr. 1 pray you all, stand up. 

I know you two are rival enemies : 
How comes this gentle concord in the world. 
That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
To sleep by hate, and tear no enmity V 

Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly. 
Half sleei>, half waking : but as yet, I swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here; 
Bnt, as I think,— for truly would I speak, 
And now I do bethink me, so it is, — 
I came with Hermia hither; our intent 
■\S'as to be gone from Athens, where we might, 
AVithont the peril of the Athenian law. 

E(jc. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough : 
I beg the law, the law, upon his liead. [trius, 

They would have stolen away; they would, Deme- 
Tliereby to have defeated you and me. 
You of your wife and me of my consent. 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 

Brm. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth. 
Of this their jmrpose hither to this wood; 
And I in fury hither follow'd them. 
Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, — 
But by some power it is, — my love to Hermia, 
Melted as the snow, seems to me now 
As the remembrance of an idle gaud 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon ; 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 
The oliject and tlie pleasure of mine eye, 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord. 
Was i betroth 'd ere I saw Hermia : 
But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food; 
But, as in health, come to my natiu'al taste, 
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it. 
And will for evermore be true to it. 

T/ie. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met : 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. 
Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
10 



For In the temple, by and by, with us 
Tliese couples shall eternally be knit : 
And, for the morning now is something worn. 
Our purposed huuting shall be set aside. 
Away with us to Athens; three and tlu:ee,7 
We '11 hold a feast in great solemnity. 
Come, Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt The., Hip., Ege.. eind train. 

Dcm. These things seem small and undistinguish- 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds, [able. 

Her. Methinks I see these things with parted eye, 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. Sometldnks: 

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel. 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Dcm. Are you sure 

That we are awake ? It seems to me 
Tliat yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

Hel. And Hippolyta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

Hem. Why, then, we are awake : let's follow him; 
And by the viay let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. 

Bot. [Aicakiny] When my cue comes, call me, 
and I will answer: my next is, 'IMost fair Pyra- 
mus.' Heigh-ho ! Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows- 
mender! Snout, the tinker ! Starveling! God 's my 
life, stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I have had 'a 
most rare vision. I have had a dream, jiast the wit 
of man to say what dream it was : man is but an ass, 
if he go about to expound this dream. IMetlmught 
I was — there is no man can tell what. Methought 
I was, — and methought I had, — but man is but a 
patched fool, it he will offer to say what methought 
I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of 
man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, 
his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what 
my dream was. I will get Peter Qnince to write a 
ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's 
Dream, because it hath no bottom : and I will sing 
it in the latter end of a play, before the duke : perad- 
venture, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing 
it at her death. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Athens. Quince^s house. 

Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. 

Quia. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he 
come home yet V [trausjiorted. 

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is 

Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred : it 
goes not forward, doth it V 

Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man in 
all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. 

Flu. No, he hath simply the best wit of any hand- 
icraft man in Athens. 

Quin. Yea, and the best person too ; and he is a 
very paramour for a sweet voice. 

Flu. You must say ' paragon : ' a paramour is, God 
bless us, a thing of naught. 

Enter Snug. 

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the 
temple, and tliere is two or three lords and ladies 
more married : if our sport had gone forward, we 
had all been made men. 

Fu. O sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hath he lost 
sixpence a day during his life ; he could not have 
'scaped sixpence a day : an the duke had not given 
him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I '11 be 
hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a day 
in Pyramus, or nothing. 

Enter Bottom. 
Eot. Where are these lads? where are these 
hearts ? 

145 



ACT V. 



A 3IIDSU3IMER-NIGHT'S DREA3L 



SCENE I. 



Qidn. Bottom ! O most courageous day ! O most 
happy hour ! 

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : hut ask 
me not what ; for if I tell you, I am no true Athe- 
nian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. 

Qidn. Let us liear, sweet Bottom. 

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you 
is, that the duke hath dined. Get your apparel 
together, good strings to your beards, new ribbons 



to your pumps ; meet presently at the palace ; every 
man look o'er his part; for the short and the long 
is, our play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby 
have clean linen; and let not him that plays the 
lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the 
lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions 
nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath ; and I 
do not doubt but to hear them say, it is a sweet com- 
edy. No more words: away! go, away! {Exeunt. 



^CT V. 



SCENE I.— yl (/if lis. Tlie palace of Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, 
aiicZ Attendants. 

Hip. 'T is strange, my Theseus, that these lovers 
speak of. 

The. More strange than true : I never may believe 
Tliese antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover and the poet 
Are of imagination all compact : 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, ]■ 
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
The poet's eye, iu a tine frenzy rolling. 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 
And as imagination bodies forth [lieaven ; 

The forms of things imknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy notiiing 
A local haliitation and a name. 
Such tricks liath strdug imagination, 
That, if it would but ;ipprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
Or in tlie night, imagining some fear. 
How easy is a bush supposed a bear ! 

Hill. l^"t all tlie stcu-y of the night tohl over. 
And all their miuds tianshgured so together, 
More witnesseth than fancy's images 
And grows to something of great constancy ; 
But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. 

Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and 
Helena. 
Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love 
Accompany your hearts ! 

L)/s. More than to us 

Walt in your royal walks, your board, your bed ! 
The. Come now; what masques, what dances 
shall we have, 
To wear away this long age of three hours 
Between our atter-supper and bed-time':' 
"Where is our usual manager of mirth 'f 
"VV^hat revels are in hand ? Is there no play. 
To ease tlie anguish of a torturing hour y 
Call Philostrate. 
Phil. Here, mighty Theseus. 

The. Say, what abridgment have you for this 
evening ';* 
"What masque 'i* what music ? How shall we beguile 
The lazy time, if not with some delight':' 

Phil. There is a brief liow many sports are ripe : 
Make choice of which your highness will see first. 
[Ginny a paper. 
The. [Beads] ' The battle with the Ceiitaurs, to 
be sung 
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.' 
We '11 none of that : that have I told my love. 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
[Reads] ' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
.146 



Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.' 
That is an old device; and it was play'd 
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
[Reads] ' The thrice three Muses mourning for the 
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.' [death 

Tliat is some satire, keen and critical, 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
[Reads] ' ^V tedious Ijrief scene of young Pyramus 
And his lo\ e Tlii.slic ; very tragical mirth.' 
Merry and tragical ! tedious and brief! 
That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. 
How shall we find the concord of this discord ? 

Pldl. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long. 
Which is as brief as I have known a play; 
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long. 
Which makes it tedious; for in all the play 
There is not one word apt, one player fitted: 
And tragical, my noble lord, it is; 
For Pyramns tliereiu dotli kill himself. 
Whicl'i, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess, 
Ma(k' iiiiuc eyes water; but more merry tears 
Tiie iiassioii of loud laughter never shed. 

Thr. Wliat are they that do play it':' 

Pliil. Ilard-handeiliiien that work in Athens licre, 
Which never hibt)ur"d in tlieir minds till now. 
And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories 
Witli this same play, against your nuptial. 

The. And we will hear it. 

Phil. No, my noble lord ; 

It is not for you : I have heard it over, 
And it is nothing, nothing in the world; 
Unless you can find sport "in their intents. 
Extremely stretch'd and conn'd witli cruel pain, 
To do you service. 

The. I will hear that play ; 

For never anything can be amiss. 
When simpleness and duty tender it. 
Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies. 

[Exit Philostrate. 

Hip. I love not to see WTetchedness o'ercharged 
And duty in his service perishing. 

The. AVhy, gentle sweet, you shall see no such 
thing. 

Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind. 

The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for 
nothing. 
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake : 
And wliat poor duty cannot do, noble respect 
Takes it in might, hot merit. 
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
Where 1 ha\e seen them shiver and look pale. 
Make jieriods in the midst of sentences. 
Throttle their practised accent in their fears 
And ill eoiielusion dumbly have broke off, 
Not imyiiig me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, 
Out ol'this silence yet I pick'd a welcome; 
And ill the modesty of fearful duty 
I read as iiiueli as from the rattling tongue 
Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 
Ijove, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity 
In least speak most, to my capacity. 



A MIDSUJIJIEE- WIG NT'S D RE A 31. 



SCENE I. 



Re-enter Philostrate. 
Phil. SoplPase yourgrace,the Prologueisaddress'd. 
'The. Let liim 'approach. [Flourish of trumpets. 

Enter Quince for the Prologue. 

Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will. 

That you should think, we come not to offend, 
But with good will. To show our simple skill, 

That is the true beginning ot our end. 
Consider then we come but in despite. 

"We do not come as minding to content you, 
Our true intent is. All for your deliglit 

We are not here. That you should here repent j'ou, 
Tiie actors are at Iiand aiid by their show 
You shall know all that you are like to know. 

The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 

Lys. He hatli rid his prologue like a rough colt ; 
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it 
is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 

Bijj. Iijdeed he hath played on his prologue like a 
child on a reeonler ; a sound, but not in government. 

The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; nothing 
impaired, but all disordered. Who is next V 

Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, "Wall, Moonshine, 
and Lion. 

Pro. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show; 

But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
Tliis man is Pyranuis, if you would know; 

This beauteous lady Thisljy is certain. 
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 

Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sun- 
der ; [content 
And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are 

To whisper. At the which let no man wonder. 
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn, 

Presenteth Moonshine ; for, if you will know, 
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 

To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name, 
The trusty Tliisby, coming hrst by night, 
Did scare away, or rather did affright ; 
And, as she tied, her mantle she did fall. 

Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain. 
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, 

And tinds his trusty Thisby"s mantle slain: 
AVhereat, with Wade, with bloody blameful blade. 

He bravely broach"d his boiling bloody breast; 
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade. 

His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain 
At large discourse, while here they do remain. 

[Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine. 

The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. 

■Bern. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when 
many asses do. 

Wall. In this same interlude it doth befall 
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ; 
And such a wall, as I would have you think, 
That had in it a crannied hole or chink. 
Through which the lovers, PjTamus and Thisby, 
Did whisper often very secretly. 
Tills loam, this rciusrh-cast andtliis stone doth show 
That I am that same wall: the tiMith is so: 
And tills the cranny is, right and sinister, 
Througli whicli the fearful lovers are to whisper. 

The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 
better? 

Bern. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
discourse, my lord. 

Eiiter Pyramus. 
The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence! 
Pi/r. O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue so 
O night, wliich ever art when day is not ! [black ! 
O uight, O night! alack, alack, alack, 



I fear my TIiisliy"s promise is forgot ! 
And thou,"0 wall. O sweet, O lovely wall, [mine ! 

That stand'st between her father's ground and 
Thou wall, O Mall, O sweet and lovely wall, 

Sliow me thy chuik, to blink through witli mine 

ej'ne! [ITkH liolds up his fingers. 

Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for 

But what see I ? No Tliisby do I see. [this! 

O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss! 

Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me! 

The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 
curse again. 

P/ir. No, in truth, sir, he should not. ' Deceiving 
me ' is Tliisby "s cue : she is to enter now, and 1 am 
to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it wUl 
fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes. 

.Biifer Thisbe. 

This. O wall, full often hast tlif)u heard my 

Por parting my fair Pyramus and me! [moans, 
My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones. 

Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. 

Pi/r. 1 see a voice : now will I to the chink, 

To spy an I can hear my Thisby 's face. 
Thisby ! 

This. My love thou art, my love I think. 

Pi/r. Tliiiilc wiiat thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
And, like Limander, am I trusty still. [grace; 

This. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill. 

Pyr. Not Shafalus to Proems was so true. 

This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. [wall! 

Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile 

This. I kiss the wall's hole, not yom- lips at all. 

Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straight- 
way V 

This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay. 
[Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe. 

Wall. Thus liave I, Wall, my part discharged so; 
And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. [E.vit. 

2 he. Now is the mural down between the two 
neighbours. 

Bern. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so 
wilful to hear without warning. 

Hiri. This is the silliest stuff' that ever I heard. 

The. The best in this kind are but shadows; 
and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend 
them. 

Hip. It must be your imagination tlien, and 
not theirs. 

The. If we imagine no worse of them than they 
of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. 
Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. 

Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

lAon. Y''ou, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do 
fear [floor, 

Tlie smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on 
Mav now perchance both quake and tremble here. 

When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am 
A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam; 
For, if I should as lion come in strife 
Into this place, 't were pity on my life. [science. 

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con- 

Bem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that 
e'er I saw. 

L>is. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 

Tite. True; and a goo.se for his discretion. 

Bem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot 
carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. 

The. llis discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is 
well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to 
the moon. [sent: — 

Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon pre- 

Bem. He should have worn the horns on his 
head. 

147 



ACT V. 



A 3IIDSU3IMER-NIGHT'S DREA3L 



SCENE I. 



The. He is no crescent, and his liorns are invisi- 
ble within the circumference. [sent; 

Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon pre- 
Myselt tiie man i' tlie moon do seem to be. 

Tlic. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the 
man should be put into the lanthorn. How is it else 
the man i' the moon ? 

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: 
for, you see, it is already in snuff. [change! 

Hip. I am aweary of this moon : would he would 

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, 
that he is in tlie wane ; but yet, in courtesy, in all 
reason, we must stay the time. 

Lys. Proceed, Moon. 

Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you that 
the lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; 
this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; aud this dog, my 
dog. 

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lanthorn ; 
for all these are in the moon. But, silence! here 
comes Thisbe. „ 

Enter Thisbe. 

This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my 
love ? 

Lion. [Ronring] 0\\ [Thisbe runs off. 

Dem. Well roared, Lion. 
The. AVell run, Thisbe. 

Hip. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines 
with a good grace. 

[The Lion shakes Thisbe''s mantle, and exit. 
The. Well moused, Lion. 
Lys. And so the lion vanished. 
Dem. Aud then came Pyramus. 

Lnter Pyramus. 
Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 

beams ; 
I thank thee. Moon, for shining now so bright; 
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams, 
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. 
But stay, O spite ! 
But mark, poor knight, 
Wliat dreadful dole is here! 
Eyes, do you see ? 
How can "it he? 
O dainty duck ! O dear ! 
Tliy mantle good, 
What, stain'd witli blood! 
Approach, ye Furies fell ! 
O Fates, come, come. 
Cut thread and thrum ; 
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell! 
The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, 
would go near to make a man look sad. 
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
Pyr. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions 

frame V 
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear : 
Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame 
That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd 
with cheer. 
Come, tears, confound ; 
Out, sword, and wound 
The pap of Pyramus ; 
Ay, that left pap. 

Where heart dotli hop : [Siabs himself. 

Tims die I, thus, thus, thus. 
Now am I dead. 
Now am I fled; 
]SIy soul is in the sky : 
Tongue, lose thy light ; 
Moon, take thy flight : [Exit Moonshine. 
Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies. 

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but 
one. 

Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he 
is nothing. 

148 



The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet re- 
cover, and prove an ass. 

Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe 
comes back aud linds Jier lover V 

The. She will liiid liim by starlight. Here she 
comes ; and her passion ends the play. 

Re-enter Thisbe. 
Hip. Methinks slie should not use a long one for 
such a Pyranuis : I hope she will be brief. 

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra- 
mus, which Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God 
warrant us; she fur a woman, God liless us. [eyes. 
Lys. She hatli spied him aheady witli those sweet 
Dem. And thus she means, videlicet; — 
This. Asleep, my love V 

What, dead, my dove ? 
O Pyramus, arise ! 
Speak, siieak. Quite dumb ? 
Dead, drad ? A tomb 
]\Iust rover tliy sweet eyes. 
These lily lips. 
This cherry nose. 
These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
Are gone, are gone : 
Lovers, make moan : 
IHs eyes were green as leeks. 
O Sisters Three, 
Come, come to me, 
With hands as pale as milk; 
Jjay them in gore. 
Since you liave shore 
With slj'ears liis thread of silk. 
Tongue, not a word : 
Come, trusty sword ; 
Come, blade, my breast imbrue : [Stahs herself. 
And farewell, friends; 
Tlius Tliisliy ends: 
Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies. 

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. 
Dem. Ay, and Wall too. 

Bot. [Starting iq)] No, I assure you; the wall is 
down that parted tlieir fathers. Will it please you 
to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance 
between two of our company ? 

Tlic. No epilogue, I pray you; for j'our play needs 
no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are 
all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if 
he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged 
himself in Thisbe 's garter, it would have been a hue 
tragedy; and so it is, truly; and very notably dis- 
charged. But, come, your Bergomask: let your 
epilogue alone. [A dance. 

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve: 
Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn 
As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
This palpable-gross play liath well beguiled 
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. 
A fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
Li nightly revels and new jollity. [Exeunt. 

Enter Puck. 
Puek. Now the hungry lion roars. 

And the wolf belmwls tlie moon; 
Whilst the heavy plouglnnan snores, 

All with weary task fordone. 
Now the wasted' brands do glow, 

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, 
Puts the wretch that lies in woe 

In remembrance of a shroud. 
Now it is the time of night 

That tlie graves all gaping wide, 
Every one lets fortli liis sprite. 

In the chnrcli-way jiatlis to glide: 
And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecate's team, 



ACT V. 



A ITIDSUIIMER-NIGHT'S DEE All. 



From the presence of the sun, 


Xever mole, liare lip, nor scar. 


Followinjf darkness like a dream, 


Kor mark prodigious, such as are 


Xow are I'riilic: not a mouse 


Despised in nativity. 


Shall disturb this hallow'd house : 


Shall upon tlit-ir cliildren be. 


I am sent with broom before. 


With this field-dew consecrate, 


To sweep the dust behind the door. 


Every fairy take his gait; 




And each several chandjer bless. 


Enter Oberon and Titania with their train. 


Through this palace, with sweet peace ; 


Obe. Through the house give glimmering light, 


And the owner of it blest 


By the dead and drowsy tire : 


Ever shall in safety rest. 


Every elf and fairy sprite 


Trip away ; make no stay ; 


Hop as light as bird from brier; 


Meet me all by break of day. 


And this ditty, after me, 


[-t'.rdint Oberon, Titania, and train. 


Sing, and dance it trippingly. 


Purk. If we sliailiiws have offended. 


Titti. First, rehearse your song liy rote, 


Think but tliis. and all is mended. 


To each word a warbling note: 


Tliat you have Imt slnmbcr'd here 


Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 


While these visions did appi'ar. 


Will we sing, and bless this place. 


And this weak and idle theme, 


[!:ionfj and danec. 


Xo more yielding but a dream, 


Obe. Xow, until the break of day, 


Gentles, do not reprehend : 


Through this house each fairy stray. 


If you pardon, we will mend : 


To the best bride-bed will we. 


And, as I am an honest Puck, 


Which by us shall blessed be ; 


If we have unearned luck 


And the issue there create 


Xow to 'scape the serpent's tongue, 


Ever shall be fortunate. 


We will make amends ere long ; 


So shall all the couples three 


Else the Puck a liar call: 


Ever true in loving be ; 


So. good night unto you all. 


And the blots of Nature's hand 


Give me your liands, if we be friends, 


Shall not in their issue stand ; 


And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 




Henaia.— Out, dog : out, cur ! thou driv'st me past the bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast tliou slain him then? 
Henceforth be never numbered among men ! 
O ! once tell true, tell true, e'en for my sake ; 
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake, 
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? brave touch ! 
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
An q^der did it ; for with doubler tongue 
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 

Demetrius.— You spend your passion on a mispris'd mor.d: 
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood, 
Nor is he dead, foi aught that I can tell.— Act III., Scene ii. 



149 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



DEA3IATIS PEBSON.E. 



The Duke of Venice. 

TIr' Prince of Morocco, ' 

Tlie Prince of Arragon, 

Antonio, a merchant of Venice. 

Bassanio, liis friend, suitor lil^ewise to Portia. 

Salanio, ") 

Salarino, 

Gratiano, 

Salerio, J 

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 

Shylock, a rich Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 

Launcelot Gobbo, tlie clown, servant to Shylock. 



suitors to Portia. 



friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 



servants to Portia. 



Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. 

Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. 

Baltliasar, 

Stephano, 

Portia, a rich heiress. 

Nerissa, her waiting maid. 

Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 

Miignificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Jus- 
tice, Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other At- 
tendants. 

SCENE — Per »(/^ at Venice, and.parthj at Belmont, the 
seat of Furlia, on the Continent. 



[ For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, 



A.CT I. 



SCENE 1.— Venice. A street. 



Enkr Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not wliy I am so sad: 
It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; 
But how I eau;;ht it, found it, or came by it, 
AVhat stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn ; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
Tiiat 1 litive niucli ado to know myself. 

Salur. Your mind is tnssiiiLc on the ocean; 
There, where your ar^nsirs with |)i>itly sail, 
Ijike signiors and ricli burghers on the Hood, 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 
Do overpeer the petty trtitHckers, 
That curtsy to them, do tliem reverence. 
As they Hy by them with their woven winc's. 

Salaii. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth. 
The better part of my affections woulil 
Be witli my hdpes abroad. I should be still 
Piuckiiig- the grass, to know where sits thi> wind, 
Peering in maps for ports itnd piers and roads; 
And every object that might make me fear 
Misfortune to ray ventures, out of doubt 
Would make me sad. 

iS'a'ar. My wind cooling my brotli 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great at sea might do. 
I should not see the sandy iiour-glass rim, 
liut I should think of shallows and of Hats, 
And see niy wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 
Vailing lii'r high-top lower tlian her ribs 
To kiss her Inirial. Shmilcl I go to church 
And SCI' thi' ]i(ily eililice ot stone. 
And )iot lii'tliiiik me straight of dangerous rocks, 
Which tiiiicliiiig but my gentle vessel's side. 
Would scatter all her spices on tlie stream. 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, 
And, in a word, Imt even now worth this, 
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought 
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought 
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad ? 
But tell not me; I know, Antonio 
Is sad to tliink upon his merchandise. 

Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 
150 



My ventures are not in one l.iottom trusted, 
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. 

Salar. Why, then, you are in love. 

Ant. ' Fie, fie! 

Salar. Not in love neither V Then let us say 
you are sad. 
Because you are not merry : and 't were as easy 
For you to kiugh and lettp and say you are merry. 
Because you are not sad. Now.liytw(i-lieii(le<l .bmus. 
Nature htith tranu'd strange fellows in her time: 
Some that will evcnnore peep through their eyes 
And laug'li like [larrots at a bag-piper. 
And other of such vinegar aspect 
That they '11 not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though iSTestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
Gratitmo and Lorenzo. Fare ye well: [kinsman, 
Vi'e lea^■e you now with l)etter company. [merry, 

Sdlar. I would have stay'd till I had made you 
If worthier friends litid not prevented me. 

^liif. Your worth is ^ery dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you 
And you emlirace the occtision to deinirt. ' 

Sniar. Good morrow, my good lords. 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh V 
say, wlien ? 
You grow exceeding strange : must it be so ? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
[E.riimt Salarino^and Salanio. 

Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found 
Antonio, 
We two will leave /ou: but at dinner-time, 
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 

Bass. I will not fail you. 

.Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio; 
You have too much resjiect u"iion the world : 
They lo.se it that do buy it with much care: 
Believe me, you are marvelhiusly chtmged. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; 
A stage where every man must play a part. 
And mine a sad one. 



ACT I. 



THE 3IERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE II. 



Gra. Let me play the fool : 

With mirth and lausrhter let old wrinkles come, 
Anil let my liver rather lieat with wine 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
AVIiy should a man, wlKjse blood is warm within, 
Sit like Ills grandsire cut in alabaster? 
Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? I tell thee wliat, Antonio — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks — 
Tliere are a sort of men whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, 
And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
"With purpose to be dress'd in an ojiiniou 
Of'wisdom, gravity, profound conceit. 
As who should say ' I am Sir Oracle, 
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark ! ' 

my Antonio, I do know of these 
That therefore only are reputed wise 

For saying nothing, when, I am very sure, 

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears 

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers 

1 '11 tell thee more of tins another time: [fools. 
But tish not, with tliis melancholy bait, 

For tins fool gudgeon, tliis oi>inion. 
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile: 
I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time : 
I must be one of these same dumb wise men. 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gva. Well, keep me company but two years moe, 
Thou Shalt not luiow the sound of thine own tongue. 

Ant. Farewell : I '11 grow a talker for this gear. 

Gr/u. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only com- 
mendable 
In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible. 
[Eccunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 

Ant. Is that any thing now ? 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
more tlian any man in all Venice. His reasons are 
as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff : 
you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when 
you have tlieni, tliey are not worth the search. 

Ant. 'W^ell, tell me now what lady is the same 
To whom you swore a .secret pilgrimage, 
Tliat you to-day promise<l to tell me of';* 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate, 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is to come fairly olf from the great debts 
Wherein my time something too prodigal 
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, ni money "and in love. 
And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburden all my plots and purposes 
How to get clear of all the debts 1 owe. 

Ant. I pray j'ou, good Bassanio. let me know it; 
And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
Witlun the eye of honour, be assured. 
My purse, my person, my extremest means. 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one 
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight [shaft. 

The self-same way with more advised watch. 
To find the other forth, and by adventuring both 
I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof. 
Because what follows is pure innocence. 
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth. 
That which I owe is lost; but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that self way 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt. 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both 
Or bring your latter hazard back again 
And thankfully rest debtor for the first. [time 

Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but 



To wind about my love with circumstance; 
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong 
In making question of my uttermost 
Than if you had made waste of all I have : 
Then do but say to me what I should do 
That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
And I am prest unto it : therefore, speak. 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left; 
And she is fair and, fairer than that word, 
Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages : 
Her name is Portia, nothing imdervalued 
To Gate's daughter, Brutus" Portia: 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
llenowned suitors, and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; 
AVhich makes her .seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them, 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift. 
That I should questionless be fortunate! 

Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea ; 
Xeither have I money nor commodity 
To raise a present sum : therefore go forth ; 
Try what my credit can in Venice do: 
Tliat sliall be rack'd, even to the uttermost. 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
Where money is, and I no question make 
To have it of my trust or for my sake. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Behnont. A room in Portia's house. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. By my troth, Xerissa, my little body is 
aweary of this great world. 

Ker. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries 
were in the same abundance as your good fortunes 
are: and yet, for aught I see, they are as sick tliat 
surfeit with too much as they that starve with 
nothing. It is no mean happiness therefore, to 
be seated in the mean: superfiuity comes sooner 
by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 

For. Good sentences and well pronounced. 

A'er. They would be better, if well followed. 

For. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
good to do. chapels had been churches and poor 
men"s cottages princes" palaces. It is a good divine 
that follows ills own instructions : I can easier teach 
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of 
the twentv to follow mine own teaching. The brain 
may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper 
leaps o'er a cold decree : such a hare is madness the 
youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the 
cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to 
choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose I ' 
I may neither choose whom I would nor refuse 
whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter 
curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, 
ICerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refu.se none? 

iVer. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy 
men at their death have good inspirations: there- 
fore the lotterv, that he hath devised iu these three 
chests of gold, silver and lead, whereof who chooses 
his meaning chooses vou, will, no doubt, never be 
chosen liv aiiv liuhtlv liut one who shall rightly love. 
But what waVmth is there in your affection towards 
any of tliesf princelv suitors that are already come 'i* 

For. I pray thce^ over-name them; and as thou 
namest them", I will describe them; and, according 
to my description, level at my affection. 

jVfr. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

For. Ay, that 's a colt indeed, for be doth nothin_g 
but talk of his horse; and he makes it a gi'cat ap- 
propriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe 
151 



ACT I. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE III. 



him himself. I am mueli afeard my lady his mother 
played false with a smith. 

Str. Then there is the Comity Palatine. 

For. lie doth nothiiisj but frown, as who should 
say 'If you will not have me, choose:' he hears 
merry tales and smiles not : I fear he will prove the 
weepinsi pliilosopher when he grows old, being so 
full of niiniannerly sadness in his youth. I liad 
rather bi' married to a death',s-head with a bone in 
his mouth than to either of these. God defend me 
from these two ! 

Nir. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur 
Le Bon V 

Far. God made him, and therefore let him pass 
for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
mocker : but, he ! why, he hath a horse better than 
the Xeaimlitan's, a better bad habit of frowning 
than till' Ciiiuit Palatine; he is every man in no 
man ; if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering : 
he will fence with his own shadow : if I should 
marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he 
would despise me, I would forgive him, for if he 
love me to madness, I shall never requite him. 

Nei-. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the 
young baron of England ? 

For. You know I say nothing to him, for he un- 
derstands not me, nor 1 him : he hath neitlier Latin, 
French, nor Italian, and you will coiiie into the 
court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in 
the English. He is a proper man's picture, but, 
alas, wlio can converse with a dumb-sliow ? How 
oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet 
in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in 
Germany and his behaviour every where. 

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
neighbour ? 

For. Tliat be hath a neighbourly charity in him, 
for he borrnwi'il a box of the car of tlie Knglishnian 
and swiivc lie wnulil pay him again when he was 
able : I tliink the Prencliman became his surety and 
sealed uiuler for another. 

Ncr. How like you the young German, the Duke 
of Saxony's nephew V 

For. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, 
and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: 
when he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and 
when he is worst, he is little better than a beast: 
an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make 
shift to go without hiin. 

Ncr. if he should offer to choose, and choose the 
right cask-et, you should refuse to -perform your 
father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. 

For. Therefoi'e, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 
set a deep glass of rhenisli wine on the contrary 
casket, for if the devil be within and that tempta- 
tion without, I know he will clioose it. I will do 
any tiling, Nerissa, ere I '11 Ir- married to a sponge. 

.N(:r. Yon need not fear, lady, tlie liaving aiiy'of 
these lords : tliey liavp aciiuainted me with their 
determiiiiitiiins: wliich is, imleedjto return to their 
home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless 
you may be won b}'" some otlier sort than your 
father's imposition depending on the caskets. 

For. If I live to be as old as Siliylla, I will die as 
chaste as Diana, unless I be olitaiiied liy the manner 
of my father's will. I am glad tliis parrel nf wooers 
are so reasonable, for there is not one among them 
but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant 
them a fair departure. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
time, a Venetian, a scholar and a "soldier, that came 
hither in company of tlie Manjuis of Montferrat V 

For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, he was 
so called. 

Ner. True, madam : he, of all the men that ever 
my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving 
a fair lady. 

152 



For. I remember him well, and I remember him 
worthy of thy praise. 

Enter a Servingf-man. 
How now ! what news y 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to 
take their leave: and there is a forerunner come 
from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings 
word the prince liis master will be here to-night. 

For. If I could bid the fifth welcome witli so good 
a heart as I can 1 lid the other four farewell, I should 
be glad of his apiiroach : if he liave the coiiililion of 
a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather 
he should shrive me than wive me. v 

Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 
Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another 
knocks at the door. [L\aunt. 

SCENE 111.— Venice. A puhlic pleice. 
Enter Bassanio anil Shylock. 

yS7(;/. Three thou-sand ducats ; well. 

Fmss. Ay, sir, for three months. 

67t//. For three months; well. [be bound. 

Beiss. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 

Shfi. Antonio shall become bound ; well. 

Bliss. May you stead me ? will you pleasm-e me ? 
shall I know your answer ? 

Sluj. Three thousand ducats for three months 
and Antonio bound. 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shi). Antonio is a good man. [trary ? 

Buss. Have you heard any imputation to tlie con- 

Shij. Oh, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying 
he is a good man is to have you undeistand nie 
that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in supposi- 
tion : he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another 
to tlie Indies; I undcvstainl, moreover, upon the 
Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for 
England, and other ventures he hath, squandered 
abroad. But sliiiis are but boards, sailors but 
men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water- 
thieves and land-thieves, I mean pirates, and then 
there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks. The 
man is, notwithstanding, sulticient. Three thou- 
sand ducats; I think 1 may take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be 
assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with An- 

Bass. If it please you to dine with us. [tonio? 

Shij. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation 
which your prophet the Nazarite conjured tlie devil 
into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with 
j'ou, walk with you, and so following, but 1 will not 
eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. 
AVHiat news on the Rialto ? "Who is he comes here ? 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is Signior Antonio. [looks! 

Sh>i. [Aside] How like a fawning publican lie 
I hate him for he is a Christian, 
But more for that in low simplicity 
He lends out money gratis and briiigs down 
The rate of usance "here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, / 

Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift, 
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him ! 

-Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? 

Shfi. I am debating of my present store, 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instant Iv raisr up tlie gross 
Of full three thousand ducats. AVhat of that? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 



ACT II. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE I. 



Will furnish me. But soft! how many months 
Do vou desiieV [ToAnt.'\ Rest j'ou tair,good signior; 
Your worslii)) was the last man in our mouths. 

^•lii{. Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow 
By taking" nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
1 '11 break a custom. Is he yet possess'd 
How much ye would '? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot ; three months ; you told me so. 
"Weir then, your bond ; and let me see ; but hear you ; 
Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow 
Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. When .Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep— 
This Jacob from our holy Abram was. 
As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, 
The third possessor; ay, he was the third — 

Ant. And what of him? did he take interest ? 

Shy. Xo, not take interest, not. as you would say, 
Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromised 
That all the eanlings which were streak VI and pied 
Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank, 
In tlie end of autumn tiu'ned to the rams, 
And, when the work of generation was 
Between these woolly breeders in the act. 
The skilful shepherd peeFd me certain wands 
And, in the doing of the deed of kind, 
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes. 
Who then conceiving did in eaning time 
Fall parti-colour 'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest : 
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. [for; 

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served 
A thing not hi his power to bring to pass. 
But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven. 
Was this inserted to make interest goodV 
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams ? 

Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : 
But note me, signior. 

Ant. Mark you this^ Bassanio, 

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul producing holy witness 
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
A goodly apple rotten at the heart : 
O, what a gnodly outside falsehood hath ! [sum. 

Sliy. Tliree thousand ducats; 'tis a good round 
Thre^ months from twelve; then, let me see; the 
rate — 

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you ^ 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated ine 
About my moneys and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. 
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog. 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears you need my help: 
Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say 
' Shylock, we would have moneys : ' you say so ; 
You, that did void your rheum" upon my beard 
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold : moneys is yom- suit. 



What should I say to you ? Should I not say 

' Hath a dog money y is it possible 

A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? ' Or 

Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key. 

With bated breath and whispering humbleness, 

Say this ; 

' Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; 

You spurn'd me such a day; another time 

You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies 

I '11 lend you thus much moneys ' V 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again. 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends; for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend V 
But lend it rather to thine enemy. 
Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

.S7(i/. Why, look j'cfti, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you liave stain'd me with, 
Supply your present wants and take no doit 
Of usance for my moneys, and you 'II not hear me : 
This is kind I offer. 

i'rt.ss. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show. 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond; and, in a merry sport, 
If you repay me not on such a day. 
In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content, i' faith : I '11 seal to such a bond 
And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 

-Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
I '11 rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it : 
Within these two months, that 's a month before 
This bond expires, I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shti. O father Abram, what these Christians are, 
Whose own hard dealings teaclies them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; 
If he shoiild break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
A pound of man's flesh taken from a man 
Is not so estimable, protituble neither. 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 
To buy his fa-vour, I extend this friendship: 
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
And, for my love, I pray vou wrong nie not. 

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; 
Give' him direction for this merry Imnd, 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight, 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently 
I will be with you. 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. [Exit Shyloek. 

The Hebrew will turn Christian : lie grows kind. 

J3ass. I like not fair terms and a villain's nnnd. 

Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay ; 
My ships come home a mouth before the day. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE l.— Bdmrmt. 



A loom in PortitCs house. 



Flourish of cornets. Enter (/(c Prince of Morocco and 
his train; Portia, Nerissa, and others attending. 
Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, 
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 



II. 

To whom I am a neighbour and near bred. 
Bring me the fairest -creature northward born, 
Where riurbus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
Anil let us make incision for yovu- love. 
To prove wliose blood is reddest, his or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
153 



ACT II. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE II. 



Hath feai'M tlie valiant : by my love, I swear 
Tlif' lii'st-n'nanled virsins of our clime 
Have hived it too: I would not clian!i,e this hue, 
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 

For. In terms ot elioi<-e I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maideirs eyes; 
IJesides, tlie luttei-y of my <U'stiny 
IJars me the right of voluntary choosing: 
But if mv father liad not scanted me 
And heilged me l>y Ids wit, to yield myself 
His wile wlio win's me liy that weans I told you, 
Yourself, reuowued prince, then stood as fair 
As any comer I have look'tl on yet 
For my affection. 

Mot. Even for that I thank you : 

Therefore, I i>ray you, lead nie to the caskets 
To try my fortune. By tliis scimitar 
That slew tiie Sophv and a Persian prince 
That won tliri''- fields of Sultan Snlvman, 
1 would outstaiv tlie sternest e\,s that look, 
Outbrave the liearl iiiost daring on the earth, 
Pluck tlie yotuig sucking culis from the she-bear, 
Yea, mode llie lion when he roars for prey. 
To will thee, lady. But, alas the while ! 
If Hercules and Liclias play at dice 
Which is the better man, the greater throw 
May turn liy fmtune from the weaker hand: 
80 is Alcides Ijeateu by Ids page; 
And so may I, blind fortune leading me. 
Miss tliat which one unworthier may attain, 
And die with grieving. 

Far. You must take your chance, 

And either not attempt to choose at all 
Or swear before you clioo.se, if vou choose wrong 
Kever to siicak to lady afterward 
In way of marriage: therefore he advised. 

Mur. jS'or will not. Come, bring me unto my 
chance. 

For. First, forward to the temple : after dinner 
Y'our hazard shall be made. 

Jl/or. Good fortune then ! 

To make me blest or cursed'st among men. 

[Cornets, and exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Venice. A street. 

Enter Launcelot. 
Laiin. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
run from this .Jew my master. The fiend is at 
mine elbow^ and tempts me saying to me ' Gobbo, 
Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,' or 'good Gob- 
bo,' or ' good Launcelot Gobbo, use your'legs, take 
the start, run away.' My conscience says 'No; 
take lieeil, honest "Launcelot; take heed, honest 
Gobbo,' or, as aforesaid, "honest Launcelot Golibo; 
do not run; scorn running with thy heels.' Well, 
the most couras^eous liend bids me pack : ' Via I ' 
says the fiend ; '^ away ! ' says the fiend; 'for the 
heavens, rouse up a brave mind,' says the fiend, 
'and run".' Well, my con.science, hanging about 
the neck of my heart, says v(^ry wisely to me ' My 
honest friend Laninelot. lieing an honest man's 
son,' or rather an lionesi wiHiian's son; for, indeed, 
my father did something smack, something grow 
to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience 
says, 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the 
fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience. 'Con- 
science,' say I, ' you counsel well; ' ' Fiend,' say I, 
' you counsel well: ' to be ruled by my conscience, 
I should stay with the .Tew my master, who, God 
bless the mark, is a kind of devil ; and, to run away 
from the .Jew, I should be nded by the fiend, who, 
saving your reverence, is tlie devil himself. Cer- 
tainly the Jew is the very devil incariial; and, in 
my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard 
conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the 
Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel : I 
154 



will run, fiend; my heels are at yoiu- command; I 
will run. ^ 

Enter old Q-obbo, with a &«.sAe{. 

Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which 
is the way to master Jew's? 

Laun. [Aiiidr] O heavens, this is my true-begotten 
father ! who, being more than sand-blind, higli- 
gravel blind, knows me not: I will try confusions 
with him. 

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which 
is the way to master Jew's ? 

Lmin. Turn up on your right hand at the next 
turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your 
left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no 
hand, but turn down indirectly to the -Jew's house. 

Gob. I3y Ciod'.s sonties, 'twill be a hard way to 
hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that 
dwells with him, dwell with him or no'i* 

Lfiiin. Talk you of young Master Launcelot'? 
[J.'iK?!] ^Sfark rn'e now; iiow will I raise the waters. 
Talk yoti of young Master Jjauucelof? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a jioor man's son: his 
father, though I say it. is an honest exceeding poor 
man and, God lie thanked, well to live. 

Laun. AVell, let his father be what a' will, we talk 
of young Master Launcelot. 

Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir. 

Laun. But I pray you, ergo. Old man, ergo, I be- 
seech you, talk you of young Master Launcelot ':' 

Gob. Of Launcelot, an "t please ycuir master.ship. 

Lrmn. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Mas- 
ter I^auiiceiot, father; for the young gentleman, 
according to Fates and Destinies and such odil 
sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of 
learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say 
in plain terms, gone to heaven. 

Gob. Marry, Good forbid! the boy was the very 
staff of my age, my very prop. 

Laun. JJo 1 look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a 
statf or a prop '^ Do you know me, father 'f 

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gen- 
tleman: but, I pray'you, tell me,is my boy, God 
rest his soul, alive or dead ':' 

Laun. Do you not know me, father ? 

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you 
not. 

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you 
might fail of tlie knowing me : it is a wise father' 
that knows his owai child. Well, old man, I will 
tell you news of your son: give me your blessing: 
truth will come to light ; murder cannot be hid 
long ; a man's sou may, but at the length truth will 
out. 

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are 
not Launcelot, my boy. 

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about 
it, but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, 
your boy that was, your son that is, your child that 
shall be. 

Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 

Laun. 1 know not what I shall think of that: 
but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure 
Margery your wife is my mother. 

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be 
sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own 
tlesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be ! 
what a beard hast thou got ! thou hast got more 
hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on 
his tail. 

Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail 
grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of 
his tail than I liaveof my face when I last saw him. 

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost 
thou and thy master agree '? I have brought him u 
present. How 'gree you now V 

Laun. Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I 
j have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest 



ACT II. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE IV. 



till I have run some snmiul. My master 's a very 
.lew: vii\e liini a luesL-ut! give him a halter: I am 
famished in his service; you may tell every finger 
I have with my ribs. Father, I am sl^d you are 
eonie: give ine your present to one Master Bassa- 
nio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries : if I serve 
not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. 
() rare fortune! here conies the man : to liini, father; 
for 1 am a .Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. 

Enter Bassanio, wiUi Leonardo and other fol- 
lowers. 

Bass. You may do so ; but let it lie so hasted that 
supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. 
See these letters delivered; put the liverie.s to 
making, and desire Gratiauo to come anon to my 
lodging. {E.cU a Servant. 

Luun. To him, father. 

Gob. God lilcss your worship! 

JBass. Gramerry! wouldst thou aught with me ? 

Goh. Here 's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich .Jew's 
man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify — 

Goh. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
say, to serve, — 

La un . Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the 
.Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall specify — 

Gdh. His niaster ;md lie. "saving your worship's 
reverence, are srani' catci-cousius — 

Liiitn. To be hi id', the vrry tnitli is that the Jew, 
having dime me wrong, dot li cause me, as my fatlier, 
being, I hope, an ol<l man. shall I'nitify unto you — 

Glib. I have here a disliof dovrs tliat I would be- 
stow upon your wcirship, and my suit is — 

Laun. Inverybricf. tliesuit is impertinent to my- 
self, as your worsliip sliall know by this honest old 
man ; and, though I say it, though old man, yet poor 
man, my fatlier. 

JJass.' One speak for both. What would you ? 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 

Gob. That isthe very defect of the matter, sir. 

Bass. I know thee well ; thou hast obtain'd thy 
Shyloek tliy master spoke with me this day, [suit : 
And hath iirefcrrM tliee, if it be preferment 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Lniiii. T lie old jiro verb is very well parted between 
my master Shyloi.'k and you, sir : you have the grace 
of God, .sir, and he liath enough. [son. 

Bass. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, witll thy 
Take leave of thy old master and inquire 
Jly lodging out. Give him a livery 
More guarded than his fellows'; see it done. 

Laun. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no ; I 
have ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man 
in Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to'swear 
upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to, here 's 
a siuiiile line of life : here "s a small tritle of wives : 
alas, lifteen wives is nothing! eleven widows and 
nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man; and 
then to "scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of 
my life with the edge of a featlier-bed; here are 
simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she 's 
a good wench for this gear. Father, come ; I '11 
take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an 
eye. ' [E.v.eunt Lnuncelot and old Guhho. 

' Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this : 
These Ihiiigs being bought and orderly bestow'd, 
Keturii in liaste, for I do feast to-night 
My best-esteem'd acquaintance ; hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavom's shall be done herein. 

Enter Gratiano. 
Gra. AVhere is your master ? 
Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. {Exit. 

Gra. Signior B.issauio! 
Bass. Gratiano ! 



Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtain'd it. 

Gra. You must not deny me : I must go with you 
to Belmont.- [tiano ; 

Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gra- 
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice; 
Parts that become thee happily enough 
j\\\(l in such eyes as ours appear not faults; [show 
15ut where thou art not known, why, where they 
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skipping .spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour 
I be misconstrued in the place I go to 
And lose my hopes. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me ; 

If I do not put on a sober habit, 
Talk with respect and swear but now and then. 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely. 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say ' amen,' 
Use all the observance of civility. 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
To please his grandam, never trust me more. 

Bass. AVell, we shall see your bearing. [me 

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night : you shall not gauge 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that were pity: 

I would entreat you rather to put on 
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment. But fare you well : 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest: 
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A room in ShylocJc''s liouse. 

Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 

Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so : 
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, 
Didst rob it of some taste of tedionsness. 
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee: 
And, Launcelot, soon at supjicr slialt thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest: 
Give him this letter; do it secretly ; 
And so farewell ; I would not have my father 
See me in talk with thee. 

Laun. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beau- 
tiful pagan, most sweet Jew ! if a Christian did not 
play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. 
But, adieu; these foolish drops do something drown 
my manly sjiirit; adieu. 

,Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. [Exit Launcelot. 
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
To be ashamed to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, 
Become a Christian and thy loving wife. [Exit. 

SCENE I'V.— Tlie same. A street. 

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, anel 
Salanio. 

Lor. Nay, we will slink away in s\qiper-time, 
Disguise us at my lodging and retm'n, 
AH in an hour. 

Gra. We have not made good preparation. 

Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 

Salan. 'T is vile, unless it may be ciuaintly order'd, 
And better in my mind not undertook. [hours 

Lor. 'T is now but four o'clock : we have two 
To furnish us. 

Enter Launcelot, with a letter. 

Friend Launcelot, what 's the news? 
Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it 
shall ceem to signify. 

155 



ACT II. 



THE 3IERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE VI. 



Lor. I know the hand : in faith 't is a fair hand ; 
And whiter than the iiaper it writ on 
Is the fair hand that writ. 

Gra. Love-news, in faith. 

Laun. By your leave, sir. 

Lor. Whitlier goest thou ? 

Xrt(i)!. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew 
to sup to-ni};ljt witli my new master the Christian. 

Lor. Hold here, take" this : tell gentle Jessica 
I will not fail her ; speak it privately. 
Go, gentlemen, [Exit Laimcelot. 

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night V 
I am provided of a torch-hearer. 

Salar. Ay, marry, 1 '11 be gone about it straight. 

Salan. And so will I. 

Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Salar. 'T is good we do so. 

[Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica V 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath dii-ected 
How I shall take her from her father's house, 
What gold and jewels she is furnish 'd with, 
Wliat page's suit slie liath in readiness. 
If ere the Jew lier father come to heaven. 
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake : 
Anfl never dare misfortuue cross her foot, 
Unless she do it under tliis excuse, 
Tliat she is issue to a taitldess Jew. 
Come, go with me ; peruse this as thou goest : 
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The same. Before Shylock's house. 
■Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy 
JiiUge, 
The difference of old Sliylock and Bassanio : — 
Wliat, .Jessica! — thou slialt not gormandize, 
As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out; — 
Why, Jessica, I say ! 

Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

*7i^. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call. 

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me that I 
could do nothing without bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 

Jes. Call you ? what is your will 'i" 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : 
There are my keys. But wlieret'ore should I go 'i* 
I am not bid forlove ; tliey flatter me : 
But yet I "11 gii ill liate, to feed upon 
Tlie prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl. 
Look to my house. I am rigid loath to go : 
There is some ill aJirewing tciwards my rest. 
For I did dream of money-bags to-uiglit. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go : my young master 
doth expect your reproach. 

Shy. So do I his. 

Laun. An they have conspired together, I will 
not say you sliall see a masque ; but if you do, then 
it was not for notliing that my nose fell a-bleeding 
on Black-Monday last at six o'clock i'tlie morning, 
falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four 
year in the afternoon. 

Shy. What, are there masques? Hear you me, 
Jessica : 
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum 
And the vile stiuealing of the wry-neck'd fife. 
Clamber not you up tn the casements tlien, 
Nor thrust your head iiitu the luililie street 
To gaze on Christian fools witli varnish'd faces. 
But stop my house's ears. I mean my casements: 
Let not the sound of sliallow fopjiery enter 
My sober liouse. By Jacob's staff, I swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
156 



But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say I will come. 

Laun. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at 
window, for all this ; 

There will come a Christian by, 

Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, 
ha y [else. 

Jes. His words were ' Farewell mistress ; ' nothing 

S/u/. The patch is kind enough , but a huge feeder ; 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild-cat : drones hive not with me ; 
Therefore I part with him, and part with liim 
To one that I would have him lielji to waste 
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in : 
Perhajis I will return immediately: 
Do as I bid you ; shut doors after you: 
Fast Viind, fast find ; 
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost, 
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 

SCENE VI.— The same. 
Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masquecl. 

Gra. This is tlie pent-house under which Lorenzo 
Desired us to make stand. 

Salar. His hour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 

Gra. That ever liolds: who riseth from a feast 
With that keen appetite that he sits down? 
AVhere is the horse tliat doth uiitread again 
His tedious measures with the uiiliated lire 
That he did pace them first V All tilings tliat are. 
Are with more spirit cliased tlian enjoy 'd. 
How like a younker or a prodigal 
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! 
How like the prodigal doth she return, 
With o\'er-weather'd ribs and ragged sails. 
Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo : more of this here- 
after. „ 

Enter Lorenzo. 

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait : [abode ; 
When you shall please to play tlie thieves for wives, 
I '11 watch as long for you then. Approach; 
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who 's within'? 

Enter Jessica, above, in 6o?/'s clothes. 

,Tes. Who are you ? Tell me, for more certainty, 
Albeit I '11 swear that I do know your tongue. 

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

Jes. Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed. 
For who love I so mncli ? And now who knows 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ? [thou art. 

Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that 

Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the 
I am glad 't is night, you do not look on me, [pains. 
For I am much asliaiiied of my exchange: 
But love is blind and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies tliat tliemselves commit; 
For if they covdil, ('iijiid liiniself woidd blush 
To .see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 

Jes. What, must I'hold a candle to my shames? 
Tliey in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
Why, 't is an office of discovery, love ; 
And I should be obscured. 

Lor. So are you, sweet, 

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
But come at once ; 



■^ 




'^M%. 



ACT II. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE VIII, 



Far the close night doth play the runaway, 
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 

J()>. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
■With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 

[-Bxif abofc. 

Gra. Kow, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew. 

Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily; 
For she is wise, if I can judge of lier, 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, 
And true she is, us she hath proved herself, 
And tlierefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, 
fSIiall slie be phiced in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica, below. 
What, art thou come ? On, gentlemen ; away ! 
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 

[Exit with Jessica and Salarino. 

Enter Antonio. 

Ant. "Who's there? 

Gra. Signior Antonio! 

Ant. Fie, fle, Gratiano! where are all the rest ? 
'T is nine o'clock : our friends all stay for you. 
No masque to-night: the wind is come about; 
B.issanio presently will go aboard : 
1 iKive sent twenty out to seek for you. 

(Vi-it. I am glail on 't : 1 desire no more delight 
Than to be under sail and gone to-night. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — Belmont. A romn in Portia's house. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince 
of Morocco, and their trains. 

For. Go draw aside tlie curtains and discover 
Tlie several caskets to this noble prince. 
Now make your choice. 

2Ior. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, 
' Who cliooseth me shall gain what many men de- 
sire ; ' 
The second, silver, which this promise carries, 
' W^lio cliooseth me shall get as much as he deserves ;' 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, 
' Who cliooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' 
How shall I know if I do choose the right V 

Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince : 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. [see ; 

Mir. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me 
I will survey the inscriptions back again. 
What says this leaden casket ? [liath.' 

' Who cliooseth me must give and hazard all he 
Must give: for what? for lead? hazard for lead? 
Tills casket threatens. Men that hazard all 
Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 
I '11 then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. 
What says the silver with her virgin hue ? 
' Wlio cliooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. ' 
As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, 
And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
If thou lie'st rated by thy estimation, 
Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 
May not extend so far as to the lady: 
And yet to be afeard of my deserving 
Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
As muih as I deserve ! Why, that 's the lady : 
I tlo in birth deserve her, and in fortunes. 
In graces and in qualities of breeding ; 
But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
What if I stray 'd no further, but chose here ? 
Let 's see once more this saying graved in gold ; 
' Who choosetli me shall gain what many men 

desire.' 
Why, that 's the lady; all the world desires her ; 
From the four corners of the earth they come. 
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint: 
The Ilyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds 
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now 



For princes to come view fair Portia : 
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come, 
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
One of these three contains her heavenly jiicture. 
Is 't like that lead contains her ? 'T were dauinatiou 
To think so base a thought : it were too'gross 
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
< )r sIkUI I think in silver she 's immured, 
B.'iiig ten times undervalued to tried gold ? 
() sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem 
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 
A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
Stamped in gold, but that 's insculp'd upon ; 
But liere an angel in a golden bed 
Lies all within. Deliver me the key : 
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! [there, 
Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie 
Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. 

Mor. O hell ! what have we here ? 

A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 
There is a written scroll ! I '11 read the writing. 
[Heads] All that glisters is not gold ; 

Often have you heard that told : 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
Your answer had not been inscroU'd: 
Fare you well ; your suit is cold. 
Cold, indeed ; and labour lost : 
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost! 
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart 
To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. 

[Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets. 

Por. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. 

Let all of bis complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— FeJiice. A street. 

Enter Salarino and Salanio. 

Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail : 
With bim is Gratiano gone along ; 
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. 

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries raised the 
duke, 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 

Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail : 
But there the dnke was given to understand 
That in a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
Besides, Antonio certified the duke 
They were not with Bassanio in bis ship. 

Sedan. I never heard a passion so confused, 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
' My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian ! O my Christian ducats ! 
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter! 
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats. 
Of double ducats, stolen from me liy my daughter! 
And jewels, two stones, two ricli and preci( lus stones, 
Stolen liy my daughter! Justice ! find the girl; 
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.' 

Salar. AVhy, all the boys in Venice follow him, 
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 

Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day. 
Or lie shall pay for this. 

Salar. Marry, well remember'd. 

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, 
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 
The French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country richly fraught : 
I thought upon Antonio when he told me; 
And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 
157 



ACT II. 



THE 3IERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE IX. 



Solan. You were best to tell Antonio what you 
hear; 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 

Salar. A kinder i;x-ntleman treads not the earth. 
I saw Bassanio ami Antonio part: 
Bassanio told hiiu lie would make some speed 
Of liis return : he answer'd, ' Do not so; 
Sluljlier not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay tlie very riping of tlie time; 
And for the Jew's Itoud wliich he hath of me, 
Let it not enter in your mind of love: 
Be merry, and emiiloy your ehiefest thoughts 
To eourtship and such fair ostents of love 
As shall (■onvcniently become you there:' 
And even there. Ills eye being big with tears, 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
And with affection wondrous sensible 
lie wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted. 

Sedan. I think he only loves the world tor him. 
I pray thee, let us go and find him out 
And quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Salar. Do we so. [Exewd. 

SCENE IX. — Belmont. A room in Portia's house. 

Enter Nerissa with a Servitor. 
JVer. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain 
straight : 
The Prince of Arragon liath ta'en his oath. 
And couies to his election presently. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, 
Portia, and their trains. 

Par. Behold , there stand the caskets, noble prince : 
If you clioose that wherein I am contain'd. 
Straight shall oiu- nuptial rites be solemnized : 
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord. 
You must be gone from hence immediately. 

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things : 
First, never to unfold to any one 
Which casket 't was I chose ; next, if I fail 
Of the right casket, never in my lite 
To woo a maid in way of marriage: 
Lastly, 

If I do fail in fortune of my choice. 
Immediately to leave you and be gone. 

For. To these injunctions every one doth swear 
That comes to Iiazard for my worthless self. 

Ar. And so liave I address'd me. Fortune now 
To my heart's hope! Gold; silver; and base lead. 
' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. ' 
You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard. 
What says the golden chest V lia I let me see : 
'Who chooseth ine shall gain what many men desire. ' 
What many men desire ! that ' many ' may be meant 
By the fool multitude, that choose by show. 
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach ; 
AV^hich pries not to the interior, but, like the 

martlet, 
Builds in tlie weatlier on the outward wall. 
Even in the force and road of casualty. 
I will not choose what many men desire, 
Because I will not jump with common spirits 
And rank me witli the barbarous multitudes. 
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-liouse ; 
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear: 
' Who chooseth me shall get as mucli as lie deserves :' 
And well said ttio; IVir who shall go about 
To cozen fortune and be honourable 
Without the stamp of merit V Let none presume 
To wear an undeserved dignity. 
158 



O, that estates, degrees and offices 
Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour 
Were purchased by tlie merit of tlie wearer! 
How many then should cover that stand bare! 
How many be commanded that eomniand! 
How much low peasantry would then be glean 'd 
From the true seed of honour! and how much 

honour 
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times 
To be new-vaniish'd ! Well, but to my choice: 
' Who chooseth me sliall get as much as lie deserves.' 
I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, 
And mstaiitly unlock my fortunes here. 

[He ojjei!6' the silver casket. 
For. Too long a pause for tliat which you find 

there. 
^Ir. What 's here ? the portrait of a blinking idiot, 
Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 
How much unlike art thou to Portia! 
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings! 
' Who chooseth me shall have as much as he de- 
serves.' 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head '? 
Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better i" 

For. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices 
And of opposed natures. 
Ar. What is here ? 

[Reads] The fire seven times tried this: 

Seven times tried that judgment is, 
That did never choose amiss. 
S.iiiie there be th:it shadows kiss; 
Such liavc liiil ii shadow's bliss: 
There be fools alive, 1 wis, 
Silver'd o'er ; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to bed, 
I will ever be your head : 
So be gone : you are sped. 

Still more fool I shall appear 

By the time I linger here : 

With one fool's head I came to woo, 

But I go away with two. 

Sweet, adieu. I 'irkeep my oath. 

Patiently to bear my wroth. 

[Exeunt Arragon and train. 
For. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. 
O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose, 
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 

JVcr. The ancient saying is no heresy, 
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 

Enter a Servant. 

Scrv. Where is my lady V 

For. Here: what would my lord ? 

Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
To signify the approaching of his lord; 
From whom he brihgeth sensible regreets. 
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath. 
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 
So likely an ambassador of love: 
A day in April never came so sweet, 
To show how costly summer was at hand, 
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 

F(jr. No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard 
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee. 
Thou spend 'st such high-day wit in praising him. 
Come, come, Nerissa : for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 

A7c. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be! 

[Exeunt. 



THE 3IERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE II. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I.— FcJiice. A street. 



Enter Salanio and Salarino. 

Sal an. Now, wljat news on tlie Rialto? 

Salur. Why, yet it lives there unchecked that 
Antonio hatli a sliip of rich lading wrecked on tlie 
narrow seas; tlie Goodwins, I think they call the 
place; a very dangerous tlat and fatal, where the 
carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, 
if my gossip Keport be an honest woman of her 
word. 

Sulan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that 
as ever knapped ginger or made her neighbours be- 
lieve she wept for the death of a third busliand. 
]Jnt it is true, without any slips of prolixity or 
crossing the plain higliway of talk, tluit the good 

Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that 1 luid a 

title good enough to keep his name company ! — 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

ISalan. Ha ! what sayest thou ? AVhy, the end is, 
he hath lost a ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his 
losses. 

Salan. Let me say ' amen ' betimes, lest the devil 
cross my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness 
of a Jew. „ 

Enter Shylock. 

How now, Shylock! what news among the mer- 
chants'!' 

*7(^/. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
you, "of my daughter's flight. 

Salar. That 's certain :"l, for my part, knew the 
tailor that made the wings she tlew withal. 

Sa.lan. And Shylock, for his owri part, knew tlie 
bird was fledged; and then it is the complexion of 
them all to leave the dam. 

Sill/. She is damned for it. 

Salar. That 's certain, if the devil may be her 

Shi/. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! [judge. 

Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these 
years Y 

Ski/. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh 
and hers than between jet and ivory ; more between 
your bloods than there is between red wine and 
rlienish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio 
have had any loss at sea or no y 

Shi/. There I have another bad match : a bank- 
rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on 
the Kialto ; a beggar, that was used to come so smug 
upon the mart; let him look to his bond: he was 
wont to call me usurer; let him look to his bond: 
he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; 
let him look to his bond. 

■ Salar. AVhy, I am sm-e, if he forfeit, thou wilt 
not take his flesh : what 's that good for V 

Shi;. To bait flsh withal : if it will feed nothing 
else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced 
me, and hindered me half a million ; laughed at my 
losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, 
thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
mine enemies ; and what 's his reason !* I am a Jew. 
Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, or- 
gans, dimensions, senses, affections, passions '? fed 
with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, 
subject to the same diseases, healed by the same 
means, warmed and cooled by the same' winter and 
summer, as a Christian is ? If you prick us, do we 
not bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if 
you poison us, do we not die ? and if you wrong us, 
sliall we not revenge? If we are like you in the 
rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong 
a Christian, what is his hiunility ? Revenge. If a 
Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance 



be by Christian example ? Why, revenge. The 
villaiiy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall 
go hard but I will better the instruction. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Gentlemen, my ma^^ter Antonio is at his 
house and desires to speak with you both. 
Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 

Enter Tubal. 

Salan. Here comes another of the tribe: a tb.ird 
cannot be matched, unless tlie ilevil himself turn 
Jew. [Exeunt Salan., Salar., and Servant. 

Shij. How now. Tubal ! what news from Genoa ? 
hast thou found my daughter V 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but 
cannot find her. 

Shy. Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond 
gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! 
The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I 
never felt it till now: two thousand ducats in that; 
and other precious, precious jewels. I would my 
daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels iii 
her ear! would she were hear.sed at my toot, and 
the ducats in her cofiin ! No news of tliem V Why, 
so: and I know not what's spent in the search: 
why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so 
much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis- 
faction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring but 
what lights on my shoulders ; no sighs but of my 
breathing; no tears but of my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too : Antonio, 
as I heard in Genoa, — 

Shi/. What, What, what? ilUuck, illluck ? 

Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tnpolis. 

«S7i//. 1 thank God , I thank God. Is 't true, is 't true? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es- 
caped the wreck. 

Shi/. 1 thank thee, good Tubal : good news, good 
news! ha, ha! where? in Genoa? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
in one night fourscore ducats. 

»S7t;/. Thou .stickest a dagger in me : I shall never 
see liiy gold again : fourscore ducats at a sitting ! 
fourscore ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors 
in my company- to Venice, that swear he cannot 
choose but break. 

, Shi/. I am very glad of it : I "11 plague him ; I "11 
torture him : I am glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he had 
of your daughter for a monkey. 

(S7i.y. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : 
it W'as my turquoise ; I had it of Leah when I was 
a bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilder- 
ness of monkeys. 

I'lib. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shi/. Nay, that 's true, that 's very true. Go, 
Tubal, fee me an officer : liespeak him a fortnight 
before. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; 
for, were lie out of Venice, I can make what mer- 
chandi.se I will. Go, go. Tubal, and meet nie at 
our synagogue; go, good Tubal; at our synagogue. 
Tubal. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Belmont. A room in rcjriia^s house. 

Eater Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and 
Attendants. 
For. I pray you, tarry : pause a day or two 
Before you hazard; for, in choosing WTong, 
I lose your com]iany : therefore forbear awhile. 
There 's something tells me, but it is not love, 
159 



r 



ACT III. 



' THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE II. 



I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
Hate counsels not in such a quality. 
But lest you should not understand me well, — 
And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, — 
I would detain you here some montli or two 
Before you venture for me. I could teach you 
How to choose right, but I am then forsworn ; 
So will I never lie : so may you miss me ; 
But if you do, you '11 make me wish a sin. 
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
Tliey have o'erlook'd me and divided me ; 
One half of me is yours, the other half yours. 
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours. 
And so all yours. O, these naughty times 
Put bars betwemi the owners and their rights! 
And so, though vdurs, not yours. Prove it so, 
Let fortinie go to lu'll I'nr it, not I. 
I speak too long ; but 't is to peize the time, 
To eke it and to draw it out in length, 
To stay you from election. 

-Boss. Let me choose ; 

For as I am, I live upon the rack. 

For. Upon the rack, Bassanio! then confess 
"What treason tlier& is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None but that iigiy treason of mistrust. 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love: 
There may as well be amity and life 
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

Pm\ Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, 
Where men enforced do speak anything. 

-Bass. Promise me life, and I 'llconfess the truth 

Pnr. Well then, confess and live. 

Bass. ' Confess ' and ' love 

Had been the very sum of my confession ; 

happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me answers for deliverance! 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

For. Away, then ! I am lock'd in one of them : 
If you do love me, you will find me out. 
Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof. 
Let music sound while he doth make his choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
Fajling in music : that tlie comparison 
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream 
And watery deatii-lied f(U' him. He may win; 
And what is nuisic tlicn V Then music is 
Even as the tlourisli wlien true subjects bow 
To a new-crowned niunarch; such it is 
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day 
That creep into tlie dnaming bridegroom's ear 
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, 
With no less presence, but with much more love. 
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice ; 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives. 
With bleared visages, come forth to view 
Tlue issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
Live thou, I live: with much much more dismay 

1 view the fight than thou that makest the fray. 

Musia, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to 
himself. 
SONG. 

Tell me where is fancy bred. 
Or in tlie heart or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished V 

lleply, reply. ' 
It is engender'd in the eyes. 
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 

Let us all ring fancy's knell : 
I '11 begin it,— Ding, doiig, bell. 
All. Ding, dong, bell. ' [selves : 

Bass. So may the outward shows be least tliein- 
The world is still deceived with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt 
160 



But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, 

Obscures the show of evil ? In religion. 

What damned error, but some sober brow 

Will bless it and approve it with a text. 

Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 

There is no vice so simple but assumes 

Some mark of virtue on his outward parts : 

How many cowards, wliose hearts are all as false 

As stairs of sand, wrar yet upon their cliins 

The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, 

Who, inward searcli'd, have livers white as milk; 

And these assume liut valour's excrement 

To render tliein redoubted ! Look on beauty. 

And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight; 

Wliich therein works a miracle in nature. 

Making them lightest that wear most of it : 

So are those crisped snaky golden locks 

Which make sucli wantoii gambols with the wind. 

Upon sninioscd lairncss. often known 

To be the dowry of a second head. 

The skull tliat tired tliem in the sepulchre. 

Thus ornament is but the gulled shore 

To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 

Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, 

The seeming trutli which cunning times put on 

To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 

Hard food for ]Midas, I will none of thee ; 

Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 

'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, 

AVhich rather threatenest than dost promise aught, 

Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence; 

And here choose I: joy be the conse(pience! 

For. [A.'iidc] How all the other passions lleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embniced despair. 
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy ! 

love. 

Be moderate ; allay thy ecstasy ; 

In measure rein thy joy ; scant this excess. 

1 feel too much thy blessing: make it less. 
For fear I surfeit. 

Bass. What find I here ? 

[Opening the leaden casket. 
Fair Portia's counterfeit I What denii-god 
Hath come so near creation ? ]\Iove these eyes ? 
Or whetlier, riding on the balls of mine, 
Seem they in motion '? Here are sever'd lips, 
Parted witli sugar breath : so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs 
The painter plays the spider and hath woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men 
Faster than gn.ats in cobwebs : but her eyes, — 
How Could 111' see to do them':' having made one, 
Methinks it should have power to steal both his 
And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far 
The sulistance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance. Here 's the scroll, 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 
[Read.-i] Yon that choose not by the view, 

Chance as fair and choose as true! 

Since this fortune falls to you. 

Be content and seek no new. 

If you be well pleased with this 

And hold your fortune for your bliss, 

Turn you where your lady is 

And claim her with a loving kiss. 
A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave ; 
T come by note, to give and to receive. 
Like one of two contending in a pi'ize. 
That thinks he hatli done well in people's e}'es, 
Hearing apiilanse and universal shout, 
fTiddy in s]iirit, still gazing in a doubt 
Whether tliose ]ieals of praise be his or no; 
So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so; 
As doubtful wliether what I see be true, 
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
For. You see me. Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 



ACT III. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE II. 



Such as I am : though for myself alone 

I would not be ambitious in "my wisli, 

To wish myself much better; yet, for you 

I would be trebled twenty times myself; 

A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 

More rich ; 

Tliat only to stand high in your account, 

1 might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 

Exceed account ; but the full sum of me 

Is sum of something, which, to term in gross. 

Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised; 

Happy in this, she is not yet so old 

But slie may learn; happier tlian tliis, 

She is not bred so dull but she lau learn ; 

Happiest of all is that lier gentle spirit 

Commits itself to j'ours to be directed, 

As from her lord, her governor, her king. 

Myself and what is mine to you and yours 

Is now converted: but now I was the lord 

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants. 

Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 

This house, these servants and this same myself 

Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring; 

Wliich when you part from, lose, or give away, 

Let it presage the ruin of your love 

And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 

Bass. Madam, you have bereft uie of all words, 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins ; 
And there is such confusiou in my powers, 
As, after some oration fairly spoke 
By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude; 
■\Vhere every something, being blent together, 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Expressed and not express'il. But when this ring 
Parts from this finger, then parts life from lience: 
O, then l)e hold to say Bassanio's dead! 

N(f. My lord and lady, it is now our time, 
That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, 
To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord aud lady! 

Lira. My lord Bassanio and "my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish ; 
For I am sure you can wisli none from me: 
Aud when your honours mean to soleuniize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseeuli you, 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so tliou canst get a wife. 

Gm. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: 
You saw the mistress, I belield the maid; 
You loved, I loved for interuiLssiou. 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the casket there, 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls ; 
For wooing here until I sweat again, 
Aud swearing till my very roof was dry 
"With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 
I got a promise of this fair one here 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achieved her mistress. 

Por. Is tliis true, Nerissa? 

Ner. Madam, it is, soyuu stand pleased withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiauo, mean good faith { 

Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much houour'd in your 
marriage. 

Gru. We'll play with them the first boy for a 
thousand ducats. 

Ker. What, and stake down ? [stake down. 

Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, aud 
But who comes here? Lorenzo and liis infidel 'i* 
What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio ? 

Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio, a Messcnqer 
from Venice. 
Brtfs. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither; 
If that the youth of my new interest here 
11 



Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, 
I bid my very friencis and countrymen. 
Sweet Portia, welcome. 

For. So do I, my lord : 

They are entirely welcome. 

Lor. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord. 
My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
But meeting with Salerio by the way, 
lie did intreat me, past all saying nay, 
To come with him along. 

Saler. I did, my lord; 

And I have reason for it. Signor Antonio 
Commends him to you. [Giiy^ B(i.s><((iiin a letter. 

Buss. Ere I opi- liis letter, 

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 

Saler. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; 
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there 
Will show you his estate. [come. 

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her wel- 
Your hand, Salerio : what "s the news from Venice V 
How doth tliat royal merchant, good xVntonio? 
I know he will be "glad of our success; 
^Ve are the .Jasons^ we have won the fleece. 

ISaler. I would you had won the fleece that he 
hath lost. [paper, 

Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon same 
That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek: 
Some dear friend dead ; else notliing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse! 
With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself. 
And I must freely have the half of anything 
Tliat this same paper brings you. 

Buss. O sweet Portia, 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
That ever Ijlotted paper! Gentle lady, 
When I did first impart mv love to you, 
I freely told you, all the w"ealth 1 had 
Ran in my vems, I was a gentleman; 
And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady, 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How nuich I was a braggart. AVhen I told you 
My state was nothing, I should then have told you 
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, 
I have engaged myself to a dear friend, 
Engaged mj' friend to his mere enemy. 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ; 
The paper as the body of my friend. 
And every word in it a aaping wouud. 
Issuing life-blood. But: is it true, Salerio ? 
Have all his ventures fail'd V What, not one hit ? 
From Tripolis. from Mexico and England, 
From Lisbon, Barbary and India V 
And not one vessel "scape tlie dreadful touch 
Of merchant-marring rocks ? 

Sahr. Not one, mv lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
The present money to discharge the .lew. 
He would not take it. Never did I know 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 
So keeu ami greedy to confound a man: 
He ]ilies the duke at morning aud at night. 
And ddtli impeaeh the freedom of the state, 
If they deny liim justice: twenty merchants, 
Tlie duke liiuiself, and the magnificoes 
Of greatest jiort, have all persuaded with him; 
But none can drive him from the envious plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice and liis bond. 

Jcs. Wlien I was with him I have heard him swear 
To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen. 
That lie would rather have Antonio's flesh 
Thau twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did (iwe him: and I know, my lord. 
If law, authority and power deny not,. 
It will go hard with poor Antonio. 

Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble ? 

Bass. The dearest friend to me„the kiudest man, 
101 



ACT III. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE IV. 



The best-conditioii'd and unwearied spirit 
In doing courtesies, and one in wlnom 
Tlie ancient Roman lionour more appears 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 

For. What sum owes lie the Jew V 

Bass. For me three tliousand ducats. 

For. Wliat, no more i* 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; 
Double six thousand, and then treble that, 
Before a friend of tliis description 
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. 
First go with me to churcli and call me wife, 
And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet smil. You shall have gold 
To pay the petty deljt twenty times over: 
When it is paid, bring your true friend along. 
My maid Nerissa and myself meantime 
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ! 
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer: 
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Bass. [Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all 
miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is 
very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since 
in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts 
iire cleared between you and I, if I might but see 
you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your 
pleasure : if your love do not persuade you to come, 
let not my letter. 

For. O love, dispatch all business, and be gone ! 

Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
I will make haste: but, till I come again, 

No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 
No rest be interposer 'tWixt us twain. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Fcmce. A street. 
Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio, and Gaoler. 

8hy. Gaoler, look to him : tell not me of mercy; 
This is the fool that lent out money gratis: 
Gaoler, look to him. 

Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 

Shy. I 'llhavemybond; speak not against niy bond; 
I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond. 
Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause ; 
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs: 
The duke shall grant" nie justice. I do wonder, 
Tlioii naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
To come abroad witli him at his request. 

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 

Shij. I '11 have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak: 
I 'U have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
1 11 not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool. 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 
I '11 have no speaking: I will have my bond. [Exit. 

Snlar. It is the most imj)enetrable cur 
That ever kept with men. 

Ant. Let him alone: 

I '11 follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
He seeks my life; his reason well I know: 
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
Many that have at times made moan to me; 
Therefore he hates me. 

Salar. I am sure the duke 

Will never grant tliis forfeiture to liokl. 

Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law ; 
For the commodity that strangers have 
With us in Venice, if it be denied, 
Will much impeach the justice of his state ; 
Since that the trade and profit of the city 
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
These griefs and losses have so bated me, 
That I sliall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
1G2 



Well, gaoler, on. Pray God , Bassanio come ] 

To see me pay his debt, and then I care not! [Exeunt. ', 

SCENE IV. — Belmmit. A room in Portia's house. ] 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and { 
Balthasar. 

Lw. Madam, although I siieak it in your presence, j 
You have a noble and a true e(_iueeit i 

Of god-like amity; whii-li appears most strongly ' 
In bearing thus the alisciicc 111 your lord. " ; 

But if you knew to whom you show this honour, ; 
How true a gentleman you send relief. j 

How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know you would be prouder of the work - j 

Thau customary bounty can enforce you. I 

For. I never did repent for doing good, ' 

Nor shall not uow : for in companions 
That do converse and waste the time together, i 
Wliose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, | 

There must be needs a like proportion \ 

Of liiieaniHuts, of manners and of spirit; i 

AVhieh makes nie think that this Antonio, | 

Being the liosom lover of my lord. 
Must needs be like my lord. If it be so, 
How little is the cost I have bestow'd 
In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
From out the state of hellish misery ! 
Tins comes too near the praising of mj'self ; 
Therefore no more of it : hear other things. ' 

Lorenzo, I commit into your hands ; 

The husbandry and manage of my house l 

Until my lord's return: for nune own part, 
I have toward heaven breatlied a secret vow 
To live in prayer and eimtemiilatiou, i 

Only attended liy Nerissa here. 
Until her husband and my lord's return: ■, 

There is a monastery two' miles off ; I 

And there will we abide. I do desire you . 

Not to deny this imposition ; 

The which my love and some necessity j 

Now lays upon you. ■ 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart; 

I shall obey you in all lair commands. ; 

For. My people do already know my mind, ^ 

And will acknowledge you and Jessica i 

In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. : 

And so farewell, till we shall meet again. i 

Lor. Fair thcuiglit sand happy hours attend on you! i 

Jcs. 1 wish your ladyship all heart's content. 

I'or. I thank you for your wisli, and am well pleased* 
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica. 

[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo.\ 
Now, Balthasar, ' 

As I have ever found thee honest-true, j 

So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, j 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man J 

In speed to Padua : see thou render this ^ 

Into my cousin's hand. Doctor Bellario ; j 

And,look,wliat notes and garments hedoth give thee,] 
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed 
Unto the tranect, to the common ferry j 

AVhich trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,] 
But get thee gone : I sliall be there before thee. 

Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed, i 

[Exit.- 

For. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand ! 
That you yet know not of: we '11 see our husbands ; 
Before they think of us. ■ 

N(-r. Shall they see us ? ; 

For. They shall, Nerissa; but iu sucli a habit, j 
That they sliall think we are accomplished ! 

With that we lack. I '11 hold thee any wager, ^ I 
When we<are both accoutred like young men, * 1 
I "II prove the prettier fellow of the two, ! 

And wear my dagger witli the braver grace, 
Aud speak between the change of man and boy 



ACT IV. 



THE 3IERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE I. 



"Witli a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps 

Into a manlj' stride, and speak of frays 

Like a fine brag-^^iiit; youtli, and tell (luaiut lies, 

How hononralile ladies snuiilit my love, 

Wliich I denyin.i;, they fell sick and died; 

I could not do witlial ; then I "11 repent. 

And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them ; 

And twenty of these puny lies I '11 tell, 

Tliat men shall sweaT I have discontinued school 

Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind 

A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 

Wliich I will practise. 

Ner. Why, shall v/e turn to men y 

For. Fie, what a question 's that, 
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ! 
But come, I '11 tell thee all my whole device 
"When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
At the park gate; and therefore haste away, 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. lE:ceunt. 

SCENE V. — Tlie same. A garden. 
Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 

Laun. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the 
father are to be laid upon the children : therefore, 
I promise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with 
you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: 
therefore be of good cheer", for truly I think you are 
dannied. There is but one hope in it that "can do 
yiui any good; and that is but a kind of bastard 
hope neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ? 

Lnun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father 
got you not, that you are not the Jew's daughter. 

.Jcs. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed : so 
tlie sins of my mother sliould be visited upon rne. 

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by 
father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your 
father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, 
you are gone both ways. 

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath 
made me a Christian. 

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he: we were 
Christians enow before ; e'en as many as could well 
live, one by another. Tliis making of Christians 
will raise the price of hogs : if we grow all to be 
pork-eaters, we shall not sliortly have a rasher on 
the coals for money. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

Jes. I '11 tell my husband, Launcelot, what you 
say : here he comes. 

Lor. I sliall grow jealous of you shortly, Launce- 
lot, if you thus get my wife into corners. 

Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo : Launce- 
lot and I are out. He tells me Hatly, there is no 
mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's 
daughter: and he says, you are no good member 



of the commonwealth, for in converting Jews to 
Christians, you raise the price of pork. 

Lor. I shall answer that better to the common- 
wealth that you can the getting up of the negro's 
belly: the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 

Laun. It is much that the Moor should be more 
than reason : but if slie be less than an honest wo- 
man, she is indeed more than I took her for. 

Lor. How every fool can play upon the wonll 
I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into 
silence, and discourse grow commendable in none 
only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare 
for dinner. 

Laun. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! 
then bid them prepare dinner. 

Laun. That is done too, sir; only ' cover ' is the 
word. 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir? 

Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. 

Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt 
thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant ? 
I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain 
meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover the 
table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to din- 
ner. 

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for 
the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming- 
in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and con- 
ceits shall govern. [Exit. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words ; and I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion. 
How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife ? 

Jes. Past all expressing. It is very meet 
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life ; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady. 
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth ; 
And if on earth he do not mean it, then 
In reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match 
And on the wager lay two earthly women. 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world 
Hath not her fellow. 

Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. 

Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 

Lor. I will anon: first, let us go to dinner. 

Jes. Nay, let me praise you wliile I have a stomach. 

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; 
Then, howsoe'er thou speak 'st, 'moug other things 
I shall digest it. 

Jes. Well, I '11 set you forth. [E.ccunt. 



.ACT IV". 



SCENE I. — Venice. A court of justice. 

Enter the Duke, the Magniflcoes, Antonio, 
Bassanio, Gratiano, Salerio, and others. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 

Ant. Ready, so please your grace. [swer 

Duke. I an"i sorry for thee : thou art come to an- 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of rnercy. 

Ant. I have heard 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate 



And that no ]a^\'ful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit. 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

/Setter. He is ready at the door : he comes, my lord. 

Enter Shylock. 
Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
Sh vlock, the world thinks, and I think so too, [face. 
Tliat thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice. 
To the last hour of act ; and then 't is thougiit 
163 



ACT IV. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE I, 



Thou 'It show thy mercy and remorse more strange 

Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ; 

And where thou now exact 'st the penalty, 

Wliich is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, 

Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, 

But, touch 'd with human gentleness and love. 

Forgive a moiety of tlie principal ; 

Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 

Tliat have of late so huddled on his back. 

Enow to press a royal merchant down 

And phirl; conimiseration of his state 

From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, 

From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train 'd 

To offices of tender courtesy. 

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. [pose ; 

Sliij. I liave posscss'd your grace of what I pur- 
And'by our holy Salibatli have I sworn 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon youi- charter and your city's freedom. 
You '11 ask me, why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion flesh than to receive 
Three thousand ducats : I '11 not answer that : 
But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd? 
What if my house be troubled witli a rat 
And 1 be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it Ijaned ? What, are you answer'd yet? 
Some men there are love not a gaping pig ; 
Some, that are mad if tliey l.ielinid a cat; 
And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose. 
Cannot conta in their urhie : for atfection, 
MistiTss of passion, swaj's it to the mood 
Of wiiat it lilves or loathes. Now, for your answer : 
As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
Why he, a harmless necessary cat; 
Why he, a woollen liag-pipts'but of force 
Must yield to such iiievilalile shame 
As to offend, himself lieing offended; 
So can I give no reason, nor I will not. 
More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing 
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man. 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. [swers. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my an- 

Bdss. Do all men kill tlip things they do not love ? 

Shtj. Hates any man tlie thing he would not kill ? 

Bliss. Every offence is not a hate at first. [twi(;e'? 

Shij. What,wouldsttliou have a serpent sting thee 

Ant. I pray j^ou, think you question with the Jew : 
You may as well go stand usion tlie lieach 
And bid the main flood tiate his usual lieight ; 
You may as well use question witli tlie wolf 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for tlie lamb; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag "their higli tops and to make no noise. 
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven; 
You may as well do any thing most hard, 
As seek to soften that — than which what's harder? — 
His JeAvish heart : therefore, I do beseech you. 
Make no more offers, use no farther means". 
But with all brief and plain conveniency 
Let me have judgment and the Jew liis will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thcuisand ducats 
Were in six parts and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them ; I would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering 
none ? [wrong ? 

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no 
You have among you many a purchased slave, 
Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules. 
You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
Because you bought them : shall I say to you, 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ? 
Why sweat they under "burthens ? let their beds 
164 



Be made as soft as yours and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer 
' The slaves are ours :' so do I answer you : 
The pound of flesh, wliich I demand of him, 
Is dearly bought : 't is mine and I will have it. 
If you deny me, fie upon your law I 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ? 

Dnke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 
AVhom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day. 

Saler. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man, cour- 
age yet ! 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all. 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for deatli: the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground ; and so let me : 
You cannot better be employed, Bassanio, 
Than to live still and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer^s clerk. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 

Ifer. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your 
grace. [Presentinij a letter. 

Bass. Wliy dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 
there. 

Ora. Xot on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou makest thy knife keen ; but no metal can, 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no lu-ayers pierce thee ? 

Shy. No, none that tluui hast wit enough to make. 

Ova. O, be th(m daniird, inexecrable dog I 
And for tliy life let justice be accused. 
Thou almost makest me waver in my faith 
To hold opinion with Pytliagoras, 
That .souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
Govern 'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet. 
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy imhallow'd dam. 
Infused itself in thee ; for thy desires 
Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst ra il 1 1 u ■ seal from oft' rnj^ bond, 
Thou but oflend'st thy lungs to speak so loud: 
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 

Duke. Tills letter from Bellario doth commend ] 
A young and learned doctor to our court. 
Where is he ? 

ISTcr. He attendeth here hard b^. 

To know your answer, whether you '11 admit him. 

Duke. With all my heart. Some three or four of 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place, [you 
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

Clerk. [Rccuh] Your grace shall understand that 
at the receipt of your letter I am very sick : liut in 
the instant that'your messenger came, in loving . 
visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome; 
his name is Baltliasar. I ac(iuainted him with the 
cause in ciuitmversy lietween the .Tew and Antonio 
the.merchunt : we turned o'er many books together: 
he is furnished with my opinion ; which, bettered 
with his own learning, the greatness whereof I can- 
not enough commend, comes witli him, at my im- 
portunity, to All up your grace's request in my stead. 
I beseech you, let liis lack of years be no impedi- 
ment to let him lack a reverend estimation ; for I 
never knew so young a body with so old a head. I ; 
leave him to your gi'acious acceptance, whose trial 
shall better publish his commendation. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE I. 



Diike. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he 
And here, I take it, is the doctor come. [writes : 

Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 
Give me your liand. Come you from old Bellario ? 

For. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquaiuted witli the difterenee 
That holds this present question in the court '? 

For. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and wliich the Jew ? 

Duke. Antonio aud old Shylock, both stand forth. 

For. Is your name Shylock ? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

For. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow: 
Yet in such rule that the Venetian law 
Cannot iminign you as you do pi'oceed. 
You stand within his danger, do you not ? 

Ant. Ay, so he says. 

For. Do you confess the bond ? 

Ant. I do. 

For. Then must tlie Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell uie that. 

For. The quality of mercy is not straiu"d, 
It drnppetli as the" gentle rain from heaven 
Upon tlic place beneath: it is twice blest; 
It l.ilesscth him that gives and him that takes: 
'T is mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown : 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
"Wherein dotli sit the dreail and "fear of kings; 
But mercy is abuve this sceptred sway; 
It is enthroned in tiie hearts of kings. 
It is an attribute to tioil himself; 
Aud eartlily power <lotIi then show likest God's 
"When mercy .seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this. 
That, "in the couj'se of justice, none of Us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
S.nd that same prayer dnth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
To mitigate tlie justice of thy plea; 
"Which if tliou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shij. My deeils upon my head! I crave the law. 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

For. Is lie not aVile to discharge the money? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
Yea, twice the sum ; if tliat will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
AV'rest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do" a little wrong. 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

For. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established: 
'T will be recorded for a precedent. 
And many an error by the same example 
"\Vill rusli into the state : it cannot be. 

Sh>/. A Daniel come to jmlgmeut ! yea, a Daniel ! 
O wise young judge, how I do honour thee I 

For. I pray you, let nie look upim the bond. 

Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend cloL-tor, here it is. 

For. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd 
thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I hiy perjiuy upon my soul ":* 
Xo, not for Venice. 

For. '^Vhy, this bond is forfeit ; 

And law'fully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of lles'h, to be by him eiit off 
JJearest the merehaut's heart. Be merciful : 
Take thrice tliy money; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tencjur. 



It doth appear you are a worthy judge ; 

You know the law, your exposition 

Hath lieen most sound: I charge you by the law. 

Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 

Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear 

There is no power in the tongue of man 

To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

For. Why then, thus it is: 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

For. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty. 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

^7),;/. 'T is very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
How" much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

For. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast : 

So .says the bond : doth it not, noble judge '? 
' Nearest his heart : ' those are the very words. 

For. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
The tlesh ? 

.S7((/. I have them ready. [charge. 

For. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond '^ 

Fiir. It is not so express 'd: but what of that ? 
'T were good you do so much for charity. 

iS7/;/. I cannot find it ; 't is not in the ijond. 

For. You, merchant, have you any thing to say ? 

Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well prep; red. 
Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for j-ou; 
For lierein Fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 
An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
Of sucli misery doth she cut me off. 
Conunend meto your honourable wife: 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 
Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Bepent but you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For if the .Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I '11 pay it presently with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, 1 am married to a wife 
Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy lite: 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. [that. 

For. Your wife would give you little thanks tor 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love: 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 

Xrr. 'T is well 5'ou offer it behind her back; 
The wish would iiiakn else an unciuiet house. 

,S7/'/. Tliese be the Christian husbands. I have a 
AVou'ld any of the stock of Barrabas [daugliter; 
Had been her husband rather thau a Cluistian ! 

[Aside. 
We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

For. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is 
thine: 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shif. Most rightful judge ! [breast : 

For. And you must cut this flesh from off his 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Jlost learned judge! A sentence! Come, pre- 
pare ! 

For. Tarry a little ; there is something else. 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
165 



ACT IV. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE I. 



The words expressly are ' a pound of flesh : ' 

Take then thy bond, take thon thy pound of flesh; 

But, in the cutthig it, if thou dost shed 

One drop of Christian blood, thy lauds and goods 

Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 

Unto the state of Venice. D'udge ! 

Gra. O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned 

Shy. Is that the law ? 

For. Thyself shalt see the act : 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

Qra. O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned 
judge! 

Slvj. I take this offer, theu ; pay the bond thrice 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

For. Soft! 
The Jew shall have all justice ; soft ! no haste : 
He shall liave nothing imt the pL^nalty. 

Gra. O Jew I an npriglit judge, a learned judge! 

For. Therefore preiwre thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more 
But just a pound of flesh: if thou cufst more 
Or less than a just pound, be it but so much 
As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, 
Thou diest and all tliy goods are confiscate. 

Grra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! 
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. [feiture. 

For. AVhy doth the Jew pause ? take thy for- 

Shij. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bass. I have it ready for tliee; here it is. 

For. He hath refused it in the open court : 
He shall have merely justice and his bond. 

Gva. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me tliat word. 

SJiy. Shall 1 not have barely my principal y 

For. Tliou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

>57i.'/. ^Vhy, then the devil give him good of it ! 
I '11 stay no longer question. 

For. Tarry, Jew: 

Tlie law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be proved against an alien 
Tliat by direct or indirect attempts 
He seek the life of any citizen, i^ 

The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
Sliall seize one-half his goods; the other half 
Comes to tiie privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In wliii-h ]irei!ieameut, I say, thou stand'st; 
I"or it ajipears, liy luauilest proceeding, 
That indirectly and directly too 
Thou hast contrived against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and lliou hast incurr'd 
Tlie danger formerly by me reliearsed. 
Down therefore and" beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang 
thyself: 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the vahie of a cord; 
Therefore thou must be haug"d at the state's charge. 

Bale. Tliat thou shalt see the difference of our 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: [spirits, 
For half tliy wealth, it is Antonio's; 
The other half conies to the general state, 
AVhich humbleness may drive unto a tine. 

For. Ay, for the state, not for Antimio. 

Shi/. >;ay, take my lile and all; pardon not that: 
You take my house when you <lii take the prop 
That doth sustain my house; you take my life 
AVhen you do take tlie means whereby I live. 

For. What mercy can you render him, Autonio ':' 
106 



Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's s^jike. 

Ant. So please my lord the duke and all the court 
To quit the fine for one-half of his goods, 
I am content ; so he will let me have 
The other half in use, to render it, 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his (laughter: 
Two things provided nidre, that, for this favour, 
He presently become a Christian; 
The other, that he do record a gift. 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd. 
Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 

Dule. He shall do this, or else 1 do recant 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. [say? 

For. Art thou contented, Jew ':' what dost thou 

Shy. I am content. 

For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shi/. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; 
I am' not well : send the deed after me, 
And I will sign it. 

Bake. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening shalt thou have two god- 
fathers : 
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more. 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 

[Exit Shylock. 

BiAc. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

For. I humlily do desire }'Our grace of pardon: 
I must away tliis night toward Padua, 
And it is meet 1 presently set forth. 

Buke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman. 
For, iu my n.ind, you are niucli boimd to him. 

[Exeunt Bake and his train. 

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
Have by your wisilein been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof. 
Three thousand ducats, due uido the Jew, 
AVe freely cope your courteous pains withal. 

Ant. And stand indebted, over and above. 
In love and service to you evermore. 

For. He is well paid that is well satisfied; 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied 
And therein do account myself well paid : 
jMy mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you, know me when we meet again: 
I wisli you well, and so I take my leave. 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you ■ 
further : 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, 
Xot as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you, 
Xot to deny me, and to pardon me. [yield. 

For. You press me far, and therefore I wiU 
[To Ant.] Give me your gloves, I '11 wear them for 

your sake ; 
[To Bass.] And, for your love, I 'II take this ring 

from you : 
Do not draw back your hand ; I '11 take no more ; 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle! 
I will not shame myself to give you this. 

For. I will have jidHiing else but only this; 
And now methinks I have a mind to it. [value. 

Bass. There 's more depends on this than on the 
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
And find it out by proclamation : 
Only for this, I pi'ay you, pardon me. ' 

For. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers: ' 

You taught me first to beg ; and now methinks 
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. ^ 

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my 
And when she put it on, she made me vow [wife; 
That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it. 

For. That 'sense serves many men to save their , 
gifts. 
An if your wife be not a mad-woman. 
And know how well I have deserved the ring. 



ACT V. 



THE 3IERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE I. 



She would not hold out enemy for ever, 

For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! 

[Ejxiud Portia and Kcris^a. 

Ant. My Lord Bassauio, let him have the ring : 
Let his desiTviiin's and my love withal 
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 

Bass. Go, Gratiauo, run and overtake him; 
Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst, 
"J uto Antonio's house: away! malie haste. 

[Exit Gratiano. 
Come, you and I will ^liither presently ; 
And in the morning early will we both 
Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The same. A street. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
Por. Inquire tlie .Jew's house out, give him this 
And let him sign it : we 'H away ti>-uight [deed 
And be a day before our husbands liome: 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 



Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'eu: 
My Lord Bassauio upon more advice 
Ilath sent you here tliis ring, and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. 

Por. That cannot be : 

Ilis ring I do accept most thaukfully : 
And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore, 
I pray you, show my youth oldShylock's house. 

Gra. That wUl I do. 

A^cr. Sir, I would speak with you. 

[Aside to Por.] I '11 see if I can get my husband's ring, 
Which I did make him swear to keep for e\i'r. 

Por. [Aside to Ner.] Thou mayst, I warrant. 
We shall have old swearing 
That they did give the rings away to men ; 
But we '11 outface them, and outswear tliem too. 
[Aloud.] Away! make luiste: thou know'st where I 
will tarry. [house y — Exeunt. 

Ker. Come, good sir, will you show me to this 



^CT ^. 



SCENE I. — Belmont. Avenue to Portia''s house. 

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines bright: in such a night 
as this, 
AVhen the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees 
And tliey did make no noise, in such a night 
Troilus nietliiuks nioimted llie Troyan walls 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
WhereX'ressid lay that night. 

Jes. In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Lor. In such a night 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
L'pon tlie wild sea banks and waft her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night 

liledea gather 'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old iSson. 

Lor. In such a night 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
As far as Belmont. 

Jes. In such a night 

Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well, 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor. In such a night 

Did pretty .Jessica, like a little shrew. 
Slander lier love, and he forgave it her. 

■Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come; 
But, hark, 1 hear the footing of a man. 

Enter Stephano. 

Lor. AVho comes so fast iu silence of the night '? 

Steph. A friend. 

Lor. A friend ! what friend ? your name, I pray 
you, friend? 

Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word 
My mistress will before the break of day 
Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about 
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
For happy wedlock hours. 

Lor. Who comes with her ? 

Steph. iS'one but a holy hermit and lier maid. 
I pray you, is my master yet return'd V 

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. 
But go we iu, I pray thee, Jessica, 



And ceremoniously let us prepare 

Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 

Enter Launcelot. 

Laun. Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho ! sola, sola ! 

Lor. Who calls ? 

Laun. Sola ! did you see Master Lorenzo ? Mas- 
ter Lorenzo, sola, sola! 

Lor. Leave hollaing, man: here. 

Laun. Sola! where!' where'? 

Lor. Here. 

Laun. Tell him there's a post come from my 
master, with his horn iulltif good news : my master 
will be here ere morning. [Exit. 

Lor. Sweet soul, let 's in, and there expect their 
coming. 
And yet no matter : why should we go in ? 
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand; 
And bring your music forth into the air. 

[Exit Stephana. 
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! 
Here will we sit and 1ft the sdunds ni music 
Creep iu our ears: soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica. Look how tlie floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold : 
There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubius; 
Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
But wliilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

Elder Musicians. 
Come, hoi and wake Diana with a hymn: 
AVith sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear 
And draw her liome with music. [Music. 

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: 
For do but note a wild and wanton lierd. 
Or race of youthful and uuhandled ciiUs, 
Fetching mad bounds, Ijellowiug and neighing loud. 
Which is the hot condition of their lilodil; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound. 
Or any air of music touch their ears, 
You shall perceive them make a nnitual stand, 
Tlieir savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
By the sweet power of music : therefore the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods ; 
167 



ACT V. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE r. 



Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds. 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ; 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night 
And his affections dark as Erebus : 
. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. That light we see is burning in my hall. 
How far that little candle throws his beams! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the 
candle. 

For. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
A substitute shines brightly as a king 
Until a king be by, and then his state 
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Music! hark! 

Ner. It is your nmsic, madam, of the house. 

For. Nothing is good, I see, without respect: 
Methiuks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

For. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark 
When neither is attended, and I think 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 
How many things by season seasoned are 
To their right praise and true perfection ! 
Peace, ho ! the moon sleeps with Eudymion 
And would not be awaked. [Mmic ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice. 

Or I am much deceived, of Portia. [cuckoo, 

For. He knows me as the blind man knows the 
By the bad voice. 

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 

For. We have been praying for our husbands' 
healths. 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
Are they return 'd V 

Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 

But there is come a messenger before. 
To signify their coming. 

For. Go in, Nerissa; 

Give order to my servants that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. 

[^1 tucket sounds. 

Lor. Your husband is at hand; Ihearhis trumpet : 
We are no tell-tak's, iikhUuu; fear you not. 

For. Tills night i net 1 links isbut the daylight sick; 
It looks a little puler : 't is a day 
Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their 
followers. 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

For. Let me give light, but let me not be light; 
For a light wife doth hiake a heavy husband. 
And never be Bassanio so for me : [lord. 

But God sort all! Your are welcome home, my 

Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to ray 
This is the man, this is Antonio; [friend. 

To whom I am so iiifiniti'ly bound. 

For. You should in all sense be much bound to 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. [him. 

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 

For. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
It must appear in other ways than words. 
Therefore I scant this lireatliing courtesy. 

Gra. [To JSfer.] By yonder moon I swear you do 
In faith, I gave it to t lie j lulge's clerk : [me wrong ; 
Would he were gelt tluit iiad it, for my part, 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 
168 



For. A quarrel, ho, already ! what 's the matter i* 

Ch-a. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me, whose posy was 
For all the world like cutler's poetry 
Upon a knife, ' Love me, and leave me not.' 

Ner. AVhat talk you of the posy or the value ? 
You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
That you would wear it till your hour of death 
And that it should lie with you in your grave: 
Though not tor me, yet for your vehement oaths. 
You should have been respective and have kept it. 
Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God 's my judge, 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on 's face that had it. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy. 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk, 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee; 
I could not for my heart deny it him. 

For. You were to Ijlame, I must be plain with you. 
To part so sliglitly with your wile's tirst gift ; 
A thing stu<-k on with oaths upon your finger 
And so'riveted witli faith unto yoiir tlesh. 
I gave my love a ring and made liiia swear 
Never to part with it; and here he stands; 
I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief: 
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 

-Bass. [.4stdc] Why, I were best to cut my left 
And swear I lost the ring defending it. [hand off, 

Gra. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed 
Deserved it too ; and then the boy, his clerk. 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine; 
And neither man nor master would take aught 
But the two rings. 

For. What ring gave you, my lord ? 

Not that, I hope, which you received of me. 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
I would deny it; but you see my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it ; it is gone. 

For. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
Until I see the ring. 

Ner. Nor I in yours 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave tlie ring, 
If you dill kiiiiw for wliom I gave the ring. 
And wiiuld eoiieeive tor wliat I gave the ring, 
And how umvilliiigly I left the ring, 
V/hen nought would be accepted but the ring, 
You would abate tlie strength of your displeasure. 

For. If you liad known the virtue of the ring. 
Or half her wurtliiness that gave the ring, 
Or your own Iionour to contain the ring. 
You would not tlien have jiarted with tlie ring. 
AVIiat man is tlieie so niueh iiiireasouable. 
If you had pleased to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
To urge the tiling held as a eereniony ? 
Nerissa ti'aehes me what to believe: 
I '11 die for "t but some woman had the ring. 

Bass. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, 
No woman had it, but a civil doctor. 
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me 
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him 
And sutfer'd him to go displeased away; 
Even lie that did upliold tlie very life 
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady ? 
I was enforced to send it after liini ; 
I was beset with shame and courtesy ; 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady ; 



ACT V. 



THE 3rERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCEjSTE I. 



For, by these Messed candles of the niglit, 

Had j'ou been there, I think you woulil liave begg'd 

The ring of me to give tlie wortliy doctor. 

ror. Let not that doctor e"er come near my house: 
vSinee lie hath got the jewel that I loved. 
And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you: 
I '11 not deny him any thing I have, 
Ko, not my "body nor my husband's bed: 
Know him I shall, 1 am well sure of it : 
Lie not a night from home ; watch me like Argus : 
If you do not, if I be left alone, 
Now, by mine honour, whieh is yet mine own, 
I '11 have that doctor for my bedfellow. 

Xcr. And I his clerk ; therefore be well advised 
How you do leave me to mine own protection. 

Gra. Well,do }-ou so: let not me take him, then; 
For if I do, I '11 mar the young clerk's pen. 

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 

For. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome not- 
withstanding. 

-Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforceil wrong; 
And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
■\Vhereiu I see myself — 

Par. Mark .you but that ! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees iiimself ; 
In each ej-e, one: swear by your double self, 
And there 's an oath of credit. 

Bass. Nay, but liear me : 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear 
I never more will break iin oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth; 
"Which, but for him that iiad your husband's ring, 
Had quite miscarried : I dare l)e bound again, 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
"Will never more break faith advisedly. 

For. Then you shall be his surety, tiive him this 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 

Ant. Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. 

J3ass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor ! 

For. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; 
For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. 

Nir. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
For that same scrubbed boy, tlie doctor's clerk, 
In lieu of this last night did lie with me. 

Gra. "Why, this is like the mending of highways 



In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 
What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it? 

For. Speak not so grossly. You are all amazed: 
Here is a letter; read it atj-our leisure; 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario: 
There yon shall find that Portia was the doctor, 
Xerissa there her clerk: Lorenzo here 
Shall witness I set forth as soon as jou 
And even but now returu'd; I have not yet 
Enter "d my house. Antonio, you are welcome; 
And I have better news in store for you 
Than you expect : unseal this letter "soon ; 
There you shall find three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly: 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 

Ant. I am dumb. 

Bass. AVere you the doctor and I knew you not ? 

Gr«. Were you the clerkthatisto make mecuckold? 

Neri Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, 
Unless he live until he be a man. 

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow: 
"When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 

Ant. Sweet lady, you liave given me life andliving; 
For here I read for certain that my sliips 
Are safely- come to road. 

For. How now, Lorenzo! 

ily clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 

Ker. Ay, and I '11 give them him without a fee. 
There do I give to you and Jessica, 
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, 
After his death, of all lie dies possess'd of. 

Lnr. Fair ladies, you drop manna m the way 
Of starved people. 

For. It is almost morning, 

And yet I am sure you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full. Let us go in; 
And charge us there upon inter'gatories, 
And we will answej- all things faithfully. 

Gra. Let it be so: the first inter'gatory 
That my Xerissa shall be sworn on is, 
Whether till the next night she had rather stay, 
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day : 
But were the day come, I should wish it dark, 
Tliat I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
"W^ell, while I live I "11 fear no other thing 
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. {Exeunt. 




Solcinio. — I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
As the dog Jew did utter in the street.s : 
" My daughter I — O my ducats ! — O my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian ! — my Christian ducats! 
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 

Act II., Scene viii. 



169 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



DRAMATIS FERSON^E. 



Duke, living in banishment. 

Frederick, his brother, and usurper of his dominions. 

Amiens, I ^^^^^ attending on tlie banished duke. 

Jaques, J 

Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. 

Ctiarles, wrestler to Frederick. 

Oliver, I 

Jaques, >- sons of Sir Rowland de Boys. 

Orlando, ] 

Adam, | 

Dennis, i 

Touchstone, a clown. 

Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar. 



^ servants to Oliver. 



C""''' "I shepherds. 
Silvius, i ' 

William, a country fellow, in love with Audrey. 

A person rejjresenting Hymen. 

Rosalind, daughter to the banished duke. 

Celia, daughter to Frederick. 

Phebe, a shepherdess. 

Audrey, a country wench. 

Lords, pages, attendants, &e. 

SCENE — Oliver^s house; Duke Frederick's court; and 
the Forest of Arden. 



[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, see Page XLVIll.] 



A.CT 

SCENE I. — Orchard of OUver''s house. 
Enter Orlando and Adam. 
Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this 



I. 



fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a tiiousaud 
cro-\vus, and, as thou sayest. rliarncd my brother, 
on his blessing, to breed nir well : uud there begins 
my sadness. iVIy brother Jaiiucs he keeps at school, 
and report speaks goldenly of Ins profit : for my 
part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak 
nnu'e properly, stays me liere at liome unlcept; for 
call you that "keeping for a gentleman of my birth, 
that differs not from tlie stalling of an ox y His 
horses are bred l.)etter; for, besides that they are 
fair with their feeding, they are taught their man- 
age, and to that end riders de;niy hired : but I, his 
brother, gain notliing under him but growth; for 
the which his animals on his dunghills are as much 
biinnd to him as I. Besides this nothing that he 
so plentifully gives me, the something tliat nature 
gave me liis countenance seems to take fnnn me: 
iie lets me feed with his hinds, bars nie tlic [dace of 
a brother, and, as mucli as in him lies, nunes my 
gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, 
that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, which 
I think is within me, begins to mutiny against f his 
servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I 
know no wise remedy how to avoid it. 

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how 
he will shake me up. 

Enter Oliver. 

OH. Now, sir! what make you liere? 

Orl. Nothing: lam not taught to make anything. 

OK. What mar you then, sir? 

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 
which God made, a poor unworthy "brother of yours, 
with idleness. 

OK. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught 
awhile. 

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with 
them y What jirodigal portion have I spent, that I 
should come to such penury ? 
170 



OH. Know you where you are, sir ? 

Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 

OH. Know you before whom, sir? 

Orl. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. 
I hnow you are my eldest brother; and, in the gen- 
tle condition of blood, you should so know me. 
The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in 
that you are the flrst-born; but the same tradition 
takes not away my blood , were t liere twenty brothers 
betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as 
you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is 
nearer to liis reverence. 

OIL What, boy! 

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young 
in this. 

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ? 

Orl. I am no villain ; I am the youngest son of 
Sir Rowland de Boys ; he was my father, and he is 
thrice a villain that says such a father Ijegot vil- 
lains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take 
this hand from thy throat till this other had pulled 
out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on 
thyself". 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient: for your fa- 
ther's remembrance, be at accord. 

Oli. Let me go, I say. 

Orl. I will not, till 1 please: you shall hear me. 
My father charged you in his will to give me good 
education : yon have trained me like a peasant, ob- 
scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qual- 
ities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, 
and I will no longer endure it : therefore allow me 
such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give 
me tlie jioor allottery my father left me by testa- 
ment; witli that I will go buy my fortunes. 

OU. And what wilt thou do? "beg, when that is 
spent'? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be 
troubled with you ; you shall have some part of your 
will : I pray you, leave me. 

Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes 
me for my good. 

OH. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is 'old dog ' my reward? Most true, I 
have lost my teeth in your service. God be with 



ACT I. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCEi^E II. 



my old Blaster! he would not liave spoke such a 
word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 

OIL Is it even so ? begin j'ou to grow upon me ? 
I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand 
crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! 

Enter Dennis. 

Den. Calls your worship '? 

Oli. Was not CJiarles, the duke's wrestler, here 
to speak witli me 'f 

Jjen. So please you, he is here at the door and 
importunes access to you. 

OU. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.] 'T will be a good 
way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 

Enter Charles. 

Clta. Good morrow to your worship. 

on. Good MoiLsieur Charles, what 's the new 
news at the new court V 

Cha. There 's no news at the court, sir, but the 
old news: tliat is, the old duke is banished by his 
younger brother the new duke ; and three or four 
loving lords have put themselves into voluntary ex ile 
with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new 
duke ; therefore lie gives t hem good leave to wander. 

OH. Can you tell if Ilosalind, the duke's daughter, 
be banished with her father V 

Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, 
so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred to- 
gether, that she would have followed her exile, or 
have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, 
and no less beloved of her uncle than his own 
daughter: and never two ladies loved as they do. 

OIL Where will the old duke liveV 

Cha. Tliey say he is already in the forest of Arden, 
and a many merry men with liim; and there they 
live like the old liobin Hood of England : they say 
many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and 
fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden 
world. 

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the 
new iluke v 

Chit. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint 
you witli a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to 
understand that your younger brother Orlando hath 
a disposition to come in disguised against me to try 
a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ; and 
he that escapes me without some broken limb shall 
acquit him well. Your brother is but young and 
tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil 
him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in : 
tlierefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to 
acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him 
from liis intendment or brook such disgrace well as 
he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own 
search and altogether against my will. 

OH. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, 
which thou slialt find I will most kindly requite. I 
had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein 
and hiive by underhand merr.is laboured to dissuade 
him from it, but lie is resolute. I '11 tell thee, 
Cliarles: it is tlie stubbornest young fellow of 
France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of 
every man's good parts, a secret and villanous con- 
triver against me his natural brother: therefore 
use thy discretion ; I had as lief thou didst break 
his neck as his linger. And thou wert best look 
to 't: for if thou dost him any slight disgrace or if 
lie do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will 
practise against thee by poison, entrap thee t)y some 
treacherous device and never leave thee till he hath 
ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, 
I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there 
is not one so young and soviUanousthis day living. 
I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anato- 
mize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep 
and thou must look pale and wonder. 



Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If 
he come to-morrow, I'll give him liis paynient: if 
ever he go alone again, I '11 never wrestle for prize 
more : and so God keep your worship ! 

OH. Farewell, good Charles. [Exit Cliarles.'] Now 
will I stir this gamester : I hope I shall see an end 
of him; for my soul, yet I know not wliy, liates 
nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never 
schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of 
all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much 
in the heart of the world, and esiiecially of my own 
people, who best know him, that I aiii altogether 
misprised : but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler 
shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle 
the boy thither; which now I '11 go about. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Lawn before the Dul-e''s palace. 
Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 

lias. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I ain 
mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier':' 
Unless you could teach me to forget a banished 
father, you must not learn me how to rememlier 
any extraordinary pleasure. 

Cel. Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full 
weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished 
father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, 
so tliou hadst been still with me, I could have taught 
my love to take thy fatlier for mine: so wouklst 
thou, if the truth of tliy love to me were so right- 
eously tempered as mine is to thee. 

Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my es- 
tate, to rejoice in yours. 

Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, 
nor none is like to have : and, truly, when he dies, 
thou shall be his heir, for what he hath taken away 
from thy father perforce, I will render thee again 
in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I 
break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, 
my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be meriy. 

Rfis. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise 
sports. Let me see : what think you of falling in love':' 

Cel. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal : 
but love no iiian in good earnest; nor no further in 
sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou 
mayst in honour come off again. 

lios. What shall be our sport, then ? 

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife For- 
tune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth 
be bestowed equally. 

Rim. I would we could do so, for lier benefits are 
mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman 
dotli most mistake in her gifts to women. 

Cel. 'T is true; for those that she makes fair she 
scarce makes honest, and those that she makes 
honest she makes very ill-favouredly. 

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's ofHce 
to Natm-e's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, 
not in the lineaments of >iature. 

Enter Touchstone. 

Cel. No ? when Nature hatli made a fair creature, 
may she not by Fortune fall into the fire ':" Though 
Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath 
not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument ':' 

Ros. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Na- 
ture, when Fortune makes Nature's uatm'al the 
cutter-off of Nature's wit. 

Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work 
neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth our natural 
wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath 
sent this natural for our whetstone ; for always the 
dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. 
How now, wit ! whither wander you ':' [father. 

Tnueh. Jlistress, you must come away to yoiu: 

Cd. 'Were you made the messenger':' 
171 



ACT I. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE II. 



Touch. Ko, by mine honour, but I was bid to come 
for you. 

lios. Wliere learned you that oath, fool? 

Touch. Of a certain knight that swore by his 
honour they were good pancakes and swore by his 
honour tlie mustard was nauglit : now I '11 stand to 
it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was 
good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. 

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
your knowledge y 

Eos. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. 

Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your 
chins, and swear' by your beards that I am a knave. 

Cel. By our beards, if we had them, tliou art. 

Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; 
but if you swear by thiit that is not, you are not 
forsworn: no more was tliis knight, swearing by 
his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, lie 
had sworn it away before ever he saw those pan- 
cakes or th.at mustard. 

Cel. Prithee, wlio is 't that thou meanest ? 

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. 

Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him: 
enough! speak no more of him; you '11 be whipped 
for taxation one of tliese days. 

Touch. Tlie more pity, that fools may not speak 
wisely what wise men do foolishly. 

Cel. By my troth, thou sayest true ; for since the 
little wit that fools have was silenced, the little 
foolery tliat wise men have makes a great show. 
Here comes iMousieur Le Beau. 

JioH. With his mouth full of news. [young. 

Cel. AVliich he will put on us, as pigeons feed their 

lios. Tlien shall we be news-craniined. [able. 

Cel. All the better; we shall be the more market- 

Enter Le Beau. 
Bon jour. Monsieur Le Beau : what 's the news ? 

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good 

Cel. Sport ! of what colour ? [sport. 

Le Beau. What colour, madam ! how shall I answer 

lios. As wit and fortune will. [you? 

Touch. Or as the Destinies decree. 

Cel. Well said : that was laid on with a trowel. 

Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, — 

Bos. Thou losest thy old smell. 

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have 
told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the 
sight of. 

lios. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning; and, if it 
please your ladyslnps. you may see the end; for the 
best is yet to do ; and here, where you are, they are 
coming to perl'orin it. 

Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man and his three 
sons,— 

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. 

Le Beau. Tliree proper young men, of excellent 
growth and presence. 

lios. Witli bills on their necks, ' Be it known unto 
all men by these presents.' 

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
Cliarles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a 
moment tlirew liiin and Ijroke three of his ribs, that 
there is little hnpc of life in him: so he served the 
second, and so tlie tliird. Yonder they lie ; the poor 
old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over 
them that all the beholders take his part with weep- 

lios. Alas! [ing. 

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the 
ladies have lost V 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 

Touch. Tlius men may grow wiser everyday: it 
is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs 
was sport for ladies. 

Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 
172 



lios. But is there any else longs to see this broken 
music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon 
rib-breaking ? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ? 

Le Beau. You must, it you stay here; for here is 
the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are 
ready to perform it. 

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now 
stay and see it. 

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Or- 
lando, Charles, oik? Attendants. 

Bulce F. Come on : since the youth will not be 
entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 

lios. Is yonder the man ? 

Le Beau. Even he, madam. [fully. 

Cel. Alas, he is too young! yet he looks success- 

I)uke F. How now, daughter and cousin ! are you 
crept hither to see the wrestling ? 

Bos. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. 

I)uke F. You will take little delight in it, I can 
tell you ; there is such odds in the man. In pity 
of the challenger's youth I would fain dissuade 
him, but he will not "be entreated. Speak to him, 
ladies; see if you can move him. 

Cel. Call him hitlier, good Monsieur Le Beau. 

Duke F. Do so : I '11 not be by. 

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses 
call for you. 

Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty. 

Bos. Y'oung man, have you challenged Charles 
the wrestler ? 

Orl. No, fair princess; he Is the general chal- 
lenger: I come but in, as others do^ to try with 
him the strength of my youth. 

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold 
for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this 
mail's strength : if you saw yourself with your eyes 
or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of 
your adventure would counsel you to a more equal 
enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to 
embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. 

Bos. Do, j'oung sir; your reputation .sliall not 
therefore be misprised : we will make it our suit to 
the duke that the wri slling might not go forward. 

Orl. I beseech you, punisli me not witli your liard 
thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to 
deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But 
let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to 
my trial : wherein if I be foiled, there is but one 
shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one 
dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my friends 
no wrong, for I have none to lament me, tlie world 
no injury, for in it I have notliing; oiily in the 
world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied 
when I have made it empty. 

Bos. The little strength that I have, I would it 
were with you. 

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. [in you! 

Bos. Fare you well : pray heaven I be deceived 

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you ! 

Cha. Come, where is this young "gallant that is 
so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? 

Orl. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a more 
modest working. 

Duke F. Yoii shall try but one fall. 

Cha. No, I warrant your grace, you shall not en- 
treat him to a second", that have so mightily per- 
suaded him from a first. 

Orl. An you mean to mock me after, you should 
not have mocked me before : but come your ways. 

Bos. Now Hercules be thy speed, young man! 

Cel. I woidd I were invisible, to catch the strong 
fellow by the leg. [They wrestle. 

Bos. O excellent young man ! 

Cel. If I had a thumierhoU in mine eye, I can 
tell who should down. [Shout. Charles is thrown, 

Duke F. No more, no more. 



ACT I. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE III, 



Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet 
well breathed. 

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? 

Lc Bean. He caunot speak, my lord. 

Bake F. Bear him away. What is thy name, 
young man ? 

Ovl. Orlando, my liege ; the yoimgest son of Sir 
Rowland de Boys. [man else : 

Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some 
The world esteem'd thy father honourable, 
But I did thul him still mine enemy: [deed. 

Thou slioiddst have better pleased me with this 
Halst thou descended from another house. 
But fare tliee well ; thou art a gallant youth : 
I would thou hadst told me of another father. 

[Kccunt Duke Fred., train, and Le Beau. 

CcL Were I my father, coz, would I do this V 

Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son. 
His youngest son ; and would not change that eall- 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. [ingi 

Bos. My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, 
And all tlie world wasof my fatlier's mind : 
Had I bef(in^ known this young man his son, 
I sliould have given him tears unto entreaties, 
Ere he should thus have ventured. 

Cel. Gentle cousin, 

Let us go thank him and encourage him : 
My father's rough and envious disposition 
Sticks me at lieart. Sir, you have well deserved : 
If you do keep your promises in love 
But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, 
Yoiu- mistress shall be happy. 

Bos. Gentleman, 

[Giving him a diainfrom her neck. 
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune. 
That could give more, but that her hand lacks 
Sliall we go, coz V [means. 

Ccl. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. 

Orl. Can I not say, I thank youV My better 

parts [up 

Are all tlirown dowm, and that wliieh here stands 

Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block, [fortunes ; 

Bos. He calls us back: my pride fell with my 
I '11 ask him what he would. "Did you call, sir ? 
Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown 
More than your enemies. 

Cel. Will you go, coz? 

Bos. Have with you. Fare you well. 

[Exeunt Bosalind and Celia. 

Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my 
tongue ? 
I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. 
O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown ! 
Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. 

Be-enter Le Beau. 

Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you 
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved 
High commendation, true applause and love. 
Yet such is now the duke's comlition 
That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
Tlie duke is humorous! what lie is indeed, 
ISIore suits you to conceive than I to speak of. 

Orl. I thank you, sir : and, pray 3'ou, tell me this ; 
Which of the two was daughter of the duke 
That here was at the wrestling ? [manners ; 

Le Beau. Xeither his daughter, if we judge by 
But yet indeed the lesser is his (laughter: 
The other is daughter to tlie banisli'd duke. 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle. 
To keep his daughter company ; wliose loves 
Are dt'urer tliaii the natural bdiid of sisters. 
But I can tell you tliat of late tliis duke 
Hath ta'eii <lispleasure 'gainst his gentle niece. 
Grounded upon no other argument 
]5ut that the jieople praise her for her virtues 
And pity her for her good father's sake ; 



And, on my life, his malice "gainst the lady 
AVill suildfiily lireak forth. Sir. tare you well: 
Hereafter, in a lietter world than tliis, 
I sliall desire more love and knowledge of you. 
Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well. 
[Exit Le Beau. 
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother ; 
From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother: 
But heavenly Rosalind I [Exit. 

SCENE III.— A room in the palace. 

Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. Why^ cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have 
have mercy ! not a word ?" 

Bos. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 
away upon curs; throw some of them at me ; come, 
lame me with reasons. 

Bos. Then there were two cousins laid up : when 
the one should be lame with reasons and the other 
mad without any. 

Cel. But is all' this for your father? 

Bos. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, 
how full of briers is this working-day world ! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, tllro^^•n upon th.ee 
in lioliday foolery : if we walk not in the trodden 
paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 

Bos. I could shake them off my coat : these burs 
are in my heart. 

Cel. liem them away. Piim. 

Bos. I would try, if I could cry ' hem ' and have 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with tliy affections. 

Bos. O, they take the part of a better wrestler 
than myself ! 

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in 
time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these je.sts 
out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it 
possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so 
strong aliking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son ? 

Bos. The duke my father loved liis iathev <le:a-ly. 

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love 
his son dearly? By this kind of clia.se, I sliould 
hate him, for my father hated his lather dearly; 
yet I hate not Orlando. 

Bos. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Ccl. Why should I not ? doth lie not deserve well? 

Bos. Let me love him for that, and do you love 
him because I do. Look, here comes the duke. 

Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest 
And get you from our court. [haste 

Bos. Me, uncle? 

Dake F. You, cousin : 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles. 
Thou diest for it. 

Bos. I do beseech your grace. 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: 
If witli nivself T hold intelligence 
(.)r liave nriiuaiiitance with mine own desires. 
If tliat I do not dream or be not frantic— 
As I do trust I am not, — then, dear uncle. 
Never so much as in a thought unborn 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors : 

If their purgation did consist in words, 
Thev are asinnocent as grace itself : 
Let 'it suffice tliee tliat I trust thee not. 

Bos. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a ti'aitor : 
Tell me whereon the likelihood deiiends. [enough. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's 

Bos. So was I when your highness took his duke- 
So was I when your highness 1 lanish'd him : [dom ; 
Treason is not inherited, niy lord; 
173 



ACT II. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE I, 



Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 
"Wliat 's that to me ? my tatlier was no traitor: 
Then, good my liege, mistalie me not so mucli 
To tliinlv my poverty is treaclierous. 

Cel. Dear sovereign, liear me speak. 

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your salce, 
Else had she with her fatlier ranged along. 

Cel. I did not tlien entreat to have her stay; 
It was your pleasure and y(.iur own remorse : 
I was too young that time to value her; 
But now I know her : if she be a traitor, 
Wliy so am I ; we still have slept togetlier, 
Kose at an iiishiiit, Ic^irn'd, play'd, eat together, 
And Miifrcsdc'cr wr wi'iit, like Juno's swans, 
Still we went couiilfd and inseparable. 

Ihtkc 1<\ She is too subtle for thee ; and her 
Her very silence and Iier patience [smoothness, 
Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Tliou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
And thou wilt show more briglit and seem more 

virtuous 
Wlien slie is gone. Then open not thy lips: 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Wliich I have passed upon her; she is banish'd. 

Cd. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my 
I cannot live out of her company. [liege : 

DukcF. You are a fool. You, niece, provide your- 
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, [self: 
And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

\_Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords. 

Cel. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt tliou go ? 
Wilt tliou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved tlian I am. 

Bos. I have more cause. 

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; 

Prithee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke 
Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 

Itos. That he hath not. 

Cel. No, hath not ? Ro.salind lacks then the love 
"Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? 



No : let my father .seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me how Ave may fly, 
AVhither to go and what to bear with us; 
And do not seek to take your change iipon you, 
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale. 
Say what thou canst, I '11 go along with thee. 

Bos. Why, whither shall we go ? 

Cel. To seek my uncle in tlie forest of Arden. 

Bo.'). Alas, what danger will it be to us, 
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I '11 put myself in poor and mean attire 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face. 
The like do you: so shall we pass along 
And never stir assailants. 

Bos. Were it not better. 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
That 1 did suit me all points like a man V 
A gallant eurtle-axe upon my thigh, 
A boar-spear in my hand; and — in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will — 
AV'e "11 liave a swashing and a martial outside. 
As many other mannish cowards have 
That do outface it witli tlieir senil.ilances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man ? 

J?o.s. I '11 have no worse a name than Jove's own 
And therefore look \ou call me Ganymede, [page; 
But wluit will youbecaird? 

('(/. Something that hath a reference to my state ; 
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 

Bos. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court V 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel V 

Cel. He '11 go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
Leave me alone to aa'oo him. Let 's away. 
And get our jewels and our wealth together, 
Devise the fittest time and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit tliat will be made 
After my flight. Now go we in content 
To liberty and not to banishment. [Exeunt. 



A^CT II. 



SCENE l.~ The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, a)ic7 two or three 
Lords, like f07-esters. 

Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile. 
Hath not old cusidni made this life more sweet 
Than that of ])ainti'(l iHinipV ^-^re not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court r" 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. 
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 
' This is no flattery : these are counsellors 
That feelingly persuade me what I am.' 
Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his liead : 
And this our life exempt from public haimt 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
Sermons in stones and good in every thing. 
I would not change it. 

Ami. Happy is your grace. 

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
And yet it irks me the poor (!a]ip!cil fools. 
Being native burghers of this disnt city, 
Sliould in their own confines with forked heads 
Have their round haunches gored. 
174 



First Lord. Indeed, my lord. 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that. 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal behind him as he lay along 
Lender an oak whose antique root peeps out 
L^pon the brook that brawls along this wood : 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. 
That from tlie hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt. 
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord. 
The wretched iiniinal heaved forth sucli groans 
That their discliarge did stretcli liis leathern coat 
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears 
Coursed one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase ; and thus the liairy fool, 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
Augmenting it with tears. 

Duke S. But what said Jaques ? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle V 

First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping into the needless stream ; 
'Poor <lccr,' quoth he 'thou makest a testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy simi of more [alone, 
To that which had too much:' then, being there 
Left and abaiidon'd of his velvet friends, 
' 'T is right : ' quoth he ' thus misery doth part 
The flux of company: ' anon a careless herd, 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him 



ACT II. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE IV. 



And never stays to greet him : ' Ay,' qvioth Jaques, 

' Sweej) on, you f;it and greasy citizens; 

'T is just the fashion : wherefore do you look 

Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there V ' 

Tims most invectively he pierceth through 

Tlie body of the country, city, court, 

Yea, and of tliis our life, swearing that we 

Are mere usurpers, tyrants and wliat 's worse, 

To fright tlie animals and to kill them up 

In their assignM and native dwelling-place, [tion ? 

Duke S. And did you leave him inthis eontempla- 

.S'fc. Lord. AVe did, my lord, weeping and com- 
Upon the sobbing deer. [menting 

Dtike S. Show me the place : 

I love to cope him in these sullen fits, 
For tlien he 's full of matter. 

First Lord. 1 11 bring you to him straight. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A room in the palace. 

Entrr Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw them ? 
It cannot be : some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufferance in "this. 

First Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
Tlie ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early 
They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. 

See. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so 
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing, [oft 
Ilisperia, the princess' gentlewoman. 
Confesses that she secretly o'erheard 
Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
Tlie iiarts'and graces of the wrestler 
That did l)ut lately foil the sine^vy Charles; 
And slie believes, wherever they are gone, 
That youth is surely in their compajiy. [hither ;■ 

Duke F. Send to his brother; fetJh that gallant 
If he be ab.sent, bring his brother to me: 
1 11 make him find him : do this suddenly, 
And let not search and inquisition quail 
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Before Oliver's house. 

Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. 
Orl. Who 's there '? [master! 

Adam. What, my young master ? O my gentle 

my sweet master ! O you memory 

Of old Sir Kowland! why, what make you here ? 

Why are you virtuous V why do people "love you V 

And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant ? 

Why would you be so fond to overcome 

The bonny priser of the humorous duke ? 

Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 

Know you not, master, to some kind of men 

Their graces serve them but as enemies V 

No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, 

Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 

O, what a world i.s this, when what is comely 

Envenoms him that bears it ! 

Orl. Why, what 's the matter ? 

Adam. O unl)appy youth ! 

Come not within tliese doors ; within this roof 
Tlie enemy of all your grases lives: 
Your brother — no, no lirotlier; yet the son — 
Yet not the son, I will not call liim son 
Of Iiiin I was about to call his father — ■ 
Hath heard your praises, and tliis night he means 
To burn the lodging where you use to lie 
And you witliiu it : if lie fail of that. 
He will have other means to cut you off. 

1 overheard him and his jiractices. 

This is no place; this house is but abutchery: 
Ablior it, fear it. do not enter it. [go ? 

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me 



Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg 
my food V 
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
A thievish living on the common road ? 
This I must do, or know not what to do: 
Yet tliis I will not do, do how I can ; 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother, [crowns, 

Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred 
The thrifty hire I saved under your father. 
Which I did store to be my fuster-nurse 
When service should in my old linilis lie lame 
And unregarded age in cdniers throvni: 
Take that, and lie that doth the ravens feed, 
Yea providently caters for the sparrow, 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
All this I give you." Let me be your servant: 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood. 
Nor did not with uiibasbful foreliead woo 
The means of weakness and debility; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you; 
1 '11 do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orl. O good old man, how well in thee appears 
Tlie constant service of the antique world. 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for tlie fashion of these times, 
Where none will sweat but for promotion. 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having: it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou inuiiest a rotten tree, 
That cannot so.mucli as a blossom yield 
In lieu of all thy pains and husliaiidry. 
But come thy ways; we '11 go along together, 
And ere we have thy youthful wages sjient, : 

We '11 light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee. 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. 
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; 
But at fourscore it is too late a week : 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 
Thau to die well and not my master's debtor. , 

[Excuni. 

SCENE IV. — The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Rosalind/or Qanjmiede, Celia/07- Aliena, 
and Touchstone. 

Bos. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
not weary. 

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's 
apparel and to cry like a woman ; but I must com- 
fort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to 
show itself courageous to petticoat : therefore cour- 
age, good Aliena! 

Ccf. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no 
further. 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you 
than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did 
bear you, for I think you have no money in your 
purse. 

Jios. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden ; the more fool I ; 
when I was at home, I was in a better place : but 
travellers must be content. 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. 

Enter Corin and Silvius. 
Look you, who comes here; a young man and an 
old in solemn talk. 



ACT II. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE V. 



Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 

Sil. O Coriii, that thou knew'st how I do love lier ! 

Cor. I partly guess ; for I have loved ere now. 

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, 
Though in thy youth thou wiist as true a lover 
As ever sigh'il upon a midnight pillow: 
But if thy love were ever like to mine — 
As sure I think did never man love so — 
How many actions most ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? 

Cor. Into a thfmsand tlia't I have forgotten. 

Sil. O, thou ilJdst then ne'er love so heartily! 
If thou remember "st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 
Thou hast not loved : 
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise. 
Thou hast not loved : 
Or if thou hast not broke from company 
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 
Thou hast not loved. 

Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! [Exit. 
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searchingof thy wound, 

1 have by hard adventure found mine own. 

Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was in 
love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him 
take tliat for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I 
rememlier tlie kissing of her batlet and the cow's 
dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked; and 
I reniendjer the wooing of a peascod instead of her, 
from whom I took two cods and, giving her them 
again, said with weeping tears ' Wear these for my 
sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange 
capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature 
in love mortal in folly. 

Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own 
wit till I break my shini5 against it. 

Ros. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion 
Is much vipon my fashion. 

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale 
with me. 

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man 
If he for gold will give us any food : 
I faint almost to death. 

Touch. Holla, you clown! 

Ros. Peace, fool: he's not thy" kinsman. 

Cor. Who calls ? 

Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cot. Else are they very wretched. 

Ros. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 

Ros. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed : 
Here 's a young maid with travel much oppress 'd 
And faints for succour. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her 

And wish, for her sake more than for mine owti. 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ; 
But I am shejiherd to another man 
And do not sliear the fleeces that I graze: 
My master is of churlish disposition 
Aiid little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality : 
Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now. 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
Tiiat you will feed on ; Init what is, come see. 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 

Ros. AVhat is he that shall buy liis flock and 
pastured [erewhile. 

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but 
That little cares for buying anything. 

Ros. I pray tliee, if it stand "with honesty, 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock. 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 
176 



Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this 
And willingly could waste my time in it. [iilac^, 

Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold : 
Go with me: it you like upon report 
The soil, the profit and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The forest. 
Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. 
SONG. 
Ami. Under the greenwood tree 
Wlio loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's tlu'oat. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more. 

Ami. It will make you melancholy. Monsieur 
Jaques. 

Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can 
suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks 
eggs. More, I prithee, more. 

Ami. My voice is ragged : I know I cannot please 
you. 

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me ; I do desire 
you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call 
you 'em stanzosV 

Ami. What you will. Monsieur Jaques. 

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe 
me nothing. Will you sing V 

Ami. More at your request than to please myself. 

Jaq. Well^ien, if ever I thank any nuiii, I '11 
thaiiK you; niit tliat they call compliment is like 
tlie encounter of two dog-apes, and wheti a man 
thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a 
penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, 
sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. 

Ami. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the 
while; the duke will drink under this tree. He 
hath been all this day to look you. 

■Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. 
He is too disputable for my company : I thiidc of as 
many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and 
make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. 

SONG. 

Wlio doth ambition shun [All together here. 
And loves to live i' the sun. 
Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaq. I '11 give you a verse to this note that I made 
yesterday in despite of my invention. 
Ami. And I '11 sing it. 
Jaq. Thus it goes : — 

If it do come to pass 

That any man turn ass. 

Leaving liis wealth and ease, 

A stubborn will to plciise, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: 

Here shall he see 

Gross fools as he. 
An if he will come to me. 

Ami. What 's that ' ducdame ' ? 

Jaq. 'T is a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 



ACT IT. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE YII. 



circle. I '11 go sleep, if I can ; if I cannot, I '11 rail 
against all the fii-st-born of Egypt. 

Ami. And I '11 go seek the duke: his banquet is 
prepared. \_Exeunt severallj. 

SCENE VI.— The forest. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I 
die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out 
mv grave. Farewell, kind master. 

'Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in 
thee ? Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer tlij'self 
a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing 
savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for 
food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy 
powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death 
awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee 
presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat, 
I will give thee leave to die : but if thnu diest before 
I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said ! 
tliou lookest cheerly, and I '11 be with thee quickly. 
Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear 
thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for 
lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. 
Cheerly, good Adam! [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— The forest. 

A table set out. Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and 
Lords like outlaws. 

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; 
For I can no where find him like a man. 

First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. [hence: 

Diike S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the splieres. 
Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him. 

Enter Jaques. 

First Lord. He saves my labour by his O'WTi ap- 
proach, [is this, 

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life 
That your poor friends must woo your company V 
What, you look merrily I 

Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, 
A motley fool; a miserable world! 
As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
AVho laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, 
In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 
' Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. ' No, sir,' quoth he, 
' Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune : ' 
And then he drew a dial from his poke, 
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye. 
Says very wisely, ' It is ten o'clock: 
Tlius we may see,' quoth he, ' how the world wags : 
'T is but an hour ago since it was nine, 
And after one hour more 't will be eleven ; 
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and rii)e. 
And tlien, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; 
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear 
The motley fool thus moral on the time. 
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer. 
That fools should be so deep-contemplative, 
And I did laugli sans intermission 
An hour by his dial. O noble fool! 
A vv'orthy fool! ^Motley "s the only wear. 
Duke S. What fool is thisy [tier, 

Jftq. O worthy fool ! One that hath been a cour- 
And says, if ladies be but young and fair. 
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain. 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
12 



Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 
Jaq. It is my only suit ; 

Provided that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opiiuou that grows rank in them 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have ; 
And they that are most galled with my folly,. 
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so ? 
The ' why ' is plain as way to parish church : 
He that a fool doth very wisely hit 
Doth very foolishly, although "he smart. 
Not to seem senseless of the bob : it not. 
The wise man's folly is anatomized 
Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the "foul body of the infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. [do. 
Duke S. Fie on thee ! I can tell what thou woulih t 
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but good ^ 
Duke S. Most miscliievous lnul sin, iu chiding 
For thou thyself hast been a liljertine, [sin: 

As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
And all the embossed sores and headed evils. 
That thiiu with license of free foot hast caught, 
AV'ouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 
That can therein tax any private party? 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
Till that the %veary very means do ebb ? 
AVhat woman in the city do I name, 
Wlien that I say the city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
Who can come in and say that I mean her, 
When such a one as she such is her neighbour V 
Or what is he of basest function 
Tliat says his bravery is not on my cost, 
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits 
H is folly to the mettle of my speech r" [wherein 
There then; how then V what then? Let me see 
My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right, 
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free. 
Why then my ta.xing like a wild-goose flies, 
Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes liere ? 

Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 

On. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. 

Jaq. Of what kind sliould this cock come of? 

Ditke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, [distress, 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty V [point 

Orl. You toucird my vein at first: the thorny 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred 
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: 
He dies that touches any of this fruit 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

,Iaq. An you will not be answered with reason 
I must die. 

Duke S. What would you have ? Y''our gentle 
ness shall force 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. I almost die for food; and let me have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
table. 

Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you : 
I thought that all things had been savage here: 
And tlierefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But w'hate'er you are 
That in this desert inaccessible. 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
It ever you have look'd on Ijetter days. 
If ever been where bells have kuoU'd to church, 
177 



ACT III. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE II. 



If ever sat at any good man's feast, 

If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear 

And know wiiat 'tis to pity and be pitied, 

Let gentleness my strong entdrcernent be : 

In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. 

Buke S. True is it that we have seen better days. 
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church 
And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes 
Of drops tliat sacred pity hath engender'd : 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness 
And take ui>oa command what help we have 
That to your wanting may be minister'd. 

Orl. Then but forbear your food a little while, 
"Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn 
And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
"W'ho after me hatli many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed, 
()pi>ress'd with two weak evils, age and Ininger, 
I will not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go And him out. 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 

Orl. I thank ye ; and be blest for your good com- 
fort ! [Exit. 

Buke S. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy : 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more wo(4ul pageants than the scene 
Wherem we play in. 

Juq. All the world 's a stage. 

And all the men and women merely players: 
They have their exits and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
llis acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 
Jlewling and'puking in the nurse's arms. 
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 
And sliiiiiug morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover. 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
jSIade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 
I'uU of strange oaths and Ijearded like the pard. 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel. 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, 
In fair round belly with good capon lined. 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
AVitli spectacles on noseaud pouch on side, 



His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and his big maidy voice. 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 
That ends tliis strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, saus every thmg. 

Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. 

Buke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable 
And let him feed. [burthen, 

Orl. I thank you most for him. 

Adam. So had you need : 

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

Buke S. Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you 
As yet, to question you about your fortunes. 
Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 

SONG. 
Ami. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 
As -man's ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh-ho ! sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 
Then, heigh-ho. the holly! 
This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
That dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Thougli thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remember'd not. 
Heigh-ho ! sing, &c. 

Bttke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's 
As }'0U have whisiier'd I'aitlifnlly you were, [son, 
And as mine eye clnth his elligies witness 
Most truly limnM and living in your face, 
Be truly welcome liither: lam the duke 
That loved your fatlier : the residue of your fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is. 
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand. 
And let me all your fortunes imderstand. [Exeunt. 



^CT III. 



SCENE 1. — A room in the iialace. 
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Oliver. 
Buke F. Not see him since ? Sir, sir, that cannot 
be: 
But were I not the better part made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argument 
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it : 
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er lie is; 
Seek him with candle ; firing him dead or living 
Within this twelvemoiitli, or turn thou no more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine 
AVorth seizure do we seize into our hands. 
Till thou canst (piit tliee by thy brother's mouth 
Of wliat we think against thee. 

Oli. O that your liighness knew my heart in this! 
I never loved my brotlier in my life. 
Buke F. More villain thou. Well, push him out 
of doors ; 
And let my officers of such a nature 
ifake an extent upon his house and lands : 
Do this expediently and turn him going. [Exeunt. 
178 



SCENE II.— The forest. 



Enter Orlando, iviih a paper. 
Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 

And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey 
With t!iy chaste eye, fidiii thy pale sphere above, 

Tliy Imiitress' iKiine that my full life doth sway. 
O Hosalinil ! these trees sliall be my books 

And in their bailis my tli(uiglits'l '11 character; 
That every eye wliich in this forest looks 

Shall seethy virtne witness'd every where. 
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree 
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. [Exit. 

Enter Corin and Touchstone. 

Crir. And how like you this shepherd's life. Mas- 
ter Touchstone ? 

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is 
a good life ; but in respect that it is a shejiherd's 
life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I 
like it very w^ell ; but in respect that it is private, it 
is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in, the fields, 
it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not in the 



ACT III. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE II. 



court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, loolt you, 
it fits my lunnour well; but as tliere is no more 
plenty in it, it goes inucli against my stomach. 
Ilast any philosophy in thre, sin plierd ? 

Cot. >fo more but that I know the more one sick- 
ens tlie worse at ease lie is ; and that he that wants 
money, means and content is without three good 
fi ieniis; tliat the property of rain is to wet and fire 
to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and 
that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; 
that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor 
art maj' complain of good breeding or comes of a 
very dull kinilred. 

Toarh. Such a one is a natural philosopher. "VVast 
ever in court, shepherd '? 

C'lr. No, truly. 

Touch. Then thou art damned. 

Cor. Xay, I hope. 

Touch. Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted 
egg, all on one" side. 

Cor. For not being at court ? Your reason. 

Touch. Why, if thou never wii,st at court, thou 
never sawest good manners ; if thou never sawest 
good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; 
and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou 
art in a parlous state, sliepherd. 

Cor. Kot a whit. Touchstone : those that are good 
manners at the court are as ridiculous iu the coun- 
try as the behaviour of the country is most mocka- 
ble at the court. You told me you salute not at 
the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy 
would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. 

Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and 
their fells, you know, are greasy. 

Touch. Why, do not yom" courtier's hands sweat? 
and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as 
the sweat of a man ? Shallow, shallow. A better 
instance, I say ; come. 

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 

Touch. Your lips will feel tliem the sooner. Shal- 
low again. A more sounder instance, come. 

Cor. And they are often tarred over with the 
surgery of our sheep ; and would you have us kiss 
tar ^ The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. 

Touch. Most shallow man ! thou worms-meat, in 
respect of a good piece of tlesh indeed ! Learn of the 
wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than 
tar, the very uncleanly tlux of a cat. Mend the in- 
stance, shepherd. 

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me : I '11 rest. 

Touch. Wilt thou rest damned ? God help thee, 
shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! thou art 
raw. 

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn' that I eat, 
get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's 
happiness, glad of other men's good, content with 
my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my 
ewes graze and my lambs suck. 

Touch. That is anotlier simple sin in you, to bring 
the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get 
your living by the copulation of cattle ; to be bawd to 
a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelve- 
month to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out 
of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned 
for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds ; 
I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. 

Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my 
new mistress's brotlier. 

Enter Rosalind, with a paper, reading. 
Bos. From the east to western Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
Througli all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures fairest lined 
Are but black to Rosalind. 



Let no fair be kept iu mind 
But the fair of Rosalind. 
Touch. I '11 rhyme you so eight years together, 
dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: 
it is the right butter-women's rank to market. 
lios. Out, fool ! 
Touch. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind. 
Let him seek out Rosalind. 
If the cat will after kind. 
So be sure will Rosalind. 
Winter garments must be lined, 
So must slender Rosalind. 
They that reap must sheaf and bind; 
Then to cart with Rosalind. 
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 
Such a nut is Rosalind. 
He that sweetest rose will find 
Must find love's jirick and Rosalind. 
This is the very false gallop of verses: why do. you 
infect yourself witli them ? 
lios. Peace, you dull fool ! I found them on a tree. 
Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
Bos. I '11 grail it with you, and then I shall graft 
it with a medlar : then it will be the earliest fruit 
i' the country ; for you '11 be rotten ere you be half 
ripe, and that 's the right virtue of the medlar. 

Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or no, 
let the forest judge. 

Enter Celia, icith a wriling. 
Bos. Peace ! 
Here comes my sister, reading : stand aside. 
Cel. [Becuh] 

Why sliould this a desert be ? 
For it is unpeopled Y No ; 
Tongues I '11 hang on every tree, 
Tliat shall civil sayings show: 
Some, how brief the life of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage, 
That the stretching of a span 
Buckles in his sum of age ; 
Some, of violated vows 

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: 
But upon the fairest boughs. 

Or at every sentence end. 
Will I Rosalinda write. 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 
Heaven would in little sliow. 
Therefore Heaven Nature charged 

Tliat one body should be tlll'd 
With all graces wide-enlarged : 

Nature presently distill'd 
Helen's cheek, but not her heart, 

Cleopatra's majesty, 
Atalanta's better part. 

Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devised, 
Of niaiiy faces, eyes and liearts. 
To have the touches dearest prized. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should have. 
And I to live and die her slave. 
Bos. O most gentle pulpiter ! what tedious hom- 
ily of love have you wearied your jiarLshioners with- 
al, and never cried ' Have patience, good people! ' 

Cel. How now! back, friends ! Shepherd, go otf 
a little. Go with him, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, sheplieid, let us make an honoura- 
ble retreat; tlioui;h not with bag and baggage, yet 
with scrip and scrippaue. 

[Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. 
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses V 
Bos. O, yes, I heard them all. and more too: for 
some of them had iu them more feet than the verses 
would bear. 

179 



ACT III. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE IT. 



C'el. That 's no matter : the feet might bear the 
verses. 

Jios. A}% lint the feet were lame and could not 
hear themselves without the verse aud therefore 
stood lamely in the verse. 

Cd. But didst thou hear without wondering how 
thy name should be hanged and carved upon these 
trees ? 

J?os. I was seven of the nine days out of the won- 
der before you came ; for lnok liere what I found cm 
a palm-tree. I was never .so berhymed since Pytli- 
a^iiras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can 
hanlly remember. 

( V /. Trow you who hath done this '? 

Uos. Is it a" man i" 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
neck. Change you colour V 

Bos. I pritliee, who V 

Cel. O Lord, Lord ! it is a hard matter for friends 
to meet; but mountains may be removed with 
earthquakes and so encounter. 

Ros. Nay, but who is it y 

Cel. Is It possible V 

-Bos. Nay, I prith.ee now with most petitionary 
vehemence, tell me who it is. 

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder- 
ful wonderful ! and yet again wonderful, aud after 
that, out of all liooping ! 

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, 
though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a 
doublet and hose in my disposition y One inch of 
delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, 
tell iue \vho is it quickly, and speak apace. I would 
thmi couldst stauiiiier.'tiiat thou miglitst pour this 
coucealrd man out of thy iiioutii,as wine conies out 
of a iianow-mouthed bottle, eitlier too much at 
(ince, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out 
of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. 

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 

Ros. Is "he of God's making ? Wliat manner of 
man V Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a 

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. [Iseard ? 

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will 
be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, if 
thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 

Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripped up the 
wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. 

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, 
sad brow and true maid. 

Cel. V faith, coz, 'tis he. 

Ros. Orlando 'y 

Cel. Orlando. 

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet 
and hose? What did he when thou sawest liimV 
What said he ? How looked he V Wherein went he V 
What makes he here ? Did he ask for me '? AVhere 
remains lie 'i How parted he with thee ? and when 
Shalt thou see him again 'i Answer me in one word. 

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth 
first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this 
age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars 
is more than to answer in a catechism. 

Ros. But doth lie know that I am in this forest 
and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he 
did the day he wrestled ? 

Cd. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve 
the iiro]iiisitiiiiis of a lover: but take a taste of my 
finding him, and relisli it witli good observance. I 
found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. 

Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it 
drops forth such fruit. 

Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 

-Bos. Proceed. 

Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a 
wounded knight. 

-Ros. Tliough it be pity to see such a sight, it 
well becomes the ground. 
ISO 



Cel. Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it cur- 
vets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. 

Ros. O, ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 

Cel. I would sing my soug without a burden : thou 
bringest me out of tune. 

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I 
think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Cel. You bring me out. Soft ! eomes he not here ? 

Enter Orlando and Jaques. 

J?os. 'T is he : slink by, and note him. 

Jaq. I thank you tor your company; but, good 
faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. 

Orl. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I 
thank you too for your society. 
/ Jaq. God be wi' you ; let 's meet as little as we can. 
I Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 
\ Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
love-songs in their barks. 

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with 
reading them ill-favom-edly. 

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? 

Orl. Yes, just. 

Jaq. I do not like her name. 

OH. There was no thought of pleasing you when 
she was christened. 

Jan. What stature is she of ? 

Orl. Just as high as my heart. 

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have you 
not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and 
conned them out of rings ? 

Orl. Not so ; but I answer you right painted cloth, 
from whence you have studied your questions. 

Jaq. Yini have a nimble wit: I tliink 'twas made 
of Atalauta's lieels. Will you sit down with me? 
and we two will rail against our mistress the world 
and all our misery. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world but 
myself, against whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in love. 

Orl. 'T is a fault I will not change for your best 
virtue. I am weary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when 
I found you. 

Orl. lie is dro\\nied in the brook: look but in, 
and you shall see him. 

J«g. There I shall see mine own figure. 

Orl. Which I take to be either a tool or a cipher. 

Jaq. I '11 tarry no longer with you : farewell, good 
Sigiiior Love. 

Orl. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good 
Monsieur Melancholy. \_Exit Jaques. 

Ros. [Aside to Cdia] I will speak to him like a 
saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave 
with him. Do you hear, forester ? 

Orl. Very well : what would you ? 

Ros. I pray you, what is 't o'clock ? 

On'. You should ask me what time o' day: 
there 's no clock in the forest. 

Ros. Tlien there is no true lover in the forest; 
else sighing every minute and groaning every hour 
would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of Time? had 
not that been as proper ? 

Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers 
paces with divers persons. I '11 tell you who Time 
ambles withal, wlio Time trots withal, who Time 
gallops withal and who lie stands still withal. 

Orl. I iirithee, who doth he trot withal ? 

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid be- 
tween the contract of her marriage and the day it 
is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nuiglit. 
Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of 
seven year. 

Orl. Who ambles Time withal? 

-Bos. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich 
man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily 



ACT III. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



5CENE III. 



because he cannot study and the other lives merrily 
because he feels no pain, the one lacking; the burden 
of lean and wasteful learning, tlie other knowing 
no burden of heavy tedious penury: these Time 
amliles withal. 

Or/. Wlio doth he gallop withal ? 

Hds. With a thief to the gallows, for thongli he 
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks hiniself too 

Orl. Who stays it still withal ^ [soon tliere. 

lirix. AVith lawyers in the vacation ; for they sleep 
between term and term and then they perceive not 
how Time moves. 

Orl. Where dwell you. pretty youth ? 

lios. With this shepiierdpss. my sister: here in 
the skirts of the forest, like fiin;;e upon a petticoat. 

Orl. Are you native of this place 'f [is kindled. 

lios. As the cony that you see dwell where she 

Orl. Your accent is something liner than you 
could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 

Ros. I have been told so of many : biit indeed an 
old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, 
who was in his youth an inland man; one that 
knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. 
I have heard liim read many lectures against it, 
and I tliank God I am not a woman, to be touched 
with so many giddy offences as he hath generally 
taxed their whole sex withal. 

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils 
that he laid'to the charge of women ? 

Ros. There were none principal ; they were all like 
one another as half-pence are, every one fault seem- 
ing monstrous till hLs fellow-fault came to match it. 

Orl. I in'ithee, recount some of them. 

Ros. Xo, I will not cast away my physic but on 
those that are sick. There is a man haunts the for- 
est, that abuses our young plants witli carving 
'Rosalind 'on their barks ;"hangs odes upon haw- 
thorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deify- 
ing the nameof Rosalind : if I could meet that 
fancy-monger, I would give him some good coun- 
sel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon 
him. 

Orl. J am he that is so love-shaked : I pray you, 
tell me your remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon 
you : he taught me how to know a man in love ; in 
"which cage of rushes I am sure you are not pris- 

Orl. What were his marks? [oner. 

Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue 
eye and sunken, which you have not, an unques- 
tionable spirit, which you have not, a beard neglect- 
ed, which you have not; but I pardon yon for that, 
for simply your having in beard is a younger 
brother's revenue : then your hose should be imgar- 
tered, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbut- 
toned, your shoe untied and every thing about 
you deuionstrating a careless desolation; but you 
lire no such man ; you are rather point-device m 
• your accoutrements as loving yourself than seem- 
ing the lover of any other. 

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee 
believe I love. 

Ros. lie believe it! you may as soon make her 
that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is 
apter to do than to confess she does : that is one of 
the points in the which women still give the lie to 
their consciences. Bat, in good sooth, are you he 
that hangs tlie verses on the trees, wherein Rosa- 
lind is soadmired ? 

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand 
of Rosalind, I am that lie, that unfortunate he. 

Ron. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
speak? [much. 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell yon, 
deserves as well a dark house and a whip as mad- 
men do : and the reason wliy they are not so pun- 



ished and cured is, that the hmacy is so ordinary 
that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess 
curing it by comisel. 

Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? 

Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to 
imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him 
every day to woo me: at which time would I, 
being but a moouish youth, grieve, be effeminate, 
changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, 
apisli, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of 
smiles, for every passion something and for no pas- 
sion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the 
most part cattle of this colour : would now like him, 
now loathe him ; then entertain him, then forswear 
him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I 
drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a 
living humour of madness ; which was, to for- 
swear the full stream of the world and to live in a 
nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him ; 
and this way will I take upon me to wash your 
liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there 
shall not be one spot of love in "t. 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me 
Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me. 

Orl. Xow, by the faith of my love, I will : tell me 
where it is. 

Ros. Go with me to it and I '11 show it you : and 
by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you 
live. Will you go ? 

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sis- 
ter, will you go ? {Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The forest. 
Enter Touchstone and Audrey ; Jaques hehind. 
Touch. Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch 
up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey ? am I 
the man yet ? doth my simple feature content you ? 
And. Your features! Lord warrant us! what 
features V 

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as 
the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among 
the Goths. 

Jaq. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse 
than Jove in a thatclied house! 

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be imder- 
stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for- 
ward child Understanding, it strikes a man more 
dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, 
I would the gods had made thee poetical. 

Aud. I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it 
honest in deed and word V is it a true thing ? 

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the 
most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, asid 
what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they 
do feign. [poetical? 

Aud. Do you wish then that the gods had made me 
Touch. I "do, truly: for thou swearest to me thou 
art honest : now, if thou wert a poet, I might have 
some hope thou didst feign. 
Aud. Would you not have me honest ? 
Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured ; 
for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a 
sauce to sugar. 
I Jctq. [-4.s«Ze] A material fool ! 
j Aud. AVell, I am not fair; and therefore I pray 
' the gods make me honest. 

j 2'ouch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a 
foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 
j Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I 
I am foul. 

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! 

sluttishness may come hereafter. ISut be it as it 

may be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have 

, been with Sir Oliver iiartext,the vicar of the next 

181 



ACT III. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE V. 



villiisc'j who luitli promised to ineet me in this place 
of the foreist and to couple us. 

Jiiq. l^Ltiilc] 1 would t;du see this meeting. 

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! 

ToikIi. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear- 
ful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here we have 
no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn- 
beasts. But what though ^ Courage ! As horns 
are odious, they are necessary. It is said, ' many a 
man knows no end of his goods : ' right ; many a 
man has good horns, and knows no end of them. 
Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of 
his own getting. Horns':' Even so. Poor men 
alone i* No, no ; the noblest deer hath them as 
huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore 
blessed? No: as a walled tow^n'is more worthier 
than a village, so is the forehead of a married man 
more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor ; 
and by how nuich defence is better than no skill, 
by so much is a horn more precioi^s than to want. 
Here comes Sir Oliver. 

Enter Sir Oliver Martext. 
Sir Oliver Jlartext, you are well met : will yon dis- 
patch us here under" this tree, or shall we go with 
you to your chapel V 

ISir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? 

Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 

Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- 
riage is not lawhd. 

Jaq. {Advanciwj] Proceed, proceed : I '11 give her. 

Touch. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't : 
how do you, sir ? You are very well met : God 'ild 
you for your last company: I am very glad to see 
you : even a toy in hand here, sir : nay, pray be cov- 

Jaq. Will you be married, motley ? [ered. 

Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his 
curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath his de- 
sires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nib- 
bling. 

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
be married under a bush like a beggar'? Get you 
to church, aud have a good priest that can tell you 
what man iage is : this fellow will but join you to- 
gether as they join wainscot; then one of you will 
prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, 
warp. 

Touch. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were 
better to be married of him than of another: for he 
is not like to marry me well ; and not being well 
married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter 
to leave my wife. 

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me coimsel thee. 

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey: 
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. 
Tarewell, good Master Oliver: not, — 
O sweet Oliver, 
O brave Oliver, 
Leave me not behind thee : 
but,— 

Wind away, 
Begone, I say, 
I will not to wedding with thee. 
[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone and Audrey. 

fir Oli. 'T is no matter : ne'er a fantastical knave 
hem all shall llout me out of my calling. [E.cit. 

SCENE IV.— The forest. 

Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

lios. Never talk to me ; I will weep. 

Cel. Do, I prithee ; but yet have the grace to con- 
sider that tears do not become a man. 

lios. But have I not cause to weep '? [weep. 

Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; therefore 

Itos. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. 

Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, his 
kisses are Judas's own children. 
182 



Jios. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. 

Cel. An excellent colour : your chestnut was ever 
the only colour. 

lios. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the 
touch of holy bread. 

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diaua : 
a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more relig- 
iously ; the very ice of chastity is in them. 

lios. But why did he swear he would come this 
morning, and comes not'? 

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 

Bos. Do you think so ? 

Cel. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a 
horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think 
him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten 

Jios. Not true in love? [nut. 

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. 

lios. You have heard him swear downright he was. 

Cel. ' Was ' is not ' is : ' besides, the oatli of a lover 
is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are 
both the contirmer of false reckonings, lie attends 
here in the forest on the duke your fatlier. 

lios. I met the duke yesterday and liad much 
question with him: he asked me of what parentage 
1 was ; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed 
and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, wheu 
there is such a man as Orlando ? 

Cel. O, that 's a brave man ! he writes brave verses, 
speaks brave words, swears lirave oat lis, and breaks 
them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of 
his lover; as a puisny filter, tliut spurs his horse 
but on one side, breaks his stall like a noble goose-: 
but all 's brave that youth mounts and folly g-uides. 
Who comes here ? 

Enter Corin. 

Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft inquired 
After the shepherd that complain'd of love, 
AVho you saw sitting by me on the turf, 
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress. 

Cel. Well, and what of him ? 

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly I'laykl, 
Between the pale complexion of true lo\e 
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
Go hence a little and 1 shall conduct you, 
If you will mark it. 

lios. O, come, let us remove : 

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. 
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say 
I "11 prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V. — Another part of the forest. 
Enter Silvius and Phebe. 
Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not. 
Say that you love me not, but say not so [Phebe ; 
Inbitterness. The connnon executioner, 
Wliose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes ' 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck [hard, 
But first begs pardon: will you sterner Vie 
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, behind. 
Phe. I would not be thy executioner : 
I fly thee, for I v^ould not injure thee. 
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 
'Tis pretty, sure, and very pmbalile. 
That eyesi that are tlie frail'st and softest things. 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies. 
Should be call'd tyrants, lintchers, nuuderers! 
Now I do fniwn on thee with all my heart; 
And if nune eyes can wound, now let them kill thee : 
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down ; 
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame. 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers I 
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: 
Scratch thee but with a pin, aud there remains 



ACT IV. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE I. 



Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, 

The cicatrice and capable impressuie 

Thy palm some moment keeps ; but now mine ej'es, 

Wliich I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 

Kor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 

Tiiat can do hurt. 

Sil. O dear Phebe, 

If ever, — as that ever may be near, — 
You meet in some fi-esh cheek the power of fancy, 
.Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
That love's keen arrows make. 

Phe. But till that time 

Come not thou near me : and when that time comes, 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
As till tliat time fshall not pity thee. [mother, 

/I'l.s. And wliy, I pray you ? Who might be your 
That you insult, exult, and all at once, [beauty,— 
Over tlie wretchetl ? What though you have no 
As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without caudle may go dark to bed — 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? 
Why, what means this 'f Why do you look on me V 
1 see no more in you than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work. 'Od 's my little life, 
I think she means to tangle my eyes too ! 
No, faith, proud mistress, liope not after it: 
'T is not your inky brows, your black silk hair, 
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her. 
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain r" 
You are a thoTisand times a properer man 
Than she a woman : 't is such fools as you 
That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children : 
'Tis not her glass, but you, that Hatters her; 
And out of you slie sees herself more proper 
Than any of her lineaments can show lier. 
But, mistress, know yourself : down on your knees. 
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
For I must tell you friendly in your ear. 
Sell when you can: you are not for all markets: 
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well. 

Pfie. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year 
together : 
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 

Eos. lie 's fallen in love with your foulness and 
she '11 fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as 
fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I '11 
sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon 
■ Phe. For no ill-will I bear you. [me ? 

Bos. I pray you, do not fall iu love with me, 
For I am falser than vows made in wine: 
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. 
Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. 
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, 
. And be not proud: though all the world could see, 
None could be so abused iu sight as he. 
Come, to our tiock. 

\_Excunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin. 



Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 
' Who ever loved that loved not at first sight y ' 

Sil. Sweet Phebe,— 

Fhe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius ? 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 

Phe. "W^hy, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
By giving love your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermined. 

Phe. Thou hast my love : is not that neighbourly '? 

Sil. I would have you. 

Phe. Why, that were covetousuess. 

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, 
And yet it is not that I bear thee love ; 
But since that thou canst talk of love so well, 
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 
I will endure, and I 'U employ thee too: 
But do not look for further recompense 
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ 'd. 

Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love. 
And I in such a poverty of grace. 
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the Ijroken ears after the nuin 
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then 
A scatter "d smile, and that I '11 live upou. [while ? 

Phe. Kno w'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere- 

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft ; 
And he hath bought the cottage and the bouuds 
That the old carlot once was master of. 

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ; 
'T is but a peevish boy ; yet he talks well : 
But what care I for words 'i* yet words do well 
When he that speaks tliem pleases those that hear. 
It is a pretty youth : not very pretty : 
But , sure, he 's proud, and yet his pride becomes him : 
He '11 make a proper man : the best thing iu him 
Is his complexion ; and faster than liis tongue 
Did make offence his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he 's tall : 
His leg is but so so ; and yet 't is well : 
There was a pretty redness in his lip, 
A little riper and more lusty red [ferenee 

Than that niix'd in his cheek ; 't was just the dif- 
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. 
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 
In parcels as I did; would have gone near 
To fall in love with him ; but, for my part, 
I love him not nor hate him not ; and yet 
I have more cause to hate him than to love him: 
For what had he to do to chide at me ? 
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black ; 
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : 
I marvel why I answer'd not again : 
But that 's all one; omittance is no quittance. 
I '11 write to him a very taunting letter, 
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius'? 

Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 

Phe. I '11 write it straight ; 

The matter 's in my head and in my heart : 
I will be bitter with him and passing short. 
Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— T!ie forest. 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. 

Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better ac- 
quainted with thee. 

Eos. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 

Jaq. I ani so ; I do love it better than laugliing. 

liiis. Tliose that are in extremity of either are 
alioniiualile fellows and betray themselves to every 
modern censure worse than drunkards. 



Jaq. Why, 't is good to be sad and say nothing. 

Bos. Why tlien, 'tis good to be a post. 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is 
fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor 
the s(ddii'r's. which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, 
which is politic, nor the ladv"s, which is nice, nor 
the lover's, which is all the.se : but it is a melancholy 
of mine own, compounded of many simples, e.\- 
tracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry 
183 



ACT IV. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE T. 



contemi)l!ition of my travels, in which my often 
i-umiuatiou wraps me in a most liumoroiis sadness. 

lios. A traveller! By my faith, you luive s'reat 
reason to be sad : I fear you have sold your own lands 
to see other men's; then, to have seen nmrh and to 
have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. 

Jaq. Yes,"l have gained my experience. 

lios. And your experience makes you sad : I had 
~ ratlier have a fool to make me merry than experience 
to make me sad ; and to travel for it too ! 

Enter Orlando. 

Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! 

Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in 
blank verse. [Exit. 

lios. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp 
and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your 
own country, be out of love with your nativity and 
almost chide God for making you that countenance 
you are, or I will scaii-r tliiuk you have swam in a 
gondola. Why, how now, Orlando I where have you 
been all tliis while V You a lover I An you serve me 
siieli another trick, never come in my sight more. 

O)-;. My fair Rosalind, I come withinau hour of 
my promise. 

lios. Break an hour's promise in love ! He that will 
divide a minute into a thousand parts and lireak but 
a part of the thousandth part of a minute in tlie af- 
fairs of love, it may be said of him that ru])iil hath 
clapped him o' the shoulder, Ijut I '11 warrant liim 

Oii. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. [heart-whole. 

lios. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in 
my sight : 1 had as lief be wooed of a snail. 

Orl. Of a snail V 

Bos. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
he carries his house on his head ; a better jointure, 
I think, than you make a woman : besides, he brings 
his destiny with him. 

OrL What 's that ? 

lios. Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be 
beholding to your wives for : but he comes armed in 
his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. 

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is 

lios. And I am your Rosalind. [virtuous. 

Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a 
Rosalind of a better leer than you. 

lios. Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a 
holiday humour and like enough to consent. What 
would you say to me now, an 1 were your very very 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. [Rosalind ? 

lios. Nay, you were better speak first, and when 
you were gravelled tor lack of matter, you might 
take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when 
they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking 
— God warn us! — matter, the cleanliest shift is to 

Orl. Ilov/ if the kiss be denied ? [kiss. 

lios. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there 
begins new matter. 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 
mistress ? 

lios. Marry, that should you, if I were your mis- 
tress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my 

Orl. Wliat, of my suit V [wit. 

lios. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your 
suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? 

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I 
would be talking of her. 

lios. Well in her iiersiui I say I will not have you. 

Orl. Tlien in mine own person I die. 

lios. No, faith, dir liy atturney. The poor world 
is almost six the insanil years uhl, and in all this time 
there was not any man died in liisown person, \ ide- 
licet, in a love-cause. Troilushad his Viraiiis daslieil 
out with a Grecian clul)i yet he did what lie eoidd 
to die before, and he is one of tlie patterns of love, 
lieander, he would have lived many a fair year, 
though Hero had turned mm, if it had not been for 
a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went 
164 



but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being 
taken with the crj^mp was drowned : and the foolish 
coroners of that age found it was ' Hero of Sestos.' 
But these are all lies: men have died from time to 
time and worms liave eaten them, but nut fur love. 

Orl. 1 would not have my right Rosalind of this 
mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 

Bos. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, 
now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on 
disposition, and ask me what you will, I will grant it. 

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. 

Bos. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays 

Orl. And wilt thou have me? [and ail. 

lios. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orl. What sayest thou 'i 

Bos. Are younot good ? 

Orl. I hope so. 

Bos. Why tlien, can one desire too much of a 
good thing ? Come, sister, you shall be tlie priest 
and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. 
What do you say, sister? 

Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 

Cd. 1 cannot say the W(U'ds. 

Bos. You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando — ' 

Cel. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this 

Orl. I will. [Rosalind? 

lios. Ay, but when ? 

0)-/. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. 

lios. Then you must say '1 take thee, Rosalind, 
for wife.' 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Bos. 1 might ask you for your commission ; but 
I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband : there 's a 
girl goes before tlie priest ; and certainly a woman's 
thought runs before her actions. 

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. 

Bos. Now tell me how long you would have her 
after you have possessed her. 

Orl. For ever and a day. 

Bos. Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, 
Orlando; men are April when they woo, Decemlier 
when they wed : maids are ISIay when tliey are maids, 
but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be 
more jealous of thee than a 15arbary cock-pigeon 
over his hen, more clamorous than a jiarrot against 
rain, more new-fangled than an ajio, mure giddy in 
my desires than a monkey : I will ui-ep for nothing, 
like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when 
you are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a 
hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. 

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? 

Bos. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. 

Bos. Or else she could not have the wit to do 
this: the wiser, the way warder: make the doors 
upon a woman's wit and it will out at the casement ; 
shut that and "t will out at the keyhole; stop that, 
'twill fly witli tlie smoke out of the chimney. 

Orl. A man that liad a wife with such a wit, he 
might say ' Wit, whither wilt ? ' 

Bos. I*fay, you might keep that check for it till 
you met your wife's wit going to your neighbom's 
bed. [that ? 

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse 

Bos. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. 
You shall never take her without her answer, unless 
you take her without her tongue. O, that woman 
that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, 
let her never nurse her child herself, for she will 
breed it like a fool ! 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
thee. [hours. 

Bos. Alas ! dear love, I cannot lack thee two 

Orl. I nuist attend the duke at dinner : by two 
o'clock I will be with thee again. 

Bos. Ay, go your ways, go your ways: I knew 
what you would i>rove: my friends told me as 
much, and I thought no less : that flattering tongue 



ACT IV. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE III. 



of yours won me : 't is but one cast away, and so, 
come, cle;itli ! Two o'clock is your hour '/ 

On. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Box. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so 
God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not 
dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or 
come one minute behind your hour, I will think 
you the most pathetical break-promise and the most 
hollow lover and the most unwortliy of her you call 
Kosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band 
of the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure and 
keep your promise. 

Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert in- 
deed my Rosalind : so adieu. 

lios. Well, Time is the old justice that examines 
all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. 

{Exit Orlando. 

Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your 
love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose 
plucked over your head, and show the world what 
the bird hath done to her own nest. 

Bos. O coz, eoz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou 
didst know how many fatiioni deep I am in love ! 
But it cannot be sounded : my affection hath an un- 
known bottom, like the bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you 
pour affection in, it runs out. 

Bos. !N"o, that same wicked bastard of Venus 
that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and 
born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses 
every one's eyes because his own are out, let him be 
judge how deep I am in love. I '11 tell thee, Aliena, 
I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : I 'll go find 
a shadow and sigh till he come. 

Cd. And I '11 sleep. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. Tfie forest. 

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters. 

Jaq. AVhich is he that killed the deer ? 

A Lord. Sir, it was I. 

J«g. Let 's present liim to the duke, like a Roman 
conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's 
liorns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have 
you no song, forester, for this purpose ? 

Ear. Yes, sir. 

Jaq. Sing it : 't is no matter how it be in tune, 
so it make noise enough. 

SONG. 

For. What shall he liave that kill'd the deer? 

His leather skin and horns to wear. 
Then sing him home ; 
[llie ritit shall hear this burden. 

Take thou no scorn to wear the horn ; 

It was a crest ere tliou wast born : 

Thy father's lather wore it, 
And thy fatlier liore it : 

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn 

Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. The forest. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
Bos. How say you now':' Is it not past two 
o'clock'? and here much Orlando! 

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled 
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone 
forth to sleep. Look, wiio comes here. 

Enter Silvius. 
Sil. !My errand is to you, fair youth ; 
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : 
I know not the contents; but, as I guess 
By the stern brow and waspish action ■ 
Which she did use as she was M'riting of it, 
It bears an angry tenour: pardon me; 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 



Bos. Patience herself would startl.e at this letter 
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all : 
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners ; 
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, 
Were man as rare as phcenix. 'Od 's my will ! 
Her love is not the hare tha,t I do himt : 
Why writes she so to me ? Well, shepherd, well, 
This is a letter of your own device. 

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents: 
Phebe did write it. 

Bos. Come, come, you are a fool 

And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands: 
She has a huswife's hand ; but that 's no matter: 
I say she never did invent tiiis letter; 
This is a man's invention and his hand. 
iSil. Sure, it is hei'S. 

Bos. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 
A style for challengers; why, she defies me, 
liike Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain 
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention. 
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect 
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? 

Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; 
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 
Bos. She Phebes me: mark ho\v the tyrano 
writes. [Beads. 

Art thou god to shepherd tiu'n'd. 

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd ? 
Can a woman rail thus? 
Sil. Call you this railing ? 
Bos. [Beads] 

Why, thy godhead laid apart, 

AVarr'st thou with a woman's heart ? 
Did you ever hear such railing? 

Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 

That could do no vengeance to me. 
Meaning me a beast. 

If the scorn of your bright eyne 

Have power to raise such love in mine, 

Alack, in me what strange effect 

Would they work in mild aspect! 

Whiles you chid me, I did love ; 

How then might your prayers move! 

He that brings this love to thee 

Little knows tliis love in me : 

And by him seal uji thy mind ; 

Wlietlier that thy vouth and kind 

Will the faithful' offer take 

Of nil' and all tliat I can make ; 

Or else by him my love deny, 

And then I '11 study how to die. 
iS'{/. Call you this chiding? 
Cel. Alas, poor shei)lierd! 

Bos. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no pity. 
AVilt thou love such a woman ? Wliat, to make thee 
an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not 
to be endured ! Well, go your way to her, for I see 
love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to 
her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; 
if she will not, I will never have lier unless thou en- 
treat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a 
word ; for here comes more company. [Exit Silvius. 

Enter Oliver. 
OH. Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you 
know. 
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 
A sheep-cote fenced al)out with olive trees? 

Cel. West of this place, dovra in the neighbour 
bottom : 
The rank of osiers by the murmm'ing stream 
Left on your right hand brings you to the place. 
But at this hour tlie house doth" keep itself; 
There 's none within. 
Oli. If that an eye mav profit by a tongue, 
185 



ACT V. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE I. 



Then sliould I know you Ly description ; 

Such garments and such years : ' The boy is fair, 

Of female favor, and bestows himself 

Lilce a ripe sister: tlie woman low 

And browner than her brother.' Are not you 

The owner of the house I did inquire forV 

Gel. It is no boast, bein;; askM, to say we are. 

OK. Orlando doth commend him to you both, 
And to that youth he calls liis Kosaliiid 
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you lie ? 

Bos. I am: what must we undei-stand by this? 

Oil. Some of my shame; if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkercher was stain'd. 

(M. I pray you, tell it. 

Oli. When last the young Orlaudo parted from 
you 
He left a promise to return again 
Within an hour, and jiacinLr tlirough tlie forest, 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what Viefel! he threw his eye aside. 
And mark what object did present itself: 
Under an oak, wliose bouglis were nioss'd with age 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
Lay sleeping on'his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, 
Willi with her head nimble in threats approached 
The opening of his nmuth; but suddenly, 
Seeing Orlando, it luiliiik'd itself. 
And Willi indciiti'd glides did slip away 
Into a Imsli : under whicli bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
Lay couching, brad on ground, with catlike watch, 
When that tjie sleeping iiiau sliould stir; for 'tis 
The royal dispusitiou of tliat beast 
To prey on nnthiiig that doth seem as dead : 
This seen, Orlando did apiiroach the man 
And found it was his l.irotlier, his elder lirother. 

Cel. O, I have lieard him speak of tliat same 
brother ; 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That lived amongst men. 

OIL And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural. 

Ros. But, to Orlando : did he leave him there, 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness y 

Oli. Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
And iiat ure, stronger than his just occasion, 
Made him give liattle to the lioness. 
Who (juickly fell liefnre him: in which hurtling 
From miseralile sluiulier I awaked. 

Cel. Are you his brother? 

Bos. AVas 't you he rescued ? 



Cel. Was 't you that did so oft contrive to kill 
him y 

Oli. 'T was I ; but 't is not I : I do not shame 
To tell yrui \\hat I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

B('s. But, for the bloody napkin 'i 

Oli. By and by. 

When from the first to last betwixt us two 
Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, 
As how I came into that desert place : — 
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke. 
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment. 
Committing me unto my brother's love; 
Wlio led me instantly unto his cave, 
Tliere stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
Tlie lioness had torn some flesh away. 
Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted 
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound ; 
And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 
lie sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
To tell this story, that you might excuse 
His broken promise, and to give this naiikin 
r)yed in his blood unto the shepherd youth 
That be in sport doth call his Kosalind. 

IRosalind s^coons. 

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Gany- 
mede ! 

OJi. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 

Cel. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! 

Oli. Look, he recovers.- 

Bos. I would I were at home. 

Cel. ■ We'll lead you thither. 

I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you 
lack a man's heart. 

Bos. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrahj a body 
would think tliis was well counterfeited! I pray 
you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. 
Ileigh-ho ! 

Oli. This was not counterfeit : there is too great 
testimony in your complexion that it was a passion 
of earnest. 

Bos. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

OH. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit 
to be a man. 

Bos. So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a 
woman by right. 

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, 
draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. 

Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 

Bos. I shall devise somethnig: but, I pray you, 
commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you 
go y [E.veuiit. 



-A.OT V. 



SCENE I.— The forest. 



Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, 
gentle Audrey. 

Aud. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 
the old gentleiuairs saying. 

Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most 
vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here 
in the forest lays claim to you. 

Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest 
in me in the world: here comes the man you 
mean. 

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a 
clown : by my troth, we that have good wits have 
much to answer for ; we shall be flouting ; we can- 
not hold. 

1S6 



Enter ■William. 

Will. Good even, Audrey. 

Aud. God ye good even, William. 

iri7/. And good even to you, sir. 

Toiicli. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, 
cover lliy head; nay. jirithee, be covered. Howoldare 

Will. Five and twenty, sir. [you, friend? 

Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William? 

Will. William, sir. 

Touch . A fa ir name. Wast born i' the forest here ? 

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. 

Toucli. ' Thank God ; ' a good answer. Art rich ? 

Will. Faith, sir, so so. 

Touch. ' So so ' is good, very good, very excellent 
good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou 

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. • [wise ? 



ACT V 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE II. 



Touch. AV'hy, thou sayest well. I do uow remem- 
ber a saying, ' The fool doth think he is wise, but 
tlie wise man laiows himself to be a fool.' The 
heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a 
grape, would open liis lips wlien he put it into his 
mouth ; meaning thereby that grapes were made to 
eat and lips to open. You do love this maid 'f 

Will. I do, sir. 

Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned ? 

Will. Ko, sir. 

Touch. Then learn this of me : to have, is to have ; 
for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured 
out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth 
empty the other; for all your writers do consent 
that ipse is he : now, you are not ipse, for I am he. 

Will. Which he, sir ? 

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. 
Therefore, you clo«ii, abandon, — which is in the 
vulgar leave, — the society, — which in the boorish 
is company, — of this female, — w'hich in the com- 
mon is woman ; which together is, abandon the 
society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest ; 
or, to tliy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, 
I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into 
death, tliy liberty into bondage : I will deal in poison 
with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy 
with thee in faction; I will o'er-run thee with pol- 
icy ; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways : there- 
fore tremble, and depart. 

Aud. Do, good William. 

Will. God rest you meii?y, sir. [Exit. 

Enter Corin. 
Cor. Our master aud mistress seek you; come, 
away, away ! 

Touch. Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, 
I attend. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— The forest. 

Eater Orlando and Oliver. 

Orl. Is 't possible that on so little acquaintance 
you should like her? that but seeing you should 
love her? and loving woo ? and,w^ooing, she should 
grant ? and will you persever to enjoy her ? 

Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, 
the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sud- 
den wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say 
with me, I'love Aliena ; say with lier, that she loves 
me; consent with both that we ma>' enjoy each other : 
it sliall be to your good; for my father's liouse and 
all the revenue tluit was old Sir Kowland"s will I 
estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. 

Orl. Yoii have my consent. Let your wedding 
be to-morrow : thither will I invite the duke and 
all 's contented followers. Go you aud prepare 
Aliena ; for look you, here comes my Rosalind. 

Enter Rosalind. 

Sos. God save you, brother. 

Oli. And you, fair sister. [Exit. 

Eos. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to 
see thee wear thy heart in a scarf ! 

Orl. It is my arm. 

Eos. I thought thy heart had been wounded with 
the claws of a lion. " 

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

jRqs. Did your brother tell you how I counter- 
feited to swoon when he showed me your handker- 
clier ■? 

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 

Eos. O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: 
there was never anything so sudden but the fight 
of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of ' I 
came, saw, and overcame ; ' for your brotlier and 
my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner 
looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they 
sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another 
the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they 



sought the remedy ; and in these degrees have they 
made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will 
climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before 
marriage : they are in the very w-rath of love and 
they will together; clubs cannot part them. 

Oil. Tliey shall be married to-morrow, and I will 
bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how- bitter a 
thing it is to look into happiness through another 
man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-morrow 
be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I 
shall think my brother happy m having what he 
wishes for. 

Eos. AVhy then, to-morrow I cannot serve yoiu: 
turn for Rosalind ? 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 

Eos. I will weary you then no longer with idle 
talking. Know of me tlien, for now I speak to 
some purpose, tliat I know you are a gentleman of 
good conceit : I speak not this that you should bear 
a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I 
know you are ; neither do I labour for a greater 
esteem than may in some little measure draw a 
belief from you, to do yourself good and not to 
grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can 
do strange things : I have, since I was tliree years 
old, conversed with a magician, most profound in 
his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosa- 
lind so near your heart as your gesture cries it out, 
when your brother marries Aliena, sliall you marry 
her : 1 know into what straits of fortune slie is 
driven ; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear 
not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes 
to-morrow liuman as she is and without any danger. 

Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings? 

Eos. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, 
though 1 say I am a magician. Therefore, put you 
in your best array ; bid j'our friends ; for if you will 
be married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, 

if you will. ^ „., . 1 -r,, , 

Enter Silvius and Phebe. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. 

Phe. Youth, you liave done me much ungentleuess, 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Eos. I care not if I have: it is iuy study 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : 
You are there followed by a faithful shepherd ; 
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. [love. 

Fhc. Good shepherd, tell this j'outli what 'tis to 

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

I'lic. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Eos. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of faith aud service; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phc. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Eos. And I for no woman. 

.s'(7. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
All made of passion and all made of wishes, 
All ad(U'ation, duty, and observance, 
All luunbleness, all patience and impatience, 
All purity, all trial, all observance; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Eos. Anil so am I for no woman. 

I'lu. If thislie so, why blame you me to love you? 

,S(7. It this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Eos. Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me 
to love you ? ' 

Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Eos. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the 
howling of Irish wolves against the moon. [To 
Sil] I will help you, if I can: [To Phc] I would 
love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all to- 
gether. [To Phe.] I will marry you, if ever I marry 
187 



ACT V. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



SCENE IV. 



woman, and I '11 be married to-morrow: {To Od.] I 
will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you 
shall be married to-morrow: {To Sil.l I will content 
you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall 
be married to-morrow. {To Oil.] As you love Rosa- 
lind, meet: {To SiL] as you love Phebe, meet; and 
as I love no woman, 1 '11 meet, fcjo fare you well: 
I have left you commands. 

Sil. I "11 not fail, if I live. 

Phe. Nor I. 

Orl. Nor I. {Exeunt. 

SCENE lU.~The forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; to- 
morrow will we be married. 

Aiid. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope 
it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of 
the world. Here come two of the banished duke's 
pages. 

Enter two Pages. 

First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 

Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, 
and a song. 

Sec. Pafje. We are for you : sit i' the middle. 

First Pa(je. Shall we clap into 't roundly, without 
hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which 
are the only prologues to a bad voice ? 

Sec. Page. I' faith, i' faith; and both in a tune, 
like two gipsies on a horse. 

SONG. 

It was a lover and his lass. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
That o'er the green corn-field did pass 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

Between the acres of the rye. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
These pretty country folks would lie, 

In spring time, &c. 

Tliis carol they began tliat hour, 
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 

How that a life v.'as but a flower 
In spring time, &c. 

And therefore take the present time, 
AVith a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; 

For love Is crowned with the prime 
In spruig time, &c. 

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was 
no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very 
untuneable. 

First Page. You are deceived, sir: we kept time, 
we lost not our time. 

Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost 
to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you ; and 
God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The forest. 

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, 
Oliver, and Oelia. 

Pul-e S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised ? 

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not ; 
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 
Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is 
urged : 
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
You will bestow her on Orlando here ':* 
188 



Dide S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give 
with her. . [her ? 

Pos. And you say, you will have her, when 1 bring 

Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king^ 

Bos. You say, j'ou "11 marry me, if I be willing y 

Phe. That will I, should I die the hour alter. 

Bos. But if you do refuse to marry nie. 
You "11 give yourself to this most faithful shepherd '? 

Phe. So is the bargain. 

Bos. You say, that you '11 have Phebe, if she will ? 

Sil. Though to have her and death were both 
one thing. 

Bos. I have promised to make all this matter even; 
Keep J'OU j'our word, O duke, to give your daughter ; 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter;' 
Keep your word, Phebe, that you '11 marry me. 
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you '11 marry her, 
If she refuse me : and from hence I go. 
To make these doubts all even. 

{E.ecuid Bosalind and Cclia. 

Buke S. I do remember in this shepherd boy 
Some lively touclies of my daugliter's favour. 

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him 
Methought he was a brother to your daughter: 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born. 
And hath been tutor'd in tlie rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle. 
Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone emd Audrey. 

Jaq. There is, sure, another Hood towanl, and 
these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes 
a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues 
are called fools. 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the 
motley-minded gentleman that I haiie so often met 
in the forest : he hath been a courtier, he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to 
my purgation. I have trod a measure : I have flat- 
tered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, 
smooth with mine enemy ; I have undone three 
tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have 
fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 

Touch. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was 
upon the seventh cause. 

J(iq. How seventh cause'/* Good my lord, like 
this fellow. 

Duke S. I like him very well. 

Touch. God 'lid you, sir ; I desire you of the like. 
I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country 
coindatives, to swear and forswear; according as 
marriage Ijinils and blood breaks ; a poor virgin, sir, 
an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor 
humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else 
will : rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor 
house ; as your pearl in your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sen- 
tentious. 

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such 
dulcet diseases. 

,!aq. But, for the seventh cause ; how did you find 
the quarrel on the seventh cause V 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed: — bear 
your body more seeming. Amlicy : — as thus, sir. I 
(lid dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard : he 
sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, 
he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort 
Courteous. If I sent him wont again 'it was not 
well cut,' he would send me word, lie cut it to please 
himself: this is called the (^uiii Moilcst. If again 
' it was not well cut,' he disableil my judgment : this 
is called the Reply Churlisli. If again ' it was not 
well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this 
is called the Reproof Valiant. If again ' it was not 



ACT V. 



AS YGU LIKE IT. 



SCENE lY. 



well cut,' he would say, I lied: this is called the 
Countercheck Quarrelsome : and so to the Lie Cir- 
cumstantial and the Lie Direct. 

Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not 
well cut '{ 

Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie Circum- 
stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct ; 
ami so we measured swords and parted. 

Juq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
of the lie V 

Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; 
as you have books for good manners : I will name 
you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; 
the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply 
Churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant ; the fifth, 
the Countercheck Quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie 
with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. 
All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and 
you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when 
seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when 
the parties were met themselves, one of them 
tliought but of an If, as, ' If you said so, then I 
said so ; ' and they shook hands and swore brothers. 
Your If is the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If. 

Jiiq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lordV he's as 
good at any thing and yet a fool. 

Buk-e S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse 
and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. 

Eater Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia. 
Still Music. 
Hum. Then is there mirth in heaven. 
When earthly things made even 

Atone together. 
Good duke, receive thy daughter : 
Hymen from heaven brought her, 

Yea, brought her hither. 
That thou mightst join her hand with his 
Whose heart within his bosom is. 
lios. [To_Dwte]Toyou Igivemyself,forIamyours. 
[To Orl.\ To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
Duke a. If there be truth in sight, you are my 

daughter. 
Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. 
Phe. If sight and shape be true. 
Why then, my love adieu ! 

lios. I '11 have no father, if you be not he : 
I '11 have no husband, if you be not he : 
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 
Iljm. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
'T is I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events : 
Here 's eight tliat must take hands 
To join in Hymen's bands, 

If truth holds true contents. 
Y'ou and you no cross shall part : 
Y'ou and you are heart in heart : 
You to his love must accord, 
Or have a woman to your lord : 
Y'ou and you are sure together, 
As the winter to foul weather. 
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing. 
Feed yourselves with questioning; 
That reason wonder may diminish, 
How thus we met, and these things finish. 

SONG. 

Wedding is great Juno's crown : 
O blessed bond of board and bed ! 

'T is Hymen peoples every town ; 
High we<ll(ick then be honoured: 

Honour, high honour and renown. 

To Hymen, god of every town ! 

Dukc- S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to 
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. [me! 

Phc. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 



Enter Jaques de Boys. 

Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or 
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, [two : 

That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address'd a miglity power; which were on foot. 
In his own condm-t, purposely to take 
His brother here and put him to the sword: 
And to the skirts of tliis wild wood lie came; 
Where meeting with an old religious man, 
After some question with liim, was converted 
Both from his enterprise and from the world. 
His crown bequeathing to his banish 'd brother, 
And all their lands restored to them again 
That were with him exiled. This to be true, 
I do engage my life. 

Duke >:>. Welcome, young man ; 

Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: 
To one his lands withheld, and to the other 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest let us do those ends 
That here were well Iiegun and well begot: 
And after, every of this happy number 
That have endured slirewd days and nights with us 
.Shall share the good of our returned fortune. 
According to the measure of their states. 
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity 
And fall into our rustic revelry. 
Play, music ! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, 
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 

Jaq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, 
The duke hath put on a religious life 
And thrown into neglect the pomjious court ? 

Juq. de B. He hath. 

Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
There is much matter to be beard and leani'd. 
[To Duke] Y'ou to your former honour I bequeath; 
Y'our patience and your virtue well deserves it : 
[To Or!.] Y'ou to a love that your true falHt doth 
merit: [allies: 

To OH.] Y"ou to your land and love and great 
To Sil.] l^ou to a long and well-deserved bed: 
To Touch.] And you to wrangling; for thy loving 
voyage " [ures: 

Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleas- 
I am for other than for dancing measures. 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 

Jaq. To see no pastime I : what you would have 
I '11 stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [E.dt. 

Duke a. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these 
As we do trust tliey "11 end, in true delights, [rites, 

[^1 dance. 

EPILOGUE. 

Eos. It is hot the fashion to see the lady the 
epilogue ; but it is no more unhandsome than to see 
tlie lord the i)rologue. If it be true that good wine 
needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs 
no epilogue ; yet to good wine they do use good 
bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help 
of good epilogues. AVhat a case am I in then, that 
am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate 
with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not 
furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not 
become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll 
begin with the women. I charge you, O women, 
for the love you bear to men, to like as much of 
this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, 
for the love you bear to women — as I perceive by 
your simpering, none of you hates them — that be- 
tween you and t!ie women the play may please. If 
I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had 
beards that pleased me, comjilexions that liked me 
and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as 
many as have good beards or good faces or sweet 
breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, 
bid me farewell. [Exeunt. 

189 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



A Lord. 1 

Christopher Sly, a tinker. I Persons in the 

Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, i Induction. 

and Servants. J 

Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. 
Vincentio, an old gentleman of Pisa. 
Liicentio, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianea. 
Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to 

Katharina. 
Gremio, 
Hortensio, 



3io, J 



suitors to Bianea. 



I servants to Lueentio. 
> servants to Petruchio. 



Tranio, 
Biondello, 
Grumio, 
Curtis, 
A Pedant. 

Katharina, the shrew, ^ j^^^t^, ^ Baptista. 
Bianea, J 

Widow. 
Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Bap- 
tista and Petruchio. 



[Fo 



SCENE — Padua, and Petruchio's country house. 
Analysis of the Plot of this Play, see Page XLIX.] 



IlS^DXJCTIOISr. 



SCENE I. — Before an alehouse on a heath. 

Enter Hostess and Sly. 

,S'?i/. I '11 pheeze yon, in faith. 

Hiist. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! 

Shj. Ye are a bag'gage : the Slys are no rogues ; 
look' in the cln-onicles; we came in with Richard 
Conqueror. Tlierefore paucas pallabris; let the 
world slide: sessa! [burst? 

i/".s(. i'ou will not pay for the glasses you have 

iS7//. No, not a denier. Go by, jeronimy : go to 
thy cold bed, and warm thee. 

Host. I know my remedy ; I must go fetch the 
third-borough. [Exit. 

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an- 
swer him by law: I '11 not budge an inch, boy: let 
him come, and kindly. [Falls asleep. 

Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train. 

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
hounds : 
Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss 'd ; 
And couple Clowder with tlie deep-mouth 'd brach. 
Saw'st tliovi not, boy, how Silver made it good 
At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault ? 
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound, [lord ; 

First Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my 
He cried upon it at the merest loss 
And twice to-day piek'd out the dullest scent: 
Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 

Lord. Thou art a fool : if Echo were as fleet, 
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
But sup them well and look unto them all : 
To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 

First Him. I will, my lord. 

Lord. What 's here ? one dead, or drunk ? See, 
doth he breathe ? 

Sec. Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not 
^larni'd with ale, 
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly, [lies ! 

Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he 
Grim death , how foul and loathsome is thine image ! 
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his lingers, 
A most delicious banquet by his bed, 
190 



And brave attendants near him when he wakes, ^ 
Would not the beggar then forget himself y [choose. ' 

First Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot 1 

Sec. Hun. It would seem strange unto him when ! 
lie waked. [fancy. | 

Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worthless \ 
Then take him up and manage well the jest : 1 

Carry him gently to my fairest cliainber I 

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: 
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters 
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: 
Procure me music ready when he wakes, 
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; ^ 

And if he chance to speak, be ready straight j 

And with a low submissive reverence j 

Say ' Wliat is it your honour will command ? ' ' 

Let one attend him with a silver basin | 

Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers; j 

Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, ' 

And say ' Will 't please your lordship cool your \ 
Some one be ready with a "costly suit [hands l* ' i 

And ask him what apjiarel he will wear; I 

Another tell him of his hounds and horse, I 

And that his lady mourns at his disease: 
Persuade him that he liatli been lunatic ; [ 

And when he says he is, say that he dreams, ' 

For lie is nothing but a mighty lord. j 

This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs: 1 

It will be pastime passhig excellent, 1 

If it be linslianded witli modesty. | 

First Hun. Mv lord, I warrant you we will play j 
As he shall think by our true diligence [our part, j 
He is no less than wliat we say he is. j 

Lord. Take him up gently and to bed with him ; 1 
And each one to his olHee when he wakes. ' 

[Some bear out SI;/. A trumpet sounds. ■ 
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: ; 

[Exit Servingmdn. \ 
Belike, some noble gentleman that means, ■ 

Travelling some journey, to repose him here. ] 

He-enter Servlngman. 1 

How now ! who is it ? ■ 

Serv. An 't please your honour, players 

That offer service to your lordship. 

Lord. Bid them come near. . | 



INDUCTION. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



SCEJS^E II. 



Elder Players. 

Now, fellows, you are welcome. 

Players. We thank your honour. 

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night ? 

A Plai/cr. So please your lordship to accept our 
duty. 

Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, 
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son: 
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: 
I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part 
"Was aptly fitted and natiu-ally perform "d. [means. 

A Player. I think 'twas Soto that your lionour 

Lord. 'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent. 
Well, you are come to me in happy time; 
The rather for I have some sport in hand 
Wlierein your cunning can assist me much. 
Tliere is a lord will liear you play to-night: 
But I am doubtful of your modesties; 
Lest over-eyeing of his odd behaviour, — 
For yet his honour never heard a play, — 
You break into some merry passion 
And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, 
I£ you should smile he grows impatient. [selves, 

A Player. Fear not, my lord : we can contam our- 
Were he the veriest antic in the world. 

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 
And give them friendly welcome every one : 
Let them want nothing that my house affords. 

[Exit one with the Players. 
Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page, 
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber ; 
And call him ' madam,' do him obeisance. 
Tell him from me, as he will win my love. 
He bear himself with honourable action. 
Such as he hath observed in noble ladies 
Unto their lords, by them accomi)lished : 
Such duty to the drunkard let him do 
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, 
And say ' What is 't your honour will command, 
Wherein your lady and your humble wife 
May show her duty and make known her love ? ' 
And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses. 
And with declining head into his bosom, 
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy 'd. 
To see her noble lord restored to health. 
Who for this seven years hath esteemed him 
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
And if the boy have not a woman's gift 
To rain a shower of commanded tears, 
An onion will do well for such a shift, 
Which in a napkin being close convey'd 
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
See this dispatch 'd with all the haste thou canst : 
Anon I '11 give thee more instructions. 

[E.cit a Servingman. 
I know the boy will well usurp the grace, 
Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman : 
I long to hear him call the drunkard husband, 
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter 
Wlien they do homage to this simple peasant. 
I '11 in to counsel them ; haply my presence 
May well aljate the over-merry spleen 
Which otherwise would grow" into extremes. 

[Excmt. 

SCENE II. — A hedchamhcr in the Lord^s house. 

Enter aloft Sly, 7tnlh Attendants ; some with apparel, 
uthcra with basin and ewer and oilier appurtenances; 
and Lords. 

Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 

First Serv. Will 't please your lordship drink a 

cup of sack I* 
Sec. Serv. Will 't please yoiu: honour taste of these 

conserves ? 



Third Serv. What raiment will your lionour wear 
to-day ? 

Sly. I am Christophero Sly ; call not me ' honour ' 
nor 'lordship: ' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and 
if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of 
beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I '11 wear; for I 
have no more doublets than backs, no more stock- 
ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, 
sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my 
toes look through the over-leather. 

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your 
O, that a mighty man of such descent, [honoiu' ! 
Of such possessions and so high esteem, 
Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 

Sly. What, would you make me mad ? Am not I 
Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by 
birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker,by trans- 
mutation a bear-herd, and now by present jirofes- 
sion a tinker';* Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale- 
wife of Wincot, if she know me not : if she say I am 
not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score 
me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. 
What! I am not bestraught: here's — 

Third Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady 
mourn ! [droop! 

Sec. Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants 

Lord. Hence comes it that yom' kindred shuns 
your house. 
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 

noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth," 

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment 

And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. 

Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 

Each in his office ready at thy beck. 

Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plaj's [Music. 

And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 

Or wilt thou sleep ? we '11 Jiave thee to a couch 

Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 

On purpose trimm'd up tor Seniiramis. 

Say thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground : ■ 

Or wilt thou ride':* thy horses shall lie trapp'd, 

Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 

Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast hawks will soar 

Above the morning lark : or wilt thou hunt ? 

Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them 

And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 

First Serv. Say thou wilt course ; thy greyhounds 
are as swift 
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 

Sec. Serv. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch 
thee straight 
Adonis painted by a running brook, 
And Cytherea all in sedges Idd, 
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath. 
Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 

Lord. We 'n show thee lo as she was a maid, 
And how she was beguiled and surprised. 
As lively painted as the deed was done. [wood. 

Third Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny 
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds. 
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep. 
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 

Lord. Thou art a lord and nothing but a k'rd : 
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
Than any woman in this waning age. [for tl ei 

First Serv. And till the tears that she hath shed 
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, 
She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
And yet she is inferior to none. 

Sly. Am I a lord V and have I such a lady ? 
Or do I dream V or have I dream 'd till now V 

1 do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak ; 

I smell sweet savours and I feel soft things : 
Upon my life, I am a lonl indeed 
And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly. 
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight ; 
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 
I'Jl 



ACT I. 



THE TA3IING OF THE SHREW. 



SCEXE I. 



Sec. Serv. Will 't please your mightiness to wash 
your hands? 
O, how we joy to see your wit restored ! 
O, that once more you knew but what you are! 
These lifteen years you have been in a di-eam ; 
Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept. 

Sly. These tifteen years ! by my fay', a goodly nap. 
But did I never speak of all that time? 

First Serv. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words : 
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door; 
And rail upon the linstess of the house; 
And say you would present her at the leet. 
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts : 
Sometimes }'0u would call out for Cicely Hacket. 

SI I/. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 

Third Serv. Why, sir, you know no house nor no 
such maid. 
Nor no such men as j'ou have reckon VI up. 
As Stephen Sly and old .Jolin Naps of Greece 
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell 
And twenty more such names and men as these 
AVhich never were nor no man ever saw. 

Sh). Now Lord be thanked for my good amends ! 

All. Amen. 

Sly. I thank thee : thou shalt not lose by it. 

Enter the Page as a lady, with Attendants. 
Pmje. How fares my noble lord ? 
Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough. 

Where is my wife ? 
Parje. Here, noble lord : what is thy will with her ? 
Sly. Are jou my wife and will not call me hus- 
band ? [man. 

My men should call me ' lord : ' I am your good- 
Pa;/?. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus- 

I am your wife in all obedience. [Ijand; 

Sly. I know^ it well. What must I call her? 



Lord. Madam. 

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? [ladies. 

Lord. 'Madam,' and nothing else:' so lords call 

Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream 'd 
And" slept above some fifteen year or more. 

Feige. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, 
Being all this time abandon 'd from your bed. 

Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her 
alone. 
Madam, undress you and come now to bed. 

Paye. Thrice-noble lord, let me entreat of you 
To pardon me yet for a night or two, 
Or, it not so, until the sun be set : 
For your physicians have expressly charged, 
In peril to incur your former malady. 
That I should yet absent me from your bed : 
I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 

Sly. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so 
long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams 
again : I will therefore tarry in despite of the flesh 
and the blood. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Your honour's plaj'ers, hearing your amend- 
Are come to play a pleasant comedy : [ment, 

For so your doctors hold it very meet. 
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal 'd your blood, 
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy : 
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play 
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 
Which bars a thousand harms ami lengthens life. 

Sly. Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not a 
comonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick ? 

Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing stuff. 

Sly. What, household stuff? 

Page. It is a kind of history. 

Sly. Well, we '11 see 't. Come, madam wife, sit 
by my side and let the world slip : we shall ne'er be 
younger. ilourish. 



ACT I, 



SCENE I.— Padua. A piihlic place. 

Enter Lucentio and his man Tranio. 

Luc. Tranio, since for the great desire I had 
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, 
I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy, 
The pleasant garden of great Italy ; 
And by my father's love and leave am arm'd 
With his good will and thy good company, 
My trusty servant, well approved in all, 
Here let us breathe and haply institute 
A course of learning and ingenious studies. 
Pisa renowned for grave citizens 
Gave me my being and my fatlier first, 
A mercliant of great traffic through the world, 
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
Vincentio's sou brought up in Florence 
It shall become to serve all Impes conceived. 
To deck his fortune witli his virtuous deeds: 
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study. 
Virtue and that part of piiilosophy 
Will I ap)ily tliiit treats of lKii)piness 
By virtue specially to be acliieved. 
Tell me thy mind ; for I have Pisa left 
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves 
A shallow plash to ])lunge him in the deep 
And with satiety s^eks to quench his thirst. 

Tra. Ml ix-nhmato, gentle master mine, 
I am in i'll aiferted as yourself; 
Glad tliat you tluis continue your resolve 
To suck tlie sweets of sweet plulosoi)hy. 
Only, good niast'T, while wc do admire 
This virtue and tiiis moral discipline, 
192 



Let 's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray; 

Or so devote to Aristotle's checks 

As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured: 

Balk logic with acquaintance that you have 

And practise rhetoric in your C(nnnion talk; 

jlusic and poesy use to quicken you ; 

The mathematics and tlie nietapliysics, 

Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you; 

No profit grows where is no pleasiu-e ta'en : 

In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 

Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, 
AVe could at once put us in readiness, 
And take a lodging fit to entertain 
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. 
But stay a while : what company is this ? 

Tra. "^Master, some show to welcome us to town. 

i^»ie?-Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio.cou? 

Hortensio. Lucentio and Tranio stand by. 

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther. 
For how I firmly am resolved you know; 
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter 
Before I have a husband'for tlie elder: 
If either of you botli love Katharina, 
Because I know you well and lo\'e you well. 
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleas- 
ure. 

Gre. [Aside] To cart her rather : she 's too rough 
for me. 
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? 

Kath. I pray you, sir, is it your will 
To make a stale of me amongst these mates ? 



ACT I. 



THE TA3IING OF THE SHREW. 



;CEXE I. 



Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you tbat ? no mates 
Unless yoa were of gentler, milder moidd. [for you, 

Kath. V faitli, sir, you shall never need to fear: 
I wis it is not half way to lier heart ; 
But if it were, doubt not her care should be 
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool 
And paint your face and use you like a fool. 

Hor. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us ! 

Gie. And me too, good Lord ! [ward : 

Trn. Hush, master ! here 's some good pastime to- 
That wench is stark mad or wonderful frowurd. 

Lii<\ But ill the other's silence do I see ^ 

Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. 
Peace, Tranio ! 

Tra. Well said, master; mum! and gaze yom- fill. 

Ba}). Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
■\Vhat I have said. Bianca, get you in: 
And let it not <lispU-ase thee, good Bianca, 
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my gii'l. 

Kath. A pretty peat ! it is best 
Put finger in tlie eye, an she knew why. 

Bidfi. Sister, content you m my discontent. 
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: 
My books and instruments shall be my company, 
On them to look and practise by myself. [speak. 

Luc. Hark, Tranio I thou may'st hear Minerva 

Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange ■:* 
Sorry am I that our good will effects 
Biaiica's grief. 

Gre. AVhy will you mew her up, 

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, 
And make her bear the penance of her tongue ? 

Bap. Gentlemen, content ye : I am resolved : 
Go in, Bianca : ^Exit Bianca. 

And for I know she taketh most delight 
In music, instruments and poetry. 
Schoolmasters will I keep withiii my house. 
Fit to instruct lier youth. If you, Hortensio, 
Or Signior Gremio, you, know any such. 
Prefer them liither; for to cunning men 
I will be very kind, and liberal 
To mine ovrii children in good bringing up : 
And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay ; 
For I have more to commune with Bianca. [Exit. 

Kath. AVhy, and I trust I may go too, may I 
not';' What, shall I be appointed hours; as thougli, 
belike, I knew not what to take, and what to leave, 
ha ? [E.cit. 

Gre. You may go to the devil's dam : your gifts 
are so good, here 's none will hold you. Tlieir love 
is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails 
together, and fast it fairly out : our cake 's dough on 
both sides. Farewell : yet, for the love I bear my 
sweet Bianca, if I can by r.ny means light on a fit 
man to teach her that wherein she delitjlits, I will 
wisli him to her father. 

Hor. So will I, Signior Gremio : but a word, I pray. 
Thougli the nature of our (luarrel yet never brooked 
parle,"know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both, 
tliat we may yet again have access to our fair mis- 
tress and be luqipy rivals in Bianca's love, to labour 
and effect one thing specially. 

Gre. What 's that, I pray '•' 

Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 

Gre. A husband! a devil. 

Hor. I say, a husband. 

Gre. I say. a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, 
though her father be very rich, any man is so very 
a fool to be married to liell ■:* 

Hor. Tush. Gremio, though it pass your patieitf;e 
and mine to endure lier h\\v\ alarums, why, man, 
tiiere be good fellows in the world, an a man could 
liglit on thein, would take her with all faults, and 
money enough. 

Gn:. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her 
dowry with this condition, to be whipped at the 
high cross every morning. 
13 



Hor. Faith, as j'ou say, there "s small choice in 
rotten apples. But come; since tliis bar in law 
makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly 
maintained till by helping Baptista's eldest dauglster 
to a liusbaiid we "set liis yomigest free for a husband, 
and then have to 't afresh. Sweet Bianca ! Haiijiy 
man be his dole ! He that runs fastest gets the ring. 
How say you, Signior Gremio '? 

Gre. I am agreed ; and would I had given him tlie 
best horse in Padua to begin his wooing that would 
thoroughly woo her, wed her and bed her and rid 
the house of her I Come on. 

[Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. 

Tra. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible 
That love should of a sudden take such hold'? 

Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
I never thought it possible or likely; 
But see, while idly I stood looking on, 
I found the effect of love in idleness: 
And now in plainness do confess to thee, 
That art to me as secret and as dear 
As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was, 
Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, 
If I achieve not this young modest girl. 
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; 
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now; 
Affection is not rated from the heart : 
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, 
' Redime te captum quam queas minimo.' 

Luc. Gramercies, lad, go forward; this contents: 
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 

Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid, 
Perhaps you mark'd not what 's the pith of all. 

Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, 
Such as the daughter of Agenor had, 
That made great Jove to Immble him to her hand. 
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 

7'ra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not how her 
Began to scold and raise up such a storm [sister 
That mortal ears might hardly endure tlie din ':* 

Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips tu move 
And with her breath she did perfume the air: 
Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. [trance. 

Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir liim from his 
I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid, [stands: 
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it 
Her elih-st sister is so curst and shrewd 
That till the father rid his hands of her, 
]Master, your love must live a maid at home; 
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, 
Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. 

Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father 's he ! 
But art thou not advised, he took some care 
To get her cuiming schoolmasters to instruct her ? 

Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted. 

Luc. I have it, Tranio. 

Tra. Master, for my hand. 

Both our inventions meet and jump iu one. 

Luc. Tell me thine first. 

Tra. You will be schoolmaster 

And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
That 's your device. 

Luc. It is : may it be done ? 

Tra. j^ot possible; for who shall bear your jiart, 
And be in Padua here Vmceutio's son, 
Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends, 
"V^isit his countrymen and banquet them y 

Luc. Basta ; content thee, for I have it full. 
We have not yet been seen in any house, 
Xor can we be distinguish 'd by our faces 
For man or master; then it follows thus; 
Thou Shalt be master, Tranio, iu my stead. 
Keep house and port and servants, as I should: 
I will sdine other be, some Florentine, 
Some Xeapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 
'T is hatch'd and shall be so : Tranio, at once 
193 



ACT I. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE II. 



Uncase thee ; take my colourVl hat and cloak : 
When Bioudello comes, he waits on thee; 
But I will cliarm liim tirst to keep his tongue. 

Tra. So had you need. 
In brief, sir, sitli it your pleasure is, 
And I am tied to be obedient ; 
Por so your father charged me at our parting, 
' Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he. 
Although I think 'twas in another sense; 
I am content to be Lucentio, 
Because so well 1 love Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: 
And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
Wliose sudden siglit hath thrall'd my wounded eye. 
Here comes the rogue. 

Enter Biondello. 

Sirrali, where have you been V 

Bion. Where have I been ! Nay, how now ! where 
are you ^ Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your 
clothes y Or you stolen his ? or both V pray, what 's 
the news ? 

Luc. Sirrah, come hither: 't is no time to jest, 
And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
Puts my apparel and my countenance on, 
And I for my escape- have put on his ; 
For in a quarrel since I came ashore 
I kill'd a man and fear I was descrisd : 
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, 
AVhile I make way from hence to save my life : 
You understand me V 

Bion. I, sir ! ne'er a whit. 

Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth : 
Tranio is changed into Lucentio. 

Bion. The better for him : would I were so too ! 

Tra. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish 
after, [daughter. 

That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest 
But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I 
advise [panics : 

You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com- 
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ; 
But in all places else your master Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, let 's go : one tiling more rests, that 
thyself execute, to make one among tliese wooers : 
if tliou ask me why, sufticeth, my reasons are both 
good and weighty. [Exeunt. 

The presenters above speak. 

First Serv. My lord, you nod; you do not mind 
the play. 

Sly. Yes, by Saint Anne, do I. A good matter, 
surely : comes there any more of it ? 

Fage. My lord, 'tis but begun. 

Sly. 'T is a very excellent piece of work, madam 
lady : would 't were done ! [Tlicy sit and mark. 

SCENE II. — Padua. Before Hortensio^s ftoMse. 

Enter Petruchio and his man Grumio. 

Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. 
To see my friends in Padua, but of "all 
My best beloved and approved friend, 
Hortensio ; and I trow this is his house. 
Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say. 

Grjit. Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there 
any man has rebused your worship ? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 

Gru. Knock you here, sir! why, sir. what am I, 
sir, that I should knock you here, sir / 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate 
And rap me well, or I '11 knock your knave's pate. 

Oru. My master is grown quarrelsome. I should 
knock you first. 
And then I know after who comes by the worst. 

Fct. Will it not be V 

19i 



Faith, sirrah, an j'ou '11 not knock, I '11 ring it ; 
I '11 try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 

[He wrings him by the ears. 

Gru. Help, masters, help! my master is mad. 

Pet. Kow, knock when 1 bid you, sirrah villain ! 

Enter Hortensio. 

Hor. How now! what's tlie matter? My old 
friend Grumio ! and ihy good friend Petruchio ! 
How do you all at Verona ? 

Pet. Signior Hortensio , come you to part the fray ? 
'Con tutto il cuore, ben trovato,' may I say. 

Hor. 'Alia nostra casaben venuto, moltohonorato 
signor mio Petruchio.' 
Rise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel. 

Gru. jVay, 't is no matter, sir, what he 'leges in 
Latin. If this be not a la^vf ul cause for me to leave 
his service, look you, sir, he bid me knock him and 
rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant 
to use his master so, being perhaps, for aught I see, 
two and thirty, a pip out? 

Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first, 
Then had not Grumio come by tlie worst. 

Pet. A senseless villain ! Good Hortensio, 
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate. 
And could not get him for my heart to do it. 

Gru. Knock at the gate! O heavens! Spake 
you not these words plain, ' Sirrah, knock me here, 
rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly ' ? 
And come you now with, ' knocking at the gate ' ? 

Pet. Sirridi, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 

Hor. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge : 
Why, this 's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you. 
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Griunio. 
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale 
Blows you to Padua here from old Verona ? 

Pet. "Such wind as scatters young men through 
the world 
To seek their fortunes farther than at home 
AVhere small experience grows. But in a few, 
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: 
Antonio, my father, is deceased ; 
And I have thrust myself into this maze. 
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may : 
Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home, 
And so am come abroad to see the world. 

Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee 
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife ? 
Thou 'Idst thank me but a little for my counsel : 
And yet I '11 promise thee she shall be rich 
And Very rich : but thou 'rt too much my friend. 
And I "11 not wish thee to her. 

Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we 
Few words suflice: and tl'.erefore, if thou know 
One rich enough to be Petrucliio's wife, 
As wealtli is burden of my wooing dance. 
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love. 
As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd 
As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse. 
She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
Affection's edge in me, were she as rough 
As are the swelling Adriatic seas; 
I come to wive it wealtliily in Pailua; 
If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 

Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what 
his mind is: why, give him gold enough and marry 
him- to a puppet or an aglet-liahy ; or an old trot 
with ne'er a tooth in her iiead, though she have as 
many diseases as two and litty hi irses : why, nothing 
conies amiss, so money comes withal. 

Hoi-. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in, 
I will iMntiiiue that I broach'd in jest. 
I can. Pctrucliio, lielp thee to a wife 
Witli «eaUh enough and young and beauteous, 
Brouglit u]) as best liecomes a gentlewoman: 
Her only fault, and that is faults enough. 
Is that slie is intolerable curst 



ACT I. 



THE TA3IING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE II. 



And shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure 

That, were my state far worser than it is, 

I would not wed her for a mine of gold. [effect : 

Pet. ITortensio, peace I thou know'st not gold's 
Tell nie lier father's nauic and 'tis enough; 
For I will board her, thouiili she cltide as loud 
As thunder when tlie ckuuls in antumn crack. 

Hiir. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
An affalile and courteous gentleman : 
lier name is Katharina Minola, 
Kenowii'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 

I'et. I know her fatlier, though I know not her; 
And he knew my deceased father well. 
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; 
And therefore let me be thus bold with j-ou 
To give you over at this first encounter. 
Unless you will accompany me thither. 

Gra. 1 pray you, sir, let him go while the humour 
lasts. O' my word, an she knew liim as well as [ 
do, she would think scolding would do little good 
upon him : she may perhaps call him half a score 
knaves or so: why, that 's nothing; an he begin 
once, he '11 rail in his rope-tricks. I '11 tell you what, 
sir, an she stand him but a little, he will throw a 
figure in her face and so disfigure her with it that 
she sluill have no more eyes to see withal than a cat. 
You know him not, sir. 

Hiir. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee. 
For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: 
He hath the jewel of my life in hold, 
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca, 
And lier withholds from me and other more, 
Suitors to her and rivals in my love, 
Supposing it a thing impossible, 
For those defects Ihave before rehearsed, 
That ever Katliarina will be woo'd ; 
Tlierefore this order hath Baptista ta'en. 
That none .shall have access unto Bianca 
Til! Katharine the curst liave got a husband. 

Gra. Katharine the curst! 
A title for a maid of all titles the worst. 

Hor. Xow sliall my friend Petruchio do me grace, 
And offer me disguised in sober robes 
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
AVell seen in music, to instruct Bianca; 
That so I may, by this device, at least 
Have leave and leisure to make love to her 
And unsuspected court her by herself. 

Gru. Here 's no knavery ! See, to beguile the old 
folks, how the youug follis lay their heads together ! 

Enter Gremio, and Lucentio disguised. 
Master, master, look about you : who goes there, ha ? 

Hor. Peace, Grumio ! it is the rival of my love. 
Petruchio, stand by a while. 

Gru. A proper stripling and an amorous! 

Gre. O, very well, I have perused the note. 
Il'ark you, sir ; I '11 have them very fairly bound : 
All books of love, see that at any hand ;. 
And see you read no other lectures to her: 
You understand me: over and beside 
Signior Baiitista's liberality, 
I '11 mend it with a largess. Take your paper too. 
And let me have them very well perfumed : 
For she is sweeter than perfume itself 
To whom they go to. What will you read to her '? 

Luc. AVhate'er I read to her, I '11 plead for you 
As for my patron, stand you so assiu'ed. 
As firmly as yourself were still in place : 
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words 
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 

Gre. O this learning, what a thing it is ! 

Gru. O this woodcock, what an ass it is ! 

Pet. Peace, sirrah ! [Gremio. 

Hor. Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior 

Gre. And you are well met, Signiorllortensio. 
Trow you whither I am going ':* To Baptista Miuola. 



I promised to inquire carefully 

About a schoolnuister for the fair Bianca: 

Anil liy good fortune I have lighted well 

On this young man, for learning and behaviour 

Fit for I'ler tiu-n, well read in poetry 

And other books, good ones, I warrant ye. 

Hor. 'T is well ; and I have met a gentleman 
Hath promised me to help me to another, 
A fine nmsician to instruct our mistress; 
So shall I no whit be behind in duty 
To fair Bianca, so beloved of me. [prove. 

Gre. Beloved of me ; and that my deeds shall 

Gru. And that his bags shall prove. 

Hor. Gremio, 't is uo,w no time to vent our love : 
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 
I '11 tell you news indifferent good for either. 
Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, 
Upon agreement from us to his liking. 
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine, 
Yea, and to marry her, it her dowry please. 

Gre. So said, so done, is well. 
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults ? 

Pet. I know she is an irksome brawling scold : 
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. [man ? 

Gre. No, say'st me so, friend':* AVhat couutry- 

Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's sou: 
My father dead, my fortune "lives for me; 
And I do hope good days and long to see. [strange! 

Gre. O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were 
But if you have a stomach, to 't i' God's name : 
You shall have me assisting you in all. 
But will you woo this wild-cat ':* 

Pet. AVill I live ? 

Gru. Will he woo her ? ay, or I '11 hang her. 

Pet. Why came I hitiier but to that intent y 
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears y 
Have I not in my time heard lions roar 'i 
Have I not heard the sea puff 'il up with winds 
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat ":' 
Have I not heard "great ordnance in the field, 
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies':* 
Have I not in a pitched liattle heard 
Loud 'larums, neigliing steeds, and trumpets' cFang'? 
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue. 
That gives not half so great a blow to hear 
As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire ':* 
Tush, tush ! fear boys with bugs. 

Gru. For he fears none. 

Gre. Hortensio. hark : 
This gentleman is hajipily arrived, 
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. 

Hor. I promised we would be contributors 
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 

Gre. And so we will, provided tliat he win her. 

Gru. I would I vi-ere as sure of a good dinner. 

Enter Ti-anio hrave, and Biondello. 

Tra. Gentlemen, God save you. If I may be bold, 
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola ? 

Bion. He that has the two fair daughters : is 't 

Tra. Even he, Biondello. [lie you mean ':* 

Gre. Hark you, sir; you mean not her to — 

Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir: what have you 
to do y 

Pet. Not her that chides, sir. at any hand, I pray. 

Tra. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let 's away. 

Luc. Well begun, Tranio. 

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; 

Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no ? 

Tra. And if I be, sir, is it any offence ? 

Gre. No; if without more words you will get you 
hence. 

■Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
For me as for you ":* 

Gre. But so is not she. 

Tra. For what reason, I beseech you '? 
195 



ACT II. 



THE TA3IING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE I. 



Gre. For this reason, if you "11 know, 

That she 's the choice love of Siijnior ( in-niio. 

lior. That she 's the chosen of Signior llortensio. 

Tra. (Softly, my masters! if you be geutlemen, 
Do me this right ; hear me with patience. 
Baptista is a noble gentleman, 
To wlioni iny fallier is not :!ll unknown; 
And w( ri' his ilaunhter fairer than slic is, 
ISlic may more suitors lun>' and me for one. 
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; 
Tlien well one more may fair Bianca have : 
And so she shall ; Lucentio sliall make one, 
Though Paris came in hojie to speed alone. 

Grc. What! this gentleman Avill out-talk us all. 

Luc. Sir, give him head : I know he '11 prove a 
jade. 

Pet. Hortensio,to what end are all these words? 

Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you. 
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? 

Tra. No, sir; but hear I du that lie liath two, 
The one as famous for a scolding tongue 
As is tlie other for beauteous modesty. 

Pet. Sir, sir, the first 's for me ; let her go by. 

Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; 
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 



Pit. Sir, understand you this of me in sooth : 
The youngest daugliter whom you hearken for 
Her father keeps from all access of suitors, 
And will not promise her to any man 
Until the elder sister first be wed : 
The younger then is free and not before. 

Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
Must stead us all and me arliongst the rest, 
And if you break the ice and do this feat, 
Acliieve the elder, set the 3'ounger free 
For our access, whose hap shall be to have her 
Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. 

Hor. Sir, you say well and well you do conceive; 
And since you do profess to be a suitor. 
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
To whom we all rest generally beholding. 

Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof, 
Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, 
And ipuilT carouses to our mistress" health. 
And do as advi-rsaries do in law, 
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. 

Gru. liiun. O excellent motion! Fellows, let 's 
be gone. 

Hor. The motion 's good indeed and be it so, 
Pttruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. {E.caint. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I. — Padua. A room hi Baptista''s house. 
Enter Katharina and Bianca. 

Biari. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong your- 
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me : [self, 

That I disdain : but for these other gawds. 
Unbind my hands, I '11 pull them off myself, 
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; 
Or what you will command me will I do, 
So well I know my duty to my elders. 

Jyith. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
Wliom thou lovest best : see thou dissemble not. 

Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive 
I never yet beheld that special face 
WHiich i could fancy more than any other. 

Kath. Minion, thou liest. Is 't not Hortensio V 

Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear 
I '11 plead for you myself, but you shall have liim. 

Katk. O then, belike, you fancy riclies more: 
Y'ou will have Gremio to keep you fair. 

Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so ? 
Nay then you jest, and now I will perceive 
You liave but jested with me all this while : 
I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 

Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. 

[Strikes her. 
Enter Baptista. 

Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows this 
insolence Y 
Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl ! she weeps. 
Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. 
For shame, thou hilding of a devilisli spirit. 
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong 

thee V 
When did she cross thee with a bitter word ¥ 
Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I 'II be revenged. 
[Flies after Bianca. 
Bap. What, in my sight ? Bianca, get tliee in. 

[Exit Bianca. 
Kath. What, will you not suffer me ? Nay, now 
I see 
She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
I must ilaiicf barefoot on her wedding day 
And for your love to her lead apes in hell. 
Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep 
TJll I can find occasion of revenge. [Exit. 

196 



Bap. Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I ? | 
But who comes here ? | 

Enter Gremio, Lucentio in the habit of a mean nmir ; 
Petmchio, H'l Ih Hortensio as a musician; ujiii Tranio, 
inch Biondello bearing a lute and boots. 

Gre. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. \ 

Bap. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God ; 
save you, gentlemen ! ; 

Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a I 
daughter i 

Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous ? 

Bap. I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina. ; 

Gre. You are too blunt : go to it orderly. [It a\"e4 j 

Pet. You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me 
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir. 
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, i 

Her affability and bashful modesty, j 

Her wondrous qualities and mild Jbehaviour, 
Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
AVithin your house, to make mine eye the witness | 
Of that report winch I so oft have heard. | 

And, for an entrance to my entertainment, i 

I do present you with a man of mine, I 

[J'rcscnting Hortensio. j 
Cunning in music and the mathematics, ; 

To instruct her fully in those sciences, 
Whereof 1 know slie is not ignorant: 
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong : | 

His name is Licio, lH)rn in JIantua. [sake. | 

Bap. You 're welcome, sir : and he, for your good ; 
But for my daugliter Katharine, this I know. 
She is not "for your turn, the more my grief. ! 

Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her, j 

Or else you like not of my company. ' 

Bap. Mistake me not ; I speak but as I find. 
Whence are you, sir ? what may I call your name ? 

Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, ] 

A man well known throughout all Italy. [sake. 

Bap. I know him well: you are welcome for his < 

Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, \ 

Let us, tliat are poor petitioners, speak too : 
Baccare! you are marvellous forward. 

Pet. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain 
be doing. [wooing. 

Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your : 



ACT II. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHEEVf. 



SCENE I. 



Xeighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure 
of it. To express tlie like kindness, myself, that 
luive been more kindly beholding to you than any, 
freely give unto you this young scholar [jiresetitiiui 
Luccntio], that hath been long studying at Ulieinis; 
as cunning in Greek, LatinTand other languages, 
as the other in music and mathematics : his uame 
is Cambio ; pray, accept his service. 

Bap. A thousand thanlcs, Signior Gremio. AVel- 
eome, good Cambio. [To Traaio] But, gentle sir, 
nif thinks you walk like a stranger : may I be so bold 
to know the cause of your coming"? 

Tea. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own, 
That, being a strangi-r in this city here, 
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. 
Nor is your firm I'esolve unknown to me, 
In the jsrefernient of the eldest sister. 
This liberty is all that I request. 
That, upon knowledge of my iiarentage, 
I may have welcome "mongst the rest tliat woo 
And free access and favour as the rest : 
And, toward the eihicatiou of your daughters, 
1 liere bestow a simi^it/ instrument. 
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books : 
If you accept them, then tlieir worth is great. 

Jbap. Lucentio is your name ; of whence, I pray ? 

Tea. Of Pisa, sir; sou to Vincentio. 

Bai). A mighty man of Pisa; by report 
I know him well : you are very welcome, sir. 
Take you the lute, and you the set of books ; 
You shall go see your pupils presently. 
Holla, within ! 

Enter a Servant. 
Sirrah, lead tliese gentlemen 
To my daughters; and tell them both. 
These are their tutors : bid them use them well. 

[Exit Sen-ant, with Lucentio and Hortensio, Bion- 
dello following. 
We will go walk a little in the orchard. 
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome. 
And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 

Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste. 
And every day I cannot come to woo. 
You knew my father well, and in him me. 
Left solely heit to all his lands and goods, 
Which I have better'd rather than decreased: 
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, 
"What dowry shall I have with her to wife ? 

Bap. After my deatli the one half of my lands, 
And in possession twenty thousand crowns. 

Pet. And, for that dowry, I '11 assure her of 
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me. 
In all my lands and leases wliatsoever : 
Let specialtres be therefore drawn between us. 
That covenants may be kept on either hand. 

Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, 
That is, her love; for that is all in all. 

Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you, father, 
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; 
And where two raging fires meet together 
They do consume the thing tluit feeds their fury: 
Tliough little tire grows great with little wind, 
Y'et extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : 
So I to her and so she yields to me ; 
For I am rough and woo not like a babe. [speed ! 

Bap. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy 
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words, [winds. 

Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for 
That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 

Ee-enter Hortensio, icith his head broke. 
Bap. How now, my friend ! why dost thou look 

so pale y 
Hot. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
Bap. "What, will my daughter prove a good 

musician V 



Hor. I think she 'II sooner prove a soldier : 
Iron may hold with her, but ne^er lutes. [lute? 

Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the 

ITor. Why, no ; for she liath broke the lute to me. 
I did liut tell her she mistook her frets. 
And bowM her hand to teach lier fingering ; 
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 
' Frets, call you these ? ' quoth she ; ' I '11 fume with 

them : ' 
And. with that word, she struck me on the head, 
And through the instrument iuy pate made way; 
And there I stood amazed for a wliile. 
As on a pillory, looking through the lute : 
While she did call me rascal fiddler 
And twangling .Jack ; with twenty such vile terras, 
As had she studied to misuse me so. 

Pet. Kow, by tlie world, it is a lusty wench; 
I love her ten times more than e'er I did : 
O, how I long to have some cliat with her! 

Bap. WelL go with me and be not so discomfited : 
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; 
She 's apt to leani and thankful for good turns. 
Signior Petruchio, will j'ou go with us. 
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ? 

Pet. I pray you do. [Exeunt all hut PetrucMo. 
I will attend her here. 
And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 
Say that she rail ; why then I "11 tell her plain 
She sings as sweetly as a nightmgale: 
Say that she frown ; I '11 say she looks as clear 
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew: 
Say she be mute and will not speak a word ; 
Then I '11 commend her volubility. 
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
If she do bid me pack, I '11 give her thanks, 
As though she bid me stay by lier a week : 
If she deny to wed, I '11 crave the day 
Wheji I shall ask the banns and when be married. 
But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. 

Enter Katharina. 
Good morrow, Kate ; for that "s your name, I hear. 

Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard 
of hearing : 
They call me Ivatharine that do talk of me. 

Pet. You lie, in faith ; foryou are call'd plain Kate, 
And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst ; 
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, 
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; 
Hearing thy mildness praised in every town. 
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs. 
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife. 

Kath. Moved ! Ln good time : let him that moved 
you hither 
Remove you hence : I knew you at the first 
You were a moveable. 

Pet. Why, what 's a moveable ? 

Kath. A join'd-stool. 

Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me. 

Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 

Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 

Kath. Xo such jade as you, if me you meaii. 

Pel. xVUisI good Kate, I will not burden thee; 
For, knowing thee to be but yoimg and light — 

Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; 
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 

Pet. Should be ! should — buzz ! 

Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. 

Ptt. O slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take 
thee ? 

Kath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. 

Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too 
angry. 

Kath. If I be waspish, liest beware my sting. 
107 



ACT II. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE I. 



Pet. My lemedy is then, to pluck it out. 

Kuth. Ay, if tlie fool could find it where it lies. 

Pet. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his 
sting? In liis tail. 

Kath. Jn liis tongue. 

Pet. Whose tongue ? 

Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails : and so farewell. 

Pet. What, with my tongue iu your tail? nay. 
Good Kate; 1 am a gentleman. [come again, 

Kuth. That I '11 try. [She striken him. 

Pet. I swear I '11 cuff you, if you strike again. 

Kath. So may you lose your <irms : 
If you strike me, you are no gentleman; 
And if no gentleman, why then no arms. 

Pet. A herald, Kate ? O, put me in thy hooks ! 

Kath. Wliat is your crest ? a coxcomb V 

Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. 

Kuth. Nocockof mine; youcrowtoolikeacraven. 

Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not look 
so sour. 

Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. 

Pet. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look 
not sour. 

Kath. There is, there is. 

Pet. Then show it me. 

Kath. Had I a glass, I would. 

Pet. What, you mean my face? 

Kath. Well aim'd of such a yomig one. 

Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too youugforyou. 

Kath. Yet you are wither'd. 

Pet. 'T is with cares. 

Kath. I care not. 

Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth you scape not 

Kath. I chafe you, it I tarry : let me go. [so. 

Pet. No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle. 
'T was told me you were rough and coy and sullen, 
And now I find report a very liar ; 
i< or thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, 
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers : 
Tliou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, 
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will. 
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk, 
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, 
With gentle conference, soft and affable. 
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? 

slanderiius wurld ! Kate like the hazel-twig 
Is straight and slt-inler and as l_>rown in hue 
As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels. 
O, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. 

Kath. Go, fool, and whom tlioukeep'st command. 

Pet. Did ever l)ian so become a grove 
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait ? 
C>, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
And tlien let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful ! 

Kath. Where did y;iu study all this goodly speech ? 

Pet. It is extemp(.ue, from my mother-wit. 

Kath. A witty mother 1 witless else her sou. 

Pet. Am I not wise ? 

Kuth. Yes; keep you warm. 

Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy 
And therefore, setting all this chat aside, [V)ed: 
Thus in plain terms: your father liath consented 
That you shall be my wife; your dowry "greed ou; 
And, will yciu, nill you, 1 will marry you. 
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; 
For, by this light, wliereby I see thy beauty. 
Thy beauty, tiiat doth make me like thee well. 
Thou must be married to no- man but me ; 
For I am he am bor)i to tame you Kate, 
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate 
Conformable as other houseliold Kates. 
Here comes your father : naver make denial ; 

1 must and will liave Katharine to my wife. 

lie-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio. 
JJcyj. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you 
with my daughter ? 
198 



Pet. How but well, sir? how but well ? 
It were impossible I should speed amiss. 

Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine! in 
your dumps? [you 

Kath. Call you me daughter? now, I promise 
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard. 
To wish me wed to one half limatic; 
A ma<l-(:'ap ruUian and a swearing Jack, 
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 

Pet. Father, 't is thus : yourself and all the world, 
Tliat talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her : 
If she be curst, it is for policy. 
For she 's not fro ward, but modest as the dove; 
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
For patience she will prove a second Grissel, 
And Roman Lucrece tor her chastity : 
And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together, 
Tiiat upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 

Kath. I '11 see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 

Gre. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee 
hang'd first. 

Tra. Is this your speedixig? nay, then, good 
night our part! [self: 

Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for my- 
If she and I be pleased, what 's that to you ? 
'T is bargain 'd twixt us twain, being alone, 
That she shall still be curst in company. 
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe 
How nmch she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! 
Slie hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss 
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, 
That in a twink she won me to her love. 
O, you are novices I 'tis a world to see. 
How tame, wlien men and v.'omen are alone, 
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. 
Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, 
To buv apparel "gainst tlie wedding-day. 
Provide the feast, tatlier, and bid the guests; 
1 will be sure my Katharine shall be fine, [hands; 

Bap. I know "not what to say : but gi\T me your 
God send you joy, Petruchio ! 't is a match. 

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we: we will be witnesses. 

Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu ; 
I will to Venice ; Sunday comes apace : 
M'e will have rings and things and fine array; 
And kiss me, Kate, we will be mari-ied o' Sunday. 
[E.(cmd Pctrui-hio and Katharina f:everally. 

Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddeidy ? 

Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant "s 
And venture madly on a desperate mart. [part, 

Tra. 'T was a commodity lay fretting ))y you : 
'T will bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 

JSdj). The gain I seek is, quiet in the match. 

Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. 
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter: 
Now is the day we long have looked for: 
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 

Tra. And 1 am one that love Bianca more 
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. 

Gre. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. 

Tra. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze. 

Gre. But thine doth fry. 

Skipper, stand back : 't is age tliat nourishetli. 

Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that fiourisheth. 

Bap. Content you, gentlemen: I will compound 
this strife: 
'Tis deeds must win the jtrize; and he of both 
That can assure my (laughter greatest dower 
Sliall have my Bianea's love. 
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? 

Gi-e. First, as j'ou know, my house within the 
Is richly furnished withi)late and gold ; [city 

Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands ; 
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry ; 
In ivory coffers I have stuff 'd my crowns; 
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, 
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, 



ACT iir. 



THE TA3IIN0 OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE I. 



Fine linen, Turkey cusliions boss'd witli pearl, 
A'alimce of ^'enice sold in needlework, 
Pewter and brass and all things that belong 
To house or housekeeping: tlien, at my farm 
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls. 
And all things answerable to this portion. 
Jlyself am struck in years, I must confess; 
And if I die to-morrow, this is hers. 
If wliilst I live she will be only mine. 

Tra. That ' only ' came well in. Sir, list to me : 
I am my father's heir and only son: 
If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
I '11 leave her houses three or four as good, 
AVithin rich Pisa walls, as any one 
Old Signior Gremio has in Padua ; 
Besides two thousand ducats by tlie year 
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. 
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio y 

Crre. Two thousand "ducats by tlie year of land! 
My land amounts not to so much in all: 
Tliat she sliall have ; besides an argosy 
Tiiat now is lying in Marseilles' road. 
AVhat, have I choked you with an argosy? 

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less 
Than three great argosies ; besides two galliases. 
And twelve tight galle.vs: these I will assure her. 
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next. 

Gre. Xay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; 
And she can have no more than all I have : 
If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 



Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the 
world. 
By your firm promise : Gremio is out-vied. 

Bap. I must confess your offer is the best ; 
And, let your father make her the assurance, 
She is your own ; else, you must pardon me. 
If you should die before him, where 's her dower ? 

Tra. That 's but a cavil : he is old, I young. 

Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old ? 

Bnp. Well, gentlemen, 
I am thus resolved: on Sunday next you know 
ily daughter Katharine is to be married : 
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
If not, to Signior Gremio : 
And so, I take my leave, and thank you both. 

Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. [Exit lUqAhia. 

Now I fear thee not : 
Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool 
To give thee all, and in his waning age 
Set foot under thy table : tut, a toy ! 
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit. 

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither 'd hide ! 
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 
'T is in my head to do my master good : 
I see no reason but supposed Lucentio 
Must get a father, call'd 'supposed Vinceutio; ' 
And that 's a wonder : fathers commonly 
Do get their children : but in this case of wooing, 
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunniiig. 

[Exit. 



.ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Padua. Baptista''s house. 

Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, foit? Bianca. 

Luc. Fiddler, forljear ; you grow t< mj forward, sir : 
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
Her sister KatharineVelcomed you withal? 

Ilor. But, wrangling pedant, this is 
The patroness of heavenly harmony : 
Then give me leave to have prerogative ; 
And when in music we have spent an hour, 
Your lecture sliall have leisure for as much. 

Luc. Preposterous ass, that never read so far 
To know the cause why music was ordaiu'd ! 
AVas it not to refresh tlie mind of man 
After his studies or his usual pain? 
Then give me leave to read philosophy. 
And while I pause, serve in your harmony. 

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. 

Bian. AVliy, gentlemen, you do me double wrong. 
To strive for that which resteth in my choice: 
I am no breecliing scholar in the schools; 
I "11 not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times. 
But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : 
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; 
His lecture will be done ere you have tuned. 

Hor. You '11 leave his lecture vrhen I am in tune ? 

Luc. That will be never: tune your instrument. 

Bian. Where left we last ? 

Luc. Here, madam : 
' Hie ibat Simois ; hie est Sigeia tellus ; 
Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' 

Bian. Construe them. 

Lxtc. ' Hie ibat,' as I told you before, ' Simois,' I 
am Lucentio, 'hie est,' son unto Vincentio of Pisa, 
' Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus to get your love ; 'Hie 
steterat,' and that Lucentio that comes a-\vooing, 
'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,' bearing my 
port, ' celsa senis,' that we might beguile the old 
pantaloon. 



Hor. Madam, my instrument 's in tune. 

Bian. Let 's hear. O fie! the treble jars. 

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 

Bian. Kow let me see if I can construe it : 
' Hie ibat Simois,' I know you not, ' hie est Sigeia 
tellus,' I trust you not ; ' Hie steterat Priami,' take 
heed he hear us not, ' regia,' presume uot, ' celsa 
senis,' despair not. 

Hor. Madam, 't is nov? in tune. 

Luc. All but the base. 

Hor. The base is right ; 't is the base knave tliat 
[. Ls(i7c]. How fiery and forward our pedant is I [jars. 
Xow, for my life", the knave doth court my love: 
Pedascule, 1 '11 watch you better 3'et. 

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 

Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure, ^-Eacides 
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. [you, 

Bian. I must believe my master ; else, I promise 
I should be arguing still upon that doubt: 
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to j'ou: 
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
Tliat I have been thus pleasant with you both. 

Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while : 
My lessons make no music in three parts. 

Luc. Are you so formal, sir ? well, I must wait, 
[Aside] And ^^•atch withal ; for, but I be deceived. 
Our fine musician groweth amorous. 

Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument. 
To learn the order of my fingering, 
I must begin with rudiments of art ; 
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort. 
More pleasant, pithy and effectual, 
Than hath been taught by any of my trade: 
And there it is in writing, fairly diawn. 

Bian. A^hy, I am past my gamut long ago. 

Hor. Yetread the gamut ot Hortensio. [accord, 

Bian. [Beads] " ' Gamut ' I am, the ground of all 
' A re,' to plead Hortensio's passion; 
' B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord, 
' C fa ut,' that loves with all affection : 
199 



ACT III. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE II. 



' D sol re,' one clef, two notes liave I : 

' E la mi,' sliow pity, or I die." 
Call you this gamut 'f tut, I like it not : 
Old fashions please me best ; I am not so nice. 
To change true rules for old inventions. 

Enter a Servant. 
SeriK Mistress, your father prays yon leave your 
And help to d ress your sister 's chamber u p : [hooks 
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. 
Bian. Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be 
gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. 

Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to 
stay. [Exit. 

Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant: 
Methinks lie looks as though he were in love : 
Yet if thy tlioughts, Bianca, be so humble 
To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale. 
Seize thee that list : if once I find thee ranging, 
Horteusio will be quit with thee by changing. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — Parhca. Before Baptistn'^ house. 

Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katharina, 
Bianca, Lucentio, arul others, Attendants. 

Bap. [To Tranio] Signior Lucentio, this is the 
'pointed day 
That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, 
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. 
What will be said y what mockery will it be, 
To want the bridegroom when the priest attends 
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ! 
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ? 

Kath. No shame but miue ; I must, forsooth, be 
forced 
To give my hand opposed against my heart 
Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen ; 
Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure. 
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool. 
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour: 
And, to be noted for a merry man, 
He '11 woo a thousand, 'point the clay of marriage. 
Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns ; 
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
And say, ' Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife. 
If it would please him come and marry her! ' 

Tea. Patience, good Katluirine, and i3aptista too. 
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well. 
Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
Though he be bluut, I know him passing wise; 
Though he be merry, yet withal he 's honest. 

Kath. Would Katharine had uever seen him 
though ! 
[Exit weeping, followed by Bianca and others. 

Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep; 
For such an injury would vex a very saint. 
Much more a shrew of tUy impatient humour. 

Enter Biondello. 

Bion. Master, master! news, old news, and such 
news as you never heard of ! 

Bap. is it new and old too V how may that be? 

Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's 

Bap. Is he comer' [coming V 

Bion. Wiiv, no, sir. 

Bap. What tlien V 

Bion. He is coming. 

Bap. Wlieuwill he be here? 

Bion. Wlien he stands where I am and sees you 

Tra. But say, what to thine old news ? [there. 

Bion. Wliy, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and 

an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, 

a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one 

buckled, another laced, an old rusty sword ta'en 

200 



out of the town-armoury, with a broken hilt, and 
chapeless; with two broken points: his horse hip- 
ped with an old mothy saddle and stirrujis of no 
kindred; besides, possessed witli the glanders and 
like to mose in the chine; tmuliled with the lam- 
pass, infected with the fashicms, full of windgalls, 
sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, jiast cure 
of the fives, stark spoiled witli t lie staggers, 1 icgnawn 
with the bots, swayed in the back" and shoulder- 
shotten; near-legged before and with a lialf-checked 
bit and a head-stall of sheep's leather which, being 
restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been 
often burst and now rejuiired with knots ; one girtli 
six times pieced and a woman's cru|>per of velure, 
which hath two letters fm- her name fairly set down 
in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread. 

lUqj. Who comes with him ? 

Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world ca- 
parisoned like the horse ; with a linen stock on one 
leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered 
with a red and blue list ; an old hat and ' the humour 
of forty fancies ' pricked in "t for a feather: a mon- 
ster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Chris- 
tian footboy or a gentleman's lackey. 

Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this 
fashion ; 
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd. 

Bap. I am glad he 's come, howsoe'er he comes. 

Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 

Bax). Didst thou not say he comes ? 

Bion. Who? that Petruchio came? 

Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 

Bion. No, sir; I say his horse comes, with him 
on his back. 

Bap. Why, that 's all one. 

Bion. Nay, by Saint .lamy, 

I hold you a jienny, 
A horse and a man 
Is more than one. 
And yet not many. 

Enter Petruchio and Grumio. 

Pet. Come, where be these gallants ? who 's at 

Bap. You are welcome, sir. [home ? 

Pet. And j-et I come not well. 

Bap. And yet you halt not. 

Tra. Not so well apparell'd 

As I wish you were. 

Pet. AVere it better, I should rush in thus. 
But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? 
How does my father ? Gentles, nietliiuks you 

frown : 
And wherefore gaze this goodly company, 
, As if they saw some wondrous monument. 
Some comet or unusual prodigy ? [day : 

Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding- 
First were we sad, fearing you woidd not come; 
•Now sadder, that you come so un)irovided. 
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate. 
An eye-sore to our solemn festival! 

Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import 
Hath all so long detain'd yon from your wife, 
And sent you hither so uiilike yourself ? 

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: 
Sufflceth, I am come to keep my word, 
Though in some part enforced to digress; 
AVhich, at more leisure, I will so excuse 
As you shall well be satisfied witlial. 
But where is Kate ? I stay too long from her: 
The morning wears, 't is time we were at church. 

Tra. See not your bride in these unre verent robes: 
Go to my chamber ; put on clothes of mine. 

Pet. Not I, believe me: thus I '11 visit her. 

Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 

Pet. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done 
with words : 
To me she 's married, not unto my clothes: 



ACT III. 



THE TAMIXG OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE II. 



Could I repair what she will wear in me, 
As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
'T were well for Kate and better for myself. 
But what a fool am I to chat with you, 
When I should bid good morrow to my bride, 
And seal the title with a lovely kiss ! 

[Extunt l\ti-whio and Gritmio. 

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire: 
M'e will persuade him, be it possible, 
To put on lietter ere he go to church. 

i>«j). I '11 alter him, and see the event of this. 

[Exeunt Baptistd, Gremio, and attendants. 

Tra. But to her love conceructh us to add 
Her father's liking: which to bring to pass, 
As I before imparted to your worsiiip, 
I am to get a man, — whate'er he be, 
It skills not much, we '11 tit him to our turn, — 
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa ; 
And make assurance here in Padua 
Of greater sums than I have promised. 
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope. 
And marry sweet Bianca with consent. 

Luc. AVere it not that my fellovv-sclioolmaster 
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
'T were good, methinks, to steal our marriage ; 
Which once performed, let all the world say no, 
I '11 keep mine own, despite of all the world. 

Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, 
And watch our vantage in this business: 
We '11 over-reach the greybeard, Grernio, 
The narrow-prying father, Minola, 
The quaint musician, amorous Licio; 
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. 

lie-enter Gremio. 
Signior Gremio, came you from the church ? 

Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 

Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming 
home y 

Gre. A bridegroom say you ? 'tis a groom indeed, 
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 

Tt-a. Curster tlian she? why, 'tis impossible. 

Gre. Why, he 's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 

Tra. Why, she 's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. 

Gre. Tut, she 's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him ! 
I '11 tell you. Sir Lucentio : when the priest 
Should ask, if Katharine sliould be his wife, 
' Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he ; and swore so loud, 
That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book; 
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up. 
The niad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff 
That down fell priest and book and book and priest : 
'Now take them up,' quoth he, ' if any list.' 

Tra. Wliat said the wench when he rose again ? 

Gre. Trembled aud shook; for why, he stamp'd 
and swore. 
As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
But after many ceremonies done. 
He calls for wine : ' A health ! ' quoth he, as if 
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates 
After a storm ; quaff 'd off the museadel 
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
Having no other reason 
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly 
And seem'd to ask him sojis as he was drinking. 
This done, he took the bride about the neck 
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack 
That at the parting all the church did echo : 
And I seeing this came thence for very shame ; 
And after me, I know, the rout is coming. 
Such a mad marriage never was before : 
Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play. [2Iusic. 

Be-enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca, Bap- 
tista, Hortensio, Grumio, and Train. 
Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your 
paiiis : 



I know you think to dine with me to-day. 
And have prepared great store of wedding cheer ; 
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
And tlierefore here I mean to take my leave. 
Bap. Is't possible you will away to-night ? 
I'et. I must away to-day, before night come: 
Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, 
You would entreat me rather go than stay. 
And, honest company, I thank you all. 
That have beheld me give away myself 
To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife: 
Dine with my father, drink a health to me; 
For I mu.st hence ; and farewell to you all. 
Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 
Fu. It may not be. 

Gre. Let me entreat you. 

Pet. It cannot be. 

Koih. Let me entreat you. 

Pet. I am content. 

Kalh. • Are you content to stay ? 

Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay ; 
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 
AV((/(. Now, if you love me, stay. 
Pet. Grumio, my horse. 

Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready : the oats have eaten 

the liorses. 
Kath. Nay, then. 
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; 
No, nor to-morrow_, not till I please myself. 
The door is open, sir; there lies your way; 
You may be jogging whiles your boots are green ; 
For me, 1 '11 not be gone till I please myself: 
'T is like you '11 prove a jolly surly groom. 
That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
Pet. O Kate, content thee ; prithee, be iiot angry. 
Kath. I will be angry : what hast thou to do ? 
Father, be quiet : he shall stay my leisure. 
Gre. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. 
Kuth. Gentlemen, forward to tlie bridal dinner: 
I see a woman may be made a fool, 
If she had not a spirit to resist. [maud. 

Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy corn- 
Obey the bride, you that attend on her ; 
Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead. 
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves : 
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret ; 
I will be master of what is mine own: 
She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house, 
My household stuff, my field, my barn. 
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; 
I '11 bring mine action on the proudest he 
That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, 
Draw fiirtli thy weapon, we are beset with thieves; 
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. 
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, 

Kate : 
I '11 buckler thee against a million. 

[Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Grumio. 
Pap. Xav, let them go, a couple of (piiet ones. 
Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with 

laughing. 
Tra. Of all mad matches never was the like. 
Luc. Mistress, what 's your opinion of yoursister? 
Pian. That, being madherself, she's madly mated. 
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and 
bridegroom wants 
For to supply the places at the table, 
You know there wants no junkets at the feast. » 
Lucentio, you shall suiiply'the bridegroom's place; 
And let ]3ianca take lier sister's room. 

Tra. Sliall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it ? 
Bajy. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, 
let 's go. [Exeunt. 

201 



ACT IV. 



THE TASTING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE I, 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — PetnichuPs cowitry house. 

Enter Grumio. 
Grie. Fie, fip on all tired jades, on all mad mas- 
tors, aud all foul ways ! Was ever man so beaten ? 
was ever man so rayed ? was ever man so weary V 
I am sent before to make a tire, and they are coming 
after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot 
and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, 
my tongue to the roof of my inouth, my heart in my 
belly, ere I should come by a fire to tliaw me : but 
I, with blowing the lire, shall warm myself ; for, con- 
sidering the weather, a taller man than 1 will take 
cold. Elolla, ho 1 CurtiS. 

Enter Curtis. 

Curt. Who is that calls so coldly? 

Giu. A piece of ice : if thou doubt it, thou mayst 
slide from my shoulder to my heel with no greater 
a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. 

Ourt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio y 

Gnt. O, ay, Curtis, ay: aud therefore tire, fire; 
cast on no water. 

Curt. Is' she so hot a shrew as she 's reported ? 

Grit. She was, good Curtis, before tliis fro.st : but, 
tliou knowest, winter tames man, woman aud beast ; 
for it hath tamed my old master aud my new mis- 
tress aud myself, fellow Curtis. 

Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no beast. 

Grit. Am I but three inches ? why, thy horn is a 
foot ; and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou 
make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mis- 
tress, whose hand, she being now at hand, thou 
Shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow 
in thy hot office V 

Curt. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes 
the world ? 

Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every ofiice but 
thine ; and therefore fire : do thy duty, and have 
thy duty; for my master and mistress are almost 
frozen to death. 

Curt. There 's tire ready ; and therefore, good 
Grumio, the news. 

Gru. Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy! 'and as much 
news as will thaw. 

Curt. Come, you are so full of cony-catching! 

Gru. Why, therefore tire; for 1 have caught ex- 
treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper" ready, 
the house trinimed, rushes strewnil. riil)\vel)s swept ; 
the serving-men in their new fustian tlieir white 
stockings, and every otlicer his wcddiug-ganncnt 
on y Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair with- 
out, the carpets lai<i, and every thing in order V 

Curt. All ready ; and therefore, I pray thee, news. 

Gru. First, know, my horse is tired; my master 
and mistress fallen out. 

Curt. How y 

Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; aud 
thereby hangs a tale. 

Curt. Let 's ha 't, good Grumio. 

Gru. I^end thine ear. 

Curt. Here. 

Gru. Tliere. [StriTces him. 

Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 

Gru. And therefore 't is called a sensible tale : 
and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and 
beseecli listening. Now I begin : Imprimis, we 
came down a foul hill, my m.aster riding behind my 
mistress, — 
• Curt. Both of one horse ? 

Gru. What's that to thee"? 

Curt. Why, ahor.se. 

Gru. Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not 
crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her 
202 



horse fell and she under her horse ; thou shouldst 
have heard in how miry a place, how she was 
bemoiled, how he left her with the horse upon her, 
how he beat me because her horse stumbled, how 
she waded through the dirt to pluck liim off me, 
liow he swore, how slie prayed, that never prayed 
before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how 
her bridle was burst, how I lost my crupper, with 
many things of worthy memory, which now shall 
die in oblivion and thou return unexperienced to 
thy grave. [she. 

Curt. By this reckoning he is more shrew than 

Gru. Ay ; and that thou and the proudest of you 
all shall find when he comes home. But what talk 
I of this ? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, 
Philip, AValter, Sngarsop and the rest : let their 
heads be sleekly coudjcd, their blue coats brushed 
and their garters of an indilferent knit: let thcra 
curtsy with their left legs and not presume to touch 
a hair of my master's horsetail till they kiss their 
hands. Are they all ready ? 

Curt. They are. 

Gru. Call "them forth. 

Curt. Do you hear, ho ? you must meet my master 
to Countenance my mistress. 

Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 

('(()■(. Who knows not that? 

Gru. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to 
countenance her. 

Curt. I call them fortli to credit her. 

Gru. AVhy , she comes to borrow nothing of them. 

Enter four or Jive Servingmen, 

Nath. Welcome home, Grumio I 

PInl. How now, Grumio! 

Jos. What, Grumio ! 

Nidi. Fellow Griunio! 

Nath. How now, old lad? 

Gru. Welcome, you; — how now, you; — what, 
you; — fellow, you; — and thus much for greeting. 
Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all 
things neat V 

Nath. All things is ready. How near is our 
master ? 

Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this: and there- 
fore be not — Cock's passion, silence! I hear my 
master. 

Enter Petruchio ami Katharina. 

Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man at 
To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse! [door 
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? 

All Serv. Here, here, sir; here, sir. 

Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sirl 
■You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! 
What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ? 
Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? 

Gru. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. 

Pet. You peasant swain! you whoreson malt- 
horse drudge ! 
Did 1 niit liid thee meet me in the park. 
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? 

Gru. Natlianiel's coat, sir, was not fully made. 
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel; 
There was no link to colour Peter's hat. 
And AValter's dagger was not come from sheathing : 
There were ncuie tine but Adam , Ralph, and Gregory; 
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; 
Yet, as they are,riere are they come to meet you. 

Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. 

[Exeunt Servants. 

[Singing] Where is the life that late I led — 
Where are those — Sit down, Kate, and welcome.— 
Soud, soud, soud, soud! 



ACT IV. 



THE TA2TIXG OF THE SHREW. 



SCEXE ir. 



Re-enter Servants with supper. 
yshy, wlien, I say V Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. 
Off "with my boots, you rogues ! you villaius, wlieu ? 
[ibiiiif/s] It was the friar of orders grey. 

As he forth walked on liis way : — 
Out, you rogue ! you pluclv my foot awry : 
Take that, aud mend the plucking off the other. 

[iitrikes him. 
Be merry, Kate. Some water, here ; what, ho ! 
AVhere 's" my spaniel Troilus V Sirrah, get you hence, 
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither : 
One, Kate, that you must kiss, aud be acquainted 

with. 
Where are my slippers V Shall I have some water ? 

Enter one with water. 
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. 
You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ? 

yiSlrikts hiln. 

Kalh. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault un- 
willing. 

Pet. A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! 
Come, Kate, sit down ; 1 know you have a stomach. 
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall 1 't 
What "s this ? mutton 'i 

First Herv. Ay. 

Pet. Who brought it ? 

Fcler. I. 

Pet. 'T is burnt ; and so is all the meat. 
AVhat dogs are these ! Where is the rascal cook ? 
How durst you, villains, brin^ it from the dresser. 
And serve it thus to me that love it not ? 
Tnere, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all: 

[I'hroas tlie meat, dx., about the stage. 
You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves ! 
What, do you grumble ? 1 '11 be with you straight. 

Kath. I pray you, husban<l, be not so disquiet: 
The meat was well, if you were so contented. 

Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 't was burnt and ilried away : 
And 1 expressly am forbid to touch it, 
For it engenders choler, planteth anger ; 
And better "t were tiiat both of us did fast, 
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, 
Than feed it with such over-roasted Uesh. 
Be patient; to-morrow "t shall be mended, 
And, for this night, we '11 fast for company: 
Come, 1 will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 

„ „ ^ „ lExamt. 

Re-enter Servants severally. 

Nath. Peter, didst ever see the like V 
Peter. He kills her iu her own humour. 

Re-enter Curtis. 

Gru. Where is he ? 

Cart. In her chamber, making a sermon of con- 
tinency to her ; 

And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul, 
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak. 
And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
Away, away ! for he is coming hither. YExeunt. 

Re-enter PetrucUo. 
Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 
And 't is my hope to end successfully, 
ily falcon now is sharp and passing empty ; 
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged. 
For then she never looks upon her lure. 
Another way I have to man my haggard. 
To make her come and know her keeper's call, 
Tiiat is, to watch her, as we watch these kites 
That bate and beat and will not be obedient. 
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; 
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; 
As with the meat, some undeseiwed fault 
I '11 find about the making of tlie bed ; 
And here I '11 fling the pillow, there the bolster. 



This way the coverlet, another way the sheets: 

Ay, aud amid this hurly I intend 

Tliat all is done in reverend care of her; 

And ill conclusion she shall watch all night: 

And if she chance to nod I '11 rail and brawl 

And with the clamour keep her still awake. 

This is a way to kill a wife with kindness; 

And thus I '11 curb her mad and heudstion^': humour. 

He that knows better how to tame a shrew, 

2s ow let him speak : "t is charity to sliow. {Exit. 

SCENE II. — Padua. Before Baptista''s house. 

Enter Tranio and Hortensio. 

Tra. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress 
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio 'i* [Biauca 

I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 

Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said. 
Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching. 

Enter Bianca and Lucentio. 

Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read ? 

Pian. What, master, read you 'f first resolve me 
that. 

Luc. I read that I profess, the Art to Love. 

Plan. And may you prove, sir, master of your art ! 

Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of 
my heart ! 

Hor. Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, 
I pray. 
You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca 
Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio. 

Tra. O despiteful love ! unconstant womankind ! 
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 

Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
Nor a musician, as I seem to be ; 
But one that scorn to live iu this disguise, 
For such a one as leaves a gentleman, 
And makes a god of such a cullion : 
Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. 

Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard 
Of your entire affection to Bianca; 
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, 
I will with you, if you be so contented, 
Forswear Bianca and lier love for ever. 

Bar. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lu- 
centio, 
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow 
Never to woo her more, but do forswear her. 
As one unworthy all tlie former favours 
That I have fondly Hatter "d her withal. 

Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath. 
Never to marry with her though she would entreat : 
Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him ! 

Hor. Would all the world but he had quite for- 
sworn ! 
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, 
I will be married to a wealthy widow, 
Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me 
As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard. 
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. 
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, 
Shall win my love : and so I take my leave, 
In resolution as I swore before. [Exit. 

Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace 
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! 
Nay, I have ta'en you naiiping, gentle love. 
And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 

Plan. Tranio, you jest: but have you both for- 
sworn me y 

Tra. Mistress, we have. 

Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 

Tra. V faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now, 
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 

Pian. God give him joy ! 

Tra. Ay, and he 'U tame her. 

Bian. He says so, Tranio. 

203 



ACT IV, 



THE TAMING. OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE III. I 



Tra. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-scliool. 

Biayx. The taming-school ! what, is there sucli a 
place y 

Ti-a. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master; 
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, 
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue. 

Enter Biondello. 

Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so long 
That I am dog-weary : but at last I spied 
An ancient angel coming down the hill. 
Will serve the turn. 

Tra. What is he, Biondello ? 

Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, 
I know not what; but formal in apiiarel. 
In gait and countenance surely like a father. 

Luc. And what of liim, Tranio V 

Tra. If lie be credulous and trust my tale, 
I '11 make him glad to seem Vincentio, 
And give assurance to Baptista Mint)la, 
As if he were the right Vincentio. 
Take in your love, and then let me alone. 

{Excimt Lziccntio and Bianca. 

Enter a Pedant. 

Pcf?. God save you, sir ! 

Tra. And you, sir! yon are welcome. 

Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest V 

Fed. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two : 
But then up farther, and as far as Rome; 
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. 

Tra. What countryman, I pray V 

Bed. - Of Mantua. 

Tra. Of Mantua, sirV marry, God forbid! 
And come to Padiui, careless of your lifey 

Bed. My lil'e, sir ! how, I pray ? tor that goes hard. 

Tra. 'T is death for any one in JNIantua 
To come to Padua. Know yon not the cause ? 
Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke. 
For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and liim. 
Hath publisli'd and proelaim'd it openly: 
'T is marvel, but that you are but newly come, 
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 

Bed. Alas ! sir, it is worse for me than so ; 
For I have bills tor money by exchange 
From Florence and must here deliver them. 

2Va. Well, sir, to do you courtesy. 
This will I do, and tliis I will advise you : 
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? 

Bed. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, 
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 

2'ra. Among them know you one Vincentio ? 

Bed. I know him not, but I have lieard of him; 
A merchant of incomparable wealth. 

Tra. He is my I'atlier, sir; and, sooth to say. 
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 

Bion. [Aside] As much as an apple doth an oyster, 
and all one. 

Tra. To save your life in this extremity. 
This favour will I do you for his sake ; 
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes 
That you are like to Sir Vincentio. 
His name and credit shall you undertake. 
And in my house you shall be friendly lodged : 
Look that you take upon you as you should ; 
You understand me, sir: so shall yon stay 
Till you have done your business in tlie city : 
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 

Bed. O sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
The patron of my life and liberty. 

Trn. Then go witli me to make the matter good. 
This, by tlie way, I let you imderstand; 
My father is here look'd for every day. 
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter liere : 
In all these circumstances I '11 instruct you : 
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. [Exeunt. 
204 



SCENE III, — A room in Betruddo's house. 

Enter Katharina and Grumio. 

Gru. No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life. 

Knlh. Tlie more my wrong, the more his spite ap- 
What, did he marry me to famish me ? Qiears: 

Beggars, that come unto my father's door. 
Upon entreaty have a present alms; 
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity: 
But I, wlio never knew how to entreat. 
Nor never needed that I should entreat. 
Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep. 
With oaths ke]>t waking aiid with brawling fed: 
And that v.hicli spites luc more than all these wants, 
He does it under name of perfect love; 
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, 
'T were deadly sickness or else present death. 
I prithee go and get me some repast ; 
I care not what, so it be wholesome food. 

Gru. What say you to a neat's foot? 

Kath. 'T is passing good : 1 prithee let me have it. 

Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat. 
How say you to a fat tripe finely broil 'd? 

Kalh. I like it well: good Grumio, fetch it me. 

Gru. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric. 
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard ? 

Kath. A dish tliat I do love to feed upon. 

Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 

KeUh. Why then, tlie beef, and let the mustard rest. 

Gru. Xay then, I will not : you shall have the mus- 
Or else you get no beef of Grumio. [tard, 

K(dh. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt. 

Gru. Why then, the mustard without the lieef. 

Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, 

[BeiUs liim. 
Tliat feed'st me with the very name of meat: 
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of j-ou. 
That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
Go, get thee gone, I say. 

Enter Petruchio and Hortensio icith meat. 

Bet. How fares my Kate? Wliat, sweeting, all 

Hor. Mistress, what cheer y [amort V 

Kath. Faith, as cold as can be. 

Bet. Pluck upthy spirits; look cheerfully upon me. 
Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am 
To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee : 
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
What, not a word V Nay, then thou lovest it not ; 
And all my pains is sorted to no proof. 
Here, take away this dish. 

Kalh. I pray you, let it stand. 

Bet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks ; 
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 

K(dh. 1 thank you, sir. 

He>r. Signior Petruchio, fle! you are to blame. 
Come, Mistress Kate, I '11 bear you company, [me. 

Bet. [Asiele] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lo\est 
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart ! 
Kate, eat apace : and now, my honey love. 
Will we return unto thy father's house 
And revel it as bravely as the best. 
With silken coats and caps and golden rings, 
AVith ruffs and cuffs and fardiiigales ;ukI things; 
With scarfs and fans and double change of bravery, 
AVith amber bracelets, beads ami all this knavery. 
AVhat, hast thou dined ? The ta ilor stays thy leisure, 
To deck thy body with his rutliing treasure. 

Enter Tailor. 
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 
Lay forth the gown. 

Enter Haberdasher. 

AVhat news with you, sir? 
Hah. Here is the cap your worsliip did besiieak. 
Bet. AVhy, this was moulded on a porringer ; 



28- 



-^ 



«j, _M1U-. 






yfi 




i^/ i v^^"^=^:<_ji 



ACT IV. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



SCEXE IV. 



A velvet dish : fie, fie ! 't is lewd and filthy : 
"Why, 't is a cockle or a walnut-shell, 
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap : 
Away with it! come, let uie have a bigger. 

Kalh. 1 '11 have no bigger : this doth fit the time, 
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 

Pit. "When you are gentle, you shall have one too, 
And not till then. 

Bur. [.Ix/('i] That will not be in haste. 

Kiiih. Wiiy,sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; 
And speak 1 will ; I am no child, no babe: 
Your betters have endured me say my mind, 
And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, 
Or else my heart concealing it will break, 
And rather than it shall, I will be free 
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 

I'd. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap, 
A custard-coHin, a bauble, a silken pie : 
I love thee well, in that thou likest it not. 

Kath. Love me or love me not, I like the cap; 
And it I will have, or I will have none. 

[Exit Haherdasher. 

Pet. Thy gown? why, ay: come, tailor, let us see't. 

mercy, God ! what masquing stuff is here 'f 
What 's this Y a sleeve ? 't is like a demi-cannon : 
What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart ? 
Here 's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, 
Like to a censer in a barber's shop: 

AVliy, what, i' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? 

JJor. [A.-<ide] I see she 's like to have neither cap 
nor gown. 

Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well. 
According to the fashion and the time. 

Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remember'd, 

1 did not bid you mar it to the time. 
Go, hop me over every kennel home. 

For you sliall hop without my custom, sir: 
I '11 iione of it : lience ! make jour best of it. 

Kutli. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown, 
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commend- 
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. [able : 

Pet. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of 
thee. 

Tai. She says your worship means to make a 
puppet of her. 

Pet. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou 
■ thread, thou thimble ! 
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, 
Thou tlea, thou nit, tliou winter-cricket tliou! 
Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread ? 
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant : 
Or 1 shall so lie-meet thee with thy yard 
As thou shall tliink on prating whilst thou livest ! 
1 tell thee, I, that thou hast marred her gown. 

Tai. Your worship is deceived ; the gown is made 
Just as my master had direction : 
Gruraio gave order how it should be done. 

Gru. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. 

Tai. But how did you desire it should be made ? 
. Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 

Tai. But did you not request to have it cut ? 

Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 

Tai. I have. 

Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many men ; 
brave not me ; I will ueitlier be faced nor braved. 
I say luito tliee, I bid thy master cut out the gown ; 
but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo, thou 
liest. 

Tai. ""Vhy, here is the note of the fashion to tes- 

Pet. R'adit. [tify. 

Gru. The note lies in 's throat, if he say I said so. 

Tai. [Reads]'^ Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown : ' 

Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, 
sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death 
with a bottom of brown thread : I said a gown. 

Pet. Proceed. 



Tai. [Reads] ' With a small compassed cape : ' 

Gru. I confess the cape. 

Tai. [Read.i] ' With a trunk sleeve : ' 

Gru. I confess two sleeves. 

Tai. [J?c«c?.s] ' The sleeves curiously cut.' 

Pet. Ay, there 's the villany. 

Gru. Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill. I 
commanded the sleeves should be cut out and 
sewed up again ; and that I '11 prove upon thee, 
though thy little finger be armed in a thindjle. 

Tai. Tliis is true'that I say : an I had thee in 
place where, thou shouldst know it. 

Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou t!ie bill, 
give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. [odds. 

Pfiir. God-a-niercy,Grumio! then he shall have no 

Pit. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 

Gru. You are i' the right, sir: 'tis for my niis- 

Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. [tress. 

Gru. Villain, not for thy life : take up my mis- 
stress' gown for thy master's use! 

Pit. Why, sir, what 's your conceit in that ? [for : 

Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think 
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
O, fie, fie, fie! [paid. 

Pet. [^l.sWe]IIortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor 
Go take it lience; be gone, and say no more. 

Hor. Tailor, I '11 pay thee for thy gown to-morrow : 
Take no unkindness of his hasty words: 
Away : I say ; commend me to thy master. 

[Exit Tailor. 

Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your 
Even in these honest mean habiliments: [ftither's 
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; 
For 't is the mind that makes the body rich ; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
What is the jay more precious tlian tlie lark. 
Because his feathers are more beautiful ? 
Or is tlie adder better than the eel, 
Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
O, no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse 
For this poor furniture and mean array. 
If thou account 'st it shame, lay it on me ; 
And therefore frolic : we will hence forthwith. 
To feast and sport us at thy father's house. 
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him ; 
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end ; 
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. 
Let 's see; 1 think 't is now some seven o'clock. 
And well we may come there by dinner-time. 

Kalh. I dare assure you, sir, 't is almost two : 
And "t will be supper-time ere you come there. 

J'et. It shall be seven ere I go to horse: 
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, 
You are still crossing it. Sirs, let 't alone : 
I will not go to-day ; and ere I do, 
It shall be wliat o'clock I say it is. 

Bur. [Aside] Why, so this gallant will command 
the sun. [Exeunt. 

SCENE I'V. — Padua. Before Baptista''s house. 

Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like 
Vincentio. 
Ti-a. Sir, this is the house: please it you tliat I 

call ? 
Ped. Ay, what else ? and but I be deceived 
Signior Baptista may remember me, 
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, 
Where ■\\'e were lodgers at the Pegasus. 

Tra. 'T is well ; and liold your own, in any case, 
With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. 
Ped. 1 warrant you. 

Enter Biondello. 

But, sir, here comes your boy; 
'T were good he were school'd. 
205 



ACT IV 



THE TA3IING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE V. 



Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrali Biondello, 
Now do your duty througldy, I advise you: 
Imagine "twere the riglit Viucentio. 

Bion. Tut, fear not me. 

Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista ? 

Bion. 1 told liim that your father was at Venice, 
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 

Tra. Thou 'rt a tall fellow : hold thee that to 
drinlc. 
Here conies Baptista: set your countenance, sir. 

Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 
Signior Baptista, you are happily met. [you of: 
[2o the Pedant] Sir, this is the gentleman 1 told 
1 pray you, stand good father to me now, 
Give me Bianca for my patrimony. 

Fed. Soft, son ! 
Sir, by your leave : having come to Padua 
To gatlier in some debts, my son Lucentio 
!Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 
Of love between your daughter and himself: 
And, for the good report I hear of j'ou 
And for the love he beareth to your daughter 
And she to him, to stay him not too long, 
I am content, in a good father's care. 
To have him match'd; and if you please to like 
No worse than I, upon some agreement 
Me shall you find ready and willing 
With one consent to luive her so bestow'd ; 
For curious I cannot be with you, 
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so w^ell. 

■ Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say: 
Your plainness and your shortness please me well. 
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here 
Doth love my daughter and she lovetli him, 
Or both dissemble deeply their affections. 
And therefore, if you say no more than this, 
Tliat like a father you will deal with him 
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower. 
The match is made, and all is done: 
Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 

Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know 
We be allied and such assurance ta'en [best 

As shall with either part's agreement stand? 

Ba,). Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know, 
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants: 
Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still; 
And happily we might be interrupted. 

Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you : 
Tliere doth my father lie; and there, this night. 
We '11 pass the business privately and well. 
Send for your daughter by your servant here; 
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
The worst is this, that, at so slender warning. 
You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. 

Bap. It likes me well. Biondello, hie you home, 
And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
And, if you will, tell what hath happened, 
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, 
And how she 's like to be Lucentio's wife. 

Bion. I pray the gods she may with all my heart ! 

2'ra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. 

[Exit Biun. 
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way ? 
Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer: 
Come, sir ; we will better it in Pisa. 

Bap. I follow you. 

[Exeunt Trnnio, Pedant, and Baptista. 

Re-enter Biondello. 
Bion. Cambio! 

Luc. What sayest thou, Biondello V 
Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon 
Luc. Biondello, what of that y [you? 

Bion. Faith, nothing; but has left me here be- 
hind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs 
and tokens. 

206 



Lue. I pray thee, moralize them. 

Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with 
the deceiving father of a deceitful sou. 

Luc. And what of him ? 

Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to 
the supper. 

Luc. And then ? 

Bion. The old priest of Saint Luke's church is at 
your command at all hours. 

Luc. And what of all this? 

Bion. I cannot tell; expect they are busied about 
a counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her, 
'cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum:' to the 
church ; take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient 
lionest witnesses : 

If this be not that you look for, I have no more to . 
But bid Bianca farewell lor ever and a day. [say, 

Luc. Hearest thou, Biondello? 

Bion. I cannot, tarry ; I knew a wench married 
in an afternoon as she went to the garden for 
parsley to stuff a rabbit; and .so may you, sir : and 
so, adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go 
to Saint Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come 
against you come with your appendix. [Exit. 

Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
She will be pleased ; then wherefore should I doubt ? 
Hap what hap may. I '11 roundly go about her : 
It shall go hard if "Cambio go without her. [Exit. 

SCENE V. — ^ puUic road. 

Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Hortensio, ((»u? 
Servants. 

Pet. Come on, i' God's name ; once more toward 
our father's. 
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon ! 

A'(((/i. The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight 
now. 

Pet. I say It is the moon that shines so bright. 

Kalh. I know it is the sun that shines so bright. 

Pet. Nbw, by my mother's smi, and that 's myself, 
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list. 
Or ere I journey to your father's house. 
Go on, and fetch our horses back again. 
Evermore cross'd and cross 'd; nothing but cross'd! 

Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 

Kalh. Forward, I pray, since we luive come so far. 
And be it moon, or sun, or what yc.i please: 
An if you please to call it a rush-candle, 
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 

Pet. I say it is the moon. 

Kalh. I know it is the moon. 

Pit. Nay, then you lie: it is the blessed sun. 

Kalh. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun : 
But sun it is not, when you say it is not; 
And the moon changes even as your mind. 
What you will have jt named, even that it is; 
And so it shall be so for Katharine. 

Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won. 

Pet. AVell, forward, forward! thus the bowl should 
And not unluckily against the bias. [run. 

But, soft ! company Is coming here. 

Enter Vincentio. 
[To T^i?ice7)h'o] Good morrow, gentle mistress: where 
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, [away ? 
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! i 

AVhat stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, 1 
As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? 
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. 
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. I 

Hor. A' will make the man mad, to make a , 
woman of him. 

Kuth. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and ' 
Whither away, or where is thy abode ? [sweet, 

Happy the parents of so fau- a child; 



ACT V. 



THE TA3IING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE 1. 



Happier the man, whom favoiiralile stars 

Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! [mad : 

Pet. Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art uot 
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd, 
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 

Kath. Pardon, old fatlier, my mistaking eyes, 
That have been so bedazzled with the sun 
That everything I look on seemeth green : 
Kow I perceive thou art a reverend father; 
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 

Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and withal make 
known 
Which way thou travellest: if along with us, 
We shall be joyful of thy company. 

Vin. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress. 
That with your strange encounter much amazed me. 
My name is call'd Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa; 
And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit 
A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 

Pet. What is his name? 

Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir. 

Ptt. Happily met ; the happier for thy son. 



And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
I may entitle thee my loving father : 
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, 
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, 
Nor lie not grieved : she is of good esteem. 
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; 
Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
Let me embrace with old Vincentio, 
And wander we to see thy honest son, 
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 

T7)i. But is this true ? or is it else your pleasure. 
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
Upon the company you overtake ? 

Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 

Pet. Come, go along, and see tlie truth hereof; 
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. 

{Exeunt all but Hortensio. 

Hor. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. 
Have to my widow ! and if she be froward. 
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. 

[Exit. 



A.CT V. 



SCENE I. — Padua. Before Lucentio''s house. 

Gremio discovered. Enter behind Biondello, Lu- 
centio, and Bianca. 

Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is 
ready. 

iuc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance to need 
thee at home ; therefore leave "us. 

Bion. Nay, faith, I '11 see the church o'yourback; 

and then come back to my master's as soon as 1 can. 

[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. 

Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 

Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, Gru- 
mio, with Attendants. 
Pet. Sir, here 's the door, this is Lucentio's house : 
My father's bears more toward the market-place ; ' 
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 

Yin. You shall not choose but drink before you 
go: 
I think I shall command your welcome liere. 
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is towartl. 

[KnocJcs. 
Gre. They're busy within; you were best knock 
louder. 

Pedant looks out of the window. 

Ped. What 's he that knocks as he would beat 
down the gate ? 

Vin. Is Siguior Lucentio within, sir? 

Ped. He 's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. 

T'i'i!.' What if a man bring him a hundred pound 
or two, to make merry withal ? 

Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself : he 
shall need none, so long as I live. 

Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved 
in Padua. Do you hear, sir V To leave frivolous 
circumstances, I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio 
that his father is come from Pisa aiid is here at the 
door to speak with him. 

Ped. Thou liest : his father is come from Padua 
and here looking out at the window. 

Vin. Art thou his father? 

Ped'. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may believe 
her. 

Pet. {To Vincentiol Why, how now, gentleman! 
why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another 
man's name. 

Ped. Lay hands on the villain: I believe a' means to 
cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. 



Re-enter Biondello. 

Bion. I have seen them in the church together: 
God send 'em good shipping! But who is here? 
mine old master Vincentio! now we are undone 
and brought to nothing. 

Vin. [/Seeing Biondello] Come hither, crack hemp. 

Bion. I hope I may choose, sir. [got me ? 

Vin. Come hither, yourogue. What, have you for- 

Bion. Forgot you ! no, sir : I could not forget you, 
for I never saw you before in all my life. 

Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never 
see thy master's father, Vincentio ? 

Bion. What, my old worshipful old master? yes, 
marry, sir : see where he looks out of the window. 

Vin. Is 't so, indeed? [Beata Biondello. 

Bion. Help, help, help! here's a madman will 
murder me. [Exit. 

Ped. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! 

[Exit from above. 

Pet. Prithee, Kate, let 's stand aside and see the 
end of this controversy. [Tlic(j retire. 

Re-enter Pedant below; Tranio, Baptista, aiid 
Servants. 

Tra. Sir, w'hat are you that offer to beat my ser- 
vant ? 

Vin. What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O 
immortal gods ! O fine villain ! A silken doublet ! 
a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain hat ! 
O. I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play the 
good husband at home, my son and my servant 
spend all at the university. 

2'ra. How now! what 's the matter ? 

Bap. What, is the man lunatic ? • 

Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by 
your habit, but your words show you a madman. 
Why, sir, what "'cerns it you if I wear pearl and 
gold ? I thank my good father, I am able to main- 
tain it. [Bergamo. 

]'in. Thy father! O villain! he is a sail-maker in 

Bap. You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. Pray, 
what do you think is his name ? 

Vin. His name! as if I knew not his name: I 
have brought him up ever since he was three years 
old, and his name is Tranio. 

Ped. A\vay , away, mad ass ! his name is Lucentio ; 
and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, 
Signior Vincentio. 

207 



ACT V. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE II. 



Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his master ! 
Lay hold on him, I cluirge you, in the duke's name. 
O, my son, my son ! Tull me, thou villain, where 
is my son Lucentio '( 

Ti'a. Call forth an officer. 

Enter one wilh an Officer. 
Carry tliis mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, 
I charge you see that he be forthcoming. 

Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 

Ore. Stay, officer : he shall not go to prison. 

Bap. Talk not, Signior Gremio : I say he shall go 
to prison. 

Gre. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be 
cony-catclied in this business: I dare swear this is 
the right Vincentio. 

Fed. Swear, if thou darest. 

Grc. Nay, I dare not swear it. 

Tra. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lu- 
centio. 

Gre. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. 

JSap.>Away with the dotard ! to the gaol with him ! 

Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abused : O 
monstrous villain ! 

He-enter Biondello, -with Lucentio and Bianca. 

ifioi). O ! we are spoiled and — yafider he is: deny 
him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 

Luc. [Kneeling] Pardon, sweet father. 

Vin. lAyes my sweet son ? 

[Exeunt Biondello, IVanio, and Pedant, 

as fast us may be. 

Bian. Pardon, dear father. 

Bap. How hast thou offended 'i* 

Where is Lucentio? 

Luc. Here 's Lucentio, 

Right son to the right Vincentio ; 
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
While counterfeit supposes blear'd tlnne eyne. 

Gre. Here 's packing, with a witness, to deceive 
us all ! 

Vin. Where is that damned villain Tranio, 
That faced ami braved me in this matter so ? 

Bap. Wljy, tell nic, is not this my Cambio ? 

Bian. Canibid is i-li;nii;ed into Lucentio. 

Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love 
Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
While he did bear my countenance in the town ; 
And happily I have arrived at the lust 
I^nto the wished haven nf my bliss. 
AV'hat Tranio did, niysell' ciilorced him to; 
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 

Vin. I 'II slit the villain's nose, that would have 
sent me to the gaol. 

Bap. But do you hear, sir ? liave you married my 
daughter without asking my good willV 

Ftn. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go 
to: but I will in,*to be revenged for this villany. 

[Exit. 

Ban. And I, to sound the depth of tliis knavery. 

[Exit. 

Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not 
frown. * [Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca. 

Gre.' My cake is dough ; but I '11 in among the 
rest. 
Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. [Exit. 

Kath. Husband, let 's follow, to see the end of this 

Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. [ado. 

Kath. What, in the niiilst of the street? 

Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me 'f 

Kath. No, sir, God forbid ; but ashamed to kiss. 

Pet. AVhy, then let 's home again. Come, sirrah, 
let 's away. 

Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, 
love, stay. 

Pet. Is not this well V Come, my sweet Kate: 
Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — Padua. Lucentio^s house. 

Entrr Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lu- 
centio, Bianca, Petruchio, Katharina, Hortensio, 
milt Widow, Tranio, Biondello, and Grumio: the 
Servingmen wilk Tranio briityimj in a banquet. 

Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: 
And time it is, when raging war is dune. 
To smile at scapes and perils overblown. 
My fair Bianca, bid my fatln'r welcome. 
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. 
Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina, 
And thou, Hortensio, with thy Uiving widow, 
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house: 
My banquet is to close our stomachs up. 
After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down ; 
For now we sit to chat as well as eat. 

Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! 

Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. 

Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 

Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word were 
true. 

Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. 

Wid. Then never trust me, if I be afeard. 

Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss my 
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. [sense : 

Wid. He that is giddy thmks the world turns 

Pf(. Roundly replied. [round. 

Kath. Mistress, how mean you that 'i 

Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 

Pel. Conceives by me ! How likes Hortensio that? 

Llor. My widow says, thus she conceives her talc. 

Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good 
widow. [round:' 

Kath. ' He that is giddy thinks the world turns 
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 

Wid. Your husband, bemg troubled with a shrew, 
Measures my liusband's sorrow by his woe: 
And now you know my meaning. 

Kath. A very mean meaning. 

Wid. . Right, I mean you. 

Kath. And I am mean indeed, respecting you. 

Pet. To her, Kate ! 

llor. To her, widow! [down. 

Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her 

Hnr. That 's my office. 

Pet. Spoke like an officer: ha' to thee, lad ! 

[Drinks to Hortensio. 

Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-^vitted folks ? 

Grc. Believe me, sir, thev butt toyctlier well. 

Binn. Head, and buttl an luisty-witted body 
Would say your head and butt were lieail and I'lorn. 

1 'in. Ay , "mistress bride, hath that awaken 'd you ? 

Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore 1 '11 
sleep again. [gwn, 

Pet. Nay, that you shall not : since you have be- 
Have at you for a bitter jest or two ! 

Bian. Am I your bird ? I mean to shift my bush ; 
And then pursue me as you draw your bow. 
You are welcome all. 

[Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widoic. 

Pet. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio, 
This bird vou aim'd at, though vou hit her not ; 
Therefiire'a healtli to all that sliot and Uiiss'd. 

Ti-tt. O, sir, Lucent in slipp'd me like liisgreyliound, 
Which runs himself and catches bir liis niasti r. 

Pet. A good SAvitt simile, but something ciirri>h. 

Tra. 'T is well, sir, that yo-.- ' iiited for yourself: 
'T is thought ynn deer does hold you at a bay. 

Bap. O ho, Petruchio ! Tranio hits you now. 

Luc. I thank tlii'f f"r that gird, good Tranio. 

Har. Confess, ciiuliss, liatli he not hit vou here? 

Pet. A' has a little gall'd me, I conless; 
And, as the jest did glance away from nie, 
'Tis ten to one it maimed you two outright. 

Baj>. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 



ACT V. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



SCENE II. 



Pet. Well, I say no: and therefore for assurance 
Let 's eacli one send unto his wife ; 
And he whose wife is most obedient 
To come at first when he doth send for her, 
Shall win the wager which we will propose. 

Hot. Content. What is the wager ? 

Luc. Twenty crowns. 

Pet. Twenty crowns ! 
I '11 venture so much of my hawk or hound, 
But twenty times so much upon my wife. 

Luc. A hundred then. 

Hor. Content. 

Pet. A match ! 't is done. 

Hor. Who shall begin ? 

Lxw. That will I. 

Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 

Jiion. I go. \_Exit. 

Bap. Son, I '11 be your half, Bianca comes. 

Luc. I '11 have no halves ; I '11 bear it all myself. 

He-enter Biondello. 
How now ! what news ? 

Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 

That she is busy and she cannot come. 

Pet. How ! she is busy and she cannot come ! 
Is tluit an answer y 

Ore. Ay, and a kind one too : 

Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 

Pet. I hope, better. 

Hor. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife 
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Bion. 

Pet. O, ho! entreat her! 

Nay, then she must needs come. 

Hor. I am afraid, sir, 

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 

Se-enter Biondello. 
Now, where 's my wife ? 

Bion. She says you have some goodly jest in hand: 
She will not come ; she bids you come to her. 

Pet. Worseand worse; she will not come! Ovile, 
Intolerable, not to be endured ! 
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress ; 
Say, I command her come to me. [Exit Grumio. 

Hor. I know her answer. 

Pet. Wliat? 

Hor. She will not. 

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 

Bap. Now,by my holidame,here comes Katharina! 

Re-enter Katharina. -♦■ 

Kath. What is your will, sir, that you .send for me ? 

Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife y 

Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour Are. 

Pet. Go, fetch them hither : if they deny to come. 
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands : 
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 

[Exit Katharina. 

Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 

Hor. And so it is : 1 wonder wliat it bodes. 

Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life. 
And awful rule and right supremacy; 
And, to be short, what not, that 's sweet and happy ? 

Bap. Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio! 
Tlie wager thou hast won; and I will add 
Unto tlieir losses twenty thousand crowns; 
Another dowry to another daughter. 
For she is changeil, as she had never been. 

Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet 
And shov^ nir:'C sign of her obedience. 
Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
See where she comes and brings your froward wives 
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. 

He-enter Katharina, icith Bianca and Widow. 
Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not : 
Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot. 
14 



Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, 
Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 

Bian. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this ? 

Luc. 1 would your duty were as foolish too : 
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time. 

Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. 

Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head- 
strong women 
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 

Wid. Come, come, you 're mocking : we will have, 
no telling. 

Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. 

Wid. She shall not. 

Pet. I say she shall : and first begin with her. 

Kath. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkuid 
brow, 
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
It blots tliy beauty as frosts do bite the meads. 
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, 
And in no sense is meet or amiable. 
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, 
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; 
And while it is so, none so dry or tliirsty 
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. 
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper. 
Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, 
And for tliy maintenance commits his body 
To painful labour both by sea and land, 
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
AVhilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; 
And craves no other tribute at tliy hands 
But love, fair looks and true obedience; 
Too little payment for so great a debt. 
Such duty as the subject owes the prince 
Even such a woman oweth, to her husband ; 
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
And not obedient to his honest will, 
AV'hat is she but a foul contending rebel 
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? 
I am ashamed that women are so .simple 
To offer war where they should kneel for peace. 
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway. 
When they are bound to aerve, love and obey. 
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth. 
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, 
But that our soft conditions and our hearts 
Should well agree with our external parts ? 
Come, come, you froward and unable worms! 
My mind hath been as big as one of yours, 
jMy heart as great, my reason haply more. 
To bandy word for word and frown for frown ; 
But now I see our lances are but straws. 
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, 
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. 
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot. 
And place your hands below your husband's foot : 
In token of which duty, if he please. 
My hand is ready ; may it do him ease. 

Pet. AVhy, there 's a wench! Come on, and kiss 
me, Kate. 

iwc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt 
ha 't. 

Vin. 'T is a good hearing when children are to- 
ward, [ward. 

Luc. But a harsh hearing when woman are fro- 

Pet. Come, Kate, we '11 to bed. 
We three are married, but you two are sped. 
[To Luc] 'T was I won the wager, though you hit 

the white ; 
And, being a winner, God give you good night! 

[Exeunt Petruchio and Katharina. 

Hor. Now, go thy ways ; thou hast tamed a curst 
shrew. 

Luc. 'T is a wonder, by your leave, she will be 
tamed so. [Exeunt. 

209 




ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



I)IiA3IATIS PEBSON^. 



King of France. 

Duke of Florence. 

Bertram, Count of Eousillon. 

Lafeu, an old lord. 

Parolles, a follower of Bertram. 

Steward, i servants to the Countess of 

Clown, J Eousillon. 

A Page. 

Countess of Eousillon, mother to Bertram. 



Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess. 
An old Widow of Florence. 
Diana, daughter to the Widow. 
Violenta, | neighbours and friends to the 
Widow. 



Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine. 
SCENE — Eousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles, 



[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, see Page L.] 



^CT I. 



SCENE I. — Eousillon. The. Counfs palace. 

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, He- 
lena, and Lafeu, all in black. 
Count. In delivering my .son from me, I bury a 
second husband. 

Ber. And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's 
deatli anew : but I must attend his majesty's com- 
mand, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in sub- 
jection. 

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, 
madam; you, sir, a father: he that so generally is 
at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue 
to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where 
it wanted rather than lack it where there is such 
abundance. [ment ? 

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend- 
in/. He liath abandoned his physicians, madam; 
under whose jiractices he hath persecuted time 
with hope, ami finds no other advantage in the pro- 
cess but only the losing of hope by time. 

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, — 
O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis! — whose 
skill was almost as great as his honesty ; had it 
stretched so far, would have made nature immor- 
tal, and death sliould have play for lack of work. 
Would, for the king's sake, he were living ! I think 
it would be the death of tlie k ing's disease, [madam V 
Lnf. How called you the man you speak of, 
Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and 
it was liis great right to be .so: Gerard de Narlion. 
Lnf. He was excellent indeed, madam : the king 
very' lately spoke of him admiringly and mourn- 
ingiy: he was skilful enougli to have lived still, 
if knowledge could be set up against mortality. 
Ber. Wliat is it, my good lord, the king languishes 
Laf. A Hstnla, my lord. ' [of? 

Ber. I heard not of it before. 
Lnf. I would it were not notorious. "Was this 
gentlewoman tlie daugliter of Gerard de Xarlion ? 

Count. His sole cliild, my lord, and b'-queathed 
to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good 
that her education promises; her dispositions she 
inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer ; for vi'here 
an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there 
commendations go with pity; they are virtues 
and traitors too: in her they are the better for 
their simi)leness; she derives her honesty and 
achieves her goodness. 

210 



Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her 
tears". 

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season 
her praise in. The remembrance of her father 
never apjiroaches her heart but the tyranny of her 
sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. Ko 
more of this. Helena; go to, no more; lest it be 
ratlier thouglit yuu affect a sorrow than have it. 

IM. 1 do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. 

Laf. Moderate lamenlatioii is tlie right of the 
dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. 

Count. If the'living be enemy to the grief , the 
excess makes it soon mortal. 

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 

Lnf. How understand we that V [father 

Count. Be thou blest. IJcrtiam. and succeed thy 
In manners, as in sliajie ! thy blood and virtue 
Contend for enijiin' in thee, and tiiy goodness 
Share with thy birt liiii;lit ! Love all, trust a few, 
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy 
Kather in power than use, and keep thy friend 
Under thy own life's key: be check 'd for silence, 
But never tax'd lor speech. What heaven more 

will. 
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, 
Fall on thy lieail ! Farewell, my lord ; 
'T is an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, 
Advise him. 

Laf. He cannot want the best 

That shall attend his love. 

Count. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. 

[E.dt. 

Ber. [To Helena] The best wishes that can be 
forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be 
comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make 
much of her. 

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the 
credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. 

Hel. O, were that all ! I think not on my father; 
And these great tears grace his remembrance more 
Than those I shed for him. What was he like V 
I have forgot him: my imagination 
Carries no favour in 't but Bertram's. 
I am undone: tliere is no living, none, 
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one 
Tliat 1 should love a bright particular star 
Anil think to wed it, he is so above me : 
In Ills bright radiance and collateral light 
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 



ACT I. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



5CE>'E II. 



The ambition in my love tluis plasties itself: 

Tlie hind that would be mated li.v the lion 

!Must die for love. 'T was pretty, tliough a plague, 

To see him every hour; to sit and draw 

His arched brows, liis hawking eye, his curls, 

In our heart's table; heart too capable 

Of every lu-ie and trick of his sweet favour: 

]?ut now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 

Iilust sanctify his reliiiues. Who comes here? 

Enter Parolles. 
[.l.«j(7c] One that goes \\-itli him : I love him for his 

sake ; 
And yet I know him a notorious liar, 
Til ink him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, 
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 
Look bleak i'the cold wind : withal, full oft we see 
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 

yar. Save you, fair queen ! 

Hcl. And you, monarch ! 

Far. No. 

Hel. And no. 

Far. Are you meditating on virginity? 

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you : 
let me ask you a question. ]Man is enemy to vir- 
ginity ; how may we barricade it against him ? 

Par. Keep him out. 

Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though 
valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us 
some warlike resistance. 

I'ar. There is none: man, sitting down before 
you, will undermine you and blow you up. 

Hcl. Bless our poor virginity from underminers 
and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how 
virgins might blow up men ! 

Pur. Virginity being blown' down, man will 
quicklier be bkr ( up; marry, in blowing him 
down again, with i. ^. breacli yourselves made, you 
lose your city. Ii>, i not politic in tlie common- 
wealth of nature tc 'eserve virginity. Loss of vir- 
ginity is ration;il inc. ease and there was never vir- 
gin got till virginity was first lost. That you were 
made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by 
being once lost may be ten times found ; by being 
ever kept, it is ever lost : 't is too cold a companion ; 
away with "t. 

Hcl. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore 
I die a virgin. 

Pnr. There 's little can be said in 't ; 't is against 
tlie rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- 
ginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most 
infallible disobedience. He that liangs himself is 
a virgin: virginity murders itself; and shoulcV be 
buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a 
desperate ottendress against nature. Virginity 
breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself 
to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own 
stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, 
made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in 
the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but 
lose by 't: out with 't ! within ten year it will make 
itself "ten, which is a goodly increase; and the prin- 
cipal itself not much the worse ; away with 't ! 

Hcl. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her ovioi 
liking ? 

Par. Let me see: marry, ill, to -like him that 
ne'er it likes. 'T is a coniniodity will lose the gloss 
with lying; the longer kept, tlie less worth: off 
with 't while 'tis vendilile; answer the time of re- 
quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her 
cap out of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: 
just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear 
not now. Your date is better in your pie and your 
porridge than in your cheek: and your virginity, 
your old virginity, is like one of our French with- 
ered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a 



withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 
't is a withered pear : will you anything with it ? 

Hcl. Xot my virginity yet . . . 
Tliere shall your master have a thousand loves. 
A mother and a mistress and a friend, 
A phoenix, captain and an enemy, 
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; 
His humble ambition, proud humility. 
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet. 
His faith, his sweet disaster; witli a world 
Of pretty, fond, adoptions christendimis. 
That blinking Cupid gossips. Xow sliall he — 
I know not wiiat he shall. God semi him well ! 
Tlie court "s a learning iilace, and he is one — 

Pcir. What one, i' faith ? 

Hel. That I wish well. 'T is pity — 

Par. What 's pity ? 

Hcl. That wisliing well had not a liody in 't, 
Which miglit be felt ; that we, the poorer born, 
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes. 
Might with effects of them follow our friends. 
And show what we alone must think, which never 
Returns us thanks. 

Enter Page. 

Paijc. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. 

[Erit. 

Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember 
thee, I will think of thee at court. 

Hcl. ^lonsieur Parolles, you were born under a 
charitable star. 

P<i.r. Under Mars, I. 

Hel. I especially think, rmder Mars. 
* Par. Why under Mars ? 

Hel. The wars have so kept you under that you 
must needs be born under Mars. 

Par. When he was predominant. 

Hel. AVlien he was retrograde, I think, rather. 

Par. Vf liy think you so ? 

Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. 

Par. That 's for advantage. 

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
safety : but the composition that your valour and 
fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
like the wear well. 

Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer 
thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the 
which, my instruction sliaJl sei-ve to naturalize thee, 
so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel and 
understand what advice .shall thrust upon thee; 
else thou diest in thine untliankfulness, and thine 
ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou 
hast leisure, say thy prayers ; when tliou hast none, 
remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, 
and use him as he uses thee : so, farewell. [E.cit. 

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
Wliich we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky 
Gives us free scope, only doth l.iack\\-ard pull 
Our slow designs when we onrsehes are dull. 
What power is it wliich mounts my k)ve so high. 
That makes me see, and caniuit feed mine eye ':• 
The niiglitiest sluice in fortune nature brings 
To join like likes and kiss like native things. 
Impossible be strange attempts to those 
That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose 
What hath been cannot be: who ever strove 
To show her merit, that did miss her love ? 
The king's disease — my project may deceive me, 
But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. 

[Exit. 
SCENE n. — Pcms. The'khufs pcdace. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, 
with letters, and divers Attendants. 
Kincj. The Florentines and Seiioys are by the ears ; 
Have fought with equal fortune and continue 
A braving war. 

211 



ACT I. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE ITI. 



First Lord. So 't is reported, sir. 

King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it 
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria 
n ith caution that tlie Florentine will move us 
i or speedy aid ; wlierein our dearest friend 
Jt rejudicates the business and would seem 
lo have us make denial. 

First Lord. His love and wisdom. 

Approved so to your majesty, may plead 
1 or amplest credence. 

A,'!V'i?'i' • , ■ He hath arm 'd our answer, 

And Florence is denied before he comes • 
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see 
i he luscan service, freely have they leave 
lo stand on either part. 

Sec. Lord. It well may serve 

A nursery to our gentrv, who are sick 
For breathing and exploit. 

Kinci. What 's he comes liere ? 



Since the physician at your father's died ? 
He was much famed. 

-?/.'■• T„ , ^ome six months since, mv lord. 

Kiwj. If he were living, I would try him yet 
-Lend me an arm ; the rest have worn me out 
" ith several applications : nature and sickness 
i)ebate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; 
My son 's no dearer. ' 

-^^''- Thank your majesty. 

[E.ceunt. Flourish. 



Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

First Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good 
Young Bertram. ' rford 

King. Youth,thou bear'st thy father's face • ' 
Frank nature, ratlier curious than in haste ' 
Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts 
M;i yst tliou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris 

JJcr. My thanks and dutv are your majesty's 

King. I would I had tliatcn-ponil soun.ln.'ssiiow. 
As wlien thy lather and myself in friendship 
i^ irst tried our soldiership ! He did look far 
Into the service of the time and was 
Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long ; 
-but on us both did haggish age steal on 
And wore us out of act. It liuich repairs me 
1 o talk of your good father. In his youth 
He liad the wit which I can well observe 

rp", w^y ■" ""'" y°""S ''''■'•'' - ''«t they may jest 

lill their own scorn return to them unnoted 
-Lre they can hide tlieir levity in honour : 
bo like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 

Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were 

His equal had awaked them, and his honour,' 

Clock to Itself, knew the true minute when 

-^xception bid him speak, and at this time 

His tongue oljey'd his hand : who were below him 

He used as creatures of auotlier place 

And howM his eminent top to their low ranks. 

Making them proud of his humility, 

In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man 

-Miglit be a copy to tliese younger times; 

Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now 

-uut goers backward. 

T .£'■''•. , . ^, His good remembrance, sir, 

iaes I icher m your thoughts than on his tomb • 

ho in approof lives not his epitaph ' 

As in your royal speech. Fsav— 

llf]!/. Would I ,yere with him ! He would always 
Methmks I hear him now; his plausive words 
-tie scatter d not in ears, but grafted tliem 
To grow there and to bear,— 'Let me not live,'- 
ihis his good melancholy oft beo-an 
On the catastrophe and heel of iwsti'me, 
VVheii It was out,—' Let me not live,' quoth he. 
After my tlame lacks oil, to be the snuff 
Ot younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 
All but new things disdain ; whose judgments are 
Meie fatliers of their garments; whose constancies 
^xpire before their lashions. This he wisli'd : 
.1 alter him do after him wish too 
hmce I nor wax nor honey can bring home, 
1 quickly were dissolved from my hive 
lo give some labourers room. 

Sec. Lord. You are loved, sir; 

Ihey that least lend it you shall lack you first. 

Kng. I till a place, I know 't. How long is't, 
count, ' 

212 



SCENE m.Sousilhn. The CounVs palace. 

Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 
Count. I will now hear ; what say you of this gen- 
tlewoman y J J ci^ 

Steu- Madam, the care I have had to even vour 
content I wish might be found in the calendar of 
my past endeavours; for then we wound our mod- 
esty and make foul the clearness of our deservino-s 
when of ourselves we publish them. " ' 

Count. What does this knave here? Get vou 
gone, suTa 1 : the complaints I have heard of ytiu I 
do not all believe : 't is my slowness that I do not • 
for I know you lack not folly ir, rnmniit them, and 
rv ' 'rll'.'^y enough to make such knaveries yours. 
Uo. 1 IS not unknown to you, madam, I am a i)oor 
Co»»^ Well, sir. [f^iow. 

C/o No, madam, 't is not so well that I am poor 
though many of the rich are damned : but, if I may 
have your ladyship's good will to go to tlie world 
Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. 
Count. Wilt tliou needs be a beggar"'' 
C7o. I do beg your good will hi this case. 
Count. In what case? 

Cfo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no 
heritage : and I tliink I shall never have the bless- 
ing ot tTod till I have issue o' my body; for thev 
say barnes are blessings. j j ^ j 

Cmoi^ Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. 
Uo. My poor body, madam, "requires it: I am 
driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that 
the devil drives. 

Count. Is this all your worshin's reason ? 
Clo. Faith, madam, I Iiave other holy reasons 
sucli as they are. 

Count. May the world know them ? 
Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as 
you and all (lesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do 
marry that I may repent. 
Count Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. 
Clo 1 am out o' friends, madam ; and I hope to 
have friends for my wife's sake. 

CoHii*. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
Clo. lou're shallow, madam, in great friends- 
tor the knaves come to do that for me which I am 
aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team 
and gives me leave to in the crop ; if I be his cuck- 
old, he 's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is 
tlie cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he that cher- 
ishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood- 
he that Oves my flesh and blood is my friend : ert^o 
he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could 
be contented to be what they are, there were no 
tear in marriage; for young Clnirbon the puritan 
and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts 
are severed m religion, their heads are both one- 
they may joul horns together, like any deer i' the 

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and 
calumnious knave? 

Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth • 
the next way : 

For I the ballad will repeat. 

Which men full true shall find; 
Your marriage comes by destiny, 
1 our cuckoo sings by kind. 



ACT I. 



ALTS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE III. 



Count. Get )'ou gone, sir ; I "11 talk with you more 
auoii. 

Sleu:. ilay it please you, madam, that he bid 
Helen couie to you : of her I am to si)eak. 

C'lunt. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman 1 would speak 
with lier; Helen, I mean. 

C'lo. Was tliis fair face the cause, quoth she, 
^V'lly tlie Grecians sacked Troy ? 
Fond "done, tlone fond. 

Was this King Priam's joy ? 
With that she sighed as slie stood, 
AVilh tliat she sighed as she stood. 

And gave this sentence then ; 

Among nine bad if one be good. 

Among inne bad if one be good, 

Theie 's yet onS good in ten. 

Count. AVhat, one good in ten':' you corrupt the 
song, sirrah. 

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which is 
a piu'ifying o' the song: would God woidd serve 
tlie world so all the year! we 'Id Hnd no fault with 
the titlie-womau, if I were the parson. One in ten, 
quotli a' ! An we might liave a good woman born 
but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 
'twould mend the lottery weU: a man may draw 
his heart out, ere a' pluck one. 

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I 
command you. 

do. Tliat man should be at woman's command, 
and yet no hurt done ! Though honesty be no puri- 
tan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the surplice 
of luunility over the black gown of a big heart. I 
am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to 
come liither. [Exit. 

Count. Well, now. 

Stcic. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman 
entirely. 

Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to 
me ; and she herself, wdthout other advantage, may 
lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: 
tliere is more owing her than is paid; aud more 
shall be paid her than she '11 demand. 

Stew. JIadam, I was very late more near lier than 
I think sl'.e wished me: alone she was, and did 
communicate to herself her own words to lier own 
ears ; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched 
not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved 
your son : Fortune, she said, was no godde.ss, that 
had put such difference betwixt their two estates; 
Love no god, that would not extend his might, onl.v 
where qualities were level ; Dian no queen of virgins, 
that would suffer her poor knight surpriscil, witli- 
out rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. 
This slie delivered in the most bitter touch of s(u-- 
row tliat e'er I heard virgin exclaim in : which I 
held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; 
sitheuce, in the loss that may happeu, it concerns 
you something to know it. 

Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep 
it to yourself; many likelihoods informed me of 
this before, which hung so tottering in tlie balance 
that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray 
}'ou, leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I 
thank you for your honest care: I will speak with 
you further anon. \_Exit Htcicanl. 

Enter Helena. 
Even so it was with me when I was young : 

If ever we are nature's, these are ours ; tliis thorn 
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; 

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
It is the show and seal of nature's truth, 
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth : 
By our remembrances of days foregone, 
Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. 
Her eye is sick on 't : I observe her now. 

Hel. What is your pleasm-e, madams 



Count. Y ou know, Helen, 

I am a mother to you. 

Hel. Mine honom-able mistress. 

Count. i^ay, a mother : 

Why not a mother ? When I said ' a liiother,' 
Methought you saw a serpent : what 's in ' mother,' 
That you start at it ? I say, I am your mother ; 
And put you in the catalogue of those 
That were enwombed mine : 't is often seen 
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds 
A native slip to us from foreign seeds: 
You ne'er oppress 'd me with a mother's groan. 
Yet I express to j ou a mother's care : 
God's mercy, maiden I does it curd thy blood 
To say I am thy mother ? What 's the matter, 
That this distemper'd messenger of wet, 
The many-eolourM Iris, roiuiUs thine eye ? 
Why V that vou are my daughter? 

Bel. ' That I am not. 

Count. I say, I am your mother. 

Hel. ' Pardon, madam; 

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: 
I am from humble, he from honour'd name; 
Xo note upon my parents, his all noble: 
My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
His servant live, and will his vassal die: 
He must not be my brother. 

Count. Nor I your mother '? 

Hel. You are my mother, madam; would you 
were, — 
So that my lord your son were not my brother, — 
Indeed my mother! or were you both om' mothers, 
I care no more for than I do for heaven. 
So I w'ere not his sister. Can 't no other. 
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? [law: 

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-ir.- 
God shield you mean it not ! daughter and mother 
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again ? 
j Jly fear hath catch'd your fondness : now I see 
! The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
Your salt tears" head: now to all sense "tis gross 
You love my son: invention is ashamed, 
' Against the" proclamation of thy passion, 
i To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true: 
', But tell me then, "t is .so; for, look, thy cheeks 
; Confess it, th" one to th" other: and thine eyes 
' See it so grossly slmwn in thy behavinurs 
That in their kind they speak it : only sin 
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, 
Tluit truth should be suspected. Speak, is 't so ? 
If it be so. you have wound a goodly clew; 
If it lie not" forswear 't : howe'er, I charge thee, 
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 
To tell uie truly. 

Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! 

Count. Do j'OU love my son ? 

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 

Count. Love you my son ? 

Hel. Do not you love him, madam ? 

Count. Go not about; my "love hath in 't a bond. 
Whereof the world takes note : come, come, disclose 
The state of your affection ; for your passions 
Have "to the full appeach'd. 

Hel. Then, I confess. 

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, 
That before you, and next mito high heaven, 
I love your son. 

Mv friends were poor, but honest : so 's my love : 
Be not offended; for it hurts not him 
That he is loved of me : I follow him not 
By any token of presumptuous suit ; 
Nor w'ould I have him till I do deserve him; 
Yet never know how that desert should be. 
I know I love in vain, strive against hope; 
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve 
I still pour in the waters of my love 
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, 
213 



ACT 11. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE I. 



Religious in mine error, I artore 

The sun, that IooIjs upon his worsliipper, 

But lihows of liim no more. M}' dearest madam, 

Let not your hate encounter with my love 

For loving where you do : but if yourself, 

WJiose a<_>pd honour cites a virtuous youth. 

Did ever in so true a tlame of liking 

Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian 

"Was both herself and love; O, then, give pity 

To her, winise state is such that cannot choose 

But lend and give where she is sure to lose; 

That seeks not to find that her search implies, 

But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! 

Count. Had you uot lately an intent, — speak 
To go to Paris V [truly, 

Hd. Madam, I had. 

Count. Wherefore? tell true. 

Hd. I will tell truth ; by grace itself I swear. 
You know my father left me some prescriptions 
Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading 
And manifest experience had collected 
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me 
In heedfulTst reservation to bestow the.n. 
As notes wliose faculties inclusive were 
More than tliey were in note: amongst the rest, 
Tliere is a remedy, approved, set down, 
To cure the desperate languishings whereof 
Tlie king is render'd lost. 

Count. This was your motive 

For Paris, was it ? speak. 



Hd. My lord your son made me to think of this ; 
Else Paris and the medicine and the king- 
Had from the conversation of my thoughts 
Haply been absent then. 

Count. But think you, Helen, 

If you sliould tender your supposed aid. 
He would receive it? he and his physicians 
Are of a mind; he, that tliey cannot help him, 
Tliey, tliat they cannot help: how shall they credit 
A poor inilcarned virgin, when the schools, 
Eniljowiird (if tlieir doctrine, have left off 
The danger to itself ? 

Hd. There 's something in 't, 

More than my father's skill, wliich was the greatest 
Of his profession, that his ^ood receipt 
Shall for my legacy be sanctified 
By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your 

honour 
But give me leave to try success, I 'Id vejiture 
Tlie well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure 
By such a day and hour. 

Count. Dost thou believe 't ? 

Hd. Ay, madam, knowingly. [love, 

Count. Why, Helen, thou shaft have my leave and 
Means and attendants and my loving greetings 
To tliiise (if mine in court: I'll stay at home 
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: 
Be gone to-morrov\' ; and be sure of this, 
AVhat I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. 

[JSxeunt. 



A.CT II. 



SCENE I. — Pans. The King's palace. 

Flourish of cornrts. Enter the King, attended with divers 
young Lords tnkinri leave for the Florentine war ; Ber- 
tram, and Parolles. 

Kimj. Farewell, young lords ; these warlike prin- 
ciples [well : 
Do not throw from you : and you, my lords, fare- 
Share the advice betwixt you: if both gain, all 
The gift dotli stretch itself as 'tis received. 
And is enough for both. 

First Lord. 'T is our hope, sir. 

After well enter'd soldiers, to return 
And find your grace in health. 

King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
Will liot confess he owes the malady 
Tliat doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 
Whether I live or die, be yon the sons 
Of worthy Frenclnnen: let hii^licr Italy, — 
Tliose bated tliat inherit Imt tlie fall 
Of the last monarchy, — see that you come 
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when 
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek. 
That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell. 

Sec. Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your 
majesty ! 

King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them : 
They say, our French lack language to deny. 
If they demand : beware of being captives. 
Before you serve. 

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 

King. Farewell. Come hither to me. 

{Exit, attended. 

First Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay 
behind us! 

Par. 'T is not his fault, the spark. 

Sec. Lord. O, 't is brave wars ! 

Far. Most admirable: I have seen those w'ars. 

Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 
' Too young ' and ' tlie next year ' and ' 't is too 
early.' 

214 



Par. An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away 
bravely. 

Bcr. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, 
Creaking my shcies on the plain masonry. 
Till lioiiour be liought up and no ^word worn 
But one to dance with ! By heaven, I '11 steal away. 

First Lord. There 's honour in the theft. 

Par. Commit it, count. 

Sec. Lord. I am your accessary ; and so, farewell. 

Bcr. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured 

First Lord. Farewell, captain. [body. 

ib'ec. Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles ! 

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: 
you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one 
Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of 
war, here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very 
sword entrenched it : say to him, I live ; and ob- 
serve his reports for me. 

First Lord. We shall, noble captain. 

[Exeunt Lords. 

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! wliat will 

Ber. Stay: the king. [ye do ? 

He-enter King. Bertram and Parolles retire. 

Par. [To Ber.] Use a more spacious ceremony to 
the noble lords; you have restrained yourself witliin 
the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to 
them: for they wear themselves in tlie cap of tlie 
time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and 
move under tlie iiifiuence of the most received star; 
and tho:;gh the devil lead the measure, such are to 
be followed : after them, and take a more dilated 
farewell. 

Ber. And I will do so. 

Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most 
sinewy sword-men. [Exeunt Bertram and Parolles. 

Enter Lafeu. 
Lnf. [KnedimJ] Pardon, my lord, for me and for 
King. I '11 fee thee to stand up. [my tidings. 



ACT ir. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCEXE I. 



Laj. Theu here 's a mau stands, that has brought 
his pardon. 
I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy. 
And tliat at my bidding you could so stand up. 

Kiiuj. 1 would I had; so I had broke thy pate. 
And ask'd tliee mercy for 't. [thus; 

Laf. Good faith, across: but, my good lord, "tis 
Willyou be cared of your mfirmity V 

Kiivj. No. 

Laf. O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox ? 
Yes," but you will my noble grapes, an if [medicine 
My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a 
That 's able to breathe life into a stone, 
Quicken a niek, and make you dance canary 
"With spritely tire and motion; whose simple touch 
Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay. 
To give great Cliarleuiain a pen in 's hand 
And write to her a love-lme. 

Kiiuj. What ' her ' is this V 

Luf. Why, Doctor She; my lord, there's one 
arrived. 
If you will see her : now, by my faith and honour, 
If .seriously I may convey ruy thoughts 
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke 
"With one'that, in her sex, her years, profession, 
Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more 
Tlian I dare blame my weakness : will you see her. 
For that is her demand, and know her busmess ? 
That done, laugh well at me. 

Kinij. Now, good Lafeu, 

Bring in the admiration; that we witli thee 
May spend our woiuh-r too, or take off thine 
By wondering Iiow thou took'st it. 

Luf. Nay, I '11 fit you. 

And not be all day neither. {Exit. 

King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 

lie-enter Lafeu, with Helena. 

Luf. Nay, come your ways. 

King. Tills haste hath wings indeed. 

Laf. Nay, come your ways ; 
This is hismajesty ; say your mind to him : 
A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
His majesty seldom fears : I am Cressid's uncle, 
Tliat dare leave two together ; fare you well. [ Exit. 

King. Now, fair oneTdoes your business follow us? 

Hel. Ay, my good lord. 
Gerard de Narbon was my fatlier ; 
In what he did profess, well fomid. 

King. I knew him. 

Ikl. The rather will I spare my praises towards 
Knowing him is enough. On 's bed of death [him; 
:Many receipts lie gave me; chiefly one. 
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, 
And of his old experience the only darling, 
lie bade me store up, as a triple eye. 
Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; 
And, hearing your liigli majesty is toucli'd 
AVith tliat malignant cause wherein tlie honour 
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
I come to tender it and my appliance 
With all bound humbleness. 

King. We thank you, maiden; 

But may not be so credulous of cure, 
AVlien our most learned doctors leave us and 
Tlie congregated college have concluded 
That lalioiuiiig art can never ransom nature 
From her iuaidible estate: I say we must not 
So stain nur judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
To prostitute iiur past-cure malady 
To empirics, or to dissever so 
Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
A senseless lielp when help past sense we deem. 
Bel. My duty then sliall pay me for my pains : 
I will no more enfuive mine office on you ; 
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
A modest one, to bear me back again. 



King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful : 
Thou thought 'st to help me ; and such tlianks I give 
As one near death to those tliat wisli him live :" 
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, 
I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 

IM. Wliat I can do can do no hurt to try, 
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. 
He tliiit of greatest works is finisher 
Oft does them by the weakest minister: 
Solioly writ inbabesliatli judgment shown, [flown 
Wlieii judges have been lialn-s; great floods have 
From simple sciurces, and great seas liave dried 
Wiien miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
Oft expectation fails and most oft there 
Where most it promises, and oft it hits 
Wliere hope is coldest and despair most fits, [maid ; 
King. I must not hear thee : fare thee well, kind 
Thy pains not used must by thyself lie paid : 
Profilers not took reap thanks for tlieir reward. 

Hd. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
It is not so with Him that "all tilings knows 
As 't is with us that square our guess by shows; 
But most it is presumption in us when 
The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent ; 
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
I am not an impostor that proclaim 
Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
But know I think and think I know most sure 
My art is not past power nor you past cure. 

King. Art thou so confident ':" within what space 
Hopest thou my cure ? 

IM. The great'st grace lending grace. 

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
Tlieir fiery toreher his diurnal ring. 
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
Moist Ilesiierus hath quencird liis sleepy lamp, 
Or four and twenty times the iiilnt's glass 
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, 
AVhat is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, 
Health shall live free" and sickness freely die. 

King. Upon thy certainty and confidence 
Wliatdarest thou venture f 

Hel. Tax of impudence, 

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame 
Traduced liy o<lious ballads: my maiden's name 
Sear'd otiienvise : nay, worse — if worse — extended 
With vilest tiature let my life V)e ended. [speak 
King. JNIethinks in thee some blessed spirit doth 
His powerful sound within an organ weak: 
And what impossibility would slay 
In common sense, sense saves another way. 
Thy life is dear ; for all tliat life can rate 
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, 
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all 
That happiness and prime can happy call : 
Thou this to hazard needs must intimate 
Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. 
Sweet i)raitiser, thy physic I will try. 
That ministers thine own death if I die. 

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in iiropeiiy 
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die. 
And well deserved : not helping, death 's my fee ; 
But, if I help, what do you promise me 'it 
King. Make thy demand. 

Hel. But will you make it even ? 

King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. 
Hel. Theu Shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand 
What husband in thy power I will command : 
Exempted be from me the arrogance 
To choose from forth the royal blood of France, 
My low and humble name to propagate 
With any branch or image of thy state; 
But such a one, tliy vassal, whom I luiow 
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow-. 

KUig. Here is my hand; the premises observed, 
Thy will bv my performance shall be served ; 
215 



ACT II. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. scene hi. 



So make the choice of thy own time, for I, 
Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. 
More should I question thee, and more I must, 
Though more to know could not lie more to trust, 
From whence thou earnest, how tended on : but rest 
Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. 
Give me some lielp here, ho ! If thou proceed 
As high us word, my deed shall match thy meed. 
[Jflourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Bousillon. Tlie CounVs palace. 
Enter Countess and Clo'wrn. 

Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the 
hejo-ht of your breeding. 

Clo. I will show myself highly fed and lowly 
taught: I know my business is but to the court. 

Count. To the court! why, what place make you 
special, when you put off that with such contempt ? 
But to the court ! 

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any 
manners, lie may easily put it off at court: he that 
cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his hand and 
say nothing, has neitlier leg, hands, lip, nor cap; 
and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not 
for the court; but tor me, I have an answer will 
serve all men. [all (piestions. 

Count. Marry, that 's a bountiful answer that tits 

Clo. It is like a barber's chair that tits all but- 
tocks, the pin-buttock, the qualch-butlock, the 
brawn buttock, or any buttock. 

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions y 

Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an at- 
torney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, 
as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for 
Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail 
to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding 
quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the 
friar's mouth, nay, as tlie pudding to his skin. 

Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness 
for all questions ? 

Clo. From below your duke to beneath your con- 
stable, it will tit any question. 

Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
size that must fit all demands. 

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the 
learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and all 
that belongs to"t. Ask me if lam a courtier: it 
shall do yoii no harm to learn. 

Count. To be young again, if we could: I will be 
a fool in question, hoping, to be the wiser by your 
answer. 1 pray yon, sir, are you a courtier 'f 

Clo. O Lord, sir! There 's a simple putting off. 
More, more, a hundred of them. [you. 

Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves 

Clo. O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. 

Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this 
homely meat. [you. 

Clo. O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant 

Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 

Clo. O I^ord, sir! spare not me. 

Count. Do you cry, ' O Lord, sir! ' at your whip- 
ping, and ' spare not me ' ? Indeed your ' O Lord, 
sir! ' is very sequent to your whipping: j'ou would 
answer very well to a whipping, if you were but 
bound to 't. 

Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my ' O 
Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not 
serve ever. 

Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, 
To entertain 't so merrily with a fool. 

Clo. O Lord, sir! why, there 't serves well again. 

Count. An end, sir ; to your business. Give Ellen 
And urge her to a present answer back : [this. 

Commend me 4,0 my kinsmen and mj' son : 
This is not much. 

Clo. Not much commendation to them. 
2Io 



Count. Not much employment for you : you un- 
derstand me ':' 
Clo. Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. 
Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE III. — Paris. The Kimfs palace. 

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

Laf. They say miracles are past ; and we have 
our philosophical iicrsons, to make modern and fa- 
miliar, things suiu-niatural and cau.seless. Hence 
is it that we make tiilles of terrors, ensconcing our- 
selves into seeming knowledge, when we should 
submit ourselves to an unknown tear. 

Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder 
that hath shot out in our latter times. 

Ber. And so 't is. 

Laf. To be relinquished of the artists, — 

Par. So I say. 

Luf. Both of Galen and Paracelsus. 

Pur. So I say. 

Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — 

Par. Right; so I say. 

Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 

Pur. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. 

Laf. Not'to be helped, — 

Pur. Right ; as 't were, a man assured of a — 

Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 

Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have saicL 

Luf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. 

Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, 
you shall read it in — what do ye call there ? 

Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect iu an earthly 
actor. 

Par. That 's it ; I would have said the very same. 

Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me, 
I speak in respect — 

Par. Nay, 't is strange, 't is very strange, that is 
the brief and the tedious of it ; and he 's oi a most 
facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be 

Laf. Very hand of heaven. [the — 

Par. Ay, so I say. 

Laf. In a most weak — [pau.sni;/] and debile min- 
ister, great power, great transcendence: which 
should, indeed, give us a further use to be made 
than alone the recovery of the king, as to be — 
[pausing] generally thankful. 

Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here 
comes the king. 

Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 
Lafeu aiic? Parolles retire. 

Laf. Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a 
maid" the better, whilst I have a tootli in my heail : 
why, he 's able to lea<l her a coranto. 

Par. Mort du vinaigre ! is not this Helen 'f 

Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 

King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. 
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side: 
And with this healtiiful hand, whose banish'd sense 
Tliou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
The confirmation of my promised gift, 
Which but attends thy naming. 

Enter three or four Lords. 
Fair maid, send forth thine eyes: tliis youthful 
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, [parcel 
O'er whom both sovereign jiower and fatiier's voice 
I have to use: thy frank election make ; [sake. 

Thou hast power to choose, and they none to for- 

Hel. To eacli of ymi one fair and virtuous mistress 
Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one! 

Laf. I 'Id give bay Cmial and his furniture. 
My liiouth no more were broken than these boys', 
And writ as little beard. 

King. Peruse them well : 

Not one of those but had a noble father. 



ACT II. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. scene hi. 



Hel. Gentlemen, 
Heaven hath tlaough me restored the kins to health. 

All. We understand it, and thank lieaven for you. 

Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest. 
That I protest I simply am a maid. 
Please it your majesty, I have done already: 
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisiier me, [fused, 
'We blusli that thou shouldst choose; but, be re- 
Let the white death sit on thy clieek for ever; 
We '11 ne'er come there again.' 

King. Make choice; and, see, 

Who shuns thv love shuns all his love in me. 

Hd. Now, ])ian. from thy altar do I (ly. 
And to imperial Love, that god UKist high. 
Do my sighs stream, sir, will you liear my suit ? 

First Lord. And grant it. 

Hel. Thanks, sir; all the 

rest is mute. 

Laf. I had rather be in this choice than throw 
ames-ace for my life. 

Hel. The honour, sir, that (lames in your fair eyes, 
Before I speak, too threateningly rei)lies: 
Love make your foituiics twenty times above 
Her that so wishes and her liuml ile love ! 

Sec. Lord. No better, if you please. 

Hel. My wish receive, 

Which great Love grant ! and so, I take my leave. 

ifif. Do all they deny her? An they were sons 
of mme, I 'd have them" whipped; or I would send 
them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. 

Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take; 
I '11 never do you wrong for your own sake : 
Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! 

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they '11 none have 
her: 'sure, they are bastards to the English; the 
French ne'er got 'em. 

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, 
To make yourself a sou out of my blood. 

Fourth Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 

Laf. There 's one grape yet ; I am sure thy father 
drunk wine : but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a 
youth of fourteen ; I have known tliee already. 

Hel. [To Bertram] I dare not say I take you ; but 
Me and my service, ever whilst I live, [I give 

Into your guiding power. This is the man. 

King. Why, theu, young Bertram, take her ; she 's 
thy wife. Pughness, 

Ber. My wife, my liege I I shall beseech your 
In such a business give me leave to use 
The help of mine own eyes. 

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 

What she has done for me ';:' 

Ber. Yes, my good lord ; 

But never hoiie to know why I should marry her. 

King. Thou know'st she has raised me from my 
sickly lied. 

Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
Must answer for your raising '? I know her well : 
Slie had her breeding at my father's charge. 
A poor physician's daughter my wife ! Disdain 
Rather corrupt me ever ! [which 

King. 'T is only title thou disdain'st in her, the 
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods. 
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
In dilferences so mighty. If she be 
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, 
A poor physician's daugliter, thou dislikest 
Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
Where great additions swell 's,and virtue none, 
It is a dropsied honour. Good alone 
Is good without a name. Vileness is -so : 
The property by what it is should go. 
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; 



In these to nature she 's immediate heir. 

And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, 

Which challenges itself as honour 's born 

And is not like the sire : honours tlirive, 

When rather from our acts we them derive 

Than our foregoers : the mere word 's a slave 

Debosh'd on every tomb, o'n every grave 

A lying troiihy, and as oft is dumb 

Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb 

Of honour 'd bones mdeed. Wliat should be said? 

If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 

I can create the rest : virtue and she 

Is Iier own dower; honour and wealth lor me. 

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't. 

King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst 
strive to choose. 

Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, I 'm glad : 
Let the rest go. 

King. I\Iy honour 'sat the stake; which to defeat, 
I must ludtluce my power. Here, take her hand. 
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; 
That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
My love and her desert; that canst not dream, 
We, poising us in her defective scale. 
Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, 
It is in us to plant thine honour where 
We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt: 
Obey our will, which travails in thy good: 
Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; 
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever 
Into the staggers and the careless lapse 
Of ycuith anil ignorance; both my revenge and hate 
Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice. 
Without all terms of pity. Si)eak; thine answer. 

Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit 
My fancy to your eyes: when I consider 
What great creation and what dole of honour 
Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late 
Was in my lioMer thoughts most base, is now 
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled. 
Is as 't were born so. 

Kiiu/. Take her by the hand. 

And tell lier she is thine : to whom I promise 
A counterpoise, if not to thy estate 
A balance more replete. 

Ber. I take her hand. 

Kini). Good fortune and the favour of the king 
Smile 'upon this contract; whose ceremony 
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief. 
And be iierform'd to-night: the solemn feast 
Shall more attend upon tlie conung space. 
Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, 
Thy love 's to me religious; else, does err. 

[Exeunt (dl but Lafeu and Parolles. 

Laf. [Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur ? a word 

Par. Your pleasure, sir? [with you. 

Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his 
recantation. 

Bar. Recantation! My lord I my master! 
■ L<(f. Ay; is it not a language I speak ?^ 

Bar. A'most liarsh one, and not to be understood 
witlKHit bloody succeeding. JSIy master! 

Laf. A re you companion to the Count Rousillon ? 

Bar. To any count, to all counts, to what is man. 

Laf. To wliat is count's man: count's master is 
of another style. [too old. 

I'ar. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you are 

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to 
which title age cannot bring tliee. 

Par. What! dare too well do, I dare not do. 

Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a 
pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent 
of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the scarfs and tlie 
bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me 
from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. 
217 



ACT II. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE IV. 



I have now found thee; wlieii I lose thee again, I 
care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking 
up; and that thou 'rt scarce worth. [thee, — 

Par. Iladst t liou not the privilegeof antiquity upon 
Laf. Do nut jilunge tliyself ti>o far in anger, lest 
thou" liasten tliy trial; whicli if — Lord have mercy 
on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, 
fare thee well: thy casement I need not open, for I 
look through thee. Give me thy liand. [nity. 

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indig- 
Laf. Ay, with all my heait ; and thou art wortliy 
Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. [of it. 

Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it ; and I will 
not ijate thee a scruple. 
Pur. Well, I shall be wiser. 
Laf. Even as soon as tlion canst, for thou hast to 
pull at a smack o" tlie contrary. If ever tliou be'st 
bound in thy scarf and l>eaten, thou slialt Hnd what 
it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to 
hold my acquaintance with tliee, or rather my knowl- 
edge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I 
know. [vexation. 

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and 
my poor doing eternal : for doing I am past ; as I 
will by thee, in what motion age will give me 
leave. [Exit. 

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace 
off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! Well, 1 must 
be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I '11 
beat -him, by my life, if I can meet him witli any 
convenience, an he were double and double a lord. 
I '11 have no more pity of his age than I would have 
of — I '11 beat him, an if I could but meet him again. 

Re-enter Lafeu. 

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married; 
there 's news for you : you have a new mistress. 

Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship 
to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is 
my good lord : whom I serve above is my master. 

Laf. Who ? God ? 

Par. Ay, sir. 

Laf. Tlie devil it is that 's thy master. Why dost 
thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost make 
hose of tliy sleeves y do otlier servants so ':* Thou 
wert best set thy lower part where tliy nose stands. 
By mine honour, if I were Imt two liours younger, 
I 'Id beat thee : methiidis, tliou art a general offence, 
and every man should Ijcat thee : 1 think thou wast 
created for men to breatlie tliemselves upon thee. 

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my 
lord. 

Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for 
pickmg a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a 
vagabond and no true traveller : you are more saucy 
with lords and honourable personages than the com- 
mission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. 
You are not worth another word, else I 'Id call you 
knave. I leave you. [Exit. 

Far. Good, very good; it is so then: good, very 
good; let it be concealed awhile. 

Be-enter Bertram. 

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! 

Par. What 's the matter, sweet-heart V [sworn, 

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I liave 
I will not bed her. 

Par. What, what, sweet-heart ? 

Ber. O my ParoUes, they liave married me! 
I '11 to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
The tread of a man 's foot : to the wars ! 

Ber. There 's letters from my mother : what the 
import is, I know not yet. 

Par. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my 
boy, to the wars ! 

218 



He wears his honour in a box unseen. 
That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, 
Sijending his manly marrow in her arms. 
Which should sustain the buund and high curvet 
Of Mars's flery steed. Tu other regions 
France is a stable ; we that dwell in 't jades ; 
Therefore, to the war ! 

Ber. It shall be so : I '11 send her to my house. 
Acquaint my motlier with my hate to her. 
And wherefore I am tied; write to the king 
That which I durst not speak : his present gift 
Sliall furiush me to tliose Italian fields, 
Wliere noble fellows strike: war is no strife 
To tlie dark house anil the detested wife. 

Far. AV'ill this capriccio luild in thee ? art sure? 

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
I '11 .send her straight away : to-morrow 
I '11 to the wars, slie to her single sorrow. 

Par. Why, these balls bound ; there 's noise in it. 
'T is hard : 
A young man married is a man that 's marr'd : 
Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : 
The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 't is so. 

[E.ceunt. 

SCENE IV. — Paris. The Iciwfs ^xilace. 

Enter Helena and Clown. 

Hel. My mother greets me kindly : is she well ? 

Clo. .She is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
she 's very merry ; but yet she is not well : but thanks 
be given, she 's very well and wants nothing i' the 
world ; but yet she is not well. 

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that 
she 's not very well y 

Clo. Truly, she 's very well indeed, but for two 
things. 

Hel. What two things ? 

Clo. One, that she 's not in heaven, whither God 
send her quickly ! the other, that she 's in earth, 
from whence God send her quickly! 

Enter Parolles. 

Far. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have 
mine own good fortunes. 

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; and 
to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, 
how does my old lady ? 

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her 
money, I would she did as you say. 

Par. Why, I say nothing. 

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a 
man's tongue sliakes out his master's undoing: to 
say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and 
to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; 
which is within a very little of n-othiug. 

Par. Away! thou 'rt a knave. 

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave 
thou 'rt a knave ; that 's, before me thou 'rt a knave : 
this had been truth, sir. [thee. 

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool ; I have found 

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir y or were you 
taught to find me 'i The search, sir, was profitable ; 
and much fool may you find in you, even to the 
world's pleasure and 1:he increase of laughter. 

Por. A good knave, i' faitli, and well fed. 
Madam, my lord will go away to-night ; 
A very serious business calls on him. 
The great prerogative and rite of love, [edge; 

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowl- 
But puts it off to a compell'd restraint ; [sweets, 
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with 
Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
To make the coming liour o'erHow with joy 
And pleasure drown the brim. 

Hd. What's his will else? 



ACT III. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE I. 



Par. That you will take your iustaut leave o' the 
king. 
And make this haste as your own good proceedmg, 
.Strengtheu'd with what apology you think 
May make it probable need. 

ild. "What more commands he? 

Far. That, having this obtaiu'd, you presently 
Attend his further pleasure. 

Hel, In every thing I wait upon his will. 

Par. I shall report it so. 

Hcl. I pray you. {Exit ParoUcs. 

Come, sirrah. [Exeunt. 

SCENE ^7'.— Paris. The kiivfs jjakCce. 

Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 

Lfif. But I hope your lordship thmks not him a 
soldier. 

Her. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 

Laf. You have it from his o\ni deliverance. 

Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 

Laf. TJien my dial goes not true : I took this lark 
for a bunting. 

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in 
loiowledge and accordingly valiant. 

LaJ. 1 have then sinned against his experience 
and transgressed against his valour; and my state 
that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my 
heart to repeut. Here he comes: I pray you, make 
us fiieuds ; I will pursue the amity. 

Enter Parolles. 

Pur. [To Bcrlram] These things shall be done, 
sir. 

Lnf. Pray j-ou, sir, who "s his tailor? 

Par. Sir? 

L'(f. O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good 
workman, a very good tailor. 

Ber. [Aside to Par.] Is she gone to the king ? 

Pur. Slie is. 

Ber. Will she away to-night? 

Par. As you '11 have her. 

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, 
Given order for our horses; and to-night, 
When I should take possession of the bride, 
End ere I do begin. 

Luf. A good traveller is something at the latter 
end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds and 
uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings 
with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. God 
save you, captain. • 

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord 
and you, monsieur? 

Pur. I know not how I have deserved to run into 
my lord's displeasiu-e. 

Luf. You have made shift to run into 't, boots 
and spurs and all, like him that leaped into tlie cus- 
tard ; and out of it you '11 run again, rather than 
suffer question for your residence. 

Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. 

Luf. And shall do so ever, though I took iiim at 
's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and lielieve 
this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut ; 



the soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not 
in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of 
them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, 
monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you 
liave or will to deserve at my hand ; but we must 
do good against evil. [Exit. 

Par. An idle lord, I swear. 

Ber. I think so. 

Par. Why, do you not know him ? 

Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech 
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 

Enter Helena. 

Hel. I have, sir, as I v.as commanded fi'om you. 
Spoke with the king and have procured his leave 
For present parting ; only he desires 
Some private speech with you. 

Ber. I shall obey his will. 

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
Which holds not colour with the time, uor does 
The ministration and required oflice 
On my particular. Prepared I was not 
For such a business; therefore am I found 
So much unsettled : this drives me to entreat you 
That presently you take your way for home; 
And rather niuse than ask why I entreat you, 
For my respects are better than they seem 
And my ai)p(iintinents have in them a need 
Greater than shows itself at the first view 
To you that know them not. This to my mother: 
[Giving a Utter. 
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so 
I leave you to your wisdom. 

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, 

But that I am your most obedient servant. 

L'cr. Come, come, no more of that. 

Hel. And ever shall 

With true observance seek to eke out that 
Wherein toward me my homely stars have faird 
To equal my great fortune. 

Ber. Let that go : 

My liaste is very great : farewell ; hie home. 

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 

Ber. Well, what would you say? 

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, 
Xor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; 
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
What law does vouch mine own. 

Ber. What would you have ? 

Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : nothing, 
indeed. 
I would not tell you what I would, my lord: 
Faith, yes; 
Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. 

Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. 

Ber. Wliere are my other men, monsieur ? Fare- 
well. [Exit Helena. 
Go thou toward home; where I will never come 
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. 
Away, and for our flight. 

Par. Bravely, coragio ! 

[Excimt. 



.ACT 

SCENE I.— Florence. The DuJ;e''s palace. 

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; 
ike two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. 
Duke. So that from point to point now have you 
The fundamental reasons of this war, [lizard 

Whose great decision hath much blood Jet forth 
And more thirsts after. 



III. 

First Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 

Upon your grace's part; bkick and fearful 
On the opposer. [France 

Buke. Therefore we marvel much our cousin 
AVould in so just a business shut his bosom 
Against our borrowing prayers. 

Sec. Lrjrd. Good my lord, 

The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 
219 



ACT III. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE II. 



But like a common and an outward man, 
Tliat the great figure of a council frames 
By self-unable motion : therefore dare not 
Say what I think of it, since I have found 
^Myself in my incertain grounds to fail 
As often as I guess'd. 

Duke. Be it his pleasure. 

First Lord. But I am sure the younger of our na- 
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day [ture, 
Come here for physic. 

Bukc. Welcome shall they be : 

And all the honours that can fly from us 
Shall on them settle. You know your places well; 
When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. E.ccunt. 

SCENE 11.— Bousillon. The CounVs palace. 

Enter Countess and Clo'wn. 

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had 
it, save that he comes not along with her. 

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
very melancholy man. 

Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; 
mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; 
pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had 
this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a 
song. 

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he 
means to come. {Opcnimja letter. 

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel since I was iit court : 
our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are noth- 
ing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court : 
the brains of my Cupid "s knocked out, and I begin 
to love, as an old man loves money, with no stom- 

Count. What have we here ? [ach. 

Clo. E'en that you have there. [E.dt. 

Count. [Ecads] t have sent you a daugliter-in-law : 
slje hath recovered the king, and undone me. I 
have wedded her, not bedded her ; and sworn to 
make the ' not ' eternal. You shall hear I am run 
away : know it before the report come. If there be 
breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long dis- 
tance. My duty to you. 

Your unfortunate son, 

Bertram. 
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 
To fly the favours of so good a king ; 
To pluck his indignation on thy head 
By the misprising of a maid too virtuous 
For the contempt of empire. 

Re-enter ClO'wrn. 

do. O madam, yonder is heavy news within be- 
tween two soldiers and my young lady ! 

Count. What is the matter ? 

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, 
some comfort ; your son «'ill not be killed so soon 
as I thought he would. 

Count. Why should he be killed ? 

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear 
he does; the danger is in standing to't; that's 
the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. 
Here they come will tell you more : for my part, I 
only hear your son was rmi away. [Exit. 

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 
First Gent. Save you, good madam. 
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
Sec. Gent. Do not say so. [men. 

Count. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentle- 
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, 
That the first face of neither, on the start, [you ? 
Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray 
Sec. Gent. Madam, he 's gone to serve the duke 
of Florence : 

220 



We met him tliitherward ; for thence we came, 
And, after some dispatch in hand at court, 
Thither we bend again. [port. 

Jdel. Look on his letter, madam : here 's my pass- 
[J»V((!s] When thou canst get the ring upon my 
finger which never shall come off, and show me a 
child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then 
call me husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 
This is a dreadful sentence. [' never.' 

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ':* 

Firsi Gent. Ay, madam ; 

And for the contents' sake are sorry for our paius. 

Count. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; 
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine. 
Thou robb'st me of a moiety : he was my son ; 
But I do wash his name out of my blood. 
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he ? 

Sec. Gent. Ay, madam. 

Count. And to be a soldier ? 

Sec. Gent. Such is his noble purpose; and,believe't. 
The duke will lay upon him all the honour 
That good convenience claims. 

Count. . Return you thither? 

First Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing 
of speed. [in France. 

Hel. [Beads'] Till I have no wife, I have nothing 
'T is bitter. 

Count. Find 3'ou that there ? 

Hel. Ay, madam. 

First Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, 
haply, which his heart was not consenting to. 

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! 
There 's nothing here that is too good for him 
But only she ; and she deserves a lord 
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon 
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him V 

First Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman 
Which I have sometime known. 

Count. Parolles, was it not ? 

First Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. [ness. 

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
My son corrupts a well-derived nature 
With his inducement. 

First Gent. Indeed, good lady, 

The fellow has a deal of that too much. 
Which holds him much to have. 

Count. You 're welcome, gentlemen. 
I will entreat you, when you see my son, 
To tell him that his sword can never win 
The honour that he loses : more I '11 eutreat you 
Written to bear along. 

Sec. Gent. We serve you, madam, « 

In that and all your worthiest affairs. 

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 
Will you draw near? 

[E.ceunt Countess and Gentlemen. 

Hel." Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' 
Nothing in France, until he has no wife! 
Thou Shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France; 
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is 't I 
That chase tliee from thy country and expose 
Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
Of the none-sparing warV and is it I 
That drive thee from tlie sportive court, where thou 
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
Of smoky muskets "^ O you leaden messengers, 
That ride upon the violent speed of fire. 
Fly with false aim ; move the still-peering air. 
That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. 
Whoever shoots at him,"! set him there; 
Whoever cliarges im liis forward breast, 
I am the caitiif tliat do hold him to 't; 
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
His death "was so effected : better 't were 
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd 
With sharj) constraint of hunger; better 'twere 
That all the miseries which nature owes 



ACT III. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE V, 



Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousil- 

Wlience honour but of danger wins a scar, [Ion, 

As oft it loses all : I will be gone ; 

My being here it is that holds thee hence: 

Shall I stay here to do 'ti' no, no, although 

The air of payadise did fan the house 

And angels officed all : I will be gone, 

That pitiful rumour may report my flight. 

To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! 

For with the dark, poor thief, I '11 steal away. 

[Exit. 

SCENE 111.— Florence. Before the Duke''s palace. 

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, 
Parolles, Soldiers, Drum and Trumpets. 

Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we. 
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 
Upon thy promising fortune. 

Btr. Sir, it is 

A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet 
^Xe '11 strive to bear it for your worthy sake 
To the extreme edge of hazard. 

Duke. Then go thou forth ; 

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm. 
As thy auspicious mistress ! 

Ber. This very day, 

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: 
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove 
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.—Eousillon. The CounVs palace. 
Enter Countess and Steward. 

Count. Alas ! and would you t ake 1 1 le let ter of her ? 
Might you nut know she would do as she has done. 
By sending me a letter V Read it again. 

'Stew. [lUnds] 
I am Saint .Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone ; 

Amljitious love hath so in me offended, 
That liarefoot plod I the cold ground upon, 

"With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
Write, write, that from the ))liiody course of war 

My dpurcst master, your dear sun, may liie: 
Bless him at home in peace, wliilst I from far 

His name with zealous fervour sanctify : 
His taken labours bid him me forgive; 

I, his des'piteful Juno, sent liiml'orth 
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live. 

Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth : 
He is too good a.nd fair for death and me ; 

Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. 

Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 
words ! 
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much. 
As letting her pass so: had I spoke witli her, 
I could have well diverted her intents. 
Which thus she hath prevented. 

Stew. Pardon me, madam : 

If I had given you tliis at over-night, 
Slie might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes. 
Pursuit would be but vain. 

Count. What angel shall 

Bless this unworthy husband V he cannot thrive. 
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear 
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, 
To this unworthy husband of liis wife; 
Let every word weigh hea\'y of lier worth 
That he does weigh too light : my greatest grief, 
Though little lie do feel it, set down sharply. 
Dispatch tlie most convenient messenger: 
When haply he shall hear that she is gone. 
He will return ; and liope I may tliat she. 
Hearing so much, will speed ht-r tout again, 
Led hither by pure love: whieli of them both 
Is dearest to me, I have no skill iu sense 



To make distinction: provide this messenger: 
My heart is heavy and mine age is weak ; 
Grief would liave tears, and sorrow bids me speak. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Florence. Without the walls. Atuckct 
^ afar off. 

Enter an old Wido-w of Florence, Diana.Violenta, 
and Mariana, with other Citizens. 

Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the 
city, we sliall lose all the sight. 

Did. They say the French count has done most 
honourable service, 

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their great- 
est commander; and that with his own hand he 
slew the duke's brother. [Tucket.] We have lost our 
labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you 
may know by their trumpets. 

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- 
selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed 
of this French earl ; the honour of a maid is her 
name ; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 

Wid. I have told my neighbour how you have 
been solicited by a gentleman his companion. 

Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: 
a filthy othcer he is in those suggestions for the 
young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their prom- 
ises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these en- 
gines of lust, are not the things they go under: 
many a maid hath been seduced" by them ; and the 
misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the 
A\Teck of maidenhood, cannot tor all that dissuade 
succession, but that they are limed with the twigs 
that threaten tliem. I hope I need not to advise 
you further ; but I hope your own grace will keep 
you where you are, though tliere were no further 
danger known but the modesty which is so lost. 

Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 

Wid. I hope so. 

Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim. 

Look, here comes a pilgrim : I know she will lie 
at my house ; thither they send one another ; I "11 
question her. God save you, pilgrim ! whither are 
you bound ? 

Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand. 
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ? 

Wid. At the Saint Francis here beside the port. 

He!. Is this the way ? 

Wid. Ay, marry, is 't. [A march afar.] Hark 
you I' they come this way. 
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim. 
But till the troops come by, 
I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; 
The rather, for I think I know your hostess 
As ample as myself. 

IM. Is it yourself ? 

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 

Hel. I tliank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 

Wid. You came, I think, from France y 

Hel. 1 did so. 

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours 
That has done worthy service. 

Hel. His name, I pray you. 

Dia. The Count Rousillon : know you such a one ? 

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him : 
His face I know not. 

Dia. Whatsome'er he is, 

He 's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
As 't is reported, for the king had married him 
Against his liking : think you it is so V 

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth : I know his lady. 

Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the count 
Reports but coarsely of her. 

Hel. What 's his name ? 

Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 
221 



ACT III. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE VI. 



Hel. O, I believe with liim, 

In argument of praise, or to tlie wortli 
Of tlie great count liiniself, she is too mean 
To have lier name repeated : all her deserving 
Is a reserved honesty, and that 
I have not heard examined. 

Diu. Alas, poor lady ! 

'T is a hard bondage to become the wife * 
Of a detesting lord. 

Will. I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is. 
Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do 
A shrewd turn, if she pleased. [her 

Hd. How do you mean y 

May be the amorous count solipits her 
In the unlawful purpose. 

Witl. He does indeed ; 

And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid : 
But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard 
In honestest defence. 

Mnr. Tlie gods forbid else ! 

Wid. So, now they come : 

Drum and Colours. 

Enter Bertram, Parolles, and the whole arm]). 
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; 
That, Escalus. 

Hcl. Which is the Frenchman ? 

Dia. He ; 

That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow. 
1 would he loved his wife : if he were honester 
He were nuich goodlier : is 't not a handsome gentle- 

Hd. I like him well. [man ? 

Bia. 'T is pity he is not honest : yond 's that same 
knave 
That leads him to these places: were I his lady, 
1 would poison that vile rascal. 

Ud. Which is he ? 

Dtu. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he 
melancholy ? 

Bel. Perchance he 's hurt i' the battle. 

Pur. Lose our drum! well. 

Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, 
he has spied us. 

Wid. -Marry, hang you ! 

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! 

{Exeunt Bertram,, Parolles, and armi/. 

Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will 
bring you 
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents 
There 's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, 
Already at my house. 

IM. I humbly thank you: 

Please it this matron and this gentle maid 
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking 
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
I will bestow some precepts of this virgin 
Worthy the note. 

BotlL. AVe "11 take your offer kindly. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Camp before Florence. 
Enter Bertram and the two Frcndi Lords. 

Sec. Lord. Xay, good my lord, put him to 't; let 
him have his way. 

First Lord. If your lordship find him not a Inkl- 
ing^ hold me no more in your respect. 

Sec. Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 

Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in him V 

Sec. Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him 
as my kinsman, he's a most notable cowanl, an 
infinite and endless liar, an hourly pruniisc-lireaker, 
the o\\nier of no one good quality worthy your lord- 
ship's entertainment. 

222 



First Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, re- 
posing too far in liis virtue, which he hath not, he 
might at some great and trusty business in a main 
danger fail you. 

Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to 
try him. 

First Lord. None better than to let him fetch oft 
his drum, which you hear him so confidently under- 
take to do. 

Sec. Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will 
suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I 
am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will 
bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose 
no otlier but that he is carried into the leaguer of 
the adversaries, when we bring him to our own 
tents. Be but your lordship present at his exami- 
nation: if he do not, for the jiromise of his life 
and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to 
betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his 
power against you, and that with the divine forfeit 
of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in 
any thing. 

First Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him 
fetch his drum ; he says he has a stratagem for 't : 
when your lordshii) sees the bottom of his success 
in 't, and to what metal this iMHuiterfeit lump of 
ore will be melted, if you give him not .John Drum's 
entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. 
Here he comes. „ 

Enter Parolles. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside to Ber.'] O, for the love of laugh- 
ter, hinder not the honour of his design: let liim 
fetch off his drum in any hand. 

Ber. How now, monsieur I this drum sticks sorely 
in your disposition. 

First Liird. A pox on 't, let it go ; 't is but a drum. 

Par. ' But a drum ' ! is 't ' but a drum ' ? A drum 
so lost ! There was excellent command, — to charge 
in with our liorse upon our own wings, and to rend 
our own soldiers! 

First Lord. That was not to be blamed in the 
command of the service: it was a disaster of war 
that Cu'sar himself could not have prevented, if he 
had been there to coniinand. 

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
cess: some dishonour we had in the loss of that 
drum; but it is not to be recovered. 

Petr. It might have been recovered. 

Ber. It might; but it is not now. 

Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of 
service is seldom attributed to the true and exact 
performer, I would have that drum or another, or 
' hie jacet.' 

jBf )-. Why, if you have a stomach, to 't, monsieur: 
if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring 
this instrument of honour again into his native 
quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise and go 
on ; 1 will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: 
if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak 
of it, and extend to you what furtlier becomes 
his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your 
worthiness. 

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. 

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 

Par. I '11 about it this evening; and I will pres- 
ently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in 
my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepara- 
tion; and by niidniglit look to hear further from me. 

Ber. M;iy I be bold to acquaint his grace you are 
gone about it ? 

Par. I know not what the success will be, my 
lord ; but the attempt I vow. 

Ber. I know thou 'rt valiant; and, to the possi- 
bility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. 
Farewell. 

Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 

Sec. Lord. No more than a fish loves water. Is 



ACT IV. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE I. 



not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confi- 
dently seems to undertake tliis business, which he 
knows is not to be done ; damns himself to do and 
dares better Vie damned than to do "t V 

First Lord. You do not know him, my Itird, as 
we do : certain it is, that he will steal himself into 
a man's favor and for a week escape a great deal of 
discoveries; but when you find him out, you have 
him ever after. 

Ber. Why, do you think he will make no deed at 
all of this that so seriously he does address himself 
unto y 

Sec. Lord. None in the world; but return with 
an invention and clap upon you Uvo or tliree prob- 
able lies: but we have almost embossed him; you 
sliall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for 
your lordship"s respect. 

First Lnrd. We '11 make you some sport with the 
fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the 
old lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, 
tell me what a sprat you shall find him; whith you 
shall see this very night. 

6'ec. Lord. I must go look my twigs : he shall be 
caught. 

Ber. Your brother he shall go along with me. 

Sec. Lord. As 't please your lordship : I '11 leave 
you. [Kcit. 

Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show 

}'OU 

The lass I spoke of. 

First Lord.. But you say she 's honest. 

Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke vvitli her but 
once 
And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, 
By this same coxcomb that we liave i' the wind. 
Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
And this is all I have done. She 's a fair creature : 
Will you go see her ? 

Firat Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— J^Zomice. Tlie Widoiv's house. 
Enter Helena and Widow. 

Hel. If you misdoubt me tliat I am not she, 
I know not how I shall assure you further. 
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. 

]\'id. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born. 
Nothing acquainted with these businesses; 



And would not put my reputation now 
In any staining act. 

IM. Nor would I wish you. 

First, give me trust, the eovmt he is my husband, 
And what to your sworn counsel I ha\'e spoken 
Is so from word to word ; and then you cannot, 
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow. 
Err in bestowing it. 

Wid. I should believe }'0u; 

For you have show'd me that which well approves 
You' 're great in fortune. 

Hel. Take this purse of gold. 

And let me buy your friendly help thus fai'. 
Which I will over-pay and pay again [daughter, 
Wlien I have found it. The count he wooes your 
Jjays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 
Resolved to carry her : let her in fine consent. 
As we '11 direct her how 't is best to bear it. 
Now his important blood will nought deny 
Tliat she '11 demand : a ring the county wears, 
That downward hath succeeded in liis house 
From .sou to son, some four or five descents 
.Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds 
In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire, 
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
Howe'er repented after. 

Wid. Now I see 

The bottom of your purpose. 

Hel. You see it lawful, then: it is no more. 
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won. 
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; 
In fine, delivers me to fill tlje time, 
Herself most chastely absent : after this. 
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns 
To what is past already. 

Wid. I have yielded : 

Instruct my daughter how she shall perse\'er, 
That time and place with this deceit so lawful 
May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
With musics of all sorts and songs composed 
To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us 
To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists 
As if his life lay on 't. 

Hel. Why then to-night 

Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed. 
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed 
And lawful meaning in a lawful act. 
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact : 
I But let 's about it. [Exeunt. 



.ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— Without the Florentine camp. 

Enter Second French Lord, with Jive or si.e other 
Soldiers in ambush. 

Sec. Lord. lie can come no other way but by this 
hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak 
what terrible language you will : though you un- 
derstand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must 
not seem to understand him, unless some one among 
us whom we must produce for an interpreter. 

First Sold. Good captain, let me be the inter- 
preter. 

Sec. Lord. Art not acquainted with him y knows 
he not tliy voice y 

First Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 

iScc. Lord. But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to 
speak to us again ? 

First Sold. E'en such as you speak to me. 

Sec. Lord. Hemustthinkussomeband of strangers 
i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a 
smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we 
umst every one be a man of his own fancy, not to 



know what we speak one to another ; so we seem to 
know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' 
language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for 
you, interpreter, you must seem very [lolitic. But 
couch, ho ! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a 
sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. 

Enter ParoUes. 

Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 't will 
be time enough to go home. Wliat shall I say I 
have done ? It must be a very plausive invention 
that carries it- they begin to "smoke me; and dis- 
graces have of late knocked too often at my door. 
I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart 
hath the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, 
not daring the reports of my tongue. 

Sec. Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine 
own tongue was guilty of. 

Par. What the devil should move me to under- 
take the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant 
of the impossibility, and knowing 1 had no such 
purpose V I must give myself some hurts, and say 
223 



ACT IV. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE II. 



I got them in exploit : yet slight ones will not carry 
it ; they will say, ' Came you off with so little ? ' and 
great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what 's the 
instance? Tnns'ue, I must put you into a butter- 
wouian's mouth and buy myself another of Bajazet's 
mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 

Sec. Lord. Is it possible he should know what he 
is, and be that he is y 

Par. I would the cutting of my garments would 
serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanisli sword. 

Sec. Lord. We cannot afford you so. 

Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say it 
was in stratagem. 

Sec. Lord. 'T would not do. 

Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was 
stripped. 

Sec. Lord. Hardly serve. 

Pur. Though I swore I leaped from the window 
of the citadel — 

Sec. Lord. How deep? 

Par. Thirty fathom. 

Sec. Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make 
that be believed. 

Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I 
would swear I recovered it. 

Sec. Lord. You shall hear one anon. 

Par. A drum now of the enemy's, — 

[Alarum icithin. 

Sec. Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. 

All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, 
cargo. 

Paj-. O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes. 
[Then seize and bUiulfold him. 

First Sold. Boskos throiiiuldo boskos. 

Pa)-. I know you are the Muskos' regiment : 
And I shall lose my life for want of language: 
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
Italian, or French, let him spealc to me; I '11 
Discover tliat which shall undo the Florentine. 

First Sold. Boskos vauvado : I understand thee, 
and can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto, sir, betake 
thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy 
bosom. 

Par. O! 

First Sold. O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania 
dulche. 

Sec. Lord. Oscorbidulchos volivorco. [yet; 

First Sold. The general is content to spare thee 
And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
To gather from thee : haply thou mayst inform 
Something to save thy life. 

Por. O, let me live ! 

And all the secrets of our camp I '11 show. 
Their force, their purposes ; nay, I '11 speak tliat 
Which you will wonder at. 

First Sold. But wilt thou faithfully ? 

Par. It I do not, damn me. 

First Sold. Acordo linta. 
Come on ; thou art granted space. 

[Exit, 'With Parolles guarded. A .ihort 
edarum irilhin. 

Sec. Lord. Go, tgll the Cionnt Rousillon, and my 
brother, : [muffled 

We have caught r ock, and will keep him 

Till we do hear f: ^i 

Sec. Sold. ■'■ '^pptain, Iwill. 

Sec. Lord. A' ! j all unto ourselves: 

Inform on that. 

Sec. Sold. So I will. 

Sec. Lord. Till then i 11 keep him dark and safely 
lock'd. [Exeunt. 

SCENE U.— Florence. The Widow's hvuse. 
Enter Bertram and Diana. 
Bcr. They told me that your name was Fontibell. 
Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 
224 



Per. Titled goddess ; 

And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul, 
In your fine frame hath love no quality ? 
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, 
You are no maiden, but a monument : 
Wlien you are dead, you shoidd be such a one 
As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
And now you should be as your mother was 
When your sweet self was got. 

Pia. She then was honest. 

Per. So should you be. 

Dia. No: 

My mother did but duty; such, my lord, 
As you owe to your wife. 

Per. No more o' that ; 

I pritliee, do not strive against my vows; 
I was compeird to her; but I love tliee 
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
Do thee all rights of service. 

Dia. Ay, so you serve us 

Till we serve you ; but when you liave our roses, 
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves 
And mock us with our bareness. 

Per. How have I sworn ! 

Dia. 'T is not the many oaths that makes the truth, 
But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. 
What is not holy, that we swear not by, [me. 

But take the High 'st to witness: then, pray you, tell 
If I sliould swear by God's .ureat attributes, 
I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, 
When I did love "you ill ? This has no holding, 
To swear by him whom I protest to love. 
That I will work against him : therefore your oaths 
Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, 
At least in my opinion. 

Per. Change it, change it ; 

Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts 
That you do charge men with. Stand no more off. 
But give thyself unto my sick desires, 
AVho tlien recover: say thou art mine, and ever 
My love as it begins shall so persever. 

Dia. I see that men make ropes in such a scarre 
That we '11 forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 

Per. I '11 lend it thee, my dear ; but have no power 
To give it from me. 

TJia. AVill you not, my lord ? 

Per. It is an honour 'longing to our house. 
Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In me to lose. 

Dirt. Mine honour 's such a ring : 

My chastity 's the jewel of our house, 
Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In me to lose : thus your own proper wisdom 
Brings in the champion Honour on my part. 
Against your vain assault. 

Per. Here, take my ring : 

My house, mine lionour, yea, my life, be thine. 
And I '11 be bid by thee. [ber-window: 

Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham- 
I '11 order take my mother shall not hear. 
Now will I charge you in the band of truth, 
AVhen you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed. 
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me : [them 
My reasons are most strong; and you shall know 
When bacli again this ring shall be deliver'd: 
And on your linger in the night I '11 put 
Another ring, that what in time proceeds 
May token to the future our past deeds. 
Adieu, till then ; then, fail not. You have won 
A wife of me, tliough there my hope be done. 

Per. A heaven on earth I have won by \vooing 
thee. [E.dt. 

Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven 
You may so in the end. [and me 1 



ACT IV. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. scene hi. 



My mother told me just how he would woo, 

As if she sat in 's heart ; she sa\'s all nieu 

Have the like oaths ; he had sworu to marry me 

When his wife 's dead ; therefore I '11 lie with him 

When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, 

Marry tliat will, I live and die a maid: 

Only in this disguise I think 't no sin 

To cozen him that would unjustly win. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— The Florentine camp. 

Enter the two French Lords and some two or 
three Soldiers. 

First Lord. You have not given him his mother's 
letter ? 

Sec. Lord. I have delivered it an liour since : there 
is something in 't tliat stings his nature ; for on the 
reading it he changed almost into another man. 

First Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon 
him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a 
lady. 

iScc. Lord. Especially he hath incurred the ever- 
lasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned 
his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you 
a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 

First Lord. AV'hen you have spoken it, 'tis dead, 
and I am tlie grave of it. 

Sec. Lord. He hath perverted a young gentle- 
woman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; 
and this night he rieshes his will in the spoil of her 
honour : he hath ^iven her his monumental ring, 
and thinks himselt made in the unchaste composi- 
tion. 

First Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion I as we 
are ourselves, what things are we ! 

Sec. Lord. Alerely our own traitors. And as in 
the common course of all treasons, we still see them 
reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred 
ends, so he that in this action contrives against his 
own nobility, in his proper stream o'ertlows himself. 

First Lord. Is it not nn'aiit <hnuuable in us, to be 
trumpeters of our unlawful int(^uts i* We shall not 
then have his company to-night V 

Sec. Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted 
to his hour. 

First Lord. That approaches apace; I would 
gladly have him see his company anatomized, that 
he might take a measure of his own judgments, 
wherein so curiously he had set this r(nuiterfeit. 

Sec. Lord. We will not meddle with iiim till he 
come ; for his presence must lie t he whip of the other. 

Fir.st Lord. In the meantime, what hear you of 
these wars V 

Sec. Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 

First Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 

Sec. Lord. What will Count Rousillon do tlien y 
■will he travel higher, or return again into France V 

First Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are 
not altogether of his council. 

Sec. Lord. Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a 
great deal of his act. 

First Lord. Sir, his wife some two months since 
fled from his house : her pretence is a pilgrimage to 
Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking 
witli most austere sanctimony she accomplislied; 
and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature 
became as a prey to her grief; in line, made a groan 
of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. 

Sec. Lord. How is this justified ? 

First Lord. The stronger part of it by her own 
letters, which makes her story true, even to the 
point of her death: her death itself, which could 
not be her office to say is come, was faithfully con- 
firmed by the rector of the place. 

Sec. Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence V 

Fir.tt Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, 
point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 
15 



Sec. Lord. I am heartily sorry that he '11 be glad 
of this. 

First Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us 
comforts of our losses ! 

Sec. Lord. And liow mightily some other times 
we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity 
that his valour hath here acquired for him shall at 
home be encountered with a shame as ample. 

First Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled 
yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be 
proud, if our faults whipped them not ; and our 
crimes would despair, if they were not cherished 
by our virtues. 

filter a Messenger. 

How now ! where 's your master ':' 

Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
he hath taken a solemn leave: his lorship will next 
morning for France. The duke hath offered him 
letters of commendations to the king. 

Sec. Lord. They shall be no more than needful 
there, if they were more than they can commend. 

First Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the 
king's tartness. Here 's his lordship now. 

Enter Bertram. 
How now, my lord ! is 't not after midnight ? 

Ber. I have to-night dispatched sixteen busi- 
nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of 
success: I have congied with the duke, done my 
adieu with his nearest ; buried a wife, mourned for 
her ; writ to my lady mother I am returning ; en- 
tertained my convoy: and between these main par- 
cels of dispatch effected many nicer needs : the last 
was the greatest, but that I liave not ended yet. 

Sec. Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and 
this morning your departure hence, it requires haste 
of your lordship. 

Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing 
to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dia- 
logue between the fool and the soldier';' Come, 
bring forth tliis counterfeit module, has deceived 
me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 

Sec. Lord. Bring him forth : has sat i' the stocks 
all night, poor gallant knave. 

-Ber. No matter; his 'heels have deserved it, in 
usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry 
himself ? 

Sec. Lord. I have told your lordship already, the 
stocks carry him. But t("i answer you as you would 
be understood; he weeps like a wencii that had shed 
her milk : he hath confessed himself to Morgan, 
whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of. 
his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his 
setting i' the stocks: and what think you he hath 
confessed ? 

Ber. Nothing of me, has a' 'f 

Sec. Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be 
read to his face : if your lordship be in 't, as I believe 
you are, you must have the patience to hear it. 

Enter Parolles guarded, and First Soldier. 

Ber. A plague upon ' 'm ! muffled ! he can say 
nothing of me : husli . ! 

First Lord. Iloodman ' ''ortotartarosa. 

First Sold. He calls t' ' 'ires: what will 

you say without 'em '- '• v/i-; , 

Par. I will confess • **^' .' ' without con- 

straint: if ye pinch me . • '' V-'iT'^is. ' ^ "^^'^ ^'"^^ '"^ 

First Sold. Bosko chimu "V ** [more. 

First Lord. Boblibindo ch 

First Sold. You are a me. ^ral. Our 

general bids you.answer to w. ■ ask you 

out of a lote. 

Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 

First Sold. [Heads] 'First demand of him how 
manv horse the duke is strong.' What say you to 
thatV 

225 



ACT IV. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCENE III. 



Far. Five or six tliousand ; but very weak and 
unserviceable: tlie troops are all scattered, and the 
commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation 
and credit and as I hope to live. 

First Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ? 

Par. Do: I '11 take tlie sacrament on 't, how and 
which way you will. 

Ber. All 's one to him. What a past-saving 
slave is this ! • 

First Lord. You 're deceived, my lord: this is 
Monsieur Parolles, the f^allant militarist, — tliat was 
his own phrase, — tliat liad tlie whole theoric of war 
in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the 
chape of his dagger. 

iS'ec. Lord. I will never trust a man again for 
keeping his sword clean, nor believe lie can have 
every thin^ in him by wearing his apparel neatly. 

First Sold. Well, tliat 's set down. 

Par. Pive or six thousand horse, I said, — I will 
say true, — or thereabouts, set down, for I '11 speak 
truth. 

First Lord. lie 's very near the truth in this. 

Ber. But I con him no thanks for 't, in the nature 
he delivers it. 

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 

First Sold. Well, that 's set down. 

Par, I humbly thank you, sir : a truth 's a truth, 
the rogues are marvellous poor. 

First Sold. [Beads] ' Demand of him, of what 
strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that V 

Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this pres- 
ent hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a 
hundred and fifty ; Sebastian, so many : Corambus, 
so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lod- 
owick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; 
mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Beiitii, 
two hundred and fifty each : so that the muster-file, 
rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fif- 
teen thousand poll; half of the wliich dare not 
shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they 
shake themselves to pieces. 

Ber. What shall be done to him ? 

First Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. 
Demand of him my condition, and what tredit I 
have with the duke. 

First Sold. Well, that 's set down. [Reads] ' You 
sliall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain 
be i' the camp, a Frenchman ; what his reputation 
is with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and 
expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were 
not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to 
corrupt hiin to a revolt.' What say you to this r* 
what do you know of it ? 

Par. 1 beseech you, let me answer to the particu- 
lar of the inter'gatories : demand them sincly. 

-First Sold. Do you know this C'aidain Dumain V 

Par. I know him : a' was a botcher's 'prentice in 
Paris, fr'om whence he was whippetl for getting the 
shrieve's fool with child, — a dumb innocent, that 
could not say him nay. 

Ber. Nay,by your leave, hold yourhands; though 
I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that 
falls. 

-First Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of 
Florence's camp V 

Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 
-First Lord. Nay, l.iok not so upon me; we shall 
hear of your lordsl.ip anon. 
-First Sold. W'laX is his reputation with the duke ? 
Par. The-i'iliice knows him for no other but a 
poor oflicei; mine; and writ to me this other day 
to turn hi*-i out o' the band : I think I have his letter 
in my pocket. ' 

First Sold. Marry, we 'II search. 
Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is 
there, or it is upon a tile with the duke's other let- 
ters in my tent. 

226 



First Sold. Here 't is ; here 's a paper : shall I read 
it to you ? 

l^ar. I do not know if it be it or no. 

Ber. Our interiireter does it well. 

-First Lord. Excellently. 

First Solil. [Jieads] 'Dian, the count's a fool, 
and full of gold,' — 

Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an 
advertisement to a proper maid in I'lorence, cue 
Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count 
Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very 
ruttish : 1 pray you, sir, put it up again. 

First Sohl. Nay, I 'II read it lirst,"by your favour. 

Par. My meaning in 't,Iprotest, was very honest, 
in the behalf of the maid ; for I knew the young 
count to be a tiangerous and lascivious boy, who is 
a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it 

-Ber. Damnable biitli-sides rogue! [finds. 

First Sold, [licioh] ' Wlien he swears oaths, bid 
him drop gold, and take it; 
After he scores, he never pays the score : 

Half won is match well made; match, and well 
make it ; 
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; 

And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this. 

Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: 

For count of this, the count 's a fool, I know it, 

Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 
Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, 

Parolles.' 

-Ber. He shall be whipped through the army with 
this rhyme in 's forehead. 

Sec. Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the 
manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier. 

Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, 
and now he 's a cat to me. 

First Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, 
we shall lie fain to hang you. 

Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am 
afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I 
would repent out the remainder of nature: let me 
live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, 
so I may live. 

First Sold. We 'II see what may be done, so you 
confess freely ; therefore, once more to this Captain 
Dumain : you have answered to his reputation with 
the duke and to his valour: what is his honesty? 

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: 
for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he 
professes not keeping of oaths ; in breaking 'em he 
is stronger than Hercules : he will lie, sir, with such 
volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: 
drunkenuess is his best virtue, for he will be swinei- 
drunk ; and in his sleep lie does little harm, i-ave to 
his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his con- 
ditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more 
to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that 
an honest man should not have; what an honest 
man should have, he has nothing. 

Fint Lord. I begin to love him for this. 

Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A 
pox upon him for me, he 's more and more a cat. 

First Sold. What say you to his exjiertness in war ? 

Par. Faith, sir, lias led the drum before the Eng- 
lish trageilians; to belie him, I will not, and more 
of his soldicrshi]) I know not ; except, in that coun- 
try he hail the honour to be the officer at a place 
there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling 
of files: I would do the man what honour I can, 
but of this I am not certain. 

First Lord. He hath out-villained villany so far, 
that the rarity redeems him. 

-Bi=)'. A i)ox on him, he's a cat still. 

First Sold. His (iualitie\s lieingat this poorprice, I 
need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. 

Pur. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee- 
simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and 



ACT IV. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. scene v. 



cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual 
succession for it perisetually. [Dumaiii ? 

First SdhJ. "Wliat 's liis brother, the other Captain 

See. Lfiiil. \\\i\ does he ask him of me 'i 

First Snhl. What's hey 

Far. E'er, a crow o' the same nest : not altogether 
so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great 
deal in evil : lie excels his brotlier lor a coward, yet 
his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a 
retreat lie outruns any lackey ; marry, in coming on 
he has the cramp. 

First Sold. If your life be saved, will you under- 
take to betray the Florentine';' [Rousillon. 

Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse. Count 

First Sohl. I '11 whisper with the general, and 
know his pleasure. 

Far. [Aside] I "11 no more drumming; a plague of 
all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to 
beguile the supposition of that lascivious young 
boy tlie count, have I run into this danger. Yet 
wlio would have suspected an ambush where I was 
taken '? 

Fint Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must 
die : the general says, you that have so traitorously 
discovered the secrets of your army and made sucii 
pestiferous reports of nien very "nobly held, can 
serve the world for no honest use; therefore you 
must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. 

Far. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death ! 

First Sold. That shall you, and take your leave 
of all your friends. [ UnbUnding him. 

So, look about you : know you any here 'i* 

Fer. Good morrow, noble captain. 

Sec. Lord. God bless you. Captain Parolles. 

-First Lord. God save you, noble captain. 

Sec. Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my 
Lord Lafeu ? I am for France. 

-First Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy 
of the sonnet yon writ to Diana in behalf of the 
Count Housillou'? an I were not a very coward, 
I 'Id compel it of you : but fare you well. 

[Exeunt Bertram and Lords. 

First Sold. You are undone, captain, all but your 
scarf; tliat has a knot on 't yet. 

Far. Who cannot be crushed with a plot ? 

First Sold. If you could find out a country where 
but women were that had received so much shame, 
you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, 
sir; I am for France too: we shall speak of you 
there. [Exit, xnlh Soldiers. 

Far. Y'et am I tliankful : if my heart were great, 
'T would burst at tliis. Captain I '11 be no more ; 
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
As captain shall : simply the thing I am 
Shall make me live. AV'ho knows liimself a braggart, 
Let him fear this, for it will come to pass 
That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
Kust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live 
Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! 
There 's place and means for every man alive. 
1 "11 after them. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Florence. The TTitZom's house. 

Enter Helena, 'WidO"W", and Diana. 
Hel. Tliat you may well perceive I have not 
wrong'd you. 
One of the greatest in the Christian world 
Sliall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne 't is needful, 
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : 
Time was, I did him a desired office. 
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude 
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth. 
And answer, thanks: I duly am i/iform'd 
His grace is at Marseilles; to which place 
AVe liave convenient convoy. You must know, 
I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 



My husband liies him home ; where, heaven aiding, 
And by the leave of my good lord the king. 
We Ml be before our welcome. 

Wid. Gentle madam, 

You never had a servant to whose trust 
Your business was more welcome. 

Hel. Xor you. mistress. 

Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly laliour 
To recompense your love : doubt not but lieaven 
Hath lirouglit me up to Ije your daughter's dower, 
As it liath fated her to be liiy motive 
And helper to a husband. But, U strange men ! 
That can such sweet use make of what tliey hate. 
When saucy trusting of the cozen "d thoughts 
Defiles the pitchy night : so lust doth play 
With what it loathes for that whicli is away. 
But more of this hereafter. Yon. Diana, 
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
Something in my behalf. 

Dia. ' Let death and honesty 

Go with your impositions, I am yours 
Upon your will to suffer. 

Hel. Y^et, I pray you : 

But with the word the time will bring on summer, 
Wlien briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
..Vnd be as sweet as sharp. A\'e must away; 
Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us : 
All "s well that ends well : still the fine 's the 

crown ; 
Whate'er the course, the end is the reno^^Tl. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Emisillon. The CounVs palace. 
Enter Countess, Lafeu, a.nd Clown. 

Laf. Xo, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt- 
taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would 
have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
nation in his colour : your daughter-in-law had been 
alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more 
advanced by the king tliau by that red-tailed humble- 
bee I speak of. 

Count. I would I had not known him; it was the 
death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever 
nature had praise for creating. If slie had par- 
taken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans 
of a mother, I could not have owed lier a more 
rooted love. 

Laf. 'T was a good lady, 't was a good lady : we 
may "pick a thousand salads ere we light on such 
anotlier herb. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of 
the salad, or rather, the lierb of grace. 

Laf. Tliey are not herbs, you knave ; they are 
nose-herbs. 

Clo. I am no great JTebuchadnezzar, sir ; I have 
not mucli skill in grass. 

Laf. Whether dost tliou profess thyself, a knave 
or a fool '? 

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave 
at a man's. 

Laf. YowT distinction ? 

Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife and do 
his service. 

Laf. So you were a knave at his service. Indeed. 

Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to 
do her service. 

Laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave 
and tool. 

Clo. At your service. 

Laf. Xo, no, no. 

C7o. Wliy, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve 
as great a prince as you are. , 

Laf. Who 's that '? a Frenchman '? 

Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his 
fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. 

Laf. What prince is tliat i* 
227 



ACT V. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



SCEKE II. 



Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of 
darkness; alias, the devil. 

Laf. Hold thee, there 's my purse : I give thee not 
this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest 
of; serve liim still. 

(Jlo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always 
loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of ever 
keeps a good fire. J^iit, sure, he is the prince of tlie 
world ; let his nobility remain in 's court. I am for 
the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be 
too little for pomp to enter: some that humble them- 
scdves may : but the many will be too chill and tender, 
and they "11 be for the flowery way that leads to the 
broad gate and the great Ore. 

Liif.iio thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee ; 
and I tell tliee so before, because I would not fall 
out with thee. Go thy ways : let my horses be well 
looked to, without any tricks. 

Clo. If I i)ut any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 
be jades" tricks; which are their own right by the 
law of nature. \^ExU. 

Laf. A shrewd knave and an unhappy. 

Count. So he is. My lord that 's gone made him- 
self mucli sport out of him : by his authority lie 
remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his 
sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs 
wliere he will. 

Laf. I like him well ; 't is not amiss. And I was 
about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's 
death and tliat my lord your son was upon his re- 
turn home, I moved the king my master to speak in 
the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority 
of tliein botli, his majesty, out of a self-gracious 
remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath 



promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeas- 
ure he hath conceived against your son, there is no 
fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it V 

Count. With very much content, my lord; and I 
wish it happily effected. 

Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, 
of as able body as when he numbered thirty : he 
will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him 
that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. 

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him 
ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here 
to-night: I sliall beseech your lordship to remain 
with me till they meet together. 

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners 
I might safely be admitted. 

Count. You need but plead your honourable 
privilege. 

Lif. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; 
but 1 thank my God it liolds yet. 

Re-enter Clown. 

Clo. O madam, yonder 's my lord your son with 
a patch of velvet on 's face : whether there be a scar 
under 't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly 
patch of velvet : his left cheek is a cheek of two pile 
and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
livery of honour ; so belike is that. 

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. 

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long 
to talk with the young noble soldier. 

Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate 
fine liats and most courteous feathers, which bow 
the head and nod at every man. \_Excuut. 



JIlCT V. 



SCENE I.— Marseilles. A street. 

Enter Helena, "Widow^, and Diana, luith two At- 
tendants. 
Hcl. But this exceediug posting day and night 
Must wear your s]iirits low; we cannot help it: 
But since you have made the days and nights as one, 
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs. 
Be bold you do so grow in my requital 
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; 

Enter a Gentleman. 
This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. 

Gent. And you. 

J/eL Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 

Oent. I have been sometimes there. 

Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
From the repurt tiuil; goes upon your goodness; 
And therefiire, gnaded with most sharp occasions. 
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
The use of your own virtues, for the which 
i shall continue thankful. 

Gent. What 's your will V 

Hel. That it will please you 
To give this poor petition to the king. 
And aid me with that store of power you have 
To come into his presence. 

Gent. The king 's not here. 

Hel. Not here, sir ! 

Gent. Not, indeed: 

He heuce removed last night and with more haste 
Than is his use. 

Wid. *Lord, how we lose our pains ! 

Hel. All 's well that ends well yet. 
Though time seem so adver.se and means unfit. 
1 do beseech you, whither is he gone y 
228 



Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Kousilbn ; 
AVhither I am going. 

Hel. I do beseech you, sir, 

Since you are like to see the king before me, 
Commend the paper to his gracious hand, 
Which I presume shall render you no blame 
But rather make you thank your pains for it. 
I will come after you with what good speed 
Our means will make us means. 

Gent. This I '11 do for you. 

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, 
Wluite'er falls more. We must to horse again. 
Go, go, provide. (Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Rousillon. Before the CounVs pahice. 
Enter Clown, and Fa,Tol\es, following. 

Par. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu 
this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known 
to you, when I have held familiarity witli fresher 
clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's 
mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong dis- 
pleasure. 

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
if it smell so strongly as thou speakestof: I will 
henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. 
Prithee, allow the wind. 

Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I 
spake but by a metaphor. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. 
Prithee, get thee further. 

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 

Clo. Foil! prithee, stand away: a paper from for- 
tune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, 
here he comes himself. 



ACT V. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. scene iii. 



Enter Lafeu. 

Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, 
— but not a musk-cat, — that lias fallen into the 
unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as lie says, 
is muddied withal : pray you, sir, use the carp as 
you may; for he looks iilie a poor, decayed, ingen- 
ious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress 
in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lord- 
ship. [Exit. 

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune liath 
cruelly scratched. 

L(.vf. And what would you have me to do ? 'T is 
too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you 
played the knave with fortune, that she should 
scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would 
not have knaves thrive long under her y There 's a 
quart d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and 
fortune friends : I am for other business. [word. 

Par. I beseech your honour to liear me one single 

iff/. You beg a single penny more : come, you 
shall ha 't ; save your word. 

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 

Luf. You beg more than ' word,' then. Co.x my 
passion ! give me your hand. How does your drum y 

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that 
found me! " [tliee. 

Luf. Was I, in sooth ? and I was the first that lost 

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some 
grace, for you did bring me out. 

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon 
me at once both the office of God and the devil V 
One brings thee in grace and the other brings thee 
out. [Trmniiets sound.} The king's coming; I know 
by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; 
I had talk of you last night : though you are a fool 
and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. 

Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— BousiUon. The CounVs palace. 

Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, the two 
French Lords, loith Attendants. 

King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem 
AVas made much poorer by it : but your son, 
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
Her estimation home. 

Count. 'T is past, my liege ; 

And I beseech your majesty to make it 
Xatural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth ; 
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
O'erbears it and burns on. 

King. My honour'd lady, 

I have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
Though my revenges were high bent upon him. 
And watch'd the time to shoot. 

Laf. This I must say. 

But first I beg my pardon, the young lord 
Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady 
Offence of mighty note; but to himself 
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife 
Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
Of ricliest eyes, whose words all ears took captive. 
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn 'd to serve 
Humlily call'd mistress. 

Kinij. Praising what is lost 

irakes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; 
We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill 
All repetition : let him not ask our pardon ; 
The nature of his great offence is dead. 
And deeper than oblivion we do bury 
The incensing relics of it: let him approach, 
A stranger, no offender ; and inform him 
So 't is our will he should. 

Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit. 

King. What says he to your daughter y Have you 
spoke y 



Laf. All that he is hath reference to your high- 
ness. 

King. Then shall we have a match. I have let- 
ters sent me 
That set him high in fame. 

Enter Bertram. 

Laf. He looks well on 't. 

King. I am not a day of season. 
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail 
In me at once : but to the brightest beams 
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth ; 
The time is fair again. 

Ber. My high-repented blames, 

Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 

King. All is whole ; 

Not one word more of the consumed time. 
Let 's take the instant by the forward top; 
For we are old, and on our quick 'st decrees 
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time 
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember 
The daughter of this lord ? 

Ber. Admiringly, my liege, at first 
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue 
Wlii-re the impression of mine eye infixing, 
Ciintempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
Which warp'd the line of every of her favour; 
Scorn 'd a fair colour, or cxpiessM it stolen ; 
Extended or contracted all piupdrtions 
To a most hideous object : thence it came 
Tliat she whom all men praised and whom myself. 
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye 
The dust that did offeud it. 

King. Well excused : 

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores awriy 
From the great compt : but love that comes too late. 
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
To the great sender turns a sour offence, 
Crying, ' That 's good that 's gone.' Our rash faults 
Make trivial price of serious things we have, 
Not knowing them until we know their grave: 
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust. 
Destroy our friends and after weep their dust : 
Our own love waking cries to see what 's done. 
While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon. 
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : 
The main consents are had ; and here we '11 stay 
To see our widower's second marriage-day. 

Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven. 
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! [liless! 

Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name 
Must be digested, give a favour from you 
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter. 
That she may quickly come. [Birlnini (/ivc.'i a ring. 

By my old bi anl. 
And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that" s dead. 
Was a svieet creature : sudi a ring as this. 
The last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
I saw upon her finger. 

Ber. Hers it was not. 

King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye. 
While I was spealiing, oft was fasten 'd to't. 
This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
Necessitied to help, that by this token [lit r 

I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave 
Of what should stead her most V 

Ber. My gracious sovereign, 

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
The ring was never hers. 

Count. Son, on my life, 

I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it 
At her life's rate. 

Laf. I am sure I saw her wear it. 

Ber. You are deceived, my lord ; she never saw it : 
229 



ACT V. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. scene iii. 



In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
WrappM in a i)ai>er, wliich containM tlie name 
Of lier that threw it: noble she was, anil tliunglit 
I stood en^aurd : hut wlien I liad subscribed 
To mine (iwn fortune and inform'd her fully 
I could not answer in tliat course of honor 
As slie had made tlie overture, she ceased 
In heavy satisfaction and would never 
Ileceive the ring again. 

KiiHj. Plutus himself, 

Tluit linows the tinct and multiplying medicine. 
Hath not in nature's mystery more science 
Tiian 1 have in this ring : 't was mine, 't was Helen's, 
Wlioever gave it you. Tlien, if you know 
Tliat you are well acquainted with yourself. 
Confess 't was hers, and by what I'ough enforcement 
You got it from lier: she call'd the saints to surety 
That slie would never put it from her linger 
Uidess she gave it to yourself in bed, 
AVliere you have never come, or sent it us 
Upon her great disaster. 

lier. She never saw it. 

Khui. Thou speak 'st it falsely, as I love mine 
honour ; 
And niakest conjectural fears to come into me, 
"Wliicli I would tain shut out. If it should prove 
Tliat tliou art so inliuman, — 't will not prove so ; — 
And yet 1 know not: thou didst hate her deadly, 
And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe. 
More than to see this ring. Take him away. 

[Ouurds seize Bertram. 
My fore-past proofs, howe'er tlie matter fall. 
Shall tax my fears of little vanity. 
Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him ! 
We '11 sift tills matter further. 

lier. If you shall prove 

Tliis ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
Prove tliat 1 husbanded her bed iu Florence, 
Where yet slie never was. [Eidt, guarded. 

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 

Enler a Gentleman. 

Gent. Gracious sovereign, 

Wlietlier I have been to blame or no, I know not : 
Here "s a petition from a Florentine, 
AVIio liatli for four or Hve removes come short 
To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
Van(|uisli"d thereto by the fair grace and speech 
(_)f the poor suppliant, who by this I know 
Is here attending: her business looks in her 
With an impoitiiig visage; and she told me. 
In a sweet vi'ilial Ijrief, it did concern 
Your higliiiess with lierself. 

Kiiiij. [Riiuh\ Upon liis many protestations to 
marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say 
it, he won me. Now is tlie Count Rousillon a wid- 
ower : his vows are forfeited to me, and my lionour 's 
paid to him. He stole from Florence, talking no 
leave, and I follow him to his country for justice : 
grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise 
a seducer nourishes, aud a poor maid is undone. 

Diana Capilet. 

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law iu a fair, and 
toll for this : I '11 none of him. [Lafeu, 

KiiKj. The heavens have thought well on thee. 
To liring forth tliis discovery. Seek these suitors : 
(io speedily and bring again the count. 
I am atVard the life of Helen, lady. 
Was foully snatch'd. 

Count. Now, justice on the doers ! 

Re-enter Bertram, guarded. 
King. I wonder, sir, sitli wives are monsters to 
you. 
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship. 
Yet you desire to marry. 

230 



Enter Widow and Diana. 

What woman 's that 'i 

Bin. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentiue, 
Derived from the ancient Capilet: 
My suit, as I do understand, you know. 
And therefore know how far I may be i>itied. [our 

Wid. I am lier mother, sir, whose age and hon- 
Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
And both shall cease, without your remedy. 

King. Come hither, count; do you know these 
"women 'f 

Bcr. My lord, I neither can nor will deny [ther? 
But that I know them: do they charge me fur- 

Bia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife ':" 

Her. She 's none of mine, my lord. 

Bia. If you shall marry, 

You give away this hand, and that is mine; 
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; 
You give away myself, whirh is known mine; * 
For 1 by vow am "so embodied yours. 
That she which marries you must marry me, 
Either botli or none. 

Ldf. Your reputation, comes too short for my 
daugliter; you are no husband for her. 

JjV r. My "lord , this is a fond and desperate creature, 
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your 

highness 
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour 
Than for to think that I would sink it here. 

King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to 
friend 
Till your deeds gain them : fairer prove your honour 
Than in my thought it lies. 

Bin. Good my lord, 

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
He had not my virginity. 

King. What say 'st thou to her'? 

Ber. She 's impudent, my lord, 

And was a common gamester to the camp. 

Bi(t. He docs nie wrong, my lord; if 1 were so, 
He might have bought me at a common price: 
Do not l>elieve hiin. O, behold this ring, 
AVlK)se high respect and rich validity 
Did lack a parallel; yet for all that 
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, 
If I be one. 

Count. He blushes, and 'tis it: 
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, 
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, 
Hatli it been owned and worn. This is his wife ; 
That ring 's a thousand proofs. 

King. Methought you said 

You saw one here in court could witness it. 

Bia. I did, my lord, but loatli am to produce 
So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. 

Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man Vie he. v 

King. Find him, and bring him hither. 

[Exit an Attendnnt. 

Ber. What of him V 

He 's quoted for a most perfidious slave, 
AV'ith all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosli'd ; 
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. 
Am I or that or this for wliat he '11 utter, 
That will speak any thing V 

King. She hath that ring of yours. 

Ber. I tliink she has: certain it is I liked iier, 
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: 
Slie knew her distance and did angle for me. 
Madding my eagerness with her restraint, 
As all inipedinients in fancy's course 
Are m(iti\('s of more fancy; and, in fine. 
Her intinite cunning, with her modern grace. 
Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; 
And I had that which any inferior might 
At market-price have bought. 

Bia. I must be patient: 



ACT V. 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. scen£ hi. 



You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, 
M;iy justly diet me. I pray you yet ; 
fiiuce you lack virtue, I will lose a husband; 
f^end for your ring, I will return it home. 
And give me mine again. 

Bar. I have it not. 

King. What ring was yoms, I pray you ? 

Dia. Sir, much like 

The same tipon your finger. [late. 

King. Know you this ring ? this ring was his of 

Dia. And this Avas it 1 gave him, being abed. 

Kin(j. The story then goes false, you threw it him 
Out of a casement. 
■ Dia. I have spoke the truth. 

Enter Parolles. 

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. 

King. You boggle slirewdly, every feather starts 
Is this the mau you speak of ? [i'ou. 

Did. Ay, my lord. 

Kin<i. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge 
Not fearing the displeasure of your master, b'ou, 
Whirh on your just proceeding 1 '11 keep otif, 
By him an<l Ijy this woman here what know you? 

Par. fso jik-ase your majesty, my master hath been 
an honGural)k' gentleman : tricks he hath had in him, 
which gentlemen have. 

King. Come, come, to the purpose : did he love this 
woman ? 

Bar. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? 

King. IIow, I pray you ? [woman. 

Par. He did hive her, sir, as a gentleman loves a 

King. IIow is that ? 

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 

King. As thou art a knave, and no knave. What 
an e(iuivocal companion is this ! [mand. 

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's com- 

Laf. He 's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
orator. 

Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage ? 

Par. Faith, I know more than I '11 speak. 

King. But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? 

Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go be- 
tween them, as I said ; but more than that, he loved 
her: for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of 
Satan and of Limbo and of Furii-s and I know not 
what: yet I was in that credit with theui at that time 
that I knew of their going to betl, and of other mo- 
tions, as promising her marriage, and things wliich 
would derive me ill will to speak of ; therefore 1 will 
not speak what I know. 

King. Thou luist spoken all already, unless thou 
canst say they are iiiairied: but thou ait too Hue in 
thy evidence ; tlierefore stand aside. This ring, you 
say, was yours ? 

Dia. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Where did you buy it ? or whogave it j'ou? 

Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 

King. Who lent it you ? 

Dia. It was not lent me neither. 

King. Where did you find it, then ? 

Dia. I found it not. 

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways. 
How could you give it him ? 

Dia. I never gave it him. 

Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord ; she 
goes off and on at pleasure. 

King. This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. 

Dill. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. 

King. Take her away ; I do not like her now ; 
To prison with her: aiid away with him. 



Unless thou tell 'st me where thou hadst this ring, 
Thou diest within this hour. 

Dia. I 'U never tell you. 

King. Take her away. 

Dia. I '11 put in bail, my liege. 

King. I think thee now some common customer. 

Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 

King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all this 
while? 

Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty: 
He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to 't; 
I '11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; 
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 

King. She does abuse- our ears: to prison with her. 

Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir : 
[Kxit Widow. 
The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, 
And he shall surety me. But for this lord. 
Who liatli abused ine, as lie knows himself. 
Though yet he never liarm'd me, here I quit him: 
He knows himself my bed he hath defiled ; 
And at that time he got his wife witli child: 
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick : 
So there 's my riddle : one that 's dead is quick : 
And now behold the meaning. 

Re-enter Widow, with Helena. 

King. Is there no exorcist 

Beguiifes the truer office of mine eyes ? 
Is 't real that I see ? 

Uel. No, my good lord; 

'T is but the shadow of a wife you see, 
The name and not the thing. 

Ber. Both, both. O. pardon! 

Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring ; 
And, look you, here 's your letter; this it says: 
' AVhen from my finger you can get this ring 
And are by me "with child,' &c. This is done : 
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? 

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this 
I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly, 

Hel. If it appear not plain and prove untrue, 
Deadly divorce step between me and you! 
U my dear mother, do I see you living ? 

Liif. Mine eyes smell onions ; I shall weep anon : 

[Tu Parolles] Good Tom Drum, lend me a handker- 

cher: so, [thee: 

I thank thee : wait on me home, I '11 make sport with 

Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. 

King. Let us from point to point this story know. 
To make the even trutli in pleasure fiovv. 
[7V)ii<0)ir(]If thoulie'styetafreshuncroppedfiower, 
Choose thou thy husliand, and 1 11 pay thy dower; 
For I can guess that by tliy honest aid 
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. 
Of tliat and all the progress, more or less, 
lit'solvedly more leisure shall exjiress: 
All yet seems well; and if it end so meet. 
The" bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 

IFloiirish. 

EPILOGUE. 
King. The king 's a beggar, now the play is done : 
All is well ended, if this suit be won. 
That you exiirc-^s cuntrnt; which we will pay. 
With "strife to ].liasi- you, day exceeding day: 
Ours be your palit-nce then, and yours our parts; 
YolU' gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 

[Kxeunt. 
231 



y 




TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Orsino, Duke of Illyria. 

Sebastian, brother to Viola. 

Antonio, a sea ca)rtaiii, friend to Sebastian. 

A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. 

V a en in , i gg^^igmg^ attending on the Duke. 

Curio, ) 

Sir Toby Belch, uncle to OliVia. 

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 

Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 



■ servants to Olivia. 



Fabian, 

Feste, a Clown, . 

Olivia. 

Viola. 

Maria, Olivia's woman. 

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Oflicers, Musicians, and other 
Attendants. 

SCENE — A cily in Illyria, and the sea-coast near it. 



[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, see Page LI.] 



A.CT I. 



SCENE I.— The Duke's imlace. 



Enter Duke, Curio, and other Lords ; Musicians 
attending. 

Ditkc. If music be tlie food of love, play on ; 
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, 
The appetite may sicken, and so die" 
That strain again! it had a dying fall: 
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, 
Tiiat breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odour ! Enough ; no more : 
'T is ]iot so sweet now as it was before. 
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou, 
Tliat, notwithstanding thy capacity 
Kecfivctli as the sea, iiouulit enters there, 
Of what validity and pitch socVr, 
But falls into abatement and low price, 
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy 
That it alone is high fantastical. 

(hir. Will you go hunt, my lord ? 

DuJce. What, Curio ? 

Car. The hart. 

Didr. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: 
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia hrst, 
Metliiiught slie purged the air (if pestilence! 
That instant was I turn'd into a liart; 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, 
E'er since pursue me. 

Enter Valentine. 
How now ! what news from her V 

Val. So please my lord, I might nut be admitted; 
Bnt from her handmaid do return this answer: 
The element itself, till seven years' heat. 
Shall not behold her face at ample view; 
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk 
And water once a day her chandler round 
Witli eye-offending brine: all this tn season 
A liriither's dead love, whieli she would keep fresh 
An<l lasting in her sad remendirance. 

Dnkr. (.). she tliat hatli a heart of that fine frame 
To pay this debt (if hive bnt tn a brother, 
How will she hive, when tlie rieli gdlden shaft 
Hath kill'd the tlock of all allecti(nis else 
That live in her; when liver, brain and heart, 
Tliese sovereign thrones, are all suiiplied, and lilFd 
Her sweet perfections with one self king! 
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
232 



Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow- 
ers. [Exeunt. 
SCENE U.—The sea-coast. 

Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors. 

Vio. What country, friends, is this ? 

Cap. This is Illyria, lady. 

Mo. And what should I do hi Illyria? 
My brother he is in Elysium. [orsV 

Perchance he is not drown 'd : what think you, sail- 

Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were saved. 

I'io. O my poor brother! and so perchance may 
he be. [chance. 

Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with 
Assure yourself, after our ship did sjilit, 
When you and those poor nundier saved with you 
Hung on our driving boat. 1 saw ydur brother, 
Most provident in peril, bind himself. 
Courage and hope botli teaching him the practice, 
To a strong mast tliat lived upon the sea; 
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
I saw him hold ac(puiintauce with the waves 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so, there 's gold : 
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 
The like of "him. Know'st thou this country ? 

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born 
Not three luiurs' travel from this very place. 

r/o. Who governs here'r' 

Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name. 

Vio. What is his name V 

Cap. Orsino. 

Vio. Orsino I I have heard my father name him : 
He was a bachelor then. 

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late ; 
For but a month ago I went from hence, 
And then 'twas fresh in nuuniur, — as, you know, 
What great ones do the less will jirattle of, — 
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. 

^'^o. What 's slier' 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her 
In the protectiiiii of his son, her brother, 
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love, 
They say, slie hath abjured the company 
And sight of men. 

Vio. O that I served that lady 

And might not be delivered to the world, 



ACT I. 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene in. 



Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, 
What my estate is! 

Cap. That were hard to compass; 

Becanse she will admit uo kind of suit, 
No, not the duke's. 

\ io. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; 
Anil tliouirh that nature with a beauteous wall 
Biith (ift i-lose in pdilution, yet of thee 
I will believe thou liast a mind that suits 
With this thy fair and outward character. 
I prithee, anil I '11 pay thee bounteously, 
Conceal me wliat I am, and be my aid 
For such disguise as haply shall become 
The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke: 
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him : 
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing . 
And speak to him in many sorts of music 
Tliat will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap to time I will commit; 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I '11 be: 
When my tongue blabs, tlien let mine eyes not see. 

Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Olivia's house. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take 
the death of her brother thus ? I am sure care 's 
an enemy to life. 

Mar. By my troth. Sir Toby, you must come in 
earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great 
e.xceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted. 

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 
the modest limits of order. 

Sir To. Confine ! I '11 confine myself no finer than 
I am : these clothes are good enough to drink in ; 
and so be these boots too : an they be not, let them 
hang themselves in their own straps. 

3lar. That iiualling and drinking will undo you: 
I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; an'd of a fool- 
ish knight that you brought in one night here to be 
her wooer. 

Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek ? 

Mar. Ay, he. 

Sir To. He "s as tall a man as any 's in Illyria. 

Mar. What 's that to the purpose ? 

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a 
year. 

• Mar. Ay, but he '11 have but a year in all these 
ducats : he 's a very fool and a prodigal. 

Sir To. Fie, that you '11 say so ! he plays o' the 
viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages 
word for word without book, and hath all the good 
gifts of nature. 

Mar. He hath indeed, almost natural : for besides 
that he's a fool, he's a great iiuarreller; and but 
tliat he hath the gift of a coward to allay tlie gust 
he hath in quarrelling, 'tis th(ni'4lit among the pru- 
dent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and 
substractors that say so of him. Who are they V 

Mar. They that add, moreover, he 's drunk nightly 
in your company. 

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece: I'll 
drink to her as long as tliere is a passage in my 
throat and drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a 
coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his 
brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, 
■wench ! Castiliano vulgo ! for here comes Sir An- 
drew Agueface. 

Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 
Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now. Sir Toby 
Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew I [Belch ! 

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 



Mar. And you too, sir. 

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. 

Sir And. What 's that V 

Sir To. My niece's chambermaid. 

*'ii- And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better 
acquaintance. 

Mnr. My name is Mary, sir. 

Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, — 

Sir To. You mistake, knight: 'accost' is front 
her, board her, woo her, assail her. 

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake 
her in this company. Is that the meaning of 'ac- 
cost ' ? 

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. An thou let part so. Sir Andrew, would 
thou mightst never draw sword again. 

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I 
might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you 
think you have fools in hatid ? 

3Iur. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here 's 
my hand. 

' Mar. Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, 
bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink. 

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet-heart':' what's your 

Mar. It's dry, sir. [metaphor?" 

Sir And. Why, I think so: I am not such an ass 
but I can keep my hand dry. But what "s your jest'? 

Mar. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir And. Are you full of them? 

Mar. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: 
marry, now I let go yom- hand, I am barren. [Exit. 

Sir To. O knight, thou lackest a cup of canary: 
when did I see thee so put down ? 

Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless you 
see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I 
have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary 
man has : but I am a great eater of beef, and I be- 
lieve that does harm to my wit. 

Sir To. No question. 

Sir And. An I thought that, I 'Id forswear it. 
I '11 ride home to-morrow. Sir Toby. 

Sir To. Pour(]Uoi. my dear knight? 

Sir And. What is 'pourquoi'? do or not do? I 
would 1 had bestov>ed that time in the tongues that 
I have in fencing, dancing and bear-baiting : O, 
had I but followed the arts! 

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 
of hair. 

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair ? 

Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest it will not 
curl by nature. 

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't 
not ? 

Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff ; 
and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her 
legs and spin it off. 

Sir And. Faith, I '11 home to-morrow. Sir Toby: 
your niece will not be seen ; or it she be, it 's four 
to one she '11 none of me ; the count himself here 
hard by woos her. 

Sir To. She '11 none o' tlie count : she '11 not match 
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit ; 
I have heard her swear 't. Tut, there 's life in 't, 
man. 

Sir And. I '11 stay a month longer. I am a fellow 
o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in 
masques and revels sometimes altogether. 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshawses, 
knight ? 

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he 
be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will 
not compare with an old nian. 

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, 
knight ? 

Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. 
233 



ACT T. 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene a-. 



Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick sim- 
ply as strons as any man in Illyria. 

Sir To. Wlieret'ore are tliese tilings hid? where- 
fore have these gifts a eurtain before 'em V are they 
like to takeilust, like Mistress Mairsi>ieture'r' why 
dost thou not go to church iu a yalliard and come 
home in a coraiito 'f My very walk should be a jig ; 
I would not so much as make water but in a sink- 
a-pace. What dost thou mean V Is it a world to 
liide virtues in ? I did think, by the excellent con- 
stitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of 
a galliard. 

Sir Ami. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent 
well in a llame-coloured stock. Shall we set about 
some revels ? 

Sir To. What shall we do else ? were we not born 
under Taurus 'f 

Sir And. Taurus ! That 's sides and heart. 

Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see 
thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent! 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE IV.— The Duke's palace. 

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. 

Val. If the duke continue these favours towards 
you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced : he 
hath known you but three days, and already you are 
no stranger. 

Vio. You either fear his humour or my negli- 
gence, that you call in (luestion the continuance of 
his love; is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Vio. I thank yoil. Here comes the count. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 

Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 

Duke. Stand you awhile all K if. Cesario, 
Thou know'st no less Imt all ; I have unclasp'd 
To thee the ))Ook even of my secret soul : 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; 
Be not (leniril access, stand at her (hiors, 
And tell them, there thy Hxed foot shall grow 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord. 

If she be so aliandon'd to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 

Duke. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds 
Rather than make unprotited return. 

Vio. Sayldo speak with her,niy lord, what then? 

Duke. O, tlien untold the passion of my love, 
Surjirise lier with discourse of my dear faith: 
It shall bcriHue thee well to act mv woes; 
SIk^ will iittciid it better in thy yoiith 
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect. 

Vio. I think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it; 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 
That say thou art a man : Diana's lip 
Is not UHue smooth and rubious; thy small pipe 
Is as the niaidt-n's nrgan, shrill and sound. 
And all is seniblative a woman's part. 
1 know thy constellation is right apt 
For this aifair. Some four or live attend him ; 
All, if you will ; for I myself am best 
When least in company. Prosper well in this, 
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord. 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I '11 do my best 

To woo your lady : [Aside] yet, a barful strife! 
Whoe'er I woo, inyself would be his wife. [Exeunt. 

SCENE -v.— Olivia's house. 

Enter Maria and Clo'wrn. 

3far. Nay, either tell me where thou hast lieen, 

or I will not oi)en my lips so wide as a bristle may 

234 



enter in way of thy excuse : my lady will hang thee 
tor thy absence. 

Clo. Let her hang me : he that is well haaged iu 
this world needs to fear no colours. 

Mar. Make that good. 

Clo. He shall .see none to fear. 

Mar. A good lenten answer : I can tell thee where 
that saying was born, of ' I fear no colours.' 

Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary ? 

Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to 
say in your foolery. 

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it ; 
and those that are fools, let them use their talents. 

31ar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long 
absent ; or, to be turned away, is not that as good 
as a hanging to you ? 

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- 
riage ; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. 

Mar. You are resolute, tiien ? [points. 

Clg. Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two 

Mar. That if one break, the other will hold; 'Br, 
if both break, your gaskins fall. 

Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt. Well, go thy 
way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert 
as witty a piece of Eve's tlesh as any in Illyria. 

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here 
comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were 
best. [Exit. 

Clo. AVit, an 't be thy will, put me into good fool- 
ing ! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very 
oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may 
pass for a wise man : for what says Quiuapalus ? 
' Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.' 

Enter Lady Olivia loith Malvolio. 
God bless thee, lady ! 

OK. Take the fool away. [iady. 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away the 

Oli. Go to, you 're a dry fool ; I '11 no more of you : 
besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, 
then is the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man 
mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest ; 
if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing 
that's mended is but patched: virtue that trans- 
gresses is but ]iatched with sin ; and sin that amends 
is but patched with virtue. If that this simiile syl- 
logism will .serve, so; if it will not, what i-emedy ? 
As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty 's 
a flower. The lady bade take away the fool ; there- 
fore, I say again, take her away. 

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. 

Clo. Misi>rision in the highest degree! Lady, 
cucullus non facit monachum ; that 's as much to 
say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good ma- 
donna, give me leave to prove you a tool. 

OH. Can you do it ? 

Clo. Dextcriously. good madonna. 

Oli. Make your pmuf. 

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna: good 
my mouse of virtue, answer me. 

OH. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I "11 bide 
your proof. 

Clo. Good madonna, why mournest thou? 

OH. Good fool, for my brother's death. 

Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 

OH. I kno\v his soul is in heaven, fool. 

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your 
brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the 
fool, gentlemen. 

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth 
he not mend ? 

Mai. Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death 
shake him : intirmity, that decays the wise, doth 
ever make the better fool. 

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the 



ACT I. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scexe v. 



better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be sworn 
that I am no fox ; but lie will not pass his word for 
two pence that you are no fool. 

OH. How say you to that, Malvolio? 

Mill. I marvel your ladN.ship takes delight in such 
a barren rascal : I saw liim put down the other day 
with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than 
a stone. Look "you now, he's out of liis uuard 
already ; unless you laugh and minister occasion to 
him, lie is gagged. 1 protest, I take these wise men, 
that crow so at tliese set kind of fools, no better than 
the fools' zanies. 

OH. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
taste with a distempered apjietite. To be generous, 
guiltless and of free disjiosition, is to take those 
things for bird-bolts that you <leem cannon-bullets: 
there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do 
nothing but rail : nor no railing in a known discreet 
man, though lie do nothing but reprove. 

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for 
tli(5u speakest well oi' fools ! 

Ee-entcr Maria. 

Jl/ar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen- 
tleman much desires to speak witli you. 

OJi. From the Count Orsino, is it"? 

Mar. I know not, madam : 't is a fair young man, 
and well attended. 

OIL Who of my people hold him in delay? 

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

Oli. Fetch him off, 1 pray you ; lie speaks nothing 
but madman: fie on Iiiinf [E.rit 3firla.] Go you, 
Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, 
or not at home ; what you will, to dismiss it. [Kcit 
Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling 
grows old, and people dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke tor us, madonna, as if tliy 
eldest son should be a fool ; whose skull Jove cram 
with brains! for, — here he comes, — one of thy kin 
lias a most weak pia mater. 

Enter Sir Toby. 

on. By mine honour, half drunk. "What is he at 
the gate, cousin ? 

Sir To. A gentleman. 

Oli. A gentleman ! what gentleman ? 

Sir To. 'T is a gentleman here — a plague o' 
these pickle herring ! How now, sot ! 

Clo. Good Sir Toby ! 

Oli. C'ousin, cousiu, how have you come so early 
by this lethargy? 

Sir To. Lechery ! I defy lechery. There 's one 
at the gate. 

Oli. Ay, marry, what is he? 

Sir To. Let him be tlie devil, and he will, I care 
not : give me faith, say I. Well, it 's all one. [Exit. 

Oli. What 's a drunken man like, fool ? 

Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man : 
one draught above heat makes him a fool; the sec- 
ond mads him; and a tliird drowns him. 

Oli. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him 
sit o' my coz; for he 's in the tliird degree of drink, 
he 's drownied : go, look after liim. 

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool 
shall look to the madman. , [Exit. 

lie-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, yond young fellow swears lie will 
sjieak with you. I told him you were sick ; he 
takes on him to understand so much, and therefore 
comes to speak with you. I told him you were 
asleep ; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that' 
too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What 
is to be said to him, lady ? he 's fortified against 
any denial. 

Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. 

Mai. Has been told so ; and he says, he '11 stand 



at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the sup- 
porter to a bench, but he '11 speak with you. 

Oli. What kind o' man is he ? 

Mai. Why, of mankind. 

Oli. What uuiniier nf man? 

Mai. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, 
will you or no. 

Oil. Of what personage and years is be ? 

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
enough for a boy ; as a squash is before 't is a peas- 
cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis 
with him in standing water, between boy and man. 
He is very well-favoured and he speaks very shrew- 
ishly ; one would think his mother's milk were 
scarce out of him. 

Oli. Let him approach : call in my gentlewoman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. {Exit. 

Re-enter Maria. 
Oli. Give me my veil: come,throwito'ermyface. 
We "11 once more hear Orsino "s embassy. 

Enter Viola, and Attendants. 

Via. The honourable lady of the house, which is 
she ? [will ? 

(Hi. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your 

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite and unmatchable 
beauty, — I pray you, tell me if this be tlie lady of 
the liouse, for I never saw her: I would be loath to 
cast away my speech, for besides that it is excel- 
lently well penned, I have taken great pains to con 
it. Good beauties, let ine sustain no scorn ; I am 
very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. 

Oli. Whence came you, sir? 

Tin. 1 can say little more than I have studied, 
and that question 's out of my jiart. Good gentle 
one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady 
of the house, that I may proceed in my speecli. 

Oli. Are you a comedian ? 

Via. No, my profoimd heart : and yet, by the very 
fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are 
you the lady of the house? 

Oli. If I do not usuqi myself, I am. 

Via. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
yourself; for what is ynuis to bestow is not yours 
to reserve. But this is from my commission : I 
will on with my speech in your praise, and then 
show you the heart of my message. 

OH. Come to what is important in 't: I forgive 
you the praise. [poetical. 

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 't is 

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned : I pray you, 
keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, 
and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you 
than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gdiie; if 
you have reason, be brief: 'tis imt that time of 
moon with me to make one insoskipiiinga dialogue. 

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies yourwaJ^ 

Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little 
longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet 
lady. Tell me your mind: I am a messenger. 

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- 
liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak 
your office. 

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over- 
ture of war, no taxation of homage : I hold the olive 
in my hand ; my words are as full of peace as matter. 

Oli. Yet yoii began rudely. What are you? 
what would you ? 

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me 
have I learned from my entertainment. What I 
am, and what I would, are as secret as maiden- 
head ; to your ears, divinity, to any other's, prof- 
anation. ^ 

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this 
divinity. [E.ceunt Maria and AUcndants.] Novv, 
sir, what is your text ? 

235 



ACT II. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene i. 



Vio. Most sweet lady,— 

OK. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
said of it. Where lies your text 't 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

OIL Inhisbosom! In what chapter of his bosom? 

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his 
heart. 

Oli. O, I have read it : it is heresy. Have you 
no more to say ? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord 
to negotiate witli my face ? You are now out of 
your text : but we will draw the curtain and show 
you tlie picture. Look you, sir, such a one I was 
this present : is 't not well done V [ Unveiling. 

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 

Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and 
Tveatlier. 

Vio. 'T is beauty truly bent, whose red and white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : 
Lady, you are tlie cruell'st she alive, 
If you will lead these graces to the grave 
And leave the world no copy. 

OH. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will 
give out divers schedules of my beauty : it shall be 
inventoried, and every particle and utensil labelled 
to my will: as, item, two lips, indifferent red; item, 
two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, 
one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 
praise me ? 

Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
Jly lord and master loves you : O, such love 
Could be but recompensed, though you were crown 'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

OU. How does he love me ? 

Vio. With adorations, fertile tears. 
With groans tliat thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

Oli. Your lord does know my mind ; I cannot 
love him : 
Yet I suppose liim virtuous, know him noble, 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
In voices well divulged, free, learn 'd and valiant; 
And in dimension and the shape of nature 
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame. 
With such a suffering, sucli a deadly life, 
In your -denial I wouhl find no sense ; 
1 would not understand it. 



Oli. Why, what would you ? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
And call upon my soul within the house; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out ' Olivia ! ' O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth, 
But you should pity me ! 

Oli. You might do much. 

What is your parentage 9 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I 
am a gentleman. 

Oli. Get you to your lord ; 

I cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse : 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love make his heart of tliiit that you shall love; 
And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
Placed in contempt ! Farewell, lair cruelty. [Exit. 

Oli. ' What is your parentage '^ ' 
' Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleman.' 1 '11 be sworn thou art; 
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit. 
T>o give tliee five-fold blazon : not too fast : soft, solt I 
Unless the master were the man. How now! 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague? 
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections 
With an invisible and subtle stealth 
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. 
What ho, Malvolio! 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 

OU. Run after that same peevish messenger, 
The county's man : he left this ring behind him, 
Would I or not : tell him I '11 none of it. 
Desire him not to flatter with his lord. 
Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him : 
If tliat the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
I '11 give liim reasons for 't : hie thee, Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find 
]Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not owe ; 
What is decreed must be, and be this so. [Exit. 



^CT II, 



SCENE 1.— The sea-coast. 



Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 

Ant. Will you stay no longer V nor will you not 
that I go with you ? 

Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly 
over me : tlie malignancy of my fate might perhaps 
distemper yours ; therefore I shall crave of you your 
leave tliat I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad 
recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you wliither you are 
bound. 

Seb. No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is 
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- 
cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort 
from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it 
charges me in manners the rather to express myself. 
You must know of uii' tlien, Antonio, my name is 
Sebastian, which 1 called Koderigo. My father 
was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you 
have heard of. He left behind him myself and a sis- 
236 



ter, botli born in an hour: if the heavens had been 
pleased, would we had so ended! but you, sir, 
altered that; for some hour before you took me 
from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas the day ! 

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much 
resembled me, was yet of many accounted beauti- 
ful : but, though I could not with such estimalle 
wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will 
boldly publish her; she bore a mind that envy could 
not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir, witli 
salt water, though I seem to drowii her remem- 
brance again with more. 

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 

Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 
■ Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let 
me be your servant. 

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, 
that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire 
it not. Fai-e ye well at once: my bosom is full of 
kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my^ 



ACT II. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene hi. 



mother, that upon the least occasion more mine 
eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count 
'Orsino's court: farewell. {Exit. 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee ! 
I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
Else would I very shortly see thee there. 
But, come what may, I do adore tliee so, 
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 



{Exit. 



SCENE 11.—^ street. 



Enter Viola, Malvolio folhicing. 

Mai. Were not you even now with the Countess 
Olivia ? 

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have 
since arrived but hither. 

Mah She returns this ring to you, sir: you might 
have saved me my pains, to have taken it away 
yourself. She adds, moreover, tliat you should put 
your lord into a desperate assurance she will none 
of liim : and one thing more, that you be never so 
hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to 
report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. 

Vio. She took the ring of me : I '11 none of it. 

Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; 
and iier will is, it should be so returned : if it be 
worth stooping for, there it lies in 3-oureye; if not, 
be it his that finds it. iExAt. 

Vio. I left no ring with her: what means thislady':' 
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! 
She made good view of me; indeed, so much. 
That sure methought lier eyes had lost her tongue, 
For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
She loves nie. siu'e; the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlish me.ssenger. 
None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. 
I am the man : if it be so, as 't is. 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 
"Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it for the proper-false 
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! 
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ! 
For such as we are made of, such we be. 
How will this fadge ? my master loves her dearly ; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 
What will become of this ? As I am man. 
My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
As I am woman, — now alas the day ! — 
AVhat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! 
O time ! thou must untangle this, not I : 
It is too hard a knot for me to untie ! \Ezil. 

SCENE 111.— Olivia's house. 
Enter Sir Toby ami Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Aiiproacli, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed 
after midnight is to be up betimes; and 'diluculo 
surgere,' thou know'st, — 

Sir Anih Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I 
know, to be up late is to be up late. 

Sir To. A false conclusion : I hate it as an un- 
filled can. To be up after midnight and to go to 
bed then, is early: so that to go to bed after mid- 
night is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life 
consist of tlie four elements y 

Sir slnd. Faith, so they say ; but I think it rather 
consists of eating and drinking. 

Sir To. Tliou "rt a scholar; let us therefore eat 
and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine! 

Enter Clo-wn. 
Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. 
Clo. How now, my hearts! did you never see the 
picture of ' we three ' ? 
Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let 's have a catch. 



Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
breast. I had rather tlian forty shillings I had such 
a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. 
In snotli.thou wast in very gracious fooling last 
niglit, wlien tliou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the 
Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus ; 't was 
very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy 
lenian : hadst it ? 

Clo. Idid impeticosthygratillity; for Malvolio's 
nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, 
and the Myrmidons are no bdttle-aie houses. 

Sir And. Excellent ! wliy, this is the best fooling, 
when all is done. Now, a song. 

Sir To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you : let 's 
have a song. 

Sir And. There's a testril of me too; if one 
knight give a — 

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 
good life ? 
Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 
Sir And. Ay, ay: I care not for good life. 
Clo. [Sings'] 
O mistress mine, where are you roaming ? 
O, stay and hear ; your true love 's coming, 

That can sing both high and low: 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
Journeys end in lovers meeting, 
Every wise man's son doth know. 
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith. 
Sir To. Good, good. ' 
Clo. [Sings] 

What is love ? 't is not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What 's to come is still unsure: 
In delay there lies no plenty; 
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. 
Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. 
Sir To. A contagious breath. 
Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, 1' faith. 
Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in con- 
tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance in- 
deed V shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that 
will draw three souls out of one weaver ? shall we 
do that y 

Sir And. An you love me, let 's do 't: I am dog 
at a catch. 

Clo. By 'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 
Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou 
knave.' 

Clo. ' Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight ? I shall 
be constrained in 't to call thee knave, knight. 

Sir And. 'T is not the first time I have constrained 
one to call me knave. Begin, fool : it begins ' Hold 
thy peace.' 
'C/fi. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. 
Sir And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin. 

„ . [Catch swig. 

Enter Maria. 

J/rir. What a caterwauling do you keep here I If 
my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio 
and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. 
Sir Tn. My lady 's a Catalan, we are politicians, 
Malvolio 's a"Pegii-Ramsey,and ' Three merry men 
be we.' Am not I consanguineous? am I not of 
her blood? Tillyvally. Lady! [Sings] 'There 
dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady ! ' [ing. 

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight 's in admirable fool- 
Sic And. Ay, he does well enough if he be dis- 
posed, and so do I too: he does it with a better 
grace, but I do it more natural. 
Sir To. [Siugs] 'O, the tv.-elfth day of December,' — 
Mar. For the love o' God, peace! 

Enter Malvolio. 
Mai. My masters, are you mad ? or what are you ? 
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gab- 
237 



ACT IT. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scexe iv. 



ble like tinkers at this time of nisht y Do ye mnl?e 
an alehouse of my lady's house, tliat ye stiiieak out 
your coziers' catches without any miti.nation or re- 
morse of voice ? Is there no respect of place, per- 
sons, nor time in you y 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
Sneck up ! 

M(d. Sir Toby, I must be round with' you. My 
lady bade me tell you, tliat, though she harboursyou 
as her kinsman, she 's nothing allied to your dis- 
orders. If you can separate yourself and your mis- 
demeanours, you are welcome to the house ; if not, 
an it would please you to take leave of her, she is 
very willing to bid you farewell. 

Sir To. '"Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs 
be gone.' 

Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. 

Clo. ' His eyes do show his days are almost done.' 

3/ftL Is 't even so '? 

Sir To. 'But I will never die.' 

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 

Mai. This is much credit to you. 

Sir To. ' Shall I bid him go ? ' 

Clo. ' What an if you do V ' 

Sir To. ' Shall I bid him go, and spare not ? ' 

Clo. ' O no, no, no, no, you dare not.' 

Sir To. Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any more 
than a steward ? Dost thou think, because tliou art 
virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale V 

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot 
1' the mouth too. 

Sir To. Thou 'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your 
chain with crums. A stoup of wine, Maria! 

Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour 
at any tiling more than contempt, you would not 
give means for this uncivil rule : she shall know of 
it, by this hand. [Exit. 

Mar. Go shake your ears. 

Sir And. 'T were as good a deed as to drink when 
a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the Held, and 
then to break promise with him and make a fool of 
him. 

Sir To. Do 't, knight : I '11 write thee a challenge ; 
or I '11 deliver thy indignation to him by word of 
mouth. 

3Iar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night: 
since the youth of the count's was to-day witli my 
lady, slie is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Mal- 
volio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull liim 
into a nay word, and make him a common recrea- 
tion, do not tliink I have wit enough to lie straight 
in my bed : I know I can do it. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something 
of him. 

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of pu- 
ritan. 

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I 'Id beat him like 
a dog ! 

Sir To. What, for being a puritan V thy exquisite 
reason, dear knight ? 

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I 
have reason good enough. 

Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any tiling 
constantly, but a time-pleaser ; an affectioned ass, 
that cons state without book and utters it by great 
swarths : the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, 
as he tliinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds 
of faitli that all that look on him love him; and on 
that vice in liim will my revenge find notable cause 

iSii- 2h. What wilt thou do ? [to work. 

Mar. I will drop in his way .some obscure epistles 
of love ; wherein, by the colour of hisbeard, the shape 
of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure 
of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find 
himself most feelingly personated. I can write very 
like my lady your niece : on a forgotten matter we 
can hardly make distinction of oul- hands. 
238 



Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. 

Sir Arul. I have 't in my nose too. 

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that tliou 
wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that 
she 's in love with him. 

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that 
colour. 

Sir And. And your horse now would make him 
an ass. 

Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable! 

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my 
physic will work with him. I will plant you two, 
and let the fool make a third, where he shall find 
tlie letter: observe his construction of it. For 
this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Fare- 
well. [Exit. 

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 

Sir And. Before me, she 's a good wench. 

Sir To. Slie 's a beagle, true-bred, and one that 
adores me : what o' that ? 

Sir And. I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let 's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need 
send for more money. 

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a 
foul way out. 

Sir To. Send for money, knight : if thou hast her 
not i'.the end, call me cut. 

Sir And. It I do not, never trust me, take it how 
you will. 

Sir To. Come, come, I '11 go burn some sack ; 't is 
too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, 
knight. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Duke's palace. 
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. 

Dicke. Give me some music. Now, good morrow. 
Now, good Cesario,but that piece of song, [friends. 
That old and anticpie song we heard last niglit : 
IMethouglit it did relieve my passion much. 
More than light airs and recollected terms 
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : 
Come, but one verse. 

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that 
should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it? 

Cuv. Teste, the jester, my lord ; a fool that the 
lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is 
about the house. 

I)uke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 
[Exit Curio. Music plays. 
Come hither, boy : if ever thou shalt love, 
In the sweet pangs of it remember me; 
For such as I am all true lovers are, 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else. 
Save in the constant image of the creature 
That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune ? 

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is throned. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves: 
Hath it riot, boy ? 

Vio. A little, by your favour. 

Duke. What kind of woman is 't V 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee, then. AVhat years, 
i' faith:' 

Vio. About j'our years, my lord. [take 

Duke. Too old, liy heaven: let still the woman 
An elder than herself: so wears she to him, 
So sways she level in her husband's heart : 
For, boy, hitvvever we do praise ourselves. 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
Than women's are. 



ACT II. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene v. 



Vio. I think it \vell, my lord. 

Buke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, 
Or tliy affection cannot hold the bent : 
For women are as roses, whose fair flower 
Being once displayed, doth fall that very hour. 

Vio. And so they are : alas, that they are so ; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 

Re-enter Curio and Clavrn. 

Buhe. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. 
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain : 
Tlie spinsters and the knitters in the sun 
And tlie free maids that weave tlieir thread with 
1)0 use to cluint it: it is silly sooth, [Ijones 

And dallies witii the innocence of love. 
Like tlie old age. 

Clo. Are you ready, sir ? 

Bake. Ay; prithee, sing. [3hisic. 

SONG. 

Clo. Come away, come away, death, 

And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
Fly away, fly away, breath ; 

1 am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it ! 
My part of death, no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 

On niy black coffin let tliere be strewn ; 
Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My lioor corpse, where my bones shall be 
tlirown : 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O, where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there ! 

Duke. There 's for thy pains. 

Clo. No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, sir. 

Buke. I '11 pay thy pleasure tlien. 

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
time or antJther. 

Bake. Give me now leave to leave thee. 

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee : and 
the tailor make thy doublet of cliangeable taffeta, 
for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of 
such constancy put to sea, that their business 
might be every thing and their intent everywhere; 
for that 's it that always makes a good voyage of 
nothing. Farewell. " [Exit. 

Buke. Let all the rest give place. 

[Curio and Attendants retire. 
Once more, Cesario, 
Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty: 
Tell her, my love, more noble tlian the world, 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; 
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, 
Tell her, I hoM as giddily as fortune; 
But 't is that miracle and queen of gems 
That nature pranks her in attracts my soul. 

Vio. But if she cannot love you, sir? 

Buke. I cannot be so answer'd. 

Ft'). Sooth, hut you must. 

Say that some lady, as perhaps there is. 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you liave for Olivia: you cannot love her; 
You tell her so; must she not then be answer'd ? 

Buke. There is no woman's sides 
Can bide tlie beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart 
So big, to liold so much; they lack retention. 
Alas,' their love may be call'd appetite. 
No motion of the liver, but the palate, 
Tliat suffer surfeit. clojTiient and revolt; 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 



And can digest as much: make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know-=- 

Buke. What dost thou know" ? 

Vio. Too w'ell what love women to men may owe : 
In faith, they are as true of lieart as we. 
My father had a daughter loved a man, 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
I should your lordship. 

Buke. And what 's her history ? 

Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love. 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought. 
And with a green and yellow melancholy 
She sat like patience on a monument, 
Smiling at grief. "Was not this love indeed ? 
We men may say more, swear more: but indeed 
Our shows are more tlian will ; for still we prove 
Mucli in our vows, but little in our love. 

Buke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? 

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house. 
And all the brothers too : and yet I know not. 
Sir, shall I to this lady ? 

Buke. Ay, that 's the theme. 

To he;- in haste ; give her this jewel ; say. 
My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Olici(Cs garden. 

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 

Fab. Nay, I '11 come : it I lose a scruple of this 
sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 

Sir To. Wouldst tliou not be glad to have tlie 
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable 
shame ? 

Fab. I would exult, man : you know, he brought 
me out o' favour with my lady about a bear-baiting 
here. 

Sir To. To anger him we '11 have the bear again : 
and we will fool him black and blue : shall we not, 
Sir Andrew ? 

Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 

Sir To. Here comes the little villain. 

Enter Maria. 
How now, my metal of India ! 

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Malvolio's 
coming down this walk : he has been yondei' i" tlie 
.sun practising behaviour to his own shadow this 
half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; 
for I know this letter will make a contemplative 
idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! Lie 
thou there [tlirous down a letter]; for here comes 
the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit. 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria 
once told me she did aflect me: and I have heard 
herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it 
should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses 
me with a more exalted respect than any one else 
that follows her. "What should I think on 't ? 

Sir To. Here 's an overweening rogue! 

Fab. O. peace! Contemplation makes a rare 
turkey-cock of him : how he jets imder his advanced 
plumes ! 

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue ! 

Sir To. Peace, I say. 

JfaL To lie Count Malvolio ! 

Sir To. Ah. rogue! 

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace, peace ! 

Mai. There is example for 't ; the lady of the 
Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 

Sir And. Fie on him, .lezebel ! 
209 



ACT II. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene v. 



Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in: look liow 
imagination blows him. 

Mai. Having been three months married to her, 
sitting in my state, — 

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye ! 

Mn I. Calling my officers about me, in my branched 
velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where 
I have left Olivia sle'eping, — 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone! 

Fi(h. O, peace, peace ! 

Mfil. And then to liave the humour of state ; and 
after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know 
my place as I would they should do theirs, to ask 
for my kinsman Toby, — 

Sir To. liJolts and shackles ! 

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. 

3fal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 
make out for him: I frown the while; and per- 
chance wind up my watch, or play with my — some 
ricli jewel. Toby approaclies ; courtesies there to 

Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? [me,— 

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with 
cars, yet peace. 

Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching 
my familiar smile with an austere regard of con- 
trol,— 

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the 
lips then? 

Mai. Saying, ' Cousin Toby, my fortunes having 
cast nie on your niece give me this prerogative of 

Sir To. What, what? [speech,' — 

Mai. ' You must amend your drunkenness.' 

Sir To. Out, scab! [plot. 

Fab. Nay, patieiire, or we break the sinews of our 

Mai. ' Besides, you waste the treasure of your 
time with a fonlish knight,' — 

Sir And. That 's me, I warrant you. 

Mai. ' One Sir Andrew,' — [fool. 

Sir And. I knew 't was I ; for many do call me 

Mai. What employment have we here i* 

[Takiny up the letter. 

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 

Sir To. O, peace ! and the spirit of humours inti- 
mate reading aloud to him! 

Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : these be 
her very C's, her U's and her T's; and thus makes 
she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, 
her hand. 

Sir And. Her C's, her U's and her T's: why 
that V 

Mai. [Reads] ' To the unknown beloved, this, and 
my good wishes:' — her very phrases! By your 
leave, wax. Soft ! and the impressure her Lucrece, 
with which she uses to seal : 't is my lady. To whom 
should this be? 

Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 

Mai. [Reads] 

Jove knows I love : 

But who ? 
Lips, do not move; 
No man must know. 
'No man must know.' What follows? the num- 
bers altered ! ' No man must know : ' if this should 
be thee, Malvolio ? 

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock! 

Mai. [Reads] 
I may commrnd where I adore; 

But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
Witli bloodless stroke my heart doth gore: 
M. O, A, I, doth sway "my life. 

Fab. A fustian riddle ! 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 

Mai. ' M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, but 
first, let me see, let me see, let me see. 

Fab. What dish o' poison has she dressed him ! 

Sir To. And with what wing the staniel checks 
at it! 

240 



Mah ' I may command where I adore.' Why, 
she may command me: I serve her; she is myhuly. 
Why, tills is evident to any formal capacity ; there 
is no obstruction in this : and the end, — what shoulil 
that alphabetical position jiortenil? If I coul 1 
make tliat resemble something in me, — Softly ! ^I, 
O, A, I,— 

Sir To. O, ay, make up that : he is now at a cold 
scent. 

Fab. Sowter will cry upon 't for all this, though 
it be as rank as a fox. [name. 

3fal. M, — Malvolio; M, — why, that begins my 

Fab. Did not I say he would work it out ? the eur 
is excellent at faults. 

Mai. M, — but then there is no consonancy in the 
sequel ; that suffers under probation : A should fol- 
low, but O does. 

Fab. And O shall end, I hope. [cry O! 

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 

Mai. And then I comes behind. 

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you 
might see inore detraction at your heels than for- 
tunes before you. 

Mai. M,0,A,I; this simulation is not as the for- 
mer : and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to 
me, for every one of these letters are in my name. 
Soft ! here follows prose. 

[Reads] ' If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my 
stars I am above thee ; but be not afraid of great- 
ness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, 
and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy 
Fates open their hands ; let thy blood and spirit 
embrace them ; and, to inure thyself to what thou 
art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear 
fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with ser- 
vants; let thy ton§;ue tang arguments of state ; jiut 
thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus ad- 
vises thee that sighs for thee. Kemember who com- 
mended tliy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee 
ever cross-gartered : I say, remember. Go to, thou 
art made, if thou desirest to be so ; if not, let me see 
thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not 
worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She 
that would alter services with thee. 

The Fortunate-Unhappy.' 
Daj'light and champain discovers not more : this is 
open. I will be )iroud, I will read politic authors, 
I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash olf gross ac(|uaiiit- 
ance, I will be point-devise the very man. I do not 
now fool myself, to let imagination jade me ; for 
every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. 
She did commend my yellow stockings of late, slie 
did praise my leg being cross-gartered; and in this 
she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of 
injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. 
I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, 
stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even 
with tlie swiftness of putting on. .love and my stars 
be praised ! Here is yet a postscript. 
[Reads] ' Thou canst not choose but know who I am. 
If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in tliy 
smiling; tliy smiles become thee well; therefore in 
my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pritliee.' 

Jove, I tliank thee : Iwillsniile; I will do every- 
thing that liiou wilt have me. [Exit. 

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a 
pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. 

Sir And. So could I too. 

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her but 
such another jest. 

Sir And. Nor I neither. 

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 

Re-enter Maria. 
Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? 
Sir And. Or o' mine either? 



SB- 



-88 




-K 



ACT III. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene i. 



Sir To. Sliall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and 
become thy bond-slave y 

Sir And. I' faith, or I either? 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, 
that when the image of it leaves him he must run 
mad. 

Mitr. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon liim V 

Sir To. Like aqua-vitiB with a midwife. 

M(ir. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 
mark his first approach before my lady : he will come 



to her in yellow stockings, and 't is a colour she ab- 
Iiors,aud cross-gartered, a fasliion she detests; and 
he will smile upon her, which will now be so un- 
suitable to her disposition, being addicted to a mel- 
anclioly as she is, that it cannot but turn him 
into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow 
me. 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel- 
lent devil of wit ! 

Sir And. I '11 make one too. \_Exeunt. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I.— Olivia's garden. 



Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. 

Tio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : dost thou 
live by thy tabor ? 

do. No, sir, I live by the church. 

Vio. Art tliou a churchman ? 

CIn. No such matter, sir : I do live by the church ; 
for I do live at my house, and my house doth staud 
by the church. 

Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, 
if abeggardwell near him ; or, the church stands by 
tliy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the cliurch. 

Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age ! A sen- 
tence is but a cheveril glove to a good "wit : liow 
quickly the wrong side may be turned outward ! 

Vio. Nay, that 's certain : they that dally nicely 
with words may quickly make them wanton. 

Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no 
name, sir. 

Vio. Why, man ? 

Clo. Why, sir, her name 's a word ; and to dally 
with that word might make my sister wanton. But 
indeed words are very rascals since bonds disgraced 

Vio. Thy reason, man? [them. 

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
words ; and words are grown so false, I am loath 
tu prove reason with them. 

Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and carest 
for nothing. 

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in 
my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that 
lie to care for nothing, sir. I would it would make 
you invisible. 

Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool ? 

'Clo. No, indeed, sir, tlie Lady Olivia has no folly : 
she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and 
fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to her- 
rings; the husband 's the bigger: I am indeed not 
her fool, but her corrupter of words. 

Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. 

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like 
the sun, it shines every where. I would be sorry, 
sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master 
as with my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom 
there. 

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I '11 no more 
with thee. Hold, there 's expenses for tliee. 

Clo. Now JovCj in his next commodity of hair, 
send thee a beard ! 

Vio. By my troth, I '11 tell thee, I am almost 
sick for one ; [Aside] though I would not have it 
grow on my chin. Is thy lady witliin y 

Clo. Would not a pair of these liave bred, sirV 

Vio. Yes, being kept tngrthiT and put to use. 

Clo. I would play Lord I'undarus of Phrygia, sir, 
to bring a Cressida to tliis Troihis. 

Vio. I understand you, sir ; 't is well begged. 
_ Clo. The matter, I Jiope, is not great, sir, beg- 
ging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My 
lady is within, sir. I will construe to them wlience 
16 



you come ; who you are and what you would are 
out of my welkin, I might say 'element,' but the 
word is over-worn. [Exit. 

]'io. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; 
And to do that well craves a kind of wit : 
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
The quality of persons, and tlie time. 
And, like the haggard, clieck at every featlier 
That comes before his eye. This is a practice 
As full of labour as a wise man's art : 
For folly that he wisely shows is tit ; 
But wise men, folly-fail'n, quite taint their wit. 

Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir And. l)ieu vous garde, monsieur. 

Vio. Etvousaussi; votre serviteur. 

Sir And. I liope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house V my niece 
is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. 

I'io. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, siie 
is the list of my voyaye. 

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir ; put them to motion. 

Vio. JSIy legs do better understand me, sir, than 
I understand what you mean by biilding me taste 

Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. [my legs. 

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance. 
But we are prevented. 

Eater Olivia and Maria. 
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain 
odours on you ! 

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain 
odours ; ' well. 

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
own most pregnant and vouchsufed ear. 

Sir Aud. ' Odours,' • pregnant ' and ' vouchsafed :' 
I '11 get 'em all three all ready. 

OH. Let the garden-door be shut, and leave me 
to my hearing. [Exeimt Sir Tohi/, Sir Andrew, and 
3Iaria.] Give me your hand, sir. 

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 

Oli. What is your name? 

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. 

OH. My servant, sir ! 'T was neviT merry world 
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment : 
You 're servant to the Count Orsino, youth, [yours: 

T'jo. And he is yours, and his must needs be 
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 

Oli. For him, I think noton him : for his thoughts. 
Would they were blanks, rather tlian fill'd with me ! 

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
On his behalf. 

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you, 

I bade you never sjteak again of him : 
But, would you undertake another suit, 
I had rather hear you to solicit that 
Than nmsic from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, — 

Oli. Give me leave, beseech you. 1 did send, 
241 



ACT^iii. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene ii. 



After the last enchantment you did here, 

A ring in uliase of you : so did I abuse 

Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you : 

Under your hard construction must I sit, 

To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. 

Which you knew none of yours: what might you 

thhdiV 
Have you not set mine honour at the stake 
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
That tyrannous heart can tliinkV To one of your 

receiving 
Enough is shown : a cypress, not a bosom, 
Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak. 

Vio. I pity you. 

Oli. That 's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a grize ; for 't is a vulgar proof, 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oli. Why, then, methinks 't is time to smile again. 

world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
If one should be a prey, how much the better 
To fall before the lion tlian the wolf ! 

YClock strikes. 
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. 
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
Your wife is lilie to reap a proper man : 
There lies your way, due west. [sition 

Vio. Then westward-ho ! Grace and good dispo- 
Attend your ladyship! 
You '11 nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? 

Uli. Stay: 

1 prithee, tell me what thou think 'st of me. [are. 

Vio. That you do think you are not what you 

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Vio. Then tliink you right : I am not what I am. 

OH. I would you were as I would have you be ! 

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am V 
I wish it might, for now I am your fool. 

Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contemi)t and anger of his lip! 
A murderous ^;nilt sliows not itself more soon 
Than love that wnulil seem hid: love's night is 
Cesario, by tlie roses of the spring, [noon. 

By maidhood, honour, truth and everything, 
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. 
Do not extort tliy reasons from this clause, 
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; 
But rather reason thus witli reason fetter. 
Love sought is good, but given unsought is belter. 

Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom and one trutli. 
And that no woman has; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, gocid madam: nevermore 
Y/ill I my master's tears to you deplore. [move 

Oli. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst 
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE II.— O/a-ici's house. 

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 

Sir And. No, faith, I "11 not stay a jot longer. 

Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. 

Fab. You nmst needs yield your reason. Sir 
Andrew. 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours 
to the count's serving-man than ever she bestowed 
upon me; I saw 't i' the orcliard. 

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy V tell 
me that. 

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
toward you. 

iS'tr And. 'Slight, will you make an ass o' me ? 

Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths 
of judgment and reiison. 

242 



Sir To. And they have been grand-jurymen since 
before Noah was a sailor. 

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your 
sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brim- 
stone in your liver. You should then have accosted 
her; and' with some excellent jests, fire-new from 
the mint, you should have banned tlie youth into 
dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and 
this was balked : the double gilt of this opportu- 
nity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed 
inti) the north of my lady's opinion ; where you will 
hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless 
you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either 
of valour or policy. 

Sir And. An 't be any way, it nrust be with val- 
our; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist 
as a politician. 

Sir To. Why, then, build me thy fortunes ujion 
the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth 
to light witli him; hurt him in eleven places: .my 
Jiiece shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there 
is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in 
man's commendation with woman than report of 
valour. 

Fab. Tliere is no way but this. Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge 
to him 'f 

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst 
and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo- 
quent and full of invention : taunt him with tlie 
license of ink : if thou thou 'st him some thrice, it 
shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in 
thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big 
enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em 
down : go, about it. Let there be gall enough in 
thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no 
matter : about it. 

Sir And. Where shall I find you V 

Sir To. We '11 call thee at the cubiculo : go. 

[E.cit Sir AndreiD. 

Fab. This is a dear manakin to you. Sir Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, some two 
thousand strong, or so. 

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : but 
you '11 not deliver 't ? 

Sir To. Never trust me, then ; and by all means 
stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and 
wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, 
if he were opened, and you find so much blood in 
his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I '11 eat the 
rest of the anatomy. 

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
visage no great presage of cruelty. 

Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine 
conies. 

Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull 
Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegade; for 
there is no Christian, that means to be saved by 
believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible 
passages of grossness. lie 's in yellow stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 

Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that keeps 
a school i' the church. I have dogged him, like Iiis 
murderer. He does obey every point of tlie letter 
that I dropped to betray him: he does smile his 
face into more lines than is in the new map with 
the augmentation of the Indies : you have not seen 
such a thing as 'tis. I can hardly forbear hurl- 
ing things at him. I know my lady will strike 
him : if she do, he '11 smile and take 't for a great 
favour. 

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 

[E.ciunt. 



ACT III. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scexe iv. 



SCENE m.— ^ street. 
Enter Sebastian and Antonio. 

Seh. I would not by my will have troubled you; 
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
1 will uo further chide you. 

Ant. I could not stay behind you: my desire, 
More sharj) than Qled steel, did spur me forth ; 
And not all love to see you, though so much 
As miglit liave drawn one to a longer voyage, 
liut jealousy what might befall y<mr travel, 
Ueing skilless in these" parts: whicli to a stranger, 
Unguidcil and unfriended, often prove 
Kough anil unlio.sjiitaljle: my willing love, 
The rather liy these arguments of fear. 
Set forth in your pursuit. 

Sell. ' My kind Antonio, 

I can no other answer make but thanks. 
And thanks ; and ever . . . oft good turns 
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay: 
But, were my wortli as is my conscience firm. 
You should find better dealing. Wliat 's to do ? 
Shall we go see the reliques of this towii V 

Ant. To-morrow, sir: best first go see your lodging. 

tieh. I am not weary, and 't is long to-uight: 
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 
With the memorials and the tilings of fame 
That do renown this city. 

Ant. Would you 'Id pardon me; 

I do not without danger walk these streets: 
Once, in a sea-tight, 'gainst the count his galleys 
I did some service; of such note indeed. 
That were I ta'en here it would scarce be answer'd. 

Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people. 

Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature; 
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel 
Might well liave given us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them ; which, for traflic's sake, 
Most of our city did : only myself stood out; 
For which, if 1 be lapsed in this place, 
I shall pay dear. 

Sch. Do not then Avalk too open. 

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold. sir, here 'smypurse. 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet, 
AVhiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge 
AVith viewing of the town : there shall j'ou have me. 
, Sch. Why 1 your purse? 

Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy 
You have desire to purchase; and your store, 
I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 

Seb. I "11 be your purse-bearer and leave you 
For an hour. 

Ant. To the Elephant. 

Seb. I do remember. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Olivia's garden. 

Enter Olivia and Maria. 

Oli. I have sent after him : he says he '11 come ; 
How shall I feast him ? wiiat bestow of him '? 
For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or bor- 
I speak too loud. [row'd. 

Wiiere is JIalvolio V he is sad and civil. 
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes: 
Where is Malvolio"? 

Mar. He "s coming, madam ; but in very strange 
manner. He is, sure, possessed, madam. 

Oli. Why, what 's the matter? does he rave? 

Mar. No, madam, he does nothing but smile: 
your ladyship were best to have some guard about 
you, if he come; for, sure, the man is tainted in 's 
wits. 

Oli. Go call him hither. [Exit Maria.] I am as 
mad as he. 
If sad and merry madness equal be. 



He-enter Maria, ivith Malvolio. 

How now, Malvolio! 

Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. 

Oli. Smilest thou? 
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 

Mai. Sad, lady! I could be sad: this does make 
.some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering ; 
but what of that ? if it please the eye of one, it is 
with me as the very true sonnet is, 'Please one, 
and please all.' 

Oli. Why, how dcst thou, man? what is the 
matter with thee ? 

Mai. Xot black in my mind, though yellow in 
my legs. It did come to his hands, and commands 
sliall be executed : I think we do know the sweet 
Konian hanil. 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ? [thee. 

Mai. To bed! ay, sweet-heart, and I'll come to 

Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost tliou smile so 
and kiss thy hand so oft ? 

Mar. How do you, Malvolio? [daws. 

Mai. At your request ! yes; nightingales answer 

Mar. AVhy appear you with this ridiculous bold- 
ness before my lady ? 

Mai. ' Be not afraid of greatness:' 't was well vait. 

Oli. AVhat meanest thou by that, Malvolio ? 

3Ial. ' Some are born great,' — 

OIL Ha! 

Mai. ' Some achieve greatness,' — 

Oli. AVhat sayest thou ? 

3Ial. 'And some ha ve greatness thrust upon them . ' 

OK. Heaven restore tliee ! [stockings,' — 

3fal. ' Remember who commended thy yellow 

Oli. Thy yellovi' stockings ! 

3Ial. 'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.' 

Oli. Cross-gartered ! [be so ; ' — 

Mai. ' Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to 

Oli. Am I made ? 

Mai. ' If not, let me see thee a servant still.' 

Oli. AVliy, this is very midsummer madness. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count 
Orsino's is returned: I could hardly entreat him 
back : he attends your ladyship's pleasure. 

Oli. I '11 come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good 
Maria, let this fellow be looked to. AVhere 's my 
cousin Toby ? Let some of my people have a special 
care of him": I would not have him miscarry fortlie 
half of my dowry. [E.veunt Olivia and Maria. 

Med. O, ho ! do you come near me now ? no worse 
man than Sir Toby to look to me ! This concurs 
directly with the letter: she sends him o« purpose, 
that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites 
me to that in the letter. ' Cast thy humble slough,' 
says she; 'be opposite with a kinsman, surly witli 
servants ; let thy tongue tang with arguments of 
state; put thyself info the trick of singularity;' 
and consequeiitly sets down the manner how; as, 
a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in 
the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have 
limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make 
me thankful! And when she v.ent away now, 'Let 
th is fellow be looked to: ' fellow! not Malvolio, nor 
after my degree, but fellow. AMiy every thing ad- 
heres together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple 
of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or luisafe 
circumstance — What can be said? Nothing that 
can be can come between me and the full prosiiect 
of my hopes. AVell, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, 
and he is to be thanked. 

He-enter Maria, with Sir Toby and Fabian. 
Sir To. Which way is he. in the name of sanctity ? 
If all the devils of I'lell be drawn in little, and Le- 
gion himself possessed him, yet I "11 speak to him. 
243 



ACT III. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene iv. 



Fah. Here he is, here he is. How is 't with you, 
sir y how is 't witli you, man V 

Mai. Go off; I discard you: let me enjoy my pri- 
vate : go off. 

Mar. Lo, liow hollow the fiend speaks within 
liim ! did not I tell you 'i Sir Toby, my lady prays 
you to liave a care of him. 

Mai. Ah, ha! does she so? 

liir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal 
gently with him: let me alone. How do you, Mal- 
volioV how is 't witli you? What, man! defy the 
devil : consider, he 's an enemy to mankind. 

Mai. Do you know what you say ? 

Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how 
lie takes it at heart ! Pray God, he be not bewitched ! 

Fah. Carry his water to the wise woman. 

Mar. Marry, and it sliall be done to-morrow 
morning, if I' live. My lady would not lose him 
for more tlian I '11 say. 

Mai. How now, mistress! 

Mar. O Lord ! 

Sir Tu. Fritliee, hold thy peace; tliis is not the 
way : do you not see you move him ? let me alone 
witli him. 

Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : the 
fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 

'Sir To. Wliy, how now, my bawcock! how dost 
tliou, chuck y 

Mai. Sir! 

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come witli me. What, man ! 
't is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit witli Satan : 
liang liim, foul collier! 

Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, 
get liim to pray. 

Mai. ]\Iy prayers, minx ! [liness. 

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of god- 

M<il. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shal- 
low tilings: I am not of )our element: you shall 
know nuire liereafter. lExit. 

Sir To. Is 't possible V 

Fub. If tliis were played upon a stage now, I 
could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 

Sir To. His very genius hatli taken tlie infection 
of tlie device, man. 

Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest tlie device take 
air and taint. 

Fub. Wliy, we shall make him mad indeed. 

Mar. The house will be tlie quieter. 

Sir To. Come, we '11 have him in a dark room 
and bound. My niece is already in tlie belief that 
he 's mad : we may carry it thus, for our pleasure 
and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of 
breath, jirompt us to have mercy on him : at which 
time we will bring the device to tlie bar and crown 
tliee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. 

Enter Sir Andrew. 

Fab. More matter for a May morning. 

Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it: I war- 
rant there 's vinegar and pepper in 't. 

Fab. Is 't so saucy ? 

Sir And. Ay, is 't, I warrant liim : do but read. 

Sir To. Give me. [7?((((?)>] ' Youth, whatsoever 
thou art, thou art liut a scurvy fellow.' 

Fah. Good, and valiant. 

Sir To. [licad^] ' Wonder not, nor admire not in 
thy mind, why I do call thee so, for 1 will show thee 
no reason for 't.' 

Fab. A good note ; that keeps you from the blow 
of the law. 

Sir To. [Readii] 'Thou comest to the lady Olivia, 
and in my sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest 
in thy throat ; that is not the matter I challenge 
thee for.' [less. 

Fah. Very brief , and to exceeding good sense — 

Sir To. [Reads] ' I will waylay tliee going lionie ; 
where if it be thy chance to kill me,' — 
244 



Fah. Good. 

Sir To. [Reuds\ ' Thou killest me like a rOgue and 
a villain.' [good. 

Fah. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: 

Sir To. [Reads] ' Fare thee well ; and God liave 
mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy 
upon mine ; but my hope is better, and so look to 
thyself. Thy friend, as tliou usest him, and thy 
sworn enemy, Andrew Agueliieek.' If tliis 
letter move him not, his legs cannot : I '11 give 't him. 

Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't: he 
is now in some commerce with my lady, and will 
by and by depart. 

Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at 
the corner of the orchard like a bum-baily : so soon 
as ever thou seest liim, draw; and, as thoudrawest, 
swear horrible ; for it comes to pass oft that a terri- 
ble oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged 
off, gives manhood more approbation than ever 
proof itself would have earned hiui. Away ! 

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [E.dt. 

Sir To. Now will not 1 deliver his letter: for the 
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to 
be of good capacity and breeding; his employment 
between his lord and my niece" confirms no less : 
therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, 
will breed no terror in the youth : he will find it 
comes from a clodpole. But, air, I will deliver liis 
cliallenge byword of mouth; set upon Aguecheek a 
notable report of valour; and drive the gentleman, 
as I know his youth will aptly receive it, into a most 
hideous opinion of his nme, skill, fiirv and impetu- 
osity. Tills will so friglit them iioth that they will 
kill one another by the look, like cockatrices. 

lie-enter Olivia, with Viola. 

Fah. Here he comes with your niece : give them 
way till lie take have, and presently after liiin. 

Sir To. I will nicditate the while upon some hor- 
rid message for a challenge. 

{F.anut Sir Toby, Fabicm, and Maria. 

Oli. I have said too much unto a lieart of stone 
And laid mine honour too unchary out: 
Tliere 's something in me that reproves my fault; 
But such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
Tliat it but mocks reproof. [bears 

Via. With the same 'haviour that your passion 
Goes on my master's grief. 

Oli. Here, wearthis jewel forme, 't is my picture^ 
Refuse it not ; it hath no tongue to vex you; 
And I lirsi'ccli you come agaiii to-morrow. 
AVhat shall you ask of me tliat I '11 deny, 
That honour saved may upon asking give? 

Vio. Notliing but this; your true love for my 
master. 

Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that 
Which I have given to you ? 

Vio. I will acquit you. 

Oli. Well, come again to-morrow : fare thee well : 
A fiend like tliee miglit bear my soul to hell. [Exit. 

Ee-enter Sir Toby and Fabian. 

Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir To. That defence thou hast, lietake thee to 't: 
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, 
I know not; but thy inlrix-epler, full of despite, 
bloody as the hniitcr, attends thee at the orchard- 
eiiil : disniouiit th\' tui'k,be yarc in tliy preparation, 
for thy assailant is cpiick, skilful and deailly. 

Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath 
any quarrel to me : my remembrance is very free 
and clear from any image of offence done to any 
man. 

Sir To. You '11 find it otherwise, I assure j-ou : 
tlierefore, if you liold your life at any price, betake 
you to your guard ; for }our opposite hath in liim 



ACT III. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene iv. 



what youth, strength, skill and wrath can furnish 
man witiial. 

Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he? 

Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with luihatched 
rapier and on cariiet consideration; but lie is a 
devil in private brawl; souls and bodies hath he di- 
vorced tliree; and his incenscment at this moment 
is so implacable, that satisiaction can be none but 
by pangs of death and sepulchre. Hob, nob, is his 
word ; give 't or take 't. 

Vio. I will return again into the house and desire 
some conduct of tlie lady. I am no fighter. I have 
heard of some kind of men that put quarrels pur- 
posely on others, to taste their valour : belike this is 
a man of that quirk. 

Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out 
of a very conqietent injury : therefore, get you on 
and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the 
liouse, unless you undertake that with me which 
with as much "safety you might answer him : there- 
fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked ; for med- 
dle you must, that 's certain, or forswear to wear 
iron about you. 

Vio. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech 
you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the 
knight what my offence to him is: it is something 
of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. 

Sir Til I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay }-ou by 
this gentleman till my return. [Exit. 

^'lo. Pray you, sir, "do you know of this matter y 

Fah. I know the knight is incensed against you, 
even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of the 
circumstance more. 

Vio. I licseech you, what manner of man is he ? 

Full. Nothing of that wonderful pronnse, to read 
him by his form, as you are like to find him in the 
proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most 
skilful, bloody and fatal opposite that you could pos- 
sibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you 
walk towards him V I will make your peace with 
him if I can. 

Vio. I shall be much bound to you for 't : I am 
one that had rather go with sir" priest than sir 
knight: I care not who knows so much of my met- 
tle. [Exeunt. 

He-enter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. "Why, man, he 's a very devil ; I have not 
seen such a flrago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
scabbard and all, and he gives me the stuck in with 
such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable ; and on 
the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit 
the ground they step on. They say he has been 
fencer to the Sophy. 

Sir And. Pox on "t, I '11 not meddle with him. 

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified : Fa- 
bian can scarce hold him yonder. 

Sir And. Plague on 't, an I tlnuight he had been 
valiant and so cunning in fence, I "Id liaveseen him 
damned ere 1 "Id have challenged him. Let him 
let the matter slip, and I '11 give him my horse, grey 
C'apilet. 

Sir To. I '11 make the motion : stand here, make 
a good show on "t: this shall end without the perdi- 
tion of souls. [Aside] Marry, I "11 ride your horse as 
well as I ride you. 

He-enter Fabian and "Viola. 
[To Fob.] I have his horse to take uj) the quarrel : 
I have persuaded him the youth 's a devil. 

Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; and 
pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his 
heels. 

Sir To. [To Vio.] There 's no remedy, sir ; he will 
tight ■with you for 's oath sake : marry, he had better 
Ijethought Inm of his quarrel, and he finds that now 
scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for 



the supportance of his vow; he protests he will not 
hurt you. 

Vio. [^si'cZe] Pray God defend me ! A little thing 
would make me tell them huv,- much I lack of a man. 

Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 

Sir To. Come, Sir Aiidrew, there 's no remedy; 
the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one 
bout with you ; he cannot by the duello avoid it ; 
but lie has promised me, as he is a gentleman and 
a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on ; to 't. 

Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath ! 

Vio. I do assure you, 't is against my will. 

[Tliey draic. 
Enter Antonio. 

A7xt. Put up your sword. If this young gentle- 
Have done offence, I take the fault on me : [man 
If you offend him, I for him defy you. 

Sir To. You, sir! why, what are you ? 

Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 

Sir To. Xay, if you be an undertaker, I am for 
you. [Theii draw. 

Enter Omcers. 

Fab. O good Sir Toby, hold I here come the officers. 

Sir To. I '11 be with you anon. 

Vio. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please. 

Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; and, for that I prom- 
ised you, I '11 be as good as my word : he will bear 
you easily and reins well. 

First Off. This is the man ; do thy office. 

Sec. Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of 
Count Orsino. 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. [well. 

First Off'. jSTo, sir, no jot; I know your favour 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. 
Take him away: he knows I know him well. 

Ant. I must obey. [To Vio.] This comes with 
seeking you : 
But there 's no remedy; I shall answer it. 
"VVliat will you do, now my necessity 
Makes me to ask you for my purse ? It grieves me 
Much more for what I camiot do for you 
Than what befalls myself. You stand amazed ; 
But be of comfort. 

.SVc. Off. Come, sir, away. 

Ant. 1 must entreat of you some of that money. 

Vio. "What money, sir y 
For the fair kindness 3'ou have show'd me here. 
And, part, being prompted by your present trouble, 
Out of my lean and low ability 
1 '11 lend you something : my having is not much ; 
I '11 make division of my present with you : 
Hold, there 's half my coffer. 

Ant. "Will you deny me now y 

Is 't iiossible that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion ? Do not tempt my misery. 
Lest that it make me so unsound a man 
As to upbraid you with those khidnesses 
That I have done for you. 

Vio. I know of none ; 

Xor know I you by voice or any feature ; 
I hate ingratitude more in a man 
Than lying, vainness, balibling, drunkenness, 
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption 
Inhabits our frail blood. 

A nt. O heavens themselves I 

Sec. Off. Come, sir. I pray you, go. [see here 

Ant. Let me speak a little." Tliis youth "that you 
I snatch "d one half out of the jaws of death. 
Relieved liim with such sanctity of love. 
And to his image, wliicli methought did promise 
Most venerable worth, did I devotion. [away! 

First Off'. "What 's that to us ? The time goes by : 

Ant. But O how vile an idol proves this god ! 
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. 
In nature there 's no blemish but the mind; 
None can be caU'd deform 'd but the unkind: 
245 - 



ACT IV. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene it. 



Virtue is beauty, but the beaiiteous evil 
Are euipty trunks o'erHourish'il by tlie devil. 

First Ojf. Tlie man grows luad : away with him ! 
Come, come, sir. 

Ant. Lead me on. [Exit mlh Officers. 

Vio. Metliinlis liis words do from such passion fly, 
Tliat lie l>eli('ves himself: so do not I. 
Prove true, iniauiiiation, O, prove true, 
Tliat I, <lear brotlier, Ije now ta'en for you ! 

Sii- To. Come liither, kniglit; come hither, Fa- 
liian : we '11 whisper o'er a couplet or two of most 
sage saws. 

^'io. He named Sebastian : I my brotlier know 
Yet living in my glass; even such and so 
In favour was my brotlier, and he went 
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 



For him 1 imitate : O, if it prove, 

Temjiests are kind aiid salt waves fresh in love. 

[Kdt. 

Sir To. A very dishonest iniUry lioy, and more :i 
coward than a hare : his dishonesty apjiears in leav- 
ing his friend here in necessity and denying him; 
and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. 

Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
in it. 

Sir And. 'Slid, I '11 after him again and beat him. 

Sir To. Do ; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy 
sword. 

Sir And. An I do not, — [Exit. 

Fah. Come, let 's see the event. 

Sir To. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing 
yet. [Exeunt. 



J^CT I AT. 



SCENE I. ~ Before Olivia's hoitse. 
Enter Sebastian and Clo"wn. 

Clo. Will you make me believe that I am not 
sent for you ? 

Sib. Go tOvgo to, thou art a foolish fellow: 
Let me be clear of thee. 

Clo. Well held out, i' faith ! No, I do not know 
you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid 
you come speak with her; nor your name is not 
Master Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither. 
Nothing that is so is so. 

S'b. i prithee, vent thy folly somewliere else: 
Thou knnw'.st not me. 

(.7«. Vent my lolly! he has heard that word of 
Fome great man' and now applies it to a fool. Vent 
my lolly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, 
will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy 
strangeness and tell me what I shall vent to my 
lady : shall I vent to her that thou art coming "? 

Sfb. I i>ritliee, foolish Greek, depart from me: 
Tliert' "s iiioiiey for thee: if you tarry longer, 
1 shall give worse payment. 

Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. 
These wise men that give fools money get them- 
selves a good report — after fourteen years' pur- 
chase. 

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 

Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again "? there 's 
for you. 

Seb. Why, there 's for thee, and there, andihere. 
Are all the people mad ? 

Sir To. Hold, sir, or I "11 throw your dagger o"er 
the house. 

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight : I would 
not be in some of your coats for.two pence. [Exit. 

Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. 

Sir And. Nay, let him alone: I'll go another way 
to work with him; I'll have an action of hattery 
against him, if there be any law in Illyria : though 
I struck him first, yet it 's no matter for that. 

Scb. Let go thy hand. 

Sir To. Come,'sir, I will not let you go. Come, 
my young soldier, put up your iron: you are well 
fleshed ; corne on. 

Scb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
thou now y 
If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword. 

Sir To. What, what V Nay, then I must have an 
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. 

Enter Olivia. 
OH. Hold, Toby ; on thy life I charge thee, hold! 
Sir To. Madam! 

246 



Oli. Will it be ever thus ? Ungracious wretch. 
Fit for the mountains and the barliarous caves, 
Wliere manners ne'er were preach 'd ! out of my 
Be not offended, dear Cesario. [sigl't ! 

Uudesby, be gone! 

[Exeunt Sir Tobi/, Sir Andrfn\ and Fabian. 
I i>rithee, gentle friend. 
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, 
And hear thou there liow many fruitless pranks 
This rutllan liath botch'd uj), that thou thereby 
Mayst smile at tliis: thou shall not choose but go: 
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me. 
He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 

Scb. What relish is in this V how runs the stream ? 
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : 
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; 
If it be thus to dream, still let nie .sleep! 

Oli. Nay, come, I prithee ; would thou 'Idst be 
ruled by me ! 

Scb. Madam, I will. 

OH. O, say so, and so be! [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— OUria's house. 

Enter Maria and Clown. 

3Iar. Nay, I prithee, put on this go\\-n and this 

beard ; make him believe thou art Sir Topas the 

curate : do it quickly ; I '11 call Sir Toby the whilst. 

[Exit. 
Clo. Well, I "11 put it on, and I will dissemble my- 
self in 't ; and I would I were the first that ever dis- 
sembled in such a gown. I am not tiill enough to 
liecome the function well, nor lean enough to be 
thought a good student ; but to be said an honest 
man and a good housekeeiier goes as fairly as to 
say a careful man and a great scholar. The com- 
petitors enter. 

Enter Sir Toby and Maria. 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master Parson. 

Clo. Bonos dies. Sir Toby : for, as the old hermit 
of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily 
said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ' That that is is ; ' 
so I, being master Parson, am master Parson; for, 
what is ' that ' but ' that,' and ' is ' but ' is ' ? 

Sir To. To him. Sir Topas. 

Clo. What, ho, I say ! peace in this prison ! 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good 

Jl/ctZ. [Within] Who calls there V [knave. 

Clo. Sir Toiias the curate, who comes to visit 
Malvolio the lunatic. 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to 
my lady. 



ACT IV. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene in. 



Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou 
tliis man ! talkest thou nothing but of ladies ? 

Sir To. AVell said, master Parson. 

Mdl. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: 
good Sir Top;xs, do not tliinlc I am mad: they have 
laid me liere in hideous darkness. 

Cli,. Fie, tliuu dislionest Satan! I call tliee by 
the most modest terms ; for I am one of those gentle 
ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy; 
savest thou tliat liouse is dark ? 

'Mill. As hell, Sir Topas. 

C7(/. AVhy, it liath bay windows transparent as 
barricadoes, and the clearstores toward the south 
north are as lustrous as ebony ; and yet complainest 
thou of olistnictiony 

Mn\. I am not mad, Sir Topas: I say to you, this 
house is dark. 

Clo. Jiladnian, thou errest : I say, there is no dark- 
ness but ignorance ; in which thou art more puzzled 
tlian the Egyptians in their fog. 

MuL I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and I say, 
there was never man thus abused. I am no more 
mad than you are: make the trial of it in any con- 
stant question. 

Clo. Wliat is the opinion of Pythagoras concern- 
ing Willi fowl y 

Mill. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
inhabit a bird. 

Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion V 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way ap- 
prove his opinion. 

Clo. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in dark- 
ness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere 
I will allow of t!iy wits, and fear to kill a wtujd- 
cock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. 
Fare thee well. 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas ! 

Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas ! 

Clo. Xay, I am for all waters. 

Mar. Thou niightst have done this without thy 
beard and gown : he sees thee not. 

Sir To. To him in thlue own voice, and bring me 
word how thou tiiidest him: I would we were well 
rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently de- 
livered, I would lie were, for I am now so far in 
offence with my niece that I cannot pursue with 
any safety tliis sport to tlie upshot. Come by and 
by to my cliamber. {Emunt Sir Toby and Maria. 

Clo. [Singiny] ' Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, 

Tell me how thy lady does.' 

Mai. Fool ! 

Clo. ' My lady is unkind, perdy.' 

Mai. Fool! 

Clo. ' Alas, why is she so ? ' 

Mai. Fool, I say! 

Clo. ' She loves another ' — Who calls, ha ? 

Mai. Good fool, as ever tliou wilt deserve well at 
my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink and 
paper : as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thank- 
ful to thee for 't. 

Clo. Master Malvolio ? 

Mai. Ay, good fool. 

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits ? 

Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
abused : I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. 

Clo. But as well? then you are mad indeed, if 
. yoii be no better in your wits than a fool. 

3Ial. They have here propertied me; keep me in 
darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all 
tliey can to face me out of my wits. 

Clo. Advise you what you say; the minister is 
here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens re- 
store ! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain 
bibble babble. 

Mai. Sir Topas! 

Clo. Maintain iio words with him, good fellow. 



Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God be wi' j'ou, good Sir 
Topas. Marry, amen. I will, sir, I will. 

3Ial. Fool, ifool, fool, I say! 

C7o. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I 
am shent for speaking to you. 

Mai. Good fool, help me to some light and some 
paper: I tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any 
man in Illyria. 

Clo. Well-a-day that you were, sir! 

Mai. By this hand, I am. Gootl fool, some ink, 
paper and light; and convey wiiat I will set down 
to my lady : it shall advantage thee more than ever 
the bearing of letter did. 

Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are 
you not mad indeed ? or do you but counterfeit ? 

Mai. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. 

Clo. Nay, I '11 ne'er believe a madman till I see 
his brains. I will fetch you light and paper and ink. 

Mai. Fool, I '11 requite it in the highest degree: 
I prithee, be gone. 

Clo. [Singing] I am gone, sir, 
And anon, sir, 
I '11 be with you again, 
In a trice, 

Like to the old Vice, 
Your need to sustain ; 



Who, with dagger of lath, 
In his rage and his wratli, 

Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: 
Like a mad lad, 
Pare thy nails, dad ; 

Adieu, good man devil. 



[Exit. 



SCENE III.— Olu'ia's garden. 



Enter Sebastian. 
Seh. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun ; 
This pearl she gave me, I do feel "t and see 't ; 
And though 'tis wonder that enwrai>s me thus, 
Yet 't is not madness. Where "s Antonio, then ? 
I could not find him at tlie Elepliant: 
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit, 
That he did range the town to seek me out. 
His counsel now might do me golden service ; 
For though my soul disputes well with my sense, 
That this^ may be some enur, liut no madness, 
Yet <loth this accident and Hood of fortune 
So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes 
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me 
To any other trust but that I am mad 
Or else the lady's mad : yet, if 'twere so, [lowers, 
Slie could not sway her house, command her fol- 
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch 
With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing 
As I jierceive she does : there 's something in 't 
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. 

Enter Olivia and Priest. 
OIL Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean 
well, 
Now go with me and with this holy man 
Into the chantry by: there, before him, 
And undi-rneath that consecrated roof, 
Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; 
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
May live at peace. He shall conceal it 
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, 
What time we will our celebration keep 
According to mv birtli. AVhat do you say ? 

Seb. 1 '11 follow this good man, and go with you; 
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 

Oli. Tlien lead the way, good father; and heavens 
so shine, 
That they may fairly note this act of mine ! 

[Exeunt. 

247 



ACT V. 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene t. 



A^CT V^. 



SCENE I.— Before Olivia^s house. 
Enter Clo-wn and Fabian. 
Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. 
Clo. Good Master Fabian, grant me auotlier re- 
Pad. Any thing'. [quest. 
Clo. Do not desire to see tliis letter. 
Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recompense 
desire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords. 

Duke. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends V 

Clo. Ay, sir : we are some of her trappings. 

Duke. I know thee well ; how dost tliou, my good 
fellow y 

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the 
worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy 

Clo. No, sir, the worse. [friends. 

Duke. How can that be V 

Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass 
of me; now my foes tell me plainly I ani an ass: so 
that by my foes, sir, I prolit in tlie knowledge of 
myself, and by my friends I am abused ; so that, 
conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives 
make your two allirmatives, why, then, the worse 
for my friends and tlie better for my foes. 

Duke. Why, this is excellent. 

Clo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you 
to be one of my friends. 

Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me: 
there 's gold. 

Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I 
would you could make it another. 

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
once, and let your tlesli and blood obey it. 

Diik:. Well, I will be so umch a sinner, to be a 
doulile-<lfalci'; there's another. 

Clo. Priino, seciuido, tertio, is a good play; and 
the old saying is, tlie tliird pays for all : the triplex, 
sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of Saint 
Bemiet, sir, may put you in mind; one, two, three. 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
tliis tlirow: if you will let your lady know I am 
here to speak with her, and bring her along with 
you, it may awake my bounty furtlier. 

Clo. Marry , sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come 
again. I go, sir ; but I would not have you to tliink 
that my desire of liaving is the sin of covetousness : 
but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I 
will awake it anon. [Exit. 

Viu. litre comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 

Enter Antonio and Officers. 

Duke. That face of his I do remember well; 
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd 
As black as \''uleau in the smoke of war: 
A bawljliug vessel was he c;iptaiu of. 
For siiallow draught and bulk unprizable ; 
^Vitll which such srathful grajiple did he make 
Witii the nidst noble bcittom of our Meet, 
Tliat very envy and the tonguf of loss [ter ':" 

Cried fame and honour on him. What 's the mat- 

/•'ir.-it Off. Oisino, this is that Antonio 
Tliat took tlie PiRcnix and her fraught from Candy ; 
.\iid this is he that did the Tiger iHjard, 
AViien your young nciiliew Titius lost his leg: 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, 
hi private brabble did we apprehend liim. 

Viu. He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side; 
l!ut in conclusion put strange speech uiion me: 
1 know not what 'twas but distraction. 
. Duke. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief ! 
248 



What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear. 
Hast made thine enemies!:' 

^int. Orsino, noble sir, 

Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me : 
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, 
Thougli I confess, on base and ground enough, 
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me liither : 
That most ingTateful boy there by your side. 
From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth 
Hid I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was: 
His life I gave him and did thereto add 
My love, without retention or restraint, 
All his in dedication; for his sake 
Hid I expose myself, pure for his love, 
Into tlie danger of this adverse town; 
Drew to defend liini when he was beset; 
Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
Not meaning to partake with me in danger. 
Taught iiim to face me out of his ac(|uaintance, 
And grew a twenty years removed thing 
While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse, 
Which I had recommended to his use 
Not half an hoiu" before. 

Via. How can this be V 

Duke. When came he to this town ? [fore. 

Ant. To-day, my lord, and for three months be- 
No interim, not a minute's vacancy, 
Both day and night did we keep company. 

Enter Olivia and Attendants. 

Duke. Here conies the countess : now heaven 

walks on earth. [ness: 

But for thee, fellow ; fellow, thy words are rnad- 

Tlirec months tliis youth hath tended upon me ; 

But more of that anon. Take him aside. [have, 

Vli. What would my lord, Imt that he may not 
Wherein Olivia may .seem serviceable ? 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 

Vio. Madam ! , 

Duke. Gracious Olivia, — 

on. What do you say, Cesario '? Good my lord, — 

Vio. My lord would speak; my duty hnslies me. 

on. If it be ouglit to the old tune, my lord, 
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
As howling after aiusic. 

Duke. Still so cruel y 

OH. Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What, to perversenessV you uncivil lady. 
To whose ingrate and unaus|iicious altars 
My soul the iaithfnirst offerings liatli breatlied out 
Tliat e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 

Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- 
come him. 

Bukc. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. 
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death. 
Kill what I love 'i — a saxage jealousy 
That sometime savours nobly. But liear me this: 
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, 
And that I partly know the instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your favour, 
Live you the marble-liivasted tyrant still; 
But this your minion, whom I know you love, 
And whom, by lieaven I swear, I tender dearly, 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. 
Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mis- 
I '11 sacritice the lamb that I do love, [chief: 

To .spite a raven's lieart within a dove. 

Vio. And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 

Oli. Where goes Cesario 'i 

Vio. After him I love ' 

More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 



ACT V. 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL, scene i. 



More, by all mores, than e'er I shall luve wife. 
It I do teign, you witnesses above 
Punish my life for tainting of my love ! 

OH. Ay uie, detested ! how am I beguiled ! 

Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does do you 
wrong ? 

Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself ? is it so long ? 
Call fortli tlie holy father. 

Duke. Come, away! 

Oli. Whither, my lord ? Cesario, husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband ! 

Oli. Ay, husband : can he that deny 'i 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah! 

Vio. Xo, my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas, it is tlie baseness of thy fear 
Tliat makes thee strangle thy propriety : 
Fear not, Cesario ; take tliy fortunes up ; 
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
As great as that thou fear'st. 

Enter Priest. 

O, welcome, father! 
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold, thougli lately we intended 
To keeii in darkness what occasion now 
Reveals Ijt-lore 't is ripe, what thou dost know 
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me. 

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Contirm'd liy mutual joinder of your hands, 
Attested by the lioly close of lips, 
Streugthen'd by interchangement of your rings; 
And all tlie ceremony of this compact 
f^eal'd in my function, by my testimony: [grave 
Since when, my watch liath told me, toward my 
I have traveird but two hours. 

Duke. O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be 
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on tliy case? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow. 
That tliine own trip shall be thine bvertlirow? 
Farewell, and take her: but direct thy feet 
Wliere tliou and I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My lord, I do protest — 

OH. O, do not swear! 

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 

Enter Sir Andre-w. 

Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon ! 
Send one presently to Sir Toby. 

Oli. WluU 's the matter':' 

Six And. lie has broke my head across and has 
given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too: for the love 
of God, your help I I had rather than forty pound 
I were at home. 

Oli. Wiio lias done this. Sir Andrew? 

Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we 
took him for a coward, but he 's the very devil incar- 

Dukc. My gentleman, Cesario y [dinate. 

Sir And. "Od "s lifelings, here lie is! You broke 
my liead for nothing; and tliat tliat I did, 1 was set 
on to do "t by Sir Toby. 

Vio. Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt you : 
You drew your sword upon me without cause; 
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you 
have hurt me: I think you set nothing by a bloody 
coxcomb. „ 

Enter Sir Toby and Clo-wn. 

Here comes Sir Toby halting ; you sljall liear more : 
but if he liad not been in drink, he would have tickled 
you othergates than he did. 

Duke. How now, gentleman ! how is 't with youV 

Sir To. That "s all one : has hurt me, and there 's 
the end on 't. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot ? 

Clo. O, he 's drunk. Sir Toby, an hour agone; his 
eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 

Sir To. Then he 's a rogue, and a passy measures 
panyn : I hate a drunken rogue. 



Oli. Away with him I AVho hath made this havoc 
with them V 

Sir And. I '11 help you. Sir Toby, because we '11 
be dressed together. 

Sir To. Will you help? an ass-head and a cox- 
comb and a knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull ! 

Oli. Get him to bed, and let his liurt "be look'il 

to. \_Excunt CloLen, i'ahian, Sir Toby, and Sir 

TT . c. , ^. Andrew. 

Enter Sebastian. 

Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have liurt your kins- 
But, liad it been the brother of my blood, [man; 
I must have done no less with wit and safety. 
You tlirow a strange regard upon me, and by that 
I do perceive it hath offended you : 
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
We made each other but so late ago. [persons, 

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
A natural perspective, that is and is not! 

Scb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio! 
How have the hours rack'd and tortured me, 
Since I have lost thee ! 

Ant. Sebastian are you ? 

Scb. ■ Fear'st thou that, Antonio i* 

Ant. How liave you made division of yourself? 
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
Tlian these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? 

Oli. Most wonderful ! 

Seb. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother; 
Xor can there be tliat deity in my nature, 
Of here and every wliere. I had a sister, 
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd. 
Of charity, what kin are you to me ? 
What countryman? what name ? what parentage? 

Vio. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father ; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too. 
So went he suited to his watery tomb: 
If spirits can assume both form and suit 
You come to fright us. 

Scb. A spirit I am indeed ; 

But am in that dimension grossly clad 
AVhicli from tlie womb I did jiarticipate. 
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, 
And say ' Thrice- welcome, drowned Viola! ' 

Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Scb. And so had mine. [Ijirth 

111). And died that day when Viola from her 
Had number'd thirteen years. 

Scb. O, that record is lively in my soul! 
He Hnished indeed his mortal act 
That day that made my sister tliirteen years. 

I'iii. If nothing lets to make us happy both 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire. 
Do not embrace me till each circuUihtance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump 
Tliat I am Viola : which to confirm, 
I '11 bring you to a captain in this town, 
Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help 
I was preserved to serve this noble count. 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and tliis lord. 

Scb.- [To Olicia] So comes it, lady, you have 
been mistook: 
But nature to her bias drew in that, 
You would liave been contracted to a maid; 
Xor are you tlierein, by my life, deceived, 
You are betrotli'd both to a maid and man. 

Duke. Be not amazed ; right noble is his blood. 
If this be so, as yet tlie glass seems true, 
I shall have share in this most happy wreck, [times 
[To Viola] Boy, thou hast .said to" me a thousand 
Thou never shouldst love woman like tome. 

I'io. And all those sayings will I over-swear; 
And all those swearings keep as true in soul 
As doth that orbed continent the fire 
That severs day from night. 
249 



ACT V. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR,WHAT YOU WILL, scene i. 



Duke. Give me thy hand ; 

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 

Vio. Tlie captain that did bring me first on shore 
Ilath my maid's ;;arnicnts: he upon some action 
Is now in durauci', at Malvolio's suit, 
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

Uli. He shall enlarge liim: fetch Malvolio hither: 
And yet, alas, now I remember me, 
They say, poor gentleman, he 's much distract. 

Re-enter Clown with a letter, and Fabian. 
A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
From my rcnienibrance clearly banish'd his. 
How does he, sirrah ? 

Clo. Trnly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the 
staves's end as well as a man in his case may do: 
has here writ a letter to you ; I should have given 
't you to-day morning, but as a madman's epistles 
are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are 

Oli. biien "t, and read it. [delivered. 

Clo. Look tlien to be well edified when the fool 
delivers the madman. [He ids] 'By the Lord, mad- 

Oli. How now! art thou mad? [am,' — 

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your 
ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must 

Uli. Prithee, read i' thy right wits, [allow Vox. 

Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right 
wits is to read thus : therefore perpeud, my prin- 
cess, and give ear. 

Oli. Reaxl it yoa, sirrah. [To Fabian. 

Fab. [/i('((L-:] ' By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
me, and tiie world shall know it : though you have 
jHit die into darkness and given your drunken cou- 
sin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses 
as well as j'our ladyship. I have your own letter 
that induced me to the semblance I put on ; with 
the which I doubt not but to do myself much right, 
or j'ou much shame. Think of me as you please. 
I leave my duty a little unthought of and speak out 
of my injury. The Madly-used Malvolio.' 

Oli. Did iie write this':' 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

Duke. This savours not much of distraction. 

Oli. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither. 
[Exit Fabian. 
My lord, so jdease you, tliese things furtlier thought 
To think me as well a sister as a wife, [on, 

One day shall crown the alliance on 't, so please you. 
Here at my house and at my proper cost. [offer. 

Dukr. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your 
[To Vmhil] Your master quits you; and for your 

service done him. 
So mucli against the mettle of your sex. 
So far licncatli your soft and tender breeding, 
And sini'i' yon "all'd me master for so long. 
Here is my h:ind : you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 

Oli. A sister ! you are she. 

Re-enter Fabian, with Malvolio. 

Duke. Is this the madman ? 

Oli. Ay, my lord, this same. 

How now, Malvolio ! 

Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong. 

Notorious wrong. 

OH. Havel, Malvolio? no. 

3{al. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that 
Y''ou must not now deny it is your hand : [letter. 
Write from it, if you can, in liand or phrase; 
Or say 't is not yoi\r seal, not your invention : 
You can say none of tliis : well, grant it then 
And tell me, in the modesty nf lionoiu', 
Wliy yon liave given me sni'li ilcar lights of favour, 
Bade iiii' ( oiiic smiling and cniss-gaiter'd to you, 
To put on yellow stockings and to frown 
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people; 
And, actmg this in an obedient hope, 
250 



Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison 'd, 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the lu-iest, 
And made the most notorious geek and gull 
That e'er invention play'd on'? tell me why. 

Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
Tliough, I confess, much like the character: 
But out of question 't is Maria's hand. 
And now I do bethink me, it was she [ing. 

First told me thou wast mad ; then earnest in sniil- 
And in such forms which here were presupposed 
Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content: 
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee; 
But when we know the grounds and authors of it, 
Thou slialt be botli the plaintiff and the judge 
Of thine own cause. 

Fab. Good madam, hear me speak. 

And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come 
Taint tlie condition of this present hour, 
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not, 
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby 
Set this device against Malvolio here, 
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We hail conceived against him : Maria writ 
The letter at Sir Toby's great importance; 
In recompense whereof he liath married her. 
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd. 
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; 
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd 
That have on both sides pass'd. 

Oli. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee! 

Clo. Why, ' some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, "and some liave greatness thrown upon 
them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir 
Toi)as, sir : but that 's all one. ' By the Lord, fool, 
I am not mad.' But do you remember? ' Madam, 
wliy laugh you at such a barren rascal? an you 
smile not, he 's gagged : ' and thus the whirligig of 
time brings in his revenges. 

Mai. I '11 be revenged on the whole pack of you. 

[Exit. 

Oli. He hath been most notoriously abused. 

Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: 
He liath not told us of the captain yet: 
When that is known and golden time convents, 
A solemn condiination shall be made 
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister. 
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come; 
For so you shall be, while you are a man ; 
But when in other habits you are seen, 
Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen. 

[Exeunt all, except Clown. 

Clo. [Sint/x] 

When that I was and a little tiny boy. 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing was but a toy, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came to man's estate, 

With liey, ho, itc. 
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their 

For the rain, &c. [gide, 

But when I came, alas! to wive. 

With hey, ho, &c. 
By swaggering could I never thrive, 

For the rain, &c. 

But when I came unto my beds. 

With hey, ho, &c. 
With toss-pote still had drunken heads, 

For the rain, &c. 

A great while ago the world begun, 

With hey, ho, &c. 
But that 's all one, our play is done. 

And we '11 strive to please you every day. 

[Exit. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



I)EA3IATIS ^ERSOX^. 



Leontes, King of Sicilia. 

Mamillius, young Prince of Sicilia. 

Camillo. ] 

Antig-onus, | 

Cleomenes, f F"""" ^^^'"''^ »*■ S'""'*- 

Dion, J 

Polixenes, King of Bohemia. 

Florizel, Prince of Boliemia. 

Archidamus, a Lord of Bohemia. 

Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita. 

Clown, his son. 

Autolycus, a rogue. 

A Mariner. 

[For an Ana 



A Gaoler. 

Hennione, queen to Leontes. 
Perdita, daughter to Leontes and Hermione. 
Paulina, wife to Antigonus. 
Emilia, a lady attending on Hermione. 
Mopsa, 1 
Dorcas, j 

Other Lords and Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers, and Ser- 
vants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses. 



. Shepherdesses. 



Time, as Chorus. 



SCENE — Skilia, and Bohemia. 

of the Plot of this Play, see Page LI.] 



-A.CT I. 



SCENE l.~ Antechamber in Leontes'' palace. 

Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 

Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo- 
hemia, on tlie like occasion whereon my services 
are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great 
difference betwixt our Unlit^niia anfl your Sicilia. 

Cam. I think, this coiinnj; suuinier. tlie Kiiiy of 
Sicilia means to pay Bolu-uiia the visitation which 
he justly owes him. 

Arch. AVherein our entertainment shall shame us 
we will be justitied in our loves; for indeed — 

Cam. Beseech you, — 

Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my 
knowledge: we cannot with such magniticence — 
in so rare — I know not what to say. We will give 
you sleepy drinks, that your .senses, unintelligent 
of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise 
us, as little accuse us. 

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what 's 
given freely. 

Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding in- 
structs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. 

Cam. Sicilia cannot show liimself over-kind to 
Bohemia. They were trained together in their 
eliildhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then 
such an affection, which cannot choose but liranch 
now. Since their more mature dignities and royal 
necessities made separation nf their society, tlieir 
encounters, tliougli not piTsonal, have been royally 
attorneyed wifli interchange ot gifts, letters, loving 
embassies: that thry lia\(^ seemed to be together, 
tliough absent, sliook hands, as over a vast, and 
embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed 
W'inds. The heavens continue their loves! 

^4rc/i. I think there is not in the world either 
malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeak- 
able comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is 
a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came 
into my note. 

Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of 
him : it is a gallant child ; one that indeed physics 
the subject, makes old hearts fresh : they that went 
on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to 
see him a man. 



Arch. Would they else he content to die ? 

Cam. Yes: if there were no other excuse why 
they s]ioul<l desire to live. 

Arch. If tlie king had no son, they would desire 
to live on crutches till he had one. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A room of state in the same. 

Enter Leontes, Hermione, Mamillius, Po- 
lixenes, Camillo, and Attendants. 

Pol. Nine clianges of the watery star hath been 
The shepherd's note since we have left our throne 
Without a burthen : time as long again 
Would be tlird n]i, my linitlier, with our thanks; 
And yet we should, for perpetuity, 
Go hence in debt : and tlierefore! like a cipher, 
Yet standing in rich place, I multii)ly 
AVith one ' We thank you ' many thousands moe 
That go before it. 

Leon. Stay your thanks awhile ; 

And pay them when youpart. 

Pol. Sir, that 's to-morrow. 

I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance 
Or breed upon our absence; that may blow 
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 
' This is put forth too truly : ' besides, I have stay'd 
To tire your royalty. 

Leon. ' We are tougher, brother, 

Than you can put us to "t. 

Pol. No longer stay. 

Jjeon. One seven-night longer. 

Pol. . V'ery sootir, to-morrow. 

Leon. We'll part the time between 's then ; and 
in that 
I '11 no gainsaying. 

Pol. Press me not, beseech you.. so. 

There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the 

world. 
So soon as yours could win me : so it should now, 
Were there necessity in your request, although 
'T were needful I denied it. My affairs 
Do even drag me homeward: wliich to hinder 
Were in your love a whiii to me; my stay 
To you a charge and trouble: to save both, 
Farewell, our brother. 

251 



ACT I. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE II. 



Leon. Tongue-tied our queen ? speak you. 

Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace 
until [sir, 

You had (h-awn oaths from liim not to stay. You, 
Cliarge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure 
All in Bohemia 's well; this satisfaction 
The by-gone day proclaim VI: say this to him. 
He 's beat from his best ward. 

Leon. Well said, Herniione. 

Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong : 
But let him .say so then, and let him go ; 
But let him swear so, and lie shall not stay. 
We '11 thwacli him hence with distaffs. 
Yet of your royal presence I '11 adventure 
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
You take my lord, I '11 give liim my commission 
To let him there a month behind the gest 
Prefl,\'il for 's parting : yet, good deed, Leoutes, 
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind 
AVhat lady-she her lord. You '11 stay V 

Pol. No, madam. 

Her. Nay, but you will V 

Pol. I may not, verily. 

Her. Verily! 
You put me off with limber vows; but I, [oaths, 
Though you woukl seek to unsphere the stars with 
Should yet say, ' .Sir, no going.' . Verily, 
You shall not go : a lady's ' Verily ' 's 
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet ? 
Force me to lieep you as a prisoner, 
Not like a guest ; so you shall pay your fees [you ? 
When you depart, and save your tlianks. How say 
My prisoner V or my guest ? by your dread ' Verily,' 
One of them you sliall be. 

Pol. Your guest, then, madam : 

To be your prisoner sliould import offending; 
Wiiich is for me less easy to commit 
Than you to punish. 

Her. Not your gaoler, then, 

But your kind hostess. Come, I '11 question you 
Of my lord's tricks and yours wjien you were boys : 
You were pretty lordings then V 

Pol. We were, fair queen. 

Two lads that thouglit there was no more behind 
But such a day to-morrow as to-day. 
And to be boy eternal. 

Her. Was not my lord 

Tlie verier wag o' the two V [the sun, 

Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs tliat did frisk i' 
And bleat tlie one at tile other: what we changed 
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not 
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor (U'eaniM 
Tiiat any did. Had we pursued tliat life, 
And our weak spirits ne'er Ijcen higlier rear'd 
With stronger blood, wesliould haveauswer'd heaven 
Boldly ' not guilty; ' the iuiposition clear 'd 
Hereditary ours. 

Her. By this we gather 

You have tripp'd since. 

Pol. O my most sacred lady ! 

Temptations liave since then been born to "s; for 
In those unfledged days was my wife a girl; 
Your precious self had then uot cross'dthe eyes 
Of my young play-fellow. 

Her. Grace to boot ! 

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say 
Your queen and I are devils : yet go on ; 
The offences we have made you do we "11 answer, 
If you first sinn'd with us and that with us 
You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not 
With any but with us. 

Leon. Is he won yet 'i 

Her. He '11 stay, my lord. 

Leon. At my request he would not. 

Hermione, my dearest, tliou never spokest 
To better purpose. 

Her. Never ? 

252 



Leon. Never, but once. 

Her. What ! have I twice said well ? when was 't 
before ? 
I prithee tell me ; cram 's with praise and make 's 
As fat as tame things : one good deed dying tongue- 
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon tliat. [less 
(3ur praises are our wages : you may ride 's 
A\'ith one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere 
With spur we lieat an acre. But to the goal : 
My last good deed was to entreat liis stay: 
Wliat was my ttrst y it has an elder sister. 
Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace! 
But once before I spoke to tlie purpose : wlien ? 
Nay, let me have 't; I long. 

Leon. Why, that Vi'as when 

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to 

deatli. 
Ere I could make thee open thy wliite hand 
And clap thyself my love : then didst thou utter 
' I am yours forever.' 

Her. 'T is grace indeed. 

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the ptupose twice : 
The one for ever earn'd a royal liusband; 
The other for some while a friend. 

Leon. {Asidel Too hot, too hot! 

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. 
I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances; 
But not for joy ; not joy. This entertainment 
May a free face put on, derive a liberty 
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bnsom, 
And well become tlie ancnt : 'l may, I griint ; 
But to be paddling palms and pincliing lingers, 
As now they arc, and making practised smiles. 
As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere 
The niort o' the <l( ir; (_), that is entertainment 
My bosom likes not, nor my brows! iSIamillius, 
Art tliou my boy 'i 

Mam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. I' fecks ! 

Why, that 's my bawcock. What, hast snmtch'd 

thy nose ? 
They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, 
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: 
And yet tlie steer, tlie heifer and tlie calf 
Are all call'd neat. — Still virginalling 
Upon liis palm ! — How now, you wanton calf! 
Art thou my calf V 

Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 

Leon. Tliou want'st a rough pash and the shoots 
that I liave. 
To be full like me : yet they say we arS 
Almost as like as eggs; wniiien say .so. 
That will sii\ aii\ thing: Imt were they false 
As o'er-dyed blaeks, as wind, as waters, false 
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes 
No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true 
To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, 
Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain ! 
Most dear'.st! my coUop! Can thy dam? — niay't 
Affection! thy intention stabs the centre: [lie? — 
Thou dost make iiossible things not so held. 
Coiniiinuiciitcst with (hcanis; — how can this be? — 
With what 's unreal thou coactive art. 
And fclliiw'st iiiithiiig: then 't is very credent 
Thou uiayst cn-ji>iii with something; and thou dost, 
And that beyond commission, and I find it. 
And that to the infection of my brains 
And liardening of my brows. 

Pol. What means Sieilia ? 

Her. He something seems unsettled. 

Pol. How, my lord I 

What cheer? how is 't with you, best brother? 

Her. You look 

As if you held a brow of much distraction : 
Are you moved, my lord ? 

Leon. No, in good earnest. 

How sometimes nature will betray Us folly. 



ACT I. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE II. 



Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
To liarder bosoms! Looking on tlie lines 
Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil 
Tweiity-tliree j^ears, and saw myself unlireechM, 
In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled, 
Lest it sliould bite its master, and so prove, 
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous : 
How like. niPtliought, I then was to this kernel. 
This squasl], tliis gentleman* Mine lionest friend, 
AVill you take eggs for nioiiey V 

Mam. ]S'o. my lord, I "11 light. [Ijrother, 

Leon. You will ! why, happy man be "s dole I My 
Are you so fond of your young prince as we 
Do seem to be of ours V 

Pol. If a.t home, sir. 

He 's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, 
Now my sworn friend and tlien mine enemy, 
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : 
He makes a July's day short as December, 
And witli his varying childness cures in me 
Thoughts that would thick my blood. 

Leon. So stands this squire 

Ofticed with me : we two wnll walk, my lord, 
And leave you to your graver steps. Hermionc, 
How thou lovest us, sliow in our brother's welcome ; 
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap : 
Kext to thyself and my young rover, he 's 
Apparent to my heart. 

Her. If you would seek us, 

We are yours i' the garden : sliall "s attend you there? 

Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you "11 be 
found, 
Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling now, 
Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
Go to, go to I 

How slie liolds up the neb, the bill to him I 
And arms her witli tlie boldness of a wife 
To her allowing husband ! 

[Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, anel Attendants. 
Gone already! 
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er liead and ears a fork'd 
Go, play, boy, play : thy mother plays, and I [one ! 
Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue 
AVill hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamour 
Will be my knell. Go, play, l)oy, play. There have 
Or 1 am much deceived, cuckolds ere now ; [Ijeen, 
And many a man tliere is, even at this present, 
Now wliiie I speak this, liolds Ins wife by tlie arm, 
That little tliinks she has been sluiced' in 's absence 
And his pond tish'd by his next neiglibor, by 
Sir Smilp, his neighbour : nay, tliere 's comfort in 't 
AVliiles other men have gates "aiid t liose gates open'd, 
As mine, against their will. Should all despair 
That have revolted wives, the teutli of mankind 
Would hang themselves. Piiysic for 't there is none ; 
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
AVhere 'tis predominant ; and "t is powerful, think it, 
From east, west, north and south : be it concluded, 
Ko barricado for a belly ; know "t ; 
It will let in and out the enemy 
AVith bag and baggage : many "thousand on 's 
Have tlie disease, and feel "t not. How now, boy ! 

3Iei:m. I am like you, tliey say. 

Leon. Why, that 's some comfort. 

What, Camillo there':* 

Cam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou 'rt an honest 
man. [Exit 2Iamillius. 

Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 

Ceun. You had much ado to make his anchor hold : 
When you caSt out, it still came home. 

Leon. Didst note it ? 

Cam. He would not stay at j-our petitions; made;. 
His business more material. 

Leon. Didst perceive it '? 

[.'Is(i7(] They 're here with me already, wliispering. 
' Sicilia is a so-forth : ' 't is far gone, " [rounding 



When I shall gust it last. How came 't, Camillo, 
That he did stay V 

Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 

Leon. At the queen's be 't : ' good ' should be per- 
But, so it is, it is not. AV'as this taken [tinent; 
By any understanding pate but thine':* 
For thy conceit is soaking, will di'aw in 
More than the common blocks: not noted, is 't, 
But of the finer natures ':' by some severals 
Of head-piece extraordinary '^ lower messes 
Perchance are to this business purblind y -say. 

Cam. Business, my lord! I think most understand 
Bohemia stays here longer. 

Leon. Ha ! 

Cam. Stays here longer. 

Leon. Ay, but why? 

Cetm. To satisfy 5'our highness and the entreaties 
Of our most gracious mistress. 

Leon. Satisfy! 

The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy! 
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee. 'Caniil'o, 
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, tliou 
Hast cleansed my bosom. I from thee departed 
Thy penitent reform 'd : but we have beeu 
Deceived in thy integrity, deceived 
In that which seems so. 

Ceon. Be it forbid, my lord ! 

Leon. To bide upon 't, thou art not honest, or, 
If thou inclinest tliat way, thoti art a coward. 
Which boxes honesty behind, restraining 
From course required ; or else thou must lie counted 
A servant grafted in my serious trust 
And therein negligent ; or else a fool 
That seest a game play 'd home, the rich stake drawn. 
And takest it all for jest. 

Cum. My gracious lord, 

I may be negligent, foolish and fearful; 
In every one of these no man is free. 
But tliat his negligence, his folly, fear, 
Among the intiiiite doings of the world. 
Sometime puts forth. In your affaire, my lord, 
If ever I were wilful-negligent. 
It was my folly; if industrionsly 
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
Xot weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
Whereof the execution did cry out 
Against the non-]ierformance", 't was a fear 
Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord. 
Are such allow "d infirmities that houes"ty 
Is never free of. But, beseech j'our grace. 
Be plainer witli me; let me know my trespass 
By its own visage : if I then deny it, 
'T is none of mine. 

Leon. Ha' not j'ou seen, Camillo, — 

But that 's past donbt, you have, or your eye-glass 
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn, — or heard, — 
For to a vision so apparent rumour 
Cannot be mute, — or thought, — for cogitation 
Besides not in that man that does not tliink, — 
My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess, 
Or else be impudently negative. 
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say 
My wife 's a hobln^-horse, deserves a name 
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to 
Before her troth-plight : say 't and justify 't. 

Cam. I would not be a stander-by to hear 
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
My present vengeance taken : 'slirew my heart. 
You never spoke what did become you less 
Than this; which to reiterate were sin 
As deep as that, though true. 

Leon. Is whispering nothing ? 

Is leaning cheek to cheek ? is meeting noses ? 
Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career 
Of laughing with a sigh '? — a note infallible 
2o3 



ACT I. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE II. 



Of breaking honesty — horsing foot on foot ? 
Sliulking in corners V wisliing clocks more swift? 
Hours, minutes V noon, nii<lnight '? and all eyes 
Blind with the pin and wpIi but theirs, theirs only, 
That would unseen be wicl;pd ? is this nothing V 
AVhy, then the world and all that "s in 't is nothing ; 
The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ; 
My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these noth- 
If this be nothing. [iiigs, 

Cam. Good my lord, be cured 

Of this diseased opinion, and betimes; 
For 't is most dangerous. 
Leon. Say it be, 't is true. 

Cam. No, no, my lord. 

icon. It is; yon lie, you lie: 

I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee, 
Proiiounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, 
Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
Canst with thiiieeyes at once see good and evil, 
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver 
Infected as her life, she would not live 
The running of one glass. 

Cum. Who does infect her ? 

icon. Why, he that wears her like her medal. 
About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I [iianging 

Had servants true aljout me, tliat bare eyes 
To see alike mine honour as their profits. 
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that 
Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou. 
His cup-bearer, — wHiom I from meaner form 
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship, who mayst see 
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven. 
How I am galled, — mightst bespice a cup. 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
Which draught to me were cordial. 

Cam. 'Sir, my lord, 

I could do this, and that with no rash potion. 
But with a lingering dram that should not work 
Maliciously lil^e poison : but I cannot 
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
So sovereignly being honourable. 
I have loved thee,— 

Leon. Make that thy question, and go rot ! 

Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled. 
To appoint myself in tliis vexation, sully 
Tlie purity and whiteness of my sheets. 
Which to preserve is sleep, whfcli being spotted 
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps. 
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son. 
Who I do tliink is mine and love as mine, 
Without ripe moving to 't ? AV^ould I do this ? 
Could man so blench':' 

Cam. I must believe you, sir : 

I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for "t : 
Provided that, when he 's removed, your highness 
Will take again your queen as yours at first. 
Even for your son's sake ; and thereby for sealing 
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms 
Known and allied to yours. 

Leon. Thou dost advise me 

Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
I '11 give no blemish to her honour, none. 

Cam. My lord. 
Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia 
And with your ([ueen. I am his cupbearer: 
If from me he have wholesome beverage. 
Account me not your servant. 

Leon. This is all ; 

Do 't and thou hast the one half of my heart ; 
Do 't not, thou split'st thine own. 

Cam. I'll do 't, my lord. 

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised 
me. [Exit. 

Cam. O miserable lady ! But, for me, 
AVhat case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner 
Of good Polixeues ; and my ground to do 't 
254 



Is the obedience to a master, one 
Who in rebellion with himself will have 
All that are his so too. To do this deed, 
Prouidtiiiii follows. If I could find example 
Of thfuisaiiils that had struck anointed kings 
And tliiurisird after, I 'Id not do 't; but since 
Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one, 
Let villany itself forswear 't. I must 
Forsake the court : to do 't, or no, is certain 
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now ! 
Here comes Bohemia. 

lie-enter Polixenes. 

Pol. This is strange: methinks 

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak V 
Good day, Camillo. 

Cam. Hail, most royal sir! 

Pol. What is the news i' the court ? 

Cam. None rare, my lord. 

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance 
As he had lost some province and a region 
Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him 
With customary compliment; when he, 
AVafting his eyes to the contrary and falling j 

A lip of much" contempt , speeds from me and 
So leaves me to consider what is breeding 
That changeth thus his manners. 

Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 

Pol. How! dare not! do not. Do you know, and 
dare not V 
Be intelligent to me : 't is thereabouts : 
For, to yourself, what you do know, j'ou must. 
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
Your changed comjilexions are to me a mirror 
Which shows me mine clianged too, for I must be- 
A party in this alteration, finding 
IMvself thus altered with "t. 

'C(tm. . There is a sickness 

Which puts some of us in distemper, but 
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught 
Of you that yet are well. 

I'ol. How ! caught of me ! 

Make me not sighted like the basilisk: [te:^ 

I have looked on thousands, who have sped the bet ' 
By my regard, but kiir<l none so. Camillo, — - 
As you are certainly a gentleman thereto. 
Clerk-like experienced, whicli no less adorns 
Our gentry than our parents" noble names. 
In wliose .success we are gentle, — I beseech you, 
If you know ought whicli does behove my know! 
Thereof to be inform 'd, imprison 't not [edg 

In ignorant concealment. 
Cam. I may not answer. 

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! 
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
I ciiiijure thee, by all the parts of man 
Which liiinour does acknowledge, whereof the least 
Is not tliis suit of mine, that tliou declare 
What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; 
Which way to be prevented, if to be ; 
If not, how best to bear it. 

Cam. Sir, I will tell you ; 

Since I am charged in honour and by liim [sel, 
Tliat I think honourable: thciclVire iiiark mycoun- 
AVhich must be even as swiftly follow'd as 
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me 
Crv lost, and so good night ! 
Pol. On, good Camillo. ^ 

Cum. I am appointed him to murder you. 
Pol. By whom, Camillo ? 
Cam. By the king. 

, Pol. For what? 

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he 
As he had seen 't or beeii an instrument [swears. 
To vice you to 't, that you have touched his queen 
Forbiddeuly. 



ACT II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE I. 



Pol. O, then my best blood turn 

To an infected jelly and my name 
Be yoked with his that did" betray the Best! 
Turn then my freshest reputation to 
A savour that may strike tlie dullest nostril 
Wliere I arrive, and my approacli be shunn'd, 
Xay, hated too, worse tlian the great 'st infection 
That e'er was heard or read ! 

C'o»i. Swear his thought over 

By each particular star in heaven and 
By all their intliiences, you may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon 
As or by oath remove or counsel shake 
Tlie fabric of liis folly, whose foundation 
Is piled upon his faitii and will continue 
Tlie standing of his body. 

Pol. How should this grow ? 

Cam. I know not; but I am sure 't is safer to 
Avoid what 's grown than question how 't is born. 
If tluTpfore you dare trust my lionesty, 
That lies enclosed in this truidv whicli you 
SIiull bear along impawn'd, away to-niglit! 
Your followers I will wldsper to the business, 
And will l)y twos and threes at several posterns 
Clear them o' the city. For myself, I '11 put 
My fortunes to your service, which are here 



By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ; 

For, by the honour of my parents, I 

Have utter'd truth : which if you seek to prove, 

I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer 

Tlian one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, 

His execution sworn. [thereon 

Pol. I do believe thee : 

I saw his heart in 's face. Gi\e me thy hand : 
Be pilot to me and thy places shall 
Still neighbour mine." My ships are ready and 
jMy people did expect my hence departure 
Two days ago. Tliis jealousy 
Is for a precious creature : as she 's rare. 
Must it be great, and as his person 's mighty, 
Must it lie violent, and as he does conceive 
He is dislionour'd by a man wliicli ever 
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
In tliat be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me : 
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
Of his ill-ta"en suspicion ! Come, Camillo ; 
I will respect thee as a father if 
Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid. 

Cam. It is in mine authority to command 
The keys of all the posterns: please your Iiighness 
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. [Exeunt. 



-A.CT II. 



SCENE I. — A room in Lfontcs'' palace. 

Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. 

Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, 
'T is past enduring. 

First Ladij. Come, my gracious lord, 

Shall I be your playfellow ? 

Mam. Xo, I '11 none of you. 

First Lad;/. Why, my sweet lord V 

Mam. You 'II kiss me hard and speak to me as if 
I were a baby still. I love you better. 

«SVc. Lady. And why so, my lord ? 

M(im. ' Xot for because 

Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, 
Become some women best, so that there be not 
Too nuich hair there, but in a semicircle, 
Or a half-moon made with a pen. 

.bVc. Lady. \Vho taught you thisV 

Mam. I learnt it out of women's faces. Pray now 
What colour are your eyebrows V 

First Lady. ' Blue, my lord. 

Mam. Nay, that 's a mock : I have seen a lady's 
nose 
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. 

First Lady. Hark ye ; 

Tlie queen your mother rounds apace: we shall 
Present our services to a fine new prince 
One of these days ; and then you 'Id wanton with us. 
If we would have you. 

Sec. Lady. She is spread of late 

Into a goodly bulk : good time encounter her ! 

Ifer. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, 
I am for you again : pray you. sit by us, [sir, now 
And tell 's a tale. 

Mam. Merry or sad shall 't be ? 

Her. As merry as you will. 

Mam. A sad tale 's best for winter : I have one 
Of sprites and goblins.^ 

Her. Let 's have that, good sir. 

Coniejjn, sit down : come on. and do your best 
To mght me with your sprites; you're powerful 

Mnm. There was a man — [at it. 

Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. 

Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard : I will tell it softly ; 
Youd crickets shall not hear it. 



Her. 
And give 't me in mine ear. 



Come on, then. 



Enter Leontes, with Antigonus, Lords, anel 
others. 

Leon. Was he met there? his train? Camillo 
with liini ? [never 

-First Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them ; 
Saw I men scour so on their way : I e3'ed them 
Even to their ships. 

Leon. How blest am I 

In my just censure, in my true ojiinion ! 
Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed 
In being so lilest! There may be in the cup 
A spider steep'd, and one may diiuk, dei)art. 
And yet partake no venom, for Ins knowledge 
Is not infected : but if one present 
The abhorr"d ingredient to his eye, make known 
How he hath drunk, lie cracks liis gorge, his sides, 
^Vith violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the 
Camillo was his lielp in this, his pander: [spider. 
There is a plot against my life, my crown; 
All 's true that is mistrusted: that false villain 
Whom I employ "d was pre-employ"d by him: 
He has discover'd my design, and I 
Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick 
For them to play at wiH. " How came the posterns 
So easily open ? 

First 'Lord. By his great authority; 
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so 
On your command. 

Leon. I know 't too well. 

Gi\e me the boy : I am glad you did not nurse him : 
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
Have too much blood in liim. 

Her. What is this? sport? 

Leon. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come 
about her; 
Away with him! and let her sport herself 
With that she 's big with ; for 't is Poli.xenes 
lias made thee swell thus. 

Her. But I "Id .say he had not. 

And I '11 be sworn yon would believe my saying, 
Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 

Leon. You, my lords, 

255 



ACT II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE I. 



Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 

To say ' she is a goodly lady,' and 

Tlie justice of your hearts will thereto add 

' 'T is pity she 's not honest, honourable : ' 

Praise lier but for tliis her without-door form, 

Wliicli xin my faitli deserves high speecli, and 

straiglit 
The sliru.n-,"the hum or ha, these petty brands 
That caluuiiiy dotli use — O, I am out — 
Tliat mercy does, for calumny will sear 
Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's, 
When you liave said ' she 's goodly,' come between 
Ere you can say ' slie 's lionest : " but be 't known. 
From liim tliat has most cause to grieve it should be, 
She 's an adulteress. 

Her. Should a villain say so, 

The most replenish'd villain in the world, 
He were as much more villain: you, my lord, 
Do but mistake. 

Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 

Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing! 
Which I '11 not call a creature of thy place, 
Lest barljarisiii, niakiny- me the precedent, 
Sliould a lii^e langua,y(' use to all degrees 
And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
Betwixt tlie prince and beggar: I have said 
Slie 's an adulteress; 1 have said with wliom: 
More, slie 's a traitor and Camillo is 
A federary witli lier, and one that knows 
What she sliould slianie to know herself 
But with lier most vile principal, that she 's 
A bed-swer\ er, even as bad as those 
That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy 
To this their late escape. 

Her. No, by my life, 

Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, 
■\Vhen you shall come to clearer knowledge, tiuit 
You thus have publish'd me ! Gentle my lord, 
You scarce can riglit me throughly then to say 
You did mistake. 

Leon. No; if I mistake 

In those foundations which I build upon. 
The centre is not tug enough to bear 
A school-boy's top. Away with her! to prison ! 
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty 
But that he speaks. 

Her. There 's some ill planet reigns : 

I must be patient till tlie heavens look 
With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, 
I am not prone to weeping, iis our sex 
Commonly are; the wiint ni' wliirli vain dew 
Perchance shall ih'y ymii' (lities: but I have 
That hoiiounilile grief hnlged here which burns 
Worse tluin tears dniwii : beseech you all, my lords, 
With tliduglils so cpialilied as your charities 
Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so 
The king's will be perform 'dl 

Leon. Shall I be heard ? 

Her. Who is 't that goes with me 'i Beseech your 
highness, 
My wouien may be with me ; for you see 
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; 
There is no cause: when you shall know your mis- 
tress 
Has deserved prison, then abovmd in tears 
As I come out : this action I now.go on 
Is fur my better grace. Adieu, my lord : 
I never wisli'd to see you sorry; now 
1 trust I shall. ISIy wmiien, come; you have leave. 

Leon. Go, do our bidding; hence! 

\_Exit Queen, yuarded; trilh Ladies. 

First Lord. Beseecli your higliness, call tlie queen 
again. 

Ant. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice 
Prove violence ; in tlie which three great ones suffer. 
Yourself, your queen, your son. 

First Lord. For her, my lord, 

2o6 



I dare my life lay down and will do 't, sir. 
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
I' tlie eyes of heaven and to you; I mean, 
In this which you accuse her. 

jlnt. If it lu'ove 

She 's otherwise, I '11 keep my stables where 
I lodge my wife ; I '11 go in couples with her; 
Tlian wlien I feel and see her no farther trust her; 
For every inch of woman in the world, 
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false. 
If she be. 

Leon. Hold your peaces. 

First Lord. Good my lord,^ 

Ant. It is for j'ou we speak, not for ourselves: 
You are abused and by some putter-on 
Tliat will be damn'd for 't ; would I knew the villain, 
I would laiid-dainn him. Be she honiuir-liaw'd, 
I have tliri'c dnugliters; the eldest is eleven; 
The second and tlie third, nine, and some hve; 
If I his ]irove true, they '11 pay for 't : by mine honour, 
I '11 geld "em all ; fourteen they shall not see, 
To bring false generations: they are co-heirs; 
And I had rather glib myself than they 
Should not produce fair issue. 

Leon. Cease; no more. 

You smell this business with a sense as cold 
As is a dead man's nose: but I do see "t and feel 't, 
As you feel doing thus; and see withal 
The instruments that feel. 

Ant. If it be so, 

We need no grave to bury honesty : 
There 's not a grain of it the face to sweeten 
Of the whole dungy earth. 

Leon. What! lack I credit ? 

Fir.<<t Lord. I had rather you did lack tlian I, my 
lord. 
Upon this ground ; and more it would content me 
To have her honour true than your susjiicion. 
Be blamed for 't how you might. 

Leon. AVhy, wliat need we 

Commune witli you of this, but rather follow 
Our forcf.'ful instigation':' Our prerogative 
Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness 
Imparts this; wliich if you, or stupitied 
Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not 
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves 
We need no more of your advice: the matter. 
The loss, the gain, the ordering on 't, is all 
Properly ours. 

Ant. And I wish, my liege, 

You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
Witlmut more overture. 

Leon. How cnuld that be 'i* 

Either thou art most ignorant by age, 
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo "s flight, 
Added to their familiarity. 
Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture. 
That lack'd siglit only, nought for apjirobation 
But only seeing, all otlier cirrnmstances 
Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding: 
Yet, for a greater contirmation. 
For in an act of this iiiiportaiice 'twere 
Most jiiteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post 
To sacred Dcljihos. to Apollo's temple, 
Cleomeiies and Dion, whom you know 
Of stuff 'd sullirieiicy : now from the oracle 
They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had, 
Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well V 

Fir.'it Lord. Well done, my lord. 

Leon. Though I am satisfied and need no more 
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
Give rest to the minds of others, such us he*- — ■ 
Whose ignonmt credulity will not 
Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good 
From our free person she should be coniincd, 
Lest that tlie treachery of the two lied hence 
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us ; 



ACT II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE III. 



We are to speak in public ; for this business 
Will raise us all. 

Ant. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it, 
If the good trutli were known. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A prison. 

Enter Paulina, a Gentleman, and Attendants. 

Paul. Tlie keeper of the prison, call to him ; 
Let him liave knowledge who I am. [Exit Oent. 

Good lady, 
No court in Europe is too good for thee ; 
What dost thou then in prison ? 

Ee-enter Gentleman, idth the Gaoler. 

Now, good sir, 
You know me, do you not ? 

Gaol. For a worthy lady 

And one whom much I lionour. 

Paul. Pray you then, 

Conduct me to the queen. 

Gaol. I may not, madam: 

To the contrary I have express commandment. 

Patd. Here 's ado, 
To lock up honesty and honour from 
The access of gentle visitors ! Is 't lawful, pray you, 
To see her women V any of them V Emilia ? 

Gaol. So i)lease you, madam, 
To ]>ut apart tliese' your attendants, I 
Shall bring Emilia forth. 

Paul. I pray now, call her. 

Withdraw yourselves. 

[Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants. 

Gaol. And, madam, 

I must be present at your conference. 

Paul. Well, be 't so, prithee. [Exit Gaoler. 

Here 's such ado to make no stain a stain 
As passes colouring. 

Re-enter Gaoler, loith Emilia. 
Dear gentlewoman, 
How fares our gracious lady V 

Emil. As well as one so great and so forlorn 
May hold together: on her frights and griefs. 
Which never tender lady hath borne greater. 
She is something before her time delivered. 

Paul. A boy i* 

Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe. 

Lusty and like to live: tlie queen receives 
Much comfort in 't ; says ' My poor prisojier, 
I am imioceut as you.' 

Paul. I dare be sworn : [them ! 

These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king, beshrew 
He must be told on 't, and he shall: the office 
Becomes a woman best ; 1 "11 take 't ujion me : 
If I prove honey-mouth "d, let my tongue blister 
And never to my red-look'd anger be 
The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, 
Commend my best obedience'to the (pieen: 
If she dares trust me with her little liabe, 
I '11 show 't the king and undertake to be 
Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know 
How he may soften at the sight o' the child : 
The siience often of pure innocence 
Persuades when speaking fails. 

Emil. Most worthy madam. 

Your honour and your goodness is so evident 
That your free undertaking cannot miss 
A thriving issue: there is no lady living 
So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship 
To visit the next room, I "11 presently 
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; 
Who but to-day hammer'd of this design 
But durst not tempt a minister of honour. 
Lest she should be denied. 

Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 

I '11 use that tongue I have : if wit flow from 't 
17 



As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted 
I shall do good. 

Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 

I '11 to the queen: please you , come something nearer. 

Gaol. Madam, if "t please the queen to send the 
I know not what I shall incur to pass it, [babe. 
Having no warrant. 

Paul. You need not fear it, sir : 

This child was prisoner to the womb and is 
By law and process of great nature thence 
Freed and enfranchised, not a party to 
The anger of the king nor guilty of. 
If any be, the trespass of the queen. 

Gaol. 1 do believe it. 

Paul. Do not you fear: upon mine honour, I 
Will stand betwixt you and danger. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A room in Leontes^ pcdace. 

Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, oiuZ 
Servants. 

Leon. Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness 
To bear the matter thus; niere weakness. If 
The cause were not in being, — part o' the cause, 
She tlie adulteress; for the harlot king 
Is (iiiitf li(',\(i}i(i mine arm, out of the blank 
Ami lev( 1 <if my brain, plot-proof; but she 
I can hook to me: say that slie were gone, 
(iiven to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
Might come to me again. Who "s there ? 

First i>trv. My lord ? 

Leon. How does the boy ? 

First Serf. -He took good rest to-night; 
'T is hoped his sickness is discharged. 

Leon. To see his nobleness! 
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, 
He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply. 
Fasten 'd and tixM the shame on 't in-himself. 
Threw off his spirit, his ai)petite, his sleep, 
And dowiu'ight languished. Leave me solely: go. 
See how he fares. [ExitServ.] Fie, tie! no thought of 
The very thought of my revenges that way [him : 
Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty. 
And in his parties, his alliance; let him be 
Until a time may serve: for lu'esent vengeance. 
Take it on lier. Camillo and Polixenes 
Laugh at me, make tlieir pastime at my sorrow: 
They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor 
Shall she within my power. 

Enter Paulina, with a child. 

First Lord. You must not enter. 

Pf«(/.' Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to 
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, [me : 
Than the queen's life y a gracious Limoceut soul, 
More free than he is jealous. 

Ant. That 's enough. 

ISec. Serv. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; 
None should come at him. [connuanded 

Paid. Not so hot, good sir: 

I come to bring him sleep. 'T is such as you, 
Tliat creep like shadows by him and do sigh 
At each his neediest heavings, such as you 
Nourish the cause of his awaking : I 
Do come with words as medicinal as true. 
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour 
That presses him from sleep. 

Leon. What noise there, ho ? 

Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference 
About some gossips for your highness. 

Leon. How! 

Away with that audacious lady ! Antigonus, 
I cliarged thee that she should not come about me: 
I knew she would. 

Ant. I told her so, my lord. 

On your displeasure's peril and on mine. 
She should not visit you. 

257 



ACT II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCEI^E III. 



Leon. What, canst not rule her? 

Paul. From all dishonesty he can : in this, 
Unless he take the course that you have done, 
Commit me for committing honour, trust it, 
He shall not rule me. 

Ant. La you now, you hear: 

When she will take the rein I let her run ; 
But she '11 not stumble. 

Paul. Good my liege, I come; 

And I beseech you, hear me, who profess 
Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 
Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare 
Less appear so in comforting your evils. 
Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come 
From your good queen. 

Leon. Good queen ! 

Paul. Good queen, my lord. 

Good queen ; I say good queen ; 
And would by combat make her good, so were I 
A man, the worst about you. 

Leon. Force her hence. 

Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of liis eyes 
First hand me: on mine own accord I '11 off; 
But first I '11 do my errand. The good queen. 
For she is good, hath brouglit you forth a daughter ; 
Here 't is ;''commends it to your blessings. 

[Laying down the cliikl. 

Leon. Out ! 

A mankind witch ! Hence with her, out o' door: 
A most intelligencing bawd! 

Paul. Not so : 

I am as ignorant in that as you 
In so entitling me, and no less honest 
Than you are mad ; which is enough, I '11 warrant. 
As this world goes, to pass for honest. 

Leon. Traitors ! 

■ Will you not push her out ? Give her the bastard. 
Tliou dotard!' thou art woman-tired, unroosted 
By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard ; 
Take 't up, I say ; give 't to thy crone. 

Paul. For ever 

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 
Takest up the princess by that forced baseness • 
Which he has put upon 't ! 

Leon. He dreads his wife. 

Paul. So I would you did ; then 't were past all 
You 'Id call your children yours. [doubt 

Leon. A nest of traitors ! 

Ant. I am none, by this good light. 

Paul. Nor I, nor any 

But one that 's here, and that 's himself, for he 
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, 
His hopeful son's, liis babe's, betrays to slander, 
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will 
For, as the case now stands, it is a curse [not — 
He canuot be compell'd to 't — once remove 
The root of his opinion, which is rotten 
As ever oak or stone was sound. 

Leon. A callat 

Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her hus- 
band 
And now baits me ! This brat is none of mine ; 
It is the issue of Polixenes : 
Hence with it, and together with the dam 
Commit them to the tire ! 

Paul. It is yours ; 

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge. 
So like you, 't is the worse. Behold, my lords. 
Although the print be little, the whole matter 
And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip, 
Tlie ti'ick of 's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley. 
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek. 
His smiles, 

Tlie vesry mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: 
And thou, good goddess Nature, wliich hast made it 
So like to liim that got it, if. thou liast 
Tlie ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
.^8 



No yellow in 't, lest she suspect, as he does, 
Her children not her husband's! 

Leon. A gross hag ! 

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be haug'd, 
That wilt not stay her tongue. 

^hif. Hang all the husbands 

That cannot do that feat, you '11 leave yourself 
Hardly one subject. 

Leon. Once more, take her hence. . 

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 
Can do no more. 

Leon. I '11 ha' thee burnt. 

Peiul. I care not : 

It is an heretic that makes the fire, 
Not she which burns in 't. I '11 not call you tyrant ; 
But this most cruel usage of your queen. 
Not able to produce more accusation [vours 

Tluin your own weak-hinged fancy, something sa- 
Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, 
Yea, scandalous to the world. 

Leon. On your allegiance, 

Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, 
Where were her life '? she durst not call me so, 
If she did know me one. Away with her ! 

Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I '11 be gone. 
Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send 

her 
A better guiding spirit ! What needs these hands V 
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, 
Will never do him good, not one of you. 
So, so: farewell; we are gone. [Exit. 

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. 
My child '? away with 't ! Even tliou, that bust 
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence 
And see it instantly consumed witli fire; 
Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight : 
Within this liour bring me word 'tis done, 
And by good testimony, or I "11 seize thy life. 
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse 
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; 
The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
Shall I dasli out. Go, take it to the fire; 
For thou set'st on thy wife. 

Ant. I did not, sir: 

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 
Can clear me in 't. 

Lords. We can : my royal liege. 

He is not guilty of her coming hither. 

Leon. You 're liars all. [credit: 

First Lord. Beseech your highness, give us better 
We have always truly served you, and beseech you 
So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg. 
As recompense of our dear services 
Past and to con:e,t!uit ytu do change tin's lurpose, 
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must 
Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel. 

Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows: 
Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel 
And call me fatlier? better burn it now 
Than curse it then. But be it ; let it live. 
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither; 
You that liave been SO tenderly oflicious 
Witli Laily Margery, your midwife there, 
To save tliis bastard 's'life,— for 'tis a bastard. 
So sure as this beard 's grey,— what will you adven- 
To save this brat's life 't [ture 

Ant. Any thing, my lord. 

That my ability may undergo 
And nobleness impose : at least thus much : 
I '11 pawn the little blood which I have left 
To save the innocent: any thing jiossible. 

Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword 
Thou wilt perform my bidding. 

Ant. I will, my lord. 

Leon. Mark and perform it, see'st thou: for the 
Of any point in 't sliall not only be [fail 

Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife, 



ACT III. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE II. 



Whom for this time we pardon. "We enjoin thee, 
As tliou art liefje-nian to us, that thou carry 
Tliis female bastard hence and tliat thou bear it 
To some remote and desert phice quite out 
t)f our dominions, and that there thou leave it, 
AVitliout more mercy, to its own protection 
And favour of tlie climate. As by strange fortune 
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, 
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, 
That thou commend it strangely to some place 
AVhere chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. 

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe: 
f>ome powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens 
To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say, 
Casting their savageness aside have done 
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous 
In more than this deed does require! And blessiaig 
Against this cruelty fight on thy side. 
Poor thing, coudemu'd to loss ! [Exit with the child. 



Leon. No, I '11 not rear 

Another's issue. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Please your highness, pests 

From those you sent to the oracle are come 
An hour since : Cleonienes and Dion, 
Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed. 
Hasting to the court. 

First Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 

Hath been beyond account. 

Leon. Twenty-three days 

They have been absent : 't is good speed ; foretells 
The great Apollo suddenly will have 
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; 
Summon a session, that we may arraign 
Our most disloyal laily, for, as she hath 
Been publicly accused, so shall she luive 
A just and open trial. While she lives 
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me, 
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt. 



A^CT III. 



SCENE I. — A sea-2)ort in Sicilia. 

Enter Oleomenes and Dion. 

Clfo. The climate 's delicate, the air most sweet, 
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing 
The common praise it bears. 

Dion. I shall report, 

For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
^lethinks I so should term them.aiid the reverence 
t)f the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! 
How ceremonious, solemn and uueartldy 
It was i' the offering! 

CJeo. But of all, the burst 

And the ear-deafening voice o' tlie oracle, 
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense, 
That I was nothing! 

Bion. If the event o' the journey 

Prove as successful to the queen, — O be 't so! — 
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, 
The time is worth the use on 't. 

Cleo. Great Apollo 

Turn all to the best ! These proclamations, 
So forcing faults upon Hermione 
I little like. 

JJion. The violent carriage of it 

Will clear or end the business: when the oracle, 
Tluts by Apollo's great divine seal'd up. 
Shall the contents discover, sometliing rare 
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses! 
And gracious be the issue ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE n, — ^ court of Justice. 
Enter Leontes, Lords, and OfBcers. 
Leon. This sessions, to our great grief we pro- 
nounce. 
Even pushes 'gainst our heart : the party tried 
The daughter of a king, our wife, and oiie 
Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd 
Of being tyraimous, since we so openly 
Proceeil in justice, which shall have due course, 
Even to the guilt or the purgation. 
Produce tlie prisoner. 

Ojt'. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen 
Appear in person here in court. Silence ! 

Enter Hermione guarded ; Paulina and 
Ladies attending. 
Leon. Read the indictment. 
Of. [Reads] Hermione, queen to the worthy Leon- 
tes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and ar- 



raigned of high treason, in committing adultery 
with Folixenes, king of Bohemia, and consjiiring 
with Ciiniillo to take away the life of our sovereigii 
lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence 
whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, 
thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance 
of a true suliject, didst counsel and aid them, for 
their better safety, to fly away by night. 

Her. Since what I am to say must be but that 
Which contradicts my accusation and 
The testimony on my part no other 
But what conies from myself, it shall scarce boot me 
To say ' not guilty: ' nune integrity 
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it. 
Be so received. But thus ; if powers divine 
Behold our human actions, as they do, 
1 doubt not then but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush and tyranny 
Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know. 
Who least will seem to do so, my past life 
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
As I am now unliappy ; which is more 
Thau history can pattern, though devised ^ 

And play'd to take spectators. "For behold me 
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
The mother to a hopeful prince, here stanciing 
To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore 
Wlio please to come and hear. For life, I prize it 
As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honom-, 
'T is a derivative from me to mine. 
And only that I stand for. I appeal 
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 
How merited to be so; since he came. 
With wliat encounter so uncurrent I 
Have straiu'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond 
The bound of honour, or in act or will 
That way inclining, harden "d be the hearts 
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
Cry fie upon my grave 1 

Leon. ■ I ne'er heard yet 

That any of these bolder vices wanted 
Less impudence to gainsay what they did 
Than to perform it first. 

Her. That 's true enough ; 

Though 't is a saying, sir, not due to me. 

Leon. You will not own it. 

Her. More than mistress of 

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
At all acknowledge. For Polixeues, 
2i3'J 



ACT III. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE II. 



With whom I am accused, I do confess 

I loved hiui as in honour lie required, 

"With such a kind of love as might become 

A lady like me, with a love even such. 

So and no other, as yourself commanded : 

Whieli not to have dune 1 think had been in me 

Both distib('(liiMicr mill iiinratitude [spoke. 

To you and toward your friend, whose love liad 

Even since it could .speak, from an infant, freely 

That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 

I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd 

For me to try how: all I know of it 

Is that Camillo was an honest man ; 

And why he left your court, the gods themselves, 

Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 

Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
What you have uuderta'en to do in 's absence. 

mr. Sir, 
You speak a language that I understand not : 
My life stands in the level of your dreams, 
Which I '11 lay down. 

Leon. Your actions are my dreams ; 

You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame, — 
Those of your fact are so — so past all truth : 
Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as 
Thy Ijrat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
No father owning it, — which is, indeed, 
Morifcriminal in thee than it, — so thou 
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage 
Look for no less than death. 

Her. Sir, spare your threats : 

The bug wliich you would fright me with I seek. 
To me can life be no commodity : 
Tlie crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone. 
But know not how it went. My second joy 
And lirst-fruits of my body, from his presence 
I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort, 
Starr 'd most unluckily, is from my breast. 
The innocint milk in "it most innocent mouth. 
Haled out to niurder: myself on every post 
Proclaimed a strumpet : "with immodest hatred 
Tlie cliild-bcil jirivilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried 
Here to this place, i' tlie open air, before 
I have got strengtli of limit. Now, my liege, 
Tell me what blessings I liave here alive, 
»^ That I should fear to die y Therefore proceed. 
But yet hear this; mistake me not ; no life, 
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour. 
Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd 
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else 
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 
'T is riijour and not law. Your honours all, 
I do refer me to the oracle : 
Apollo be my judge ! 

Ftrxi Lord. This your request 

Is altogether just: therefore bring forth, 
And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 

[Exeunt certain Officers. 

Her. The Emperor of Russia was my father : 
O that he were alive, and here beholding 
His da\ighter's trial ! that he did but see 
The Hatness of my misery, yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge! 

Re-enter OfBcers, with Cleopaenes and Dion. 

Off. You here shall swear upon tills swordof justice, 
Tliat you, ("leomenes and Dion, have 
Bt'i^n both at Delphos, and from thence have brought 
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
Of great Apollo's priest and that since then 
You have not dared to break the lioly seal 
Nor read the secrets in 't. 

Clco. Dion. All this we swear. 

Leon. Break up the seals and read. 
200 



Oft'. [Reads] Hermione is chaste ; Polixenes blame- 
less; Camillo a true subject; Leoutes a jealous ty- 
rant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the 
king shall live without an heir, if that which is 
lest be not found. 

Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 

Her. Pi'aised ! 

Leon. Hast thou read truth ? 

Of. Ay, my lord; even so 

As it is here set down. 

Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle: 
The sessions shall proceed: tliis is mere falsehood. 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. My lord the king, the king! 

Leon. What is the business? 

Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it ! 
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
Of the queen's speed, is gone. 

Leon. How! gone! 

Serv. Is dead. 

Leon. Apollo 's angry ; and the heavens themselves 

Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione sicoons.] How 

now there ! [down 

Paul. This news is mortal to the queen: look 
And see what deatli is doing. < 

Lcim. Take her hence : 

Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover: 
I have too much believed mine own suspicion: • 
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
Some remedies for life. 

[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hermione. 
Apollo, pardon 
ily great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! 
I '11 reconcile me to Prolixenes, 
New woo my (lueen, recall the good Camillo, 
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; 
For, being transiiculcd by my jealousies 
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 
Camillo for the minister to poison 
My friend Polixenes: which had lieen done, 
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
My swift connuand, though 1 with death and with 
Reward did threaten and encourage him, 
Not doing "t and being done: he, most humane 
And tiU'd with honour, to my kingly guest 
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortiaics here. 
Which you knew great, and to the hazard 
Of all incertaintii's himself commended. 
No riclier than his honour: how he glisters 
Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
Does my deeds make the blacker ! 

Re-enter Paulina. 
Paul. Woe the while! 

O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, 
Break too! 
First Lord. What fit is this, good lady V 
Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me V 
What wheels ? racks ? fires ? what fiaying ? boiling y 
In leads or oils'? wdiat old or newer torture 
Must I receive, whose every word deserves 
To taste of thy most worst '/ Thy tyranny 
Together working with thy jealousies. 
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
For girls of nine, O, think what they have done 
And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all 
Thy by-gone fooleries were but sjiices of it. 
That thou betray 'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; 
Tliat <lid but show thee, of a fo(d, inconstant 
And damnable ingratetul: nor was 't much. 
Thou wouhlsl have iioison'd good Camillo's honour. 
To have him kill a king; poor trespasses. 
More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon 
The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter 
To be or none or little ; though a devil 
Would have shed water out of lire ere done 't : 



ACT III. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE III. 



Nor is 't directly laid to tliee, the death 
Of the young prince, whose honoiiraljle tlioughts, 
Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart 
Tliat7/i)ulil conceive a gross and foolish sire 
Blemish M his gracious'dam : this is not, no. 
Laid to thy answer: but the last, — O lords, 
^Vilen 1 liave said, cry ' woe ! ' — tlie queen, the queen, 
Tlie sweet 'st , dear'st creature 's dead, and vengeance 
Not drojipM down yet. [for "t 

First Lord. Tlie higher powers forbid I 

Paul. I say she 's dead ; I '11 swear t. If word 
Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring [nor oath 
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye. 
Heat outwardly or breath within, I '11 serve you 
As I would do the gods. But. O thou tyrant ! 
Do not rejient these things, for they are heavier 
Than all thy woes' can stir : tlicrcfore betake thee 
To notliing Ijut despair. A tlimisand knees 
Ten thousand yrars together, naked, fasting, 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
In storm periietual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 

Leon. Go on, go on : 

Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserved 
All tongues to talk their bitterest. 

First Lord. Say no more : 

HoweVr the business goes, you have made fault 
I' the boldness of your speech. 

Paul. I am sorry for 't: 

All-faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
1 do repent. Alas ! I have show'd too much 
Tlie rashness of a woman : he is touch'd [liejp 

To the noble heart. What 's gone and what 's past 
Should be past grief: do not receive affliction 
At my petition ; I beseech you, rather 
Let me be punish Yl, that have mindeil you 
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, 
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 
The love I bore your qifeen — lo, fool again ! — 
I '11 speak of her no mcJi-e, nor of your cliildren ; 
I "11 not remember you of my own lord, 
Who is lost too: take your patience to you, 
And 1 '11 say nothing. 

Leon. Thou didst speak but well 

When most the truth : which I receive much better 
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me 
To the dead bodies of my queen and son : 
One grave shall be for both : upon them shall 
The causes of their death appear, unto 
Our sJiame perpetual. Once a day I '11' visit 
The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there 
Shall be my recreation : so long as nature 
Will bear up with this exercise, so long 
I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me 
Unto these sorrows. [Exeunt. 

SCENE m. — Bohemia. Adesert country near the sea. 

Enter Antigonus ivith a child, and a Mariner. 

Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd 
The deserts of Bohemia ? [upon 

Mar. Ay, my lord ; and fear 

AVe have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly 
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, 
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry 
And frown upon 's. 

Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! Go, get aboard ; 
Look to thy bark : i '11 not be long before 
I call upon thee. 

Har. JIake your best haste, and go not 
Too far i' the land : "t is like to be loud weather; 
Besides, this place is famous for the creatm'es 
Of prey that keep upon "t. 

Ant. Go thou away : 

I'll follow instantly. 

Mar. I am glad at heart 

To be so rid o' the business. [Exit. 



Ant. Come, poor babe : 

I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o' tlie dead 
May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
Ai)i)ear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream 
So like a waking. To me comes a creature. 
Sometimes her head on one side, some another; 
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
So fill'd and so becoming : in jiure white robes, 
Like very sanctity, she did approach 
My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me, 
And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 
Became two spouts: the fury .spent, anon 
Did this break from her: ' Good Antigonus, 
Since fate, against thy better disposition, 
Hath made thy person for tlje thrower-out 
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath. 
Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 
There weep and leave it crying ; and, for the babe 
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
I prithee, call 't. For this ungentle business, 
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 
Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, witii shrieks, 
She melted into air. Affrighted iiincli, 
I did in time collect myself and thought 
This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys: 
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, 
I will be squared by this. I do believe 
Herniione hath suifer'd death, and that 
Aiiiillo wduld, this being indeed tlie issue 
01 King Fnlixenes, it should here be laid, 
Either lor life or death, upon the eartli 
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! 
There lie. and there thy character : there these; 
Whicli may, if fortune please, both breed thee, 

pretty. 
And still rest tliine. The storm begins : poor wretch, 
That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed 
To loss and what may follow ! Weep I cannot. 
But my heart bleeds ; and most accursed am I 
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! [have 
The day frowiis more and more : thou 'rt like to 
A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour! 
Well may I get aboard ! This is the chase : 
I am goiie for ever. [Exit, pursued by a bear. 

Enter a Shepherd. 
Shep. I would there were no age between sixteen 
and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep 
out the rest: for there is nothing in the between 
but getting wenches with child, wronging the an- 
cientry, stealing, fighting — Hark you now ! Would 
any but these lioiled Imiins of nineteen and two- 
and-twenty hunt this weather':' They have scared 
away two of my Ijest sheep, which I fear the wolf 
will sooner find than the master: if any where I 
have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. 
Good luck, an 't be thy will ! what have we here ? 
Mercy on 's, a barne; a very pretty barne! A boy 
or a child, I wonder':' A pretty one; a very pretty 
one: sure, some 'scape: though I am not bookish, 
yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the "scape. 
This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, 
some beliind-door-work: they were warmer that 
got this than the poor thing is here. I '11 take it up 
for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hal- 
looed but even now. Whoa, ho, lioa! 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Hilloa, loa! 

Shep. What, art so near'? If thou'lt see a thing 
to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come 
hither. What ailest thou, man ':* 

Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by 
land! but I am not to say it is "a .sea, for it is now 
the sky : betwixt the firmament and it you cannot 
thrust a bodkin's point. 

261 



ACT IV. 



THE WINTER 'S TAL E. 



SCENE II. 



iS'/ie^j. Why, boy, how is it? 

Glo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how 
it rages, how it takes up tlie shore ! but tliat 's not 
to the point. O, tlie most piteous cry of the poor 
souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; 
now the sliip boring the moon with lier main-mast, 
and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you 'Id 
tlirust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the 
land-service, to see how the bear tore out his 
shoulder-bdiie; how he cried to me for help and 
s;ii(l his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to 
make an end of theship,to see how the sea flap-drag- 
oiifd it: but, first, how the jioor souls roared, and 
tlie sea niockcd them ; and linw the jioor gentleman 
roared and the l.iear mucked him, both roaring louder 
tlian the sea or weather. 

Sh(i^. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? 

Clo. Now, now : I have not winked since I saw 
these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, 
nor the bear half dined on the gehtleman : he's at 
it now. 

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the 
old man ! 

C?o. I woidd you had been by the ship's side, to 
iiave helped her: there your charity would have 
lacked footing. 

(S/icp. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look 



thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest 
with things dying, I with things new-boni. Here 's 
a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a 
squire's child! look thee here; take up, take up, 
boy ; open 't. So, let 's see : it was told me I should 
be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: 
open 't. What 's within, boy ? 

Vlo. You 're a made old man : if the sins of your 
vouth are forgiven you, you 're well to live. Gold I 
all gold ! 

ib'/icp. This is fairy gold, boy, and 't will prove so : 
up with 't, keep it close : home, home, the next way. 
We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires noth- 
ing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good 
boy, the next way home. 

Clo. Go you tlie next way witH your findings. 
I '11 go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman 
and how much he hath eaten : they are never curst 
but when they are hungry : if there be any of him 
left,I'inmry it. 

Shei). That's a good deed. If thou mayest dis- 
cern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch 
me to the sight of him. 

Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put 
him i' the groimd. 

She)-). 'Tisa lucky day, boy, aud we'll do good 
deeds on 't. \ExumX. 



A.CT IV. 



SCENE I. 



'Enter Time, (/te Chorus. 
Time. I, that please some, try all, both joy and 

terror 
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, 
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Inqiute it not a crime 
To me or my swift passage, that I slide 
O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried 
Of tliiit wide gap, since it is in my power 
To o'ertlirow law and in one self-born hour 
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass 
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was 
Or what is now received : I witness to 
The times that brought them in ; so shall I do 
To tlie fresliest tilings now ri'igningand make stale 
The glistering of this present, as my tale 
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
1 turn my glass and give my scene such growing 
As you had slept between : Leontes leaving, 
The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving 
That he shuts up himself, iinauine me. 
Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
In fair Bolieinia; and remember well, 
I meiitioiit'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel 
I now iiauir to you ; and with speed so pace 
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
Equal with wondering : what of her ensues 
I list not prophesy; but let Time's news 
Be known wlien 't is brought forth. A shepherd's 

daughter, 
And what to her adheres, which follows after, 
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow. 
If ever you have sjient time worse ere now; 
If never, yet that Time himself doth say 
He wishes earnestly you never may. [E.tit. 

SCENE II. — Bohemia. The palace of PoUxenes. 

Enter PoUxenes and Oamillo. 
Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- 
portunate : 't is a sicTtness denying thee any thing ; 
a death to grant this. 

262 



Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my country: 
tliough I have for the m(>st part been aired abroad, 
I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- 
tent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose 
feeling sorrows I might lit- ^onie allay, or I o'erween 
to think sp, which is anotlii;!' spur to my departure. 

Pol. As thou lovest me,\'aniiUo, wipe not out 
the rest of thy services by leaving me now : the need 
I have of thee thine owai goodness hath made ; better 
not to have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, 
having made me businesses which none without 
thee can sufflciently manage, must either stay to 
execute them thyself or take away with thee the 
very services thou hast done; which if I liave not 
enough considered, as too much I cannot, to be 
more thankful to tliee shall lie my study, and my 
profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that 
fatal country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose 
very naming punishes ine with the remembrance of 
that penitent, as thou eallest him, and reconciled 
king, my briither; whose loss of his most precious 
queen and children are even now to be afresh la- 
mented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince 
Florizel, my son V Kings are no less unhaiipy, their 
issue not being gracious, than they are in losing 
them when they have approved their virtues. 

Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. 
What his happier affairs may be, are to me un- 
known : but 1 have missingly noted, he is of late 
much retired from court and is less frequent to his 
princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. 

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and 
with some care; so far that I have eyes under my 
service which look upon liis removedness; from 
whom I liave this intelligence, that he is seldom 
from the house of a most Jiomely shepherd; a man, 
tliey say, that from very nothing, and beyond the 
imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an un- 
speakable estate. 

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath 
a daughter of most rare note; the report of her is 
extended more than can be thought to begin from 
such a cottage. 

Pol. That 's likewise part of my ir.telligence ; but, 



ACT IV. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE IV. 



I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 
Shalt accompany us to the place; wiiere we will, 
not ajipearing what we are, have some question 
with tlie shepherd; from whose simplicity I tliink 
it not uneasy to get the cause of my sou's resort 
tliither. Prithee, be my present iiartner in this 
business, anil lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. 

Cam. I willingly obey your command. 

Pol. Jly best Camillo ! "VVe must disguise our- 
selves. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A road near the She^jhercVs cottage. 

Enter Autolycus, singing. 
When daffodils begin to peer, 

Witli heigh ! the doxy over the dale. 
Why, then comes in the sweet o' tl;e year; 

For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge. 
With heigh ! the sweet birds, t), how they siBg ! 

Doth set my pugging tooth on edge ; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

The lark, tliat tirra-lyra chants. 

With licigh I with heigh ! tlie thrush and the jay, 
Are summer songs for me and my aunts, 

Willie we lie tumbling in the hay. 

I have served Prince Florizel and in my time wore 
three-pile ; but now I am out of service : 

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear ? 

The pale moon shines by night : 
And when I wander Iiere and there, 

I then do most go right. 

If tinkers may have leave to live, 

And bear the sow-skin budget, 
Then my account I well may give, 

And in the stocks avouch it. 

My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to 
lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus ; who 
being, as I am, littered luider Mercury, was likewise 
a snapper-up nf Hne<iiisi(lered tiilles. With die and 
drab I purchaseil tliis eaiiarisoii. and my revenue is 
the silly cheat. Galluwsand knock are too powerful 
on the liigliway : beating and hanging are terrors to 
me : fi ir t he life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. 
A i^rize ! a prize! 

Enter Clo-wn. 

Clo. Let me see : every 'leven wether tods ; every 
tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred 
shorn, what comes the wool to y 

Aiit. [.-Ls/(7(] If the springehold, the cock 's mine. 

Clo. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me 
see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? 
Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice, 
— what will this sister of mine do with rice V But 
my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and 
she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty 
nosegays for the shearers, three-man-song-men all, 
and very good ones; but they are most of them 
means and bases ; but one puritan among.st them, 
and he sings psalms to liorn-pipes. I must have 
saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates? — 
none, tliat 's out of my note ; nutmegs, seven ; a 
race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four 
pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' the sun. 

Aut. O that ever I was born ! 

[Grovelling on the ground. 

Clo. V the name of me — 

Aut. O, help me, help me ! pluck but off these 
rags; and then, death, death ! 

Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou bast need of more 
rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 



Aut. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me 
more than the stripes I have received, which are 
mighty ones and millions. 

Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may 
come to a great matter. 

Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money 
and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable 
things put upon me. 

Clo. What, by a horseman, or a footman? 

Aut. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. 

Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman by the gar- 
ments he has left with thee : if this be a horseman's 
coat, it liath seen very hot service. Lend me thy 
hand, I '11 help thee: come, lend me thy hand. 

Aut. O, good sir, tenderly, O ! 

Clo. Alas, poor soul ! 

Aid. O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, su', my 
shoulder-blade is out. 

Clo. How now ! canst stand ? 

Aid. [Picking his j'ockcl] Softly, dear sir: good 
sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. 

Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little money 
for thee. 

Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: 
I have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a mile 
hence, unto whom I was going; 1 shall there have 
money, or any thing I want: offer me no money, I 
pray you ; that kills my heart. [you ? 

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed 

Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about 
with troll-my-dames : I knew him once a servant 
of the prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of 
his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out 
of the court. 

Clo. His vices, you W'ould say; there 's no virtue 
whipped out of the court ; they cherish it to make 
it stay there ; and yet it will no more but abide. 

Aut. \'ices, I would say, sir. I know this man 
well: lie hath been since an ape-bearer; then a pro- 
cess-server, a bailiff ; then he compassed a motion 
of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife 
within a mile wliere my land and living lies ; and, 
having flown over many knavish professions, he 
settled only in rogue: some call liim Autolycus. 

Clo. Out upon liim ! prig, for my life, prig : he 
haunts wakes, fairs and bear-baitings. 

Aul. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he ; that 's the rogue 
that put me into this apparel. 

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia : 
if you had but looked big anil spit at him, he "Id 
have run. 

Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: 
I am false of heart that way ; and that he knew, I 

Clo. How do you now? [warrant him. 

Aut. Sweet sir, mucli better than I was; I can 
stand and walk : I will even take my leave of you, 
and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ? 

Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir. 

Clo. Then fare thee well : I must go buy spices 
for our sheep-shearing. 

Aut. Prosper }'ou, sweet sir! [Exit.Clou-n.] Your 
purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I "11 
be with you at your sheep-shearing too : if I make 
not this cheat bring out another and the shearers 
prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name put 
in the book of virtue ! 

[iSiiiffs] Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
And merrily bent the stile-a : 
A merry heart goes all the day, 
Y^our sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. 

I SCENE IV.— The Sh epherd 's cottage. 

Enter Florizel and Perdita. 
Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
Do give a life : no shepherdess, but Flora 
203 



ACT IV. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE IV. 



Peering in April's front. Tliis your sheep-shearing 
Is as a meeting of tlie petty gods, 
And you the queen on 't. 

Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 

To chide at your extremes it not becomes nie : 
O, pardon, that I name them ! Your high self, 
The gracious mark o' tlie land, you have obscured 
"Witli a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, 
■ Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts 
In every mess have folly and the feeders 
Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
To see you so attired, sworn, I think. 
To sliow myself a glass. 

Flo. I bless the time 

When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's.ground. 

Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! 

To me the difference forges dread ; your greatness 
llatli not been used to fear. Even now I tremble 
To think your fatlier, by some accident, 
Should pass tliis way as you did: O, the Fates! 
How would he look, to see his work so noble 
Vilely bound up ? What would he say '? Or how 
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
The sternness of his "presence ? 

Flo. Apprehend 

Nothing but .iollity. The gods themselves, 
Humbling tlieir deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune 
A ram, and bleated; and the hre-fobed god. 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain. 
As I seem now. Their transformations 
Were never for a jiiece of beauty rarer. 
Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires 
Run not lii^Cori' mine honour, nor my lusts 
Burn hotter than my faith. 

Per. O, but, sir, 

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king: 
One of these two must be necessities, [purpose. 
Which tlien will speak, that j'ou must change this 
Or I my life. 

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 

Witli these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not 
The mirth o' the feast. Or I '11 be thine, my fair, 
Or not my father's. For I cannot be 
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 
I be not thini.^ To this I am most constant, 
Though di'sthiy say no. Be merry, gentle; 
Straijgie such thoughts as these with any thing 
That you liehold the while. Your guests are coming: 
Lilt nil yom- countenance, as it were the day 
Oi celcliratiou of tliat nuptial which 
We two have sworn shall come. 

Per. ' O lady Fortune, 

Stand you auspicious ! 

Flo. See, your guests approach : 

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly. 
And let 's be red with mirth. 

Enter Shepherd, Clo-wn, Mopsa, Dorcas, and 

others, with Polixenes ii)id Camillo di.-«j\iised. 

Sh( /I. Fie. daughter! when nivold wife lived, upon 
This day slie was both pantlcr," butler, cook. 
Both (lame and servant: welcometl all, served all; 
Would sing her song and dance her turn ; now here. 
At \iiipcr end o' the table, now i' the middle; 
On his shoulder, and his ; her face o' fire 
With labour and the thing she took to quench it, 
She would to each one sii). You are retired, 
As if you were a feasted one and not 
The hostess of tlie meeting: juay you, bid 
These unknown friends to "s welcome; for it is 
A way to make us better fricmls, more known. 
Come, quench your blushes and present yourself 
That which you are, mistress o' the feast : come on, 
26-1 



And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
As your good flock shall prosper. 

Per. [To Po/.] Sir, welcome: 

It is my father's will I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o' the day. [To Cam.] You 're wel- 
come, sir. 
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Eeverend sirs, 
For you there 's rosemary and rue; these keep 
Seeming and savour all tlie winter long : 
Grace and remembrance be to you botli, 
And welcome to our shearing! 

Pol. Shepherdess, — 

A fair one are you — well you fit our ages 
With flowers of winter. 

I'er. Sir, the year growing ancient. 

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
Of trembling winter, the fairest llowers o'the sea- 
Are our carnations and streak 'd gillyvors, [son 
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind 
Our rustic garden 's barren ; and I care not 
To get slips of the'm. 

Pdf. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 

Do you neglect them ? 

Per. For I have heard it said 

Tliere is an art which in their piedness shares 
With great creating nature. 

Pol. ■ Say there be ; 

Yet nature is made Ix-tter by no mean 
But nature makes that mean : so, over that art 
'Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
That nat live makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock. 
And make ronceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of noliler race: this is an art 
Which does mend nature, change it rather, but 
The art itself is nature. 
Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors. 
And do not call them bastards. 

Per. I '11 not put 

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ; 
No more than were I painted I would wish [fore 
This youtli should say 'twere well and only there- 
Desire to breeil liy me. Here 's flowers for you; 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun 
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers 
Of middle summer, and I think they are given 
To men of middle age. You 're very welcome. 

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, 
And only live by gazing. 

Per. . Out, alas! 

You 'Id be so lean, that blasts of January 
Would blow you tlirough and through. Now, my 

fair'st friend, 
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might 
Become your time of day: and yours, and yours, 
That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
Your niaidenlieads growing : O Proserpina, 
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall 
From Dis's wagon ! daffodils, 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes 
Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright PlKCbus in his strength — a malady 
Most incident to maids: Itolil oxlips and 
The crown iniiierial; lilies of all kinds. 
The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack, 
To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend, 
To strew him o'er and o'er! 
i'7o. What, like a corse? 

Per. No, like a bank for love to lie and play on ; 
Not like a corse ; or if, not to be buried, [llowers : 
But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your 
Methiuks I play as I have seen them do 



ACT IV. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCEXE IV. 



In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine 
Does change my disposition. 

Flo. What you do 

Still betters ivhat is done. "When you speak, sweet, 
1 'Id have you do it ever: when you sing, 
I 'Id have you buy and sell so, so give alms. 
Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, 
To sing them too : when you do dance, I wish you 
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do 
Notliing but that; move still, still so, 
And own no other function : each your doing, 
So singular in each particular, 
Crowns what you are doing in the present deed. 
That all your acts are queens. 

Pec. O Doricles, 

Your praises are too large: but that your youth. 
And the true blood whicli peepeth fairly through 't, 
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, 
AVith wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me the false way. 

Flo. I think you have 

As little skill to fear as I have purpose 
To put you to 't. But come; our dance, I pray: 
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, 
That never mean to part. 

Per. I '11 swear for 'em. 

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever 
Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does or seems 
But smacks of something greater than herself, 
Too noble for this place. 

Cam. He tells her something 

That makes her blood look out : good sooth, she is 
The queen of curds and cream. 

Clo. Come on, strike up! 

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, garlic, 
To mend her kissing with ! 

Mop. Now, in good time ! 

Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our man- 
Come, strike up! [ners. 
YMusic. Here a dance of Slu^iilnrils a ml 

.^l„l,l„,.l,..s.s. 

Pol. Pray, good shepherd, vv'hat fair swain is this 
Which dances with your daughter V 

Shep. They call him Doricles; and boasts himself 
To have a worthy feeding: but I have it 
Upon his own report and I believe it ; 
He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter : 
I think so too ; for never gazed the moon 
Upon the water as he '11 stand and read 
As "twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, 
I think there is not half a kiss to choose 
Who loves another best.. 

Pol. She dances featly. 

Shep. So she does anything; though I report it, 
That should be silent: if young Doricles 
Do light upon her, slie shall brnig him that 
Whicli he not dreams of. 

Enter Servant. 

Scrv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at 
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 
and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he 
sings several tunes faster than you '11 tell'money; 
he utters them us he had eaten ballads and all men's 
ears grew to his tunes. 

Clo. He could never come better; he shall come 
in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be dole- 
ful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant 
thing indeed and sung lamentably. 

Serv. He hath songs for man "or woman, of all 
sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
gloves : he has the i)rettiest love-songs for maids ; 
so without bawdry, which is strange; with such 
delicate burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her 
aivi thump her; ' and where some stretch-mouthed 
rascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break 
a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to 



answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man; ' puts 
him otf, slights him, with ' Whoop",,do me no harm, 
good man.' 

Pol. This is a brave fellow. 

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable 
conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? 

ISerc. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' the 
rainbow; points more than all the lawj-ers in Bohe- 
mia can learnedly handle, tliough they come to him 
by the gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: 
why, he sings 'em over as they were gods or god- 
desses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, 
he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about 
the square on 't. 

Clo. Prithee bring him in ; and let him approach 
singing. 

Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous 
words in 's tunes. [Exit Sercant. 

Clo. You have of these pedlars, that have more 
in them than you 'Id think, sister. 

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 

Eater Autolycus, singing. 
Lawn as white as driven snow ; 
Cyprus black as e'er was crow ; 
Gloves as sweet as damask roses ; 
Masks for faces and for noses; 
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, 
Perfume for a lady's chamber; 
Golden quoifs and stomachers, 
Por my lads to give their dears: 
Pins and ]ioking-sticks of steel, 
What maids lack from head to heel: 
Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; 
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : 
Come buy. 
Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
jshouldst take no money of me; but being enthralled 
as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain rib- 
bons and gloves. 

Mop. I was promised them against the feast ; but 
they come not too late now. 

-Do?-. He hath promised you more than that, or 
there be liars. 

Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you ; may 
be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to 
give him again. 

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will 
they wear their plackets where they should bear 
their faces '? Is there not milking-time, when you 
are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these 
secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our 
guests ? 't is well they are whispering : clamour your 
tongues, and not a word more. 

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a 
tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves. 

Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened by 
the way and lost all my money 'r' 

Aut. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; 

therefore it behoves men to be wary. [here. 

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing 

Aut. I hope so, sir; for 1 have about me many 

parcels of charge. 

Clo. What hast here V ballads? 
3Iop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in 
print o' life, for then we are sure they are true. 

Aut. Here 's one to a very doleful tune, how a 
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money- 
bags at a burthen, and how she longed to eat ad- 
ders' heads and toads carbonadoed. 
Mop. Is it true, think you ? 
Aut. Very true, and but a month old. 
Dor. Bless me from marrying a usiu-er ! 
Aut. Here 's the midwife's name to 't, one Mis- 
tress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that 
were present. Why should I carry lies abroad ? 
Mop. Pray you now, buy it. 
265 



ACT IV. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE IV, 



Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see more 
ballads ; we '11 buy the other things anon. 

Aid. Here 's another liallad of a fish, that ap- 
peared upon the coast on Wednesday the four-score 
of April, forty thousand futhoni above water, and 
sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids : it 
was thought she was a woman and was turned into 
a cold fish for she woulil not exchange Hesh with 
one that loved her : the ballad is very pitiful and as 

Dor. Is it true too, think you V [true. 

Aid. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses 
more than my pack will hold. 

Clo. Lay it by too : another. 

Aid. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. 

Mo}j. I^et 's have some merry ones. 

Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one and goes 
to the tune of ' Two maids wooing a man : ' there 's 
scarce a maid westward but she sings it ; 't is in 
re(iuest, I can tell you. 

Mop. We can both sing it : if thou 'It bear a part, 
thou shalt hear; 't is in three parts. 

Dor. 'We had the tune on 't a month ago. 

Aid. I can bear my part ; you must know 't is my 
occupation ; have at it with you. 

SONG. 

■ A. Get you hence, for I must go 
Where it fits not you to know. 

D. Whither y M. O, whither ? D. Whither ? 
M. It becomes thy oath full well. 
Thou to me thy secrets tell. 
D. Me too, let me go thither. 
M. Or thou goest to the grange or mill. 
D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Keither. 
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be. 
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me : 
Then whither goest? say, whither? 
Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: 
my father and tiie gentlemen are in sad talk, and 
we '11 not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack 
after me. Wenches, I 'II buy for you both. Pedlar, 
let 's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. 

[Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa. 
Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. 

{^Follows singing. 
Will you buy any tape. 
Or lace for your cape, 
My dainty duck, my dear-a? 
Any silk, any thread. 
Any toys for your head. 
Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a? 
Come to the pedlar ; 
Money "s a medler. 
That doth utter all men's ware-a. [Exit. 

He-enter Servant. 

Scrr. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that 
have made themselves all men of hair, they call 
themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance which 
the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, be- 
cause they are not in 't ; but they themselves are o' 
the mind, if it be not too rough for some that know 
little but bowling, it will please plentifully. 

tiheii. Away ! we '11 none on 't : here has been 
too much horiiely foolery already. I know, sir, we 
weary you. 

Pol. You weary those that refresh us : pray, let 's 
see these four threes of lierdsmen. 

Serv. One three of tliem, by t heir own report, sir, 
hath danced before the king; and not the worst of 
the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the 
squier. 

Shcp. Leave your prating: since these good men 
are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. 

Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit. 

206 



Sere a dance of twelve Satyri. 

Pol. O, father, you '11 know more o£ that here- 
after. ^ 
[To Cam.] Is it not too far gone ? 'T is time to part 

them. 
He 's simple and tells much. [To Flor.] Hownow, 

fair shepherd ! 
Your heart is full of something that does take 
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young 
And handed love as you do, I was wont [sack a 
To load my she with knacks: I would have ran- 
The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it 
To her acceptance; yuu have let him go 
And nothing niarted with him. If your lass 
Interpretation should abuse and call this 
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited 
For a reply, at least if you make a care 
Of happy holding her. 

Flo. Old sir, I know 

She prizes not such trifies as these are : 
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd 
Up in my heart ; which I have given already. 
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life 
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem. 
Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand. 
As soft as dove's down and as white as it, [Ijolted 
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fami'd snow that's 
Bv the northern blasts twice o'er. 

'Pol. What follows this? 

How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
The hand was fair before! I have put you out: 
But to your protestation ; let me hear 
What you profess. 

Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. 

Pol. And this my neighbour too ? 

Flo. And he, and more 

Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: 
That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, 
Thereof, most worthy, were I the fairest youth 
That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowl- 
edge 
l\Iiire than was ever man's, I would not prize them 
A\'ilhciut her love; for her employ them all; 
Coniniend them and condemn them to her service 
Or to their own perdition. 

Pol. Fairly offer'd. 

Cam. This shows a sound affection. 

Shep. But, my daughter, 

Say you the like to him ? 

Per. I cannot speak 

So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better: 
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
The purity of his. 

ISkcp. Take hands, a liargain ! 

And, friends unknown, you shall liear witness to 't: 
I give my daughter to him, and will make 
Her portion equal his. 

Flo. O, that must be 

I' the virtue of your daughter : one being dead, 
I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on. 
Contract us 'fore these wdtuesses. 

Shep. Come, your hand ; 

And, daughter, yours. 

Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you ; 

Have you a father ? 

Flo. I have : but what of him ? 

Pol. Knows he of this ? 

Flo. He neither does nor shall. 

Pol. Methinks a father 
Is at the nuptial of his son a guest 
That best becomes the table. Pray you once more, 
Is not your father grown incapable 
Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid 
With age and altering rheums? can bespeak? hear? 
Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? 



ACT IV. 



"THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE IV. 



Lies lie not bed-rid ? and again does nothing 
But wliat he did being childish V 

Flo. No, good sir; 

He has liis health and ampler strength indeed 
Than most have of his age. 

Pol. By my white beard, 

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
Sonu'thiiiL; uiililial: reason my son 
^Should choose liiniself a wife, but as good reason 
The father, all wliose joy is nothing else 
But fair posterity, should hold some counsel 
In such a business. 

Flo. I yield all this ; 

But for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
AVhicli "t is not tit you know, 1 not acquamt 
My father of this business. 

Pol. Let liim Iviiow "t. 

Flo. He shall not. 

Pol. Prithee, let him. 

Flo. iS'o, he must not. 

Shep. Lethim,myson: he shall not need to grieve 
At knowing of thy choice. 

Flo. Come, come, he must not. 

Mark our contract. 

Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 

[Piscoierituj h iinself. 
Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
To be acknowledged : thou a sceptre's heir, 
That thus affecfst a sheep-hook ! Thou old traitor, 
I am sorry that by hanging tliee I can 
But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece 
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know 
The royal fool thou copest with, — 

Shep. O, my heart ! 

Pol. I '11 have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, 
and made 
More homely than tliy state. For thee, fond boy, 
If I may ever know tiiuu dost but sigh 
Tliat thou no more slialt see this knack, as never 
I mean tliou slialt, we '11 bar thee from succession ; 
Kot liold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, 
Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words: 
Follow us to tlie court. Tliou churl, for tliis time, 
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
Fromlhe dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, — 
Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, liim too, 
Tliat makes himself, but for our licmour therein, 
LTii Worthy thee, — if ever henceforth thou 
These rural latches to his entrance open. 
Or hoop his body more with tliy embraces, 
I will devise a death as cruel for thee 
As thou art tender to 't. [E.nt. 

Per. Even here undone ! 

I was not much afeard ; for once or twice 
I was aljout to speak and tell liim plainly. 
The selfsame sua that shines upon his court 
Hides not liis visage from uur cottage but 
Looks on alike. Will 't please you, sir, be gone? 
I told you what would come of this: beseech you. 
Of your own state take care : tins dream of mine, — 
Being now awake, I '11 queen it no inch farther. 
But milk my ewes and weep. 

Cam. Why, how now, father ! 

Speak ere thou diest. 

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think. 

Nor dare to know that wliicli I know. O sir ! 
You have undone a man of fourscore three, 
That thouglit to till his grave in quiet, yea, 
To die upon the bed my fatlier died, 
To lie close by his honest bones: but now 
Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me 
Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch, 
That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst ad- 
venture 
To mingle faith with him ! Undone ! undone ! 
If I might die witliin this hour, I have lived 
To die when I desire. [Exit. 



Flo. Why look you so upon me ? 

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay 'd, 
But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am; 
!More straining on for plucking back, not following 
My leash unwillingly. 

Cam. Gracious my lord, 

You know your fat^her's temper : at this time 
He will allow no speech, wliich I do guess 
You do not purpose to him; and as hardly 
AVill he endure your sight as yet, I fear: 
Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
Come not before him. 

Flo. I not purpose it. 

I think, Camillo ? 

Cam. Even he, my lord. 

Per. How often have I told you 't would be thus! 
How often said, my tli"nity would last 
But till "t were known ! 

Flo. It cannot fail but by 

The violation of my faith: and then 
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together 
And mar the seeds within ! Lift up tliy looks: 
From my succession wipe me, father ; I 
Am heir to my affection. 

Cam. Be advised. 

Flo. I am, and by my fancy : if my reason 
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; 
If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, 
Do bid it welcome. 

Cam. This is desperate, sir. 

Flo. So call it : but it does fulrtl my vow; 
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, 
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp tliat may 
Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or 
Tlie clo.se earth wombs or the profound sea hides 
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath ' 

To this my fair beloved: tlierefore, I pray you. 
As you have ever been my father's lionour'd friend, 
Wlien he sliall miss me, — as, in faith, I mean not 
To see him any more, — cast your good counsels 
Upon his passion : let myself and fortune 
Tug for the time to come. This you may know 
And so deliver, I am put to sea 
With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; 
And most opportune to our need I have 
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared 
For this design. Wfiat cour.se I mean to hold 
Shall nothing beneht your knowledge, nor 
Concern me the reporting. 

Cam. O my lord ! 

I would your spirit were easier for advice, 
Or stronger for your need. 

Flo. Hark, Perdita [Drawing her aside. 

I '11 hear you by and by. 

Cam. He 's irrcmoveable. 

Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if 
His going I could frame to serve my turn, 
Save'hiiii fnnn daimer. do him love and honour, 
Purcliasf the .siglit again of dear Sicilia 
And tliat uiiliapiiy king, my master, wlioni 
I so mucli thirst to see. 

Flo. Now, good Camillo ; 

I am so fraught with curious business that 
I leave out ceremony. 

Cam. Sir, I think 

You have heard of my poor services, i' tlie love 
That I have borne your father ? 

Flo. Very nobly 

Have you deserved : it is my father's music 
To speak your deeds, not little of his care 
To have them recompensed iis thouglit on. 

Cam. Well, my lord, 

If you may please to think I love the king 
Aiid througli him what is nearest to him, which is 
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction; 
If your more ponderous and settled project 
May suffer alteration, on mine honour, 

2G7 ^ 



ACT IV. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



JCENE TV. 



I "1! point you where you shall have such receiving 
As shall become your highness; where you may 
Knjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, • 
There 's no disjunction to be made, but by — 
As heavens forefend ! — your ruin ; marry her, 
And, with my best endeavours in your absence, 
Your discontenting fatlier strive to qualify 
And bring him upto liking. 

Flo. How, Camillo, 

Jlay this, almost a miracle, be done y 
That 1 may call thee something more than man 
And after that trust to thee. 

(Jam. Have you thouglit on 

A place whereto you '11 go V 

Flo. Not any yet : 

But as tlie unthonght-on accident is guilty 
To what we wildly do, so we profess 
Ourselves to be the slaves of cliance and- flies 
Of every wind that blows. 

Cam. Then list to me : 

This follows, if you will not change your purpose 
But undergo this llight, make for Sic'ilia, 
And there "present yourself and your fair princess, 
For so I see she must lie, "fore Leontes: 
She shall be habited as it becomes 
The .partner of your bed. Methinks I see 
Leontes opening his free arms and weeping 
His welcomes forth ; asks tliee the son forgiveness. 
As 't were i' the father 's person ; kisses the hands 
Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness: the one 
He cliides to hell and bids the other grow 
Faster than thought or time. 

Flo. Worthy Camillo, 

What colour for my visitation sliall I 
Hold up before him ? 

Cum. Sent by the king your father 

To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, 
The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
What you as from your fatlier shall deliver. 
Things known betwixt us three, I '11 write you down: 
The which shall luiint ymi forth at every sitting 
AVhat yon must say ; that he shall not perceive 
But that you haveyour father's bosom there 
And speak his very heart. 

Flo. I am bound to you : 

There is some sap in this. 

Cam. A cause more promising 

Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
To unpath'd waters, undreaHi'd shores, most certain 
To miseries enough ; no hope to help you. 
But as you shake off one to take anotlier; 
Notliiiiu' so certain as your anchors, who 
Do their best office, if tliey can but stay you 
Where Miu '11 be loath to be: besides ^ou know 
Pros|iriity 's the very bond of love, 
"Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together 
Atliiction alters. 

Per. One of these is true : 

1 think affliction may subdue the cheek, 
But not take in the mind. 

Cam. Yea, say you so ? 

There shall not at your father's house these seven 

years 
Be born another such. 

Flo. My good Camillo, 

She is as forward of her breeding as 
She is i' the rear our birth. 

Cum. I cannot say 't is pity 

She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress 
To most that teach. 

Per. Your pardon, sir; for this 

I '11 blush you thanks. 

Flo. My prettiest Perdital 

But O, the thorns we stand upon ! Camillo, 
Preserver of my father, now of me. 
The medicine of our house, how shall we do? 
268 



We are not furnish "d like Bohemia's son, 
Nor shall appear iu.Sicilia. 

Cam. My lord. 

Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes 
Do all He there: it shall be so my care 
To have you royally appointed as if 
The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, 
That you may know you shall not want, one word. 
[niey tulk aside. 

He-enter Autolycus. 

Aid. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is ! and Trust, 
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I 
have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, 
not a rilibon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, 
ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn- 
ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng 
who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been 
liallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer: 
by which means I saw whose purse was best in 
picture; and what I saw, to my good rise I remem- 
bered. My clown, who wants but something to be 
a I'easonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' 
song, that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had 
both tune and words: which so drew the rest of the 
herd to nie that all their other senses stuck in ears: 
you uuglit have pinched a placket, it was senseless; 
"t was nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse ; I could 
have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, 
no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the 
nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I 
picked and cut most of their festival purses ; and 
liad not the old man come in with a whoo-bub 
against his daughter and the king's son and scared 
iny clioughs fro'm the chalf , 1 had not left a purse 
alive in the whole army. 

[Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita come forward. 

Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means being 
there 
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 

Flo. And those that you'll procure from King 
Leontes — 

Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 

Per. Happy be you ! 

All that you speak shows fair. 

Cum. V/ho have we here ? 

[Seeing Autolycus. 
AVe '11 make an instrument of this, omit 
Nothing may give us aid. [ing. 

^1(((. If they have overheard me now, why, hang- 
Cam. How now, good fellow! why shakest thou 
so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. [thee. 

Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal 
that from thee : yet for the outside of thy poverty 
we must make an exchange; therefore disease thee 
instantly, — thou must think there's a necessity 
in "t, — and change garments with this gentleman: 
though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, 
yet hold thee, there 's some boot. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye 
well enough. 

Cam. Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is 
half flayed already. 

Ant. Are you in earnest, sir"? [^IsitZf] I smell 
the trick on 't. 

Flo. Dispatch, I prithee. 

^1((/. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot 
with conscience take it. 

Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. 

[Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments. 
Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
Come home to ye! — you must retire yourself 
Into some covert : take your sweetheart's hat 
And [duck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, 
Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken 
The truth of your own seeming ; that you may — , 



ACT IV. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE IV. 



For I do fear eyes over — to shipboard 
Get undescried. 

Pc<-. I see the play so lies 

That I must bear a part. 

C«?ii. No remedy. 

Have you done there ? 

Flo. Should I now meet my father, 

He would not call me son. 

Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat. 

IGicimj it to Pcrdita. 
Come, lady, come. Farewell, uiy friend. 

Aut. Adieu, sir. 

Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot I 
Pray you, a word. [king 

Cam. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the 
Of this escape and whitlier they are bound; 
Wherein my liope is I shall so prevail 
To force liii'u after: Ln whose company 
I sliall review Sicilia, for whose sight 
I have a woman's longing. 

Flo. Fortune speed us ! 

Thus we set on, Camillo, to tlie sea-side. 

Cam. The swifter speed the better. 

[Exeunt Florlul, Pcrdita, and Camillo. 

Aut. I understand the^business, I hear it : to have 
an open ear, a quick eye^and a lumble hand, is nec- 
essary for a cut-purse ; a good nose is requisite also, 
to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is 
t!ie time that the unjust man doth thrive. What 
an exchange liad tliis been witliout boot ! AVhat a 
boot is here with this excliange ! Sure the gods do 
this year connive at us, andwe may do anything: 
extempore. Tlie prince himself is about a piece of 
iniquity, stealing away from his fatlier with liis clog 
at liis lieels: if 1 tliought it were a piece of honesty 
to acquaint tiie king withal, I would not do't: I 
hold it tlie more knavery to conceal it; and therein 
am I constant to my profession. 

Se-enter Clown and Shepherd. 
Aside, aside ; here is more matter for a hot brain : 
every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
ing, yields a careful man work. 

Clo. See, see; what a man you are now! There 
is no other way but to tell the king she 's a cliauge- 
liug and none of your flesh and blood. 

bliep. Nay, but hear me. 

Clo. Nay, but hear me. 

Shep. Go to, then. 

Clo. Slie being none of your flesh and blood, your 
flesh and blood has not offended the king ; and so 
your llesh and blood is not to be punished by him. 
Sliow tliose things you found about lier, those secret 
things, all but what she has with her: this being 
done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you. 

_ Slap. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and 
his son's pranks too; -vvlio, I may say, is no honest 
man, neither to his father, nor to me, to go about to 
make me tlie king's brother-in-law. 

Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off 
you could have been to him and then your blood 
had been the dearer by I know liow much an ounce. 

Aut. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! 

ShLp. Well, let us to tlie king: there is that in 
this fardel will make him scratcli his beard. 

Avi. [Aaidi] I know not what impediment this 
complaint may be to the tliglit of my master. 

Clo. Pray lieartily he lie at palace. 

Aui. [^ImVc] Though I am not naturally honest, 
I am so sometimes by chance : let me pocket uji my 
pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard.] IIow 
now, rustics! whitlier are you boinid y 

Ship. To the palace, an it like your worship. 

Aut. Your affairs there, what, with wliom, the 
condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, 
and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. 



Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. j 

Aut. A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me j 
have no lying : it becomes none but tradesmen, and i 
tliey often give us soldiers the lie ; but we pay tliem i 
for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel : tliere- | 
fore they do not give us the lie. ! 

Clo. Your worsliip had like to have given us one, 
if you had not taken yourself with tlie manner. 
Sltep. Are you a courtier, an 't like you, sir? 
Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. 
Seest thou not the air of the court in tliese enfold- 
ings y hath not my gait in it tlie measure of the 
court V receives not thy nose court-odour from 
me y reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt y 
Thinkest thou, for that I insinuate, or toaze from 
tliee thy business, I am tlierefore no courtier ? I ' 
am courtier cap-a-pe ; and one tliat will either pusli 
on or pluck back thy business there : whereupon I 
command thee to open thy affair. • 

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. ' 

Aui. Wliat advocate hast thou to him ? 
Shep. I know not, an't like yon. I 

Clo. Advocate 's the court-word for a pheasant : 
say you have none. [lien. 

Shep. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock nor 
Aut. IIow blessed are we that are not simple men ! 
Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
Tlierefore I will not disdain. 

Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 

Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them i 

not handsomely. i 

Clo. lie seems to be the more noble in being fan- ] 

tastical: a great man, I '11 warrant; I knpw by the 

picking on 's teeth. I 

Aut. The fardel there'? what's i' the fardel'? 
Wherefore tliat box '? 

Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel 
and box, which none must know but tlie king; and 
wliich he shall know within this hour, if I may 
come to the speech of him. 
Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 
SAfp. Why, sir'? I 

Aut. The king is not at the palace; he is gone ' 
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air him- 
self : for, if thou beest capable of things serious, thou 
must know the king is full of grief. 

Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should 
have married a shepherd's daughter. 

Aut. If tliat shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him 
fly : the curses he shall have, the tortures lie sh.all | 
f eel , will break the back of man, the heart of monster. 
Clo. Think you so, sir? 

Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make 
heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are ger- 
mane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all 
come under the hangman : which though it be great 
pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling 
rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter 
come into grace ! Some say he shall be stoned ; but 
that death is too soft for him, say I : draw our throne 
into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are too few, the sharpest 
too easy. 

Clo. lias the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, 
an 't like you, sir? , i 

-1«(. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then i 
'nointed over witli honey, set on the head of a wasp's • 
nest ; tlien stand till he be three-quarters and a dram 
dead; tlien recovei'ed again with aqua-vita? or some 
other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in tlie 
hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be 
set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a I 
southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him ' 
with flies blown to death. But what talk we of 
these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be 
smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, 
for you seem to be honest plain men, what you \n\\e 
to the kins : being something gently considered, I '11 
269 



ACT V. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE T. 



bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons 
to his presence, whisper him in your behalt's; and 
if it be in man Isesides tlie king to etfect your suits, 
here is man shall do it. 

Clo. lie seems to be of great authority : close with 
him, give him gold ; and though authority be a stub- 
born bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: 
show tlie inside of your purse to the outside of his 
hand, and no more ado. Remember ' stoned,' and 
' Hayed alive.' 

tihep. An 't please you, sir, to undertake the busi- 
ness for us, here is that gold I have : I 'II make it as 
much more and leave this young man in pawn till 
I bring it you. 

Aid. After I have done what I promised ? 

Shep. Ay, sir. 

Aut. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party 
in this business y 

Clo. In some sort, sir: but though my ease be a 
pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 

Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: 
bang him, he "11 be made an example. 

Clo. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the 



king and show our strange sights: he must know 
't is none of your daughter nor my sister ; we are 
gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old- 
man does when the business is performed, and re- 
main, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. 

Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the 
sea-side ; go on the right hand : I will but look upon 
the hedge and follow'you. [lilest. 

Clo. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even 

Shep. Let 's before as he bids us : he was pro^'ided 
to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. 

Aut. It I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune 
would not suffer me : she drops booties in my mouth. 
I am courted now with a double occasion, gold and 
a means to do the prince my master good ; which 
who knows how that may turn back to my advance- 
ment':' I will bring these two moles, these lilind 
ones, aboard him: if he think it lit to shore them 
again and that the complaint they have to the king 
concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for 
being so far officious ; for I am proof against that 
title and what shame else belongs to 't. To him will 
I present them : there may be matter in it. [E.cU. 



^CT V. 



SCENE I. — A room in Leontes^ palace. 

Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, and 
Servants. 

Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per- 
form 'd 
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make. 
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down 
More penitence than done trespass: at the last. 
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil ; 
With them forgive yourself. 

Leon. Whilst I remember 

Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
My blemishes in them, and so still think of 
The wrong I did myself; which was so much. 
That heirless it hath made my kingdom and 
Destroy 'd the sweet 'st companion that e'er man 
Bred his hopes out of. 

Paul. True, too true, my lord : 

If, one by one, you wedded all the world. 
Or from the all that are took something good, 
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd 
Would be unparallel'd. 

Leon. I think so. Kill'd! 

She I kill'd ! I did so : but thou strikest me 
Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter 
Upon thy tongue as in my thought : now, good now, 
Say so but seldom. 

Cleo. Not at all, good lady : 

You might have spoken a thousand things that 

would 
Have done the time more benefit and graced 
Your kindness better. 

Paid. You are one of those 

Would have him wed again. 

Dion. If you would not so, 

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
Of his most sovereign name; consider little 
Wi)at dangers, by his highness' fail of issue. 
May drop upon his kingdom and devour 
Incertain lookers on. What were more holy 
Than to rejoice the former queen is well.!' 
What holier than, for royalty's repair, 
For present comfort and for future good. 
To bless the bed of majesty again 
With a sweet fellow to 't V 

Paul. There is none worthy. 

Respecting her that 's gone. Besides, the gods 
270 



Will have fulfill 'd their secret purposes; 

For has not the divine Apollo said, 

Is 't not the tenour of his oracle. 

That King Leontes shall not have an heir 

Till his lost child be found ? which that it shall, 

Is all as monstrous to our human reason 

As my Antigonus to break his grave 

And come again to me ; who, on my life, 

Did perish with the infant. 'T is your counsel 

My lord should to the heavens be contrary, 

Oppose against their wills. [To Leontes.] Care not 

for issue ; 
The crown will find an heir : great Alexander 
Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor 
Was like to be the best. 

Leon. Good Paulina, 

Who hast the memory of Hermione, 
I know, in honour, O, that ever I 
Had squared me to thy counsel! then, even now, 
I might have look'd upon my queen's fuU eyes. 
Have taken treasure from her lips — 

Paul. And left them 

More rich for what they yielded. 

Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 

Xo more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one worse, 
And better used, would make her sainted spirit 
Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, 
\\'here we 're offenders now, appear soul- vex 'd. 
And l)egin, ' Why to me 'f ' 

Paul. Had she such power. 

She had just cause. 

Leon. She had; and would incense me 

To murder her I married. 

Paid. I should so. 

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I 'Id bid you mark 
Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in 't 
You chose her; then I 'Id shriek, tluit even your ears 
Sliould rift to hear me ; and the words that foUow'd 
Should be ' Remember mine.' 

Leon. Stars, stars, 

And all eyes else dead coals ! Fear thou no wife ; 
I "11 have "no wife, Paulina. 

Paul. Will you swear 

Never to marry but by my free leave ? 

Leon. Never, Paulina ; so be blest my spirit ! 

Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his 

Cleo. You tempt him over-much. [oath. 

Paul. Unless another. 



ACT V. 



THE WIXTER\S TALE. 



SCENE I. 



As like Hermione as is her picture, 
Affront liis eye. 

Cleo. Good madam, — 

Paul. I have done. 

Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir, 
!No remedy, but you will, — give me the office 
To choose you a queen : she shall not be so young 
As was your former ; but she shall be such " 
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy 
To see her in your arms. 

Leon. My true Paulina, 

We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. 

Paul. That 

Shall be when your first queen 's again in breath; 
Kever till then. 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Gent. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, 
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she 
The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access 
To your high presence. 

Leon. What with him ? he comes not 

Like to his father's greatness: his approach. 
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 
'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced 
By need and accident. What train y 

Gent. But few. 

And those but mean. 

Leon. His princess, say yon, with him ? 

Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, 1 think. 
That e'er the sun shone bright on. 

Paul. O Hermione, 

As every present time doth boast itself 
Above a better gone, so must thy grave 
Give way to what 's seen now ! Sir, you yourself 
Have said and writ so, but your writing now 
Is colder thai, that theme, 'She had not been. 
Nor was not to be equall'd ; ' — thus your verse 
Flow'd with her beauty once: 't is shrewdly ebb'd. 
To say you have seen a better. 

Gent. Pardon, madam : 

The one I have almost forgot, — your pardon, — 
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, 
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, 
AVould she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
Of all professors else, make proselytes 
Of who she but bid follow. 

Paul. How ! not women ? 

Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman 
More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
The rarest of all women. 

Leon. Go, Cleomenes; 

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends. 
Bring them to our embracement. Still, 't is strange 
[Exeunt Cleomenes and otiiers. 
He thus should steal upon us. 

Paul. Had our prince. 

Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd 
Weil with this lord : there was not full a month 
Between their births. 

Leon. Prithee, no more; cease; thou know 'st 
He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure. 
When 1 shall see this gentleman, tliy speeches 
Will bring me to consider that which may 
Unfurnish me of reason. They are come. 

Re-enter Cleomenes and others, ivith Florizel and 

Perdita. 
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; 
For she did print your royal father otf. 
Conceiving you: were 1 but twenty-one, 
Your father's image is so hit in you. 
His very air, that 1 should call you brother, 
As I did him, and speak of something wildly 
By us perform 'd before. Most dearly welcome! 
And your fair princess, — goddess! — O, alas! 
I lost a couple, tliat 'twixt heaven and earth 
Might thus have stood begetting wonder as 



You, gracious couple, do: and then I lost — 
All mine own folly — the society. 
Amity too, of your brave father, whom. 
Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
Once more to look on him. 

Plo. By his command 

Have I here tonch'd Sicilia and from him 
Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, 
Can send his brother: and, but infirmity 
AVhich waits upon worn times hath something seized 
His wish'd ability, he had himself 
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
Measured to look upon you ; whom he loves — 
He liHde me say so — more than all the sceptres 
And those that bear them living. 

Leon. O my brother. 

Good gentleman ! the wrongs I have done thee stir 
Afresh within me, and these thy offices. 
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome hither. 
As is the spring to the earth. And hath lie too 
Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage. 
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Xeptuue, 
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less 
The adventure of her person ? 

Flo. Good my lord. 

She came from Libya. 

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 

That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved ? 

Flo. Most royal sir, from thence; from him, 
whose daughter 
His tears proclaiin'd his, parting with her: thence, 
A prosperous south wind friendly, we have cro'ss'd, 
To execute the charge my father gave me 
For visiting your highness: my best train 
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; 
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
Not only my success in Libya, sir. 
But my arrival and my wife's in safety 
Here where we are. 

Lemi. The blessed gods 

Purge all infection from our air whilst you 
Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 
A graceful gentleman ; against whose person, 
So sacred as it is, I have done sin : 
For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
Have left me issueless; and your father 's blest, 
As he from heaven merits it,' with you 
Worthy his goodness. AVhat might I have been. 
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on. 
Such goodly things as you ! 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Most noble sir, 

That which I shall report will bear no credit. 
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
Bohemia greets you from himself by me; 
Desires you to attach his son, who has — 
His dignity and duty both cast off — 
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
A shepherd's daughter. 

Leon. Where 's Bohemia ? speak. 

Lord. Here in your city ; I now came from him : 
I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
My marvel and my message. To your court 
Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it seems, 
Of this fair couple, meets he on the way 
The fatlier of this seeming lady and 
Her brother, having both their country quitted 
With this young prince. 

Flo. Camillo has betray 'd me ; 

Whose honour and whose honesty till now " 
Endured all weathers. 

Lord. Lay 't so to his charge : 

He 's with the king j'our father. 

Leon. Who? Camillo? 

Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him ; who now 
271 



ACT V. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE II. 



Has tliese poor men in question. Never saw I 
Wretclies so qu;ike : tliey Itneel, they kiss the earth ; 
Forswear themselves as often as they speak : 
Bolieinia stops his ears, and threatens them 
With divers deaths in death. 

Per. O my poor father ! 

Tlie lieaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
Our contract celebrated. 

Leon. You are married ? 

Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first : 
The odds for high and low 's alike. 

Leon. My lord. 

Is this the daughter of a king ? 

Flo. She is, 

When once she is my wife. [speed, 

Leon. That ' once,' I see by your good father's 
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
]\Iost sorry, you have broken from his liking 
"Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry 
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
Tliat you might well enjoy her. 

Flo. Dear, look up : 

Tliough Fortune, visible an enemy, 
yiiouid chase us with my father, power no jot 
Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, 
Kemember since you owed no more to time 
Than I do now : with thought of such affections, 
Step forth mine advocate ; at your request 
My futher will grant precious things as trifles. 

Leon. Would he do so, I 'Id beg your precious 
AVliich lie counts but a trifle. [mistress, 

Paul. Sir, my liege, 

Your eye hath too much youth in 't : not a month 
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such 
Than what you look on now. [gazes 

Leon. I thought of her. 

Even in these looks I made. \To Florizel.] But 

your iietition 
Is yet unanswer 'd. I will to your father : 
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
I am friend to them and you : upon which errand 
I now go toward him ; therefore follow me 
And mark what way I make: come, good my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Before Leontes'' ^mlace. 
Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman. 

Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this 
relation ? 

First Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, 
heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he 
foimd it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we 
were all comnian<led out of the chamber; only this 
methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the 
child. 

Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 

First Gent. I make a broken delivery of the busi- 
ness; but the changes I perceived in the king and 
Camillo were very notes of admiration : they seemed 
almost, with staringon one another, to tear the cases 
of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, 
language in their very gesture ; they looked as they 
hail heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed : a 
notable passion of wonder appeared in tliem ; but 
tiie wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, 
could not say if the importance were joy or sorrow; 
but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. 

Enter another Gentleman, 
Here comes a gentleman that haply knows more. 
Tlie news, Ilogero ? 

See. Gent. Notliing but bonfires: the oracle is ful- 
filled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal of 
wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad- 
makers cannot be able to express it. 
272 



Enter a third Gentleman. 

Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward : he can de- 
liver you more. How goes it now, sir ? this news 
which is called true is so like an old tale, that the 
verity of it is in strong suspicion : has the king found 
his heir ? 

Third Gent. Most true, if ever truth were preg- 
nant by circumstance : that which you hear j ou '11 
swear you see, there is such unity in the proof's. The 
mantle of Queen Hermione's, her jewel :il)iint the 
neek of it, the letters of Antigonus found with it 
which they know to be his character, the majesty of 
the creature in resemblance of the mother, the af- 
fection of nobleness which nature shows above her 
breeding, and many other evidences proclaim her 
with all certainty to be the king's daughter. Did 
you see the meeting of the two kings ':* 

Sec. Gent. No. 

Third Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which 
was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might 
you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in 
"such manner that it seemed sorrow wejit to take 
leave of them, for their joy waded in tears. There 
was casting up of ej'es, holding up of hands, with 
countenances of such distraction that they were to 
be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, 
being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his 
found daughter, as if that joy were now become a 
loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother! ' then asks 
Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces liis son-in-law ; 
then again worries he his daugliter with clipiniig 
her; now he thanks the old.sheplniil, which stand's 
by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' 
reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, 
which lames report to follow it and undoes descrip- 
tion to do it. 

Sec. Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, 
that carried hence the cliild ':* 

Third Gent. Like an old tale still, which will have 
matter to rehearse, though credit be aslecj) and not 
an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a liear: 
this avouches the shepherd's son ; who has not only 
his innocence, which seems much . t o j usl i 1 y h i ni , 1 mt 
a handkerchief and rings of his tliat I'aulina knows. 

First Gent. What became of his bark and his fol- 
lowers ? 

Third Gent. Wrecked the same instant of their 
master's death and in the view of the shepherd : .so 
that all the instruments which aided to expose the 
child were even then lost when it was found. But 
O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was 
fouglit in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the 
loss of her husband, another elevated that the ora- 
cle was fullilled : she lifted the princess from the 
earth, and so locks her in embracing, as if she would 
pin her to her heart that she might no more be in 
danger of losing. 

First Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the 
audience of kings and princes ; for by such was it 
acted. 

Third Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all 
and that which angled for mine eyes, caught the 
water though not the fish, was when, at the relation 
of the queen's death, with the manner how she came 
to 't bravely confessed and laineiifed by the king, 
how attentiveness wounded hisdauglitcr; till, from 
onesignof dolour to another, she dill, wit hail 'Alas,' 
I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart 
wept blood. Who was most marble tliiTr rjiaiiged 
coloiu-; some swooned, all sorrowed : if all the world 
could have seen 't, the woe had been universal. 

First Gent. Are they returned to the court y 

Third Gent. No : the princess hearing of her moth- 
er's statue, which is in the kee])ing of Paulina, — a 
piece many years in doing and now newly i)erformeil 
by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had 



ACT V. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE III. 



he himself eternity and could put breath into his 
work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so per- 
fectly he is her ai)e: he so near to Herniione hath 
(lone Hermione that they say one would speak to 
her and stand in hope of answer: thither with all 
greediness of atf ection are they gone, and there they 
intend to sup. 

^'ec. Qent. I thought she had some great matter 
tliere in hand ; for she hath privately twice or thrice 
a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that 
removed house. Shall we thither and with our com- 
jiany piece the rejoicing y 

Pirst Gent. Who would be thence that has the 
benefit of access ? every wink of an eye some new 
grace will be born : our absence makes us untlirifty 
toourknowledge. Let'salong. \^Excunt Gentlemen. 

Aiit. Xow, had I not tlie dash of my former life in 
me, would preferment drop on my hcHd. I brought 
the old man and liis son aljoard tlie prince ; told liim 
I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what : 
but he at that time, overfond'of tlie shepherd's 
daughter, so he tlieu took her to be, who began to 
be much sea-sick, and himself little better, ex- 
tremity of weather continuing, this mystery re- 
mained undiscovered. But "t is all one to me; for 
liad I been the finder out of tliis secret, it would 
not have relished among my other discredits. 

Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
Here come those I have done good to against my 
will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their 
fortune. 

Shep. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but 
thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 

Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight 
with me this other day, becausel was no gentleman 
born. See you these clothes ? say you see them not 
and think me sfill no gentleman born: you were 
best say these robes are not gentlemen born : give 
me thelie, do, and try whether 1 am not now a gen- 
tleman born. 

Aid. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 

Clo. Ay, and" have been so any time these four 
hours. 

^hep. And so have I, boy. 

Clo. So you have: but I was a gentleman born 
before my father; for the king's son took lue by 
the hand, and called me brother; and then the two 
kings called my father brother ; and then the prince 
my brother and the princess my sister called my 
father father; and so we wept, and there was the 
first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. 

Shcp. AVe may live, son, to shed many more. 

Clo. Ay : or else "t were hard luck, being in so 
preposterous estate as we are. 

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to par/Jon me all 
the faults I have committed to your worship and 
I to give me your good report to the prince my 
I master. 

Shep. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, 
now we are gentlemen. 

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life ? 

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 

Clo. Give me thy hand: 1 will swear to the prince 
thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bo- 
hemia. 

Skep. You may say it, but not swear it. 

Clo. Xot swear it, now I am a gentleman V Let 
boors and franklins say it, I "11 swear it. 

Shep. How if it be false, son y 

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 
swear it in the behalf of his friend: and I '11 swear 
to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and 
that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art 
>( no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be 
drunk : but I '11 swear it, and I would thou wouldst 
be a tall fellow of thy hands. 
18 



Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow : if I 
do not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, 
not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark ! the 
kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to 
see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we '11 be 
thy good masters. [Exeunt. 

SCENE ni. — A chapel in Paulina''s house. 

Enter Lieontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Ca- 
millo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 

Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great corn- 
That I have had of thee ! [fort 

Paul. What, sovereign sir, 

I did not well I meant well. All my services 
Y'ou have paid home: but that you have vouch- 
safed, [Iracted 
With your crown'd brother and these your con- 
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 
It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
Aly life may last to answer. 

Leon. O Paidina, 

We honour you with trouble: but we came 
To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
Have we pass'd through, not without much content 
In many singularities; but we saw not 
That which iny daughter came to look upon. 
The statue of her mother. 

Paul. As she lived peerless. 

So her dead likeness, I do well believe. 
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon 
Or hand of man hath done : therefore I keep it 
Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare 
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever 
Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well. 
[Paulina draus a curtain, and discovtrs 
Hermione stancliny like a statue. 
I like your silence, it the more shows off 
Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege. 
Comes it not something near ? 

Leon. Her natural posture ! 

Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed 
Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she 
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender 
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, 
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing 
So aged as this seems. 

Pol. O, not by much. 

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence; 
Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her 
As she lived now. 

Leon. As now she might have done. 

So much to my good comfort, as it is 
Now piercing to my soul. O. thus she stood, 
Even witli such life of majesty, warm life. 
As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her ! 
1 am ashamed :"does not the stone rebuke me 
For Ijeing more stone than it y O royal piece 
There 's inagic in thy majesty, which has 
iMy evils conjured to remembrance and 
From thy adniirinu daughter took the spirits. 
Standing like stone with thee. 

Per. And give me leave, 

And do not say 't is superstition, that 
I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady, 
Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
Give me that hand of yours to kiss. 

Paul. O, patience! 

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's 
Xot dry. 

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, 
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,. 
So many summers dry : scarce any joy 
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow 
But kill'd itself much sooner. 

I^ul. Dear my brother, 

2za 



ACT V. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



SCENE III. 



Let liim that was the cause of this have power 
To take off so much grief from you as he 
Will piece up in himself. 

Paul. Indeed, my lord, 

If I had thought the sight of my poor image 
Would thus have wrought you, — for the stone is 
I 'Id not have show'd it. [mine — 

Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 

Faul. No longer shall you gaze on 't, lest your 
May think anon it moves. [fancy 

Leon. Let be, let be. 

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — 
What was he that did make it ? See, my lord, 
Would you not deem it breathed 'i and that those 
Did verily bear blood ? [veins 

Pol. Masterly done: 

The very life seems warm ujion her lip. 

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in 't. 
As we are inock'd with art. 

Paul. I '11 draw the curtain : 

My lord 's almost so far transported that 
He '11 think anon it lives. 

Leon. O sweet Paulina,' 

Make me to think so twenty years together! 
No settled senses of the world can match 
The jileasure of that madness. Let 't alone. 

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you : 
I could afflict you farther. [but 

Leon. Do, Paulina; 

For tilts affliction has a taste as sweet 
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, 
There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel 
Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me, 
For I will kiss her. 

L'aul. Good my lord, forbear : 

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; 
You '11 mar it if you kiss it, stain your ot\ti 
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain ? 

Leon. No, not these twenty years. 

Per. ' So long could I 

Stand by, a looker on. 

Paul. Either forbear. 

Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you 
For more amazement. If you can behold it, 
I '11 make the statue move indeed, descend 
And take you by the hand : but then you '11 think — 
Which I protest against — I am assisted 
By wicked powers. 

Leon. What you can make her do, 

I am content to look on : what to speak, 
I am content to hear ; for 't is as easy 
To make her speak as move. 

Paul. It is required 

You do awake }'our faith. Then all stand still ; 
On: those that think it is unlawful business 
I am about, let them depart. 

Leon. Proceed : 

No foot shall stir. 

Paul. Music, awake her; strike! [Music. 

'T is time ; descend ; be stone no more ; approach ; 
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come, 
1 '11 fill your grave up : stir, nay, come away, 
274 



Becpieath to death your numbness, for from him 
Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs : 

[Hermione comes down. 
Start not ; her actions shall be holy as 
You hear my spell is lawful : do not shun her 
Until you see her die again ; for then 
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand : " 
When she was young you woo'd her; now in age 
Is slie become the suitor ? 

Leon. O, she 's warm ! 

If this be magic, let it be an art 
Lawful as eating. 

Pol. She embraces him. 

Cam. She hangs about his neck : 
If she pertain to life let her speak too. 

Pol. Ay, and make 't manifest where she has lived. 
Or how stolen from the dead. 

Paul. ■ That she is living, 

Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
Like an old tale: but it appears slie lives. 
Though yet she speak not. IMark a little while. 
Please you to interpose, fair madam : kneel . 
And jiray your motlier's blessing. Turn, good lady ; 
Our Perdita is found. 

Her. You gods, look down 

And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head ! Tell me, mine own. 
Where hast thou been preserved ':■ where lived V how 

found 
Thy fatlier's court? for thou shalt hear that I, 
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle 
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved 
Myself to see the issue. 

Paul. There 's time enough for that ; 

Lest they desire upon this push to trouble 
Your joys with like relation. Go together. 
You precious winners all : your exultation 
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle. 
Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there 
My mate, that 's never to be found again, 
Lament till I am lost. 

Leon. O. peace, Paulina! 

Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, 
As I by thine a wife : this is a match, [mine ; 

And made between 's by vows. Thou hast found 
But how, is to be question'd ; for I saw her, 
As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many 
A prayer upon her grave. I '11 not seek far — 
For him, I partly know his mind — to find thee 
An liouoiiralile liusliand. Come, Camillo, 
And take her by tlie hand, whose worth and honesty 
Is richly noted and here justified 
By us, a pair of kings. Let 's from this place. 
What! look upon my brotiier: both your pnrdons, 
Tlmt e'er I luit between your holy looks 
My ill suspicion. This is your son-in-law 
And son unto the king, who, heavens directing. 
Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, 
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely 
Each one demand and answer to his part 
Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first 
We were dissever'd : hastily lead away. [Exeunt. 




THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN. 



DEA3IATIS PER SOX JE. 



King John. 

Prince Henry, son to the king. 

Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the king. 

The Earl of Pembroke. 

The Earl of Essex. 

The Earl of Salisbury. 

The Lord Bigot. 

Hubert de Burgh. 

Robert Faulconbridge, son to Sir Robert Faul- 

conbriilge. 
Philip the Bastard, his half-brother. 
James Gurney, servant to Lady FaulcoubriJge. 
Peter of Pomfret, a prophet. 
Philip, King of France. 

[For an Analysis of the Plot of ihis PI 



Lewis, the Dauphin. 

Lymoges, Duke of Austria. 

Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's legate. 

Melun, a French Loril. 

Chatillon, ambassador from France to King John, 

Queen Elinor, mother to King John. 

Constance, mother to Arthur. 

Blanch of Spain, niece to King John. 

Lady Faulconbridge. 

Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, 
Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE — Partly in England, and partly in France, 
Page Lll.] 



A.OT I. 



SCENE I. — Kincj Johyi's palace. 



Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, 

Essex, Salisbury, and others, with Chatillon. 

A'. Jiiha . Xow, say, Cluitilloii, what would France 
with usV [Fraiiee 

Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of 
In my behaviour to tlie majesty, 
Tlie borrow'd majesty, of England here. 

EU. A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty! ' 

K.John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. 

Chat. Philip of France, iu right and true behalf 
Of thy deceased brother Gelfrey's son, 
Arthur Plantagenct, lays most" lawful claim 
To this fair islanii and the territories, 
To Ireland, Poittirrs, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
Desiring tliee to lay aside the sword 
"Which sways usurpingly these several titles, 
And put the same into young Arthur's hand, 
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. 

K. John. What follows'if we disallow of this? 

Chat. The proud control of fierce an<l bloody war, 
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 

JC John. Here have we war for war and blood for 
blood, 
Controlment for controlment : so answer France. 

Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my 
The farthest limit of my embassy. [liiouth, 

K. Jolin . Bear mine to him, and so depart iu peace : 
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; 
For ere thou canst report I will be there, 
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard : 
.So hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath 
And sullen presage of your own decay. 
An honourable conduct let him have: 
Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. 

{Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke. 

Eli. AVliat now, my son ! have I not ever said 
How that ambitious Constance would not cease 
Till she had kindled France and all the world, 
Ui)iin the right and party of her son? 
This might have been prevented and made whole 
With very easy arguments of love, 



Which now the manage of two kingdoms must 
AV'itli fearful bloody issue arbitrate. [us. 

K. John. Our strong possession and our right for 
EU. Your strong possession much more thau 
your riglit. 
Or else it must go wrong with you and me: 
So much my conscience whispers iu your ear, 
AV^hich noue but heaven and you and 1 shall hear. 

Enter a Sheriff. 

Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy 
C6me from the country to be judged by you 
That e'er I heard: shall I produce the meuV 

A". John. Let them approach. 
Our abbeys and our priories shall pay 
This expedition's charge. 

Enter Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip his 
bastard brother. 

What men are you ? 

Bast. Your faithful siiliject I, a gentleman 
Born in Xorthamptonshire and ektest son, 
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, 
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand 
Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. 

A'. John. What art thou ? 

Bob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. 

A'. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir V 
You came not of one mother then, it seems. 

Bast, ilost certain of one mother, mighty king; 
That is well known; and, as I think, one father: 
But for the certain knowledge of that truth 
I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother : 
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. [mother 

Eli. Out on thee, rude 'man I thou dost shame thy 
And wound her honour with this dirtidence. 

Bast. I, madam '? no, I have no reason for it ; 
That is my brother's jilea and none of mine ; 
The which if lie can prove, a' pops me out 
At least from fair live hundred pound a year: 
Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! 

K.John. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younuer 
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ':' [born, 

275 



ACT I. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE I. 



Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
But once he slander 'd me with bastardy : 
But wliether I be as true begot or no, 
That still I lay upon my mother's head. 
But that I aui as well begot, my liege, — 
Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me I — 
Compare our faces and be judge yourself. 
If old sir Robert did beget us both 
And were our father and this son like him, 

old sir Robert, father, on my knee 

1 give heaven thanks I was not like to thee ! 

A'. Joliix. AVhy , what a madcap hath heaven lent us 
here ! 

Eli. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face ; 
The accent of his tongue affecteth him. 
Do you not read some tokens of my son 
In t^lie large (•(inipusitini) of tliis man V 

A'. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts 
And finds them perfect liicliard. Sirrah, speak. 
What doth move you to elaiiu your brother's land? 

Basil. Because he hath a half-face, like my father. 
AVith half that face would he have all my land: 
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! 

Roh. ISIy gracious liege, when that my father lived, 
Your ))r(>tlier diil employ my father much, — 

B<iM. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land : 
Your tale must be how lie employ'd my mother. 

Hub. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy 
To Germany, there with the emperor 
To treat of high affairs touching that time. 
The advantage of his absence took the king 
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; 
Where how he did prevail I shame to speak. 
But truth is truth; large lengths of seas and shores 
Between my fatlier and luy ntother lay. 
As 1 have heard my father speak himself, 
When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd 
His lands to me, and took it on his death 
That this my mother's son was none of his; 
And if he were, he came into the world 
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
My father's land, as was my father's vvill. 

K. John. Sirrali, your brother is legitimate; 
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him. 
Anil if she did play false, the fault was hers; 
AVhich fault lies oil the hazards of all husbands 
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, 
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, 
Had of your father claim'd this son for liisV 
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept 
This calf bred from his cow from all the world; 
In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's, 
My brother might not claim him; nor your father. 
Being none of his, refuse him : this concludes ; 
My mother's son did get your father's heir; 
Your father's heir must have your father's land. 

Roh. Shall then my father's will be of no force 
To dispossess that child which is not his y 

hiiM. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
Thau was his will to get me, as I think. [bridge 

AV;. A\'hrther hadst thou rather be a Faulcon- 
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, 
Or the reputed son of Ca'ur-de-lion, 
Lord of thy pi'esence and no laud beside V 

Buft. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, 
And I had his, sir Kobert's his, like him ; 
And if my legs were two such riding-rods. 
My arms such eel-skins stuffd, my iace so thin 
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose [goes! ' 
Lest men should say 'Look, whtre three-farthhigs 
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land. 
Would I might never stir from off this place, 
I %\ould give it e\ery foot to have this face ; 
I would not be sir Nob in any case. , [tune, 

Eli. I like thee well : wilt thou forsake tliy tor- 
276 



Bequeath thy land to him and follow me ? 

I am a soldier and now bound to France, [chance. 

Bnst. Brother, take you my land, I '11 take my 
Your, face hath got five hundred pound a year. 
Yet sell yoiu' face for five pence and 't is dear. 
Madam, I '11 follow you unto the death. 

Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. 

Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. 

A'. Jolin. What is thy najner' 

Bast. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun; 
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 

A'. John. From henceforth bear his name wliose 
form thou bear'st : 
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great. 
Arise sir Ricliard and Plantagenet. [hand: 

Biisl. Ihother by tlie mother's side, give me your 
My father gave uie honour, yours gave land. 
Now blesseil be the hour, by night or day, 
JVhen I was got, sir Robert was away! 
' Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet ! 
T am thy grandam, Richard; cail me so. [though V 

Bust. JMadani, liy chance but not by truth; what 
Soniethiiig about, a little from the right, ~ 
In at the window, or else o'er the hatch : 
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night, 
And have is have, however men do catch: 
Near or far off, well won is still well shot, 
And I am I, howe'er I was begot. [desire; 

A'. Jdlin. Go, Faulconbridge : now hast thou thy 
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. 
Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed 
For France, for France, for it is more than need. 

Bast. Brother, adieu : good fortune come to thee ! 
For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. 

\^Exeunt all but Bastard. 
A foot of honour better than I was ; 
But many a many foot of land the worse. 
"Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 
' Good den, sir Richard I ' — ' God-a-mercy, fellow ! ' — 
And if his name be-tieorge, I '11 call him Peter; 
For new-made honour doth foi'get men's names; 
'T is too respective and too sociable 
For your conversion. Now your traveller. 
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess. 
And when my knightly stomach is sutUced, 
Why then I suck my teeth and catechize 
INIy j)irked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' 
Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 
'I shall beseech you' — that is question now; 
And then comes answer like an Absey book : 
'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best conanand; 
At your employment ; at your service, sir : ' 
' No, sir,' says question, ' I, sweet sir, at yours: ' 
And so, ere answer knows what question would, 
Saving in dialogue of compliment. 
And talking of the All's and Apennines, 
The Pyrenean and the river Po, 
It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 
But this is worshipful society 
And flts the mounting spirit like myself, 
For he is but a bastard to the time 
That doth not smack of oliservation; 
And so am I, whether I smack or no; 
And not alone in haliit and device. 
Exterior form, outward accoutrement. 
But from the inward motion to deliver 
Sweet, sweet, sweet iioison for the age's tooth: 
Which, though I will not practise to deceive. 
Yet, to avoid' deceit, 1 mean to learn; 
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. 
But who comes in such haste in riding-robes ? 
What woman-post is this ':' hath she no husband 
That will take pains to blow a horn before her i' 

Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurney. 
O me ! it is my mother. How now, good lady I 
What brings you here to court so hastily i* 



ACT II. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE I. 



Ladij F. Where is that slave, thy brother ? where 
is he, 
That Ijokls in cliase mine honour up and do^m '/ 

Bast. My brother Robert ? old sir Kobert's son? 
Colbraud the giaut, that same mit,'hty man V 
Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so ? [boy, 

Ladij F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou unreverend 
Sir Robert's son : why scorn 'st tliou at sir Robert 'f 
He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. [awhile ? 

Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave 

Gur. Good leave, good Pliilip. 

Bast. Philip! sparrow: James, 

There 's toys abroad : anon I '11 tell thee more. 

[Exit Gurney. 
Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son : 
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast : 
Sir Robert could do well : marry, to confess, 
Could he get me y Sir Robert could not do it : 
We know his handiwork : therefore, good mother, 
To whom am I beholding for these limbs 'i 
Sir Robert never help to make this leg. [too. 

Lady F. Hast thou conspired witli thy brother 

That for tliine own gain shouldst defend mine 

honour ? [knave ^ 

AVhat means this scorn, thou most untoward 

Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. 
What ! I am dubb'd ! 1 have it on my shoulder. 
But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ; 
1 have disclauu'd sir Robert and my laud ; 



Legitimation, name and all is gone: 
Then, good my mother, let me know my father; 
Some proper man, I hoiie: who was it, mother':' 
Lady F. Ilast thou denied thyself a Faulcon- 
Bast. As faitlifullv as 1 ileiiy tlie devil, [bridge ^ 
Lady F. King Richard L'oiur-de-liou was thy 
father : 
By long and vehement suit I was seduced 
To make room for him in my husband's bed: 
Heaven lay not my trausgri'ssiim to my charge! 
Thou art the issue of my dear utteuce, 
Which was so strongly urged past my defence. 

Bast. 2!sow, by tliis light, were 1 to get again, 
Madam, I would not wish a better father. 
Some sins do bear their iirivilege on earth. 
And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: 
Xeeds must you lay your heart at his dispose, 
Sulijected tribute to commanding love. 
Against whose fury and unniatelied force 
The aweless lion could not wage the light. 
Nor keep his princely heart from liichard's hand. 
He that perforce robs lions of their liearts 
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother. 
With all my heart I thaidj thee for my fattier! 
Wlio lives and dares but say thou didst not v.'ell 
When I was got. I "11 seii<l ills soul to hell. 
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; 

And they shall say, wlien Rieliard me V)egot, 
If thou hadst said liim nay, it had been sin : 
Who sa} s it was, he lies ; I say "t was not. \_Exeimt. 



^CT II. 



SCENE l.^-France. Before Anglers. 

Enter Austria and forces^ druiiis^ tkc.j on one side : on the 
other King- Philip of Prance and his power ; Lewis, 
Arthur, Constance and Attendants. 

Lin-. Before Anglers well met, brave Austria. 
Artliur, tliat great forerunner of thy blood, 
Richard, tliat robb'd the lion of his heart 
And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
By this brave duke came early to his grave: 
And for amends to his posterity. 
At our importance hither is he. come, 
To spread his colours, boy. in thy behalf, 
And to reljuke tlif usurpation 
Of tliy unnatural uncle, JMiglish John: 
Embrace hiui. love him, give him welcome hither. 

Arth. God sliall forgive you Cwur-de-liou's death 
The ratlier that you give his offspring life. 
Shadowing their right under your wings of war: 
I give you welcome with a powerless hand, 
But with a heart full of unstained love : 
Welcome before the gates of Anglers, duke. 

Lew. A noble boy! Who would not do thee 
riglif:- 

Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss. 
As seal to this indenture of my love. 
That to my home I will no more return. 
Till Anglers and the right thou liast in France. 
Together with tliat pale, that v.hite-faced shore. 
Whose foot spurns l.iaek the oieaii's maring tides 
And coops friini other lands her islanders. 
Even till that Enuland, hedged in with the main, 
That water-walled lndwark, still secure 
And contident from fcu'eign purposes, 
Even till that utmost corner of the west 
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy. 
Will I not think of home, but follow^ arms. 

Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's 
thanks. 
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength 
To inake a more requital to your love ! 



Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their 
In such a just and charitable war. [swords 

A'. Phi. Well then, to work : our cannon shall be 
Against the brows of this resisting town. [bent 
Call for our chiefest men of discipline. 
To cull the plots of liest advantages: 
We '11 lay before this town our royal bones, 
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood. 
But we will make it subject to this boy. 

Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy. 
Lest unad\ised you stain your swords with blood: 
My Lord Chatillon may from England bring 
That right in iieace which here we urge in war. 
And theu we shall repent each drop of blood 
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 

Enter Chatillon. 

A"". Phi. A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish. 
Our nies.senger Chatillon is arrived! 
Wiiat Kngland says, say briefly, gentle lord; 
We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. 

Chat. Then turn ynur forces from this paltry siege 
And stir them u)! against a miglitier task. 
England, impatient of your just demands, 
Hath put himself in arms: the adver.se winds, 
Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time 
To land his legions all as soon as I; 
His marches are e-\i>edient to this town, 
His forces strong, his soldiers conhdent. 
With him alolig is come the mother-ciueen, 
An xVte. stirring him to blood and strife; 
With her her niece, the Ladv Blanch (if Spain; 
With them a bastard of the king's detcaMMl; 
And all the unsettled humours of the land, 
Rash, inconsiderate, hery voluntaries, 
^Vith lailies' faces and lierce dragons' spleens, 
H:ive sold their fortunes at their native homes. 
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs. 
To make a hazard of new fortunes here: 
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits 
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er 
277 



ACT II. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE T. 



Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
To do offence and scath in Christendom. 

[Drum heats. 
The interruption of their churlish drums 
Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand, 
To parley or to fight; therefore prepare. 

K. Phi. How mueli unli m ik M U n- is tliis expedition ! 

Aust. By how much uufxpecled, by so mucli 
We must awake endeavour for defence ; 
For courage mounteth with occasion: 
Let them be welcome then ; we are prejjared. 

Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard, 
Lords, unci forces. 

K. John. Peace lie to France, if France in peace 
Our just and lineal entrance to our own ; [permit 
If nut, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, 
Wliiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
Their proud contempt t hat I leats Ilis peace to lieaven. 

A". Phi. Peace be to England, U tliat war return 
From France to Enghuul, tliere to live in peace. 
England we love; and for that England's sake 
AVith burden of our armour here we sv. eat. 
Tliis toil of ours should be a work of thine; 
But thou from loving JCngland art so far. 
That tliou liast under-wrought liis lawful king. 
Cut off tlie setpience of posterity, 
Out-faced infant state and done a rape 
Upon tlie maiden virtue of the crown. 
Look here upon thy brotlier Gefl'rey 's face ; 
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: 
This little abstract doth contain that large 
"Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time 
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
That (Jcffrev was tliy elder brother born, 
.Vnd tliis his son ; England was Geffrey's right 
\\nil this is (ielfrey's; in tlie name of God 
How conies it then that thou art call'd a king, 
A\'heu living blood doth in these temples beat, 
AVliich owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest i* 

A'. John. From whom liast thou this great com- 
mission, France, 
To draw my answer from thy articles? 

K. Pit I. From that suiierna'l judge, that stirs good 
In aiiv breast of strong authority^ [thoughts 

To look iuto tlie blots and stains of right: 
That judge Tiath made me guardian to this boy : 
Under whose warrant 1 inipeach thy wrong 
And by whose help I mean to chastise it. 

A'. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 

K. Phi. Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. 

Mi. Who is it thou dost call usurper. France? 

Const. Let me make answer; thy usiii|)ing son. 

Eli. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, 
Tliat thou mayst be a queen, and check the world ! 

Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true 
As thine was to thy husband; and this boy 
Liker in feature to his father Geffrey 
Than thou and John in manners : being as like 
As rain to water, or devil t(5 his dam. 
My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think 
His father never was so true begot : 
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. 

Eli. There 's a good mother, boy, that blots thy 
father. [blot thee. 

Const. There 's a good grandam, bt)y, that would 

Aust. Peace! 

jBast. Hear the crier. 

Aust. What tlie devil art thou ? 

Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you. 
All a' may catch your hide and you alone: 
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes. 
Whose valoui plucks dead lions by the beard : 
I '11 smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right; 
Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. 

Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe 
That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! 
278 



Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him 
As great Alcides' shows upon an ass: 
But, ass, I '11 take that burthen from your hack. 
Or lay on that shall make your shouldej-s crack. 

A^ist. What cracker is this same that deafs our 
ears 
With this abundance of superfluous breath V 

K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do 
straight. [ence. 

Lew. AVomen and fools, break off your confer- 
Kiiig John, this is the very sum of all; 
England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: 
AVilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? 

A'. Jolin. My life as soon : I do defy thee, France. 
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; 
And out of my dear love I '11 give thee more 
Than e'er the coward baud of France can win: 
Submit thee, boy. 

Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 

Const. Do, child, go to it grandam, child; 
Give grandam kiiigilom, and it grandam will 
Give it a iiluin, a rherry, and a hg : 
There 's a good grandam. 

Arth. Good my mother, peace! 

I would that I were low laid in my grave : 
I am not worth this coil that 's made for me. 

Ell. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he 
weeps. [or no! 

Const. Now shame upon yon, whether she does 
His grandam's wrongs, and not h is mother's shames. 
Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his iioor 
AVhich heaven shall take in nature of a fee; [eyes. 
Ay, with tlie.-i crystal beads heaven shall be bribed 
To do him justu ■■ and revenge on you. 

Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and 
earth ! [earth ! 

Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and 
Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp 
The dominations, roj'alties and rights 
Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st sou's son, 
lufortunate in nothing but in thee: 
Thy sins are visited in this poor child; 
The canon of the law is laid on him, 
Being but the second generation 
Kemoved from thy sin-conceiving womb. 

A'. John. Bedlam, have done. 

Conat. I have but this to say. 

That he is not only plagued for her sin. 
But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
On this removed issue, plagued for her 
And with her plague; her sin his injury. 
Her injury the beadle to her sin. 
All punish'd in the person of this child, 
And all for her; a plague iiiion her! 

Eli. Thou unad\ iscd si-old, I can jiroduce 
A will that bars the title of thy son. [will ; 

Const. Ay, who dou))ts that ? a will ! a wicked 
A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will ! 

A'. Phi. Peace, lady ! pause, or be more temper- 
It ill-beseems this iiresciii-e to cry aim [ate: 
To these ill-tuned repetitions. 
Some trumpet suiuiiion hither to the walls 
These men of Anglers : let us hear them speak 
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 

Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens ttpan the walls. 
First Cit. AVho is it that hath warn'd us to the 
A'. Phi. 'T is France, for England. [walls ? 

A', .folin. "England, for itself. 

You men of Anglers, and my loving sulijects, — 
K. Phi. You loving men of Anglers, Arthur's 
sulijects. 
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle — 
A'. John. For our advantage; tlierefore hear us 
first. 
These flags of France, that are advanced here 



ACT II. 



KING JOHK 



SCENE I. 



Before tlie eye and prospect of your town, 

Have hitlier niarehVl to your endauianrnient: 

The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, 

And ready mounted are they to spit forth 

Tlieir injii inilignation 'gainst your walls: 

All preparation for a bloody siege 

And merciless proceeding by these Frencli 

Confronts your city's eyes, j'our winking gates; 

And but for our appi'oach those sleeping stones, 

That as a waist doth girdle you aljout, 

By the conipulsimi of their ordinance 

By this timi' fnuu their lixed beds of lime 

Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 

For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 

But on the sight of us your lawful king, 

Who painfully with nnich expedient march 

Have brought a counterelieck fiefore your gates. 

To save unscratchM yc.iur city's threatened cheeks. 

Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parte; 

And now, instead of liullets wrapped in lire, 

To make a shaking fever in your walls. 

They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, 

To make a faithless error in your ears : 

AVhich trust accordingly kind citizens. 

And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits, 

Forwearied in this action of swift sliced. 

Crave harbourage within your city walls. 

K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both. 
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection 
Is most divinely vow'd upon tlie right 
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, 
Son to the elder brother of this man. 
And king o'er him and all that he enjoys : 
For tins down-trodden equity, we tread 
In warlike march these greens before your town, 
Being no further enemy to you 
Tiiaii the ci>nstraint of hospitable zeal 
In the relief of this oppressed child 
lieligiously provokes. Be pleased then 
To pay that duty which you truly owe 
To him that owes it, namely this young prince: 
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; 
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
Against the invulneralile clouils of heaven; 
And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
AVith unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised. 
We will bear home that lusty blood again 
Which here we came to spout against your town, 
And leave your children, wives and you in peace. 
But if you fondly pass our proffcr'd offer, 
'T is not the roundure of your old-faced walls 
Can hide you from our messengers of war. 
Though all these English and their discipline 
AVere harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
Then tell us, shall your city call us lord, 
In that behalf which we have challenged it ? 
Or shall we give the signal to our rage 
And stalk in blood to our possession ':' [sulijects: 

Fimt Cit. In brief, we are the king of England 's 
For him, and in his right, we hold this town. [in. 

K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me 

First Cit. That can we not ; but he that proves 
the king. 
To him will we prove loyal : till that time 
Have we ranun'd up our gates against the world. 

A'. Joint. IJoth not the crown" of England prove 
And if not that, I bring you witnesses, [the king ':' 
Twice liltcen thousand hearts of England's breed, — 

ISu.'it. Bastards, and else. 

Ji. .JoJiii. To verify our title with their lives. 

K. Phi. As many and as well-born bloods as 

Bast. Some bastards too. [those,— 

K. Phi. Stand in liis face to contradict bis claim. 

First Cit. Till you compound whose right is 
worthiest. 
We for the worthiest hold the right from butli. 



K. .John. Then God forgive the sin of all those 
That to their everlastiUL; residence, [souls 

Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet. 
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! [arms! 

K. Phi. Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to 
» Bast. Saint George, that swinged the dragon, 

and e'er since 
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Piome, 
Teacli us some fence ! [To Aust.] Sirrah, were I at 
At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, 
I would set an o,\ head to your lion's hide, 
And make a monster of you. 

Aust. Peace! no more. 

Bast. O, tremble, for 30U hear the lion roar. 

K.John. Up higher to the plain; where we'll 
In best appointment all our regiments, [set forth 

Bust. Speed'then, to take advantage of the lield. 

A'. Flii. It shall be so: and at the other hill 
Command the rest to stand. God and our right! 

[Exeunt. 

Here after excursions, enter (/ic Herald of France, w.'tlt 
trumpets, to the gates. 

F. Her. You men of Anglers, open wide your 
And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne. in, [gates, 
AVho by the hand of France this day hath nuRle 
Much work for tears in many an Eiiglish mother. 
Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; 
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies. 
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; 
And victory, with little loss, doth play , 

Upon the dancing banners of the Frencli, 
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd. 
To enter conquerors and to proclaim 
Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. 

Enter English Herald, tcith trumpet. 

E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Anglers, ring your 
bells; 
King John, your king and England's, doth approach, 
Counnander of this hot malicious day: 
Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, 
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; 
There stuck no plume in any English crest 
That is removed by a staff of France ; 
Our colours do return in those same hands 
That did display them when we first march'd forth ; 
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands. 
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes : 
Open your gates and give the victors way. [behold, 

P'irst Cit. Heralds, from off our to^vers we might 
From first to last, the onset and retire 
Of both your armies; whose equality 
By our best eyes cannot be censured : 
Blood hath bought blood and blows have answer "d 
blows ; [fronted jiower . 

Strength match'd with strength, and power con- 
Both are alike; and both alike we like. 
One must prove greatest : while they weigh so even, 
AVe liold our town for neither, yet for both. 

Re-enter the two Kings, with their powers serernlly. 

K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to 
cast away ? 
Say, shall the current of our right run on ? 
AVhose passage, vex'd witji thy impediment, 
Sliall leave his native channel and o'erswell 
AVith course disturb'd even thy conliuing short s, 
Unless thou let his silver water keep 
A peaceful )irogress to the ocean. [of bloo 1, 

A'; Plii. England, tliou hast not saved one drop 
In this hot trial, more than we of France ; 
Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear. 
That sways the earth this climate o\crlooks, 
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, [bear, 
AVe '11 put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we 
279 



ACT II. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE I. 



Or <add a royal numl)er to the dead, 
C4racing the scroll that tells of this war's loss 
With slaushter coupled to the name of kings. 

litiM. Ila, majesty ! how high thy glory towers, 
■\Vlien tlie rich liiood of kings is set on fire! 
O, now ddtli Death line his dead chaps with steel; * 
The swords of siildiers are his teeth, his fangs; 
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, 
In undetermineil differences of ki)igs. 
Why stand tliesc royal fnmts amazed tluis? 
Cry 'havoc!' kin^is; liack tn the stained held. 
You equal potents, liery kindled sjiiiits! 
Then let confusion of one part contirm 
The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood and death ! 

K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet adnnt ? 

K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England ; who 's your 
king? » [the king. 

-First Cit. The king of England, when we know 

K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his 
right. 

K. .John. In us, that are our own great deputy. 
And bear possession of ouv person here. 
Lord of our presence, Aiigiers, and of you. 

First Cit. A greater iiower tliaii we denies all this ; 
And till it be undoubted, we do lock 
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates ; 
King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved. 
Be by some certain king purged and deposed. 

Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Anglers flout 
you, kings, 
And stand securely on their battlements. 
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point 
At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
Your royal i)resences be ruled by me: 
Do like the nmtiucs of .lerusalem. 
Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend 
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town : 
By east and west let France and England mount 
Tlieir battering cannon charged to the mouths. 
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down 
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : 
I 'Id play incessantly upon these jades, 
Even till unfeuced desolation 
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
That done, dissever your united strengths. 
And part your miiigli'd colours once again ; 
Turn face to face ;iiid bloody point to point; 
Then, in a moment, Foituiie shall cull forth 
Out of one side her luipiiy minion. 
To wlKim in favour sho shall give the day. 
And kiss him with a glmious victory. 
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? 
Smacks it not something of the policy V [heads, 

A'. .John. Xow, by tlie sky that hangs above our 
I like it well. Fraiice, shall we knit our powers 
And kiy this Anglers even with the ground; 
Then after light who shall be king of it'? 

JiuM. An if thou hast the mettle of a king. 
Being wrong'd as we ai'e by this peevish town. 
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery. 
As we will ouT-s, againstthe.se saiicy walls; 
And when that \\c have dasli'd them to the groun'd, 
Why then defy r-.u-U otiitr, and pell-mell 
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. 

A'. Phi. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault ? 

A'. John. We from the west will send destruction 
Into this city's bosom. 

And. I from tlie northt 

K. Phi. Our tlumder from the south 

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 

Bast. Oprudcnt discipline! From north to south : 
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : 
I '11 stir them to it. Come, away, away ! 

First Cit. Hear us, great kings : vouchsafe awhile 
to stay. 
And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league ; 
Win you this city without stroke or wound ; 
280 



Eescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 

That here come sacritices for the field: 

Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. [hear. 

A'. John. Speak on with favour; we are bent to 

First Cit. That lUiughter thereof Spain, the Lady 
Is niece to England : look up(Ui the years [Blanch, 
Of Lewis tlie Dauphin and that lovely maid: 
If lusty love should go in (luest of beauty. 
Where should he lind it fairer than in Blanch? 
If zealous love should no in search of virtue, 
AVhere should he lind it purer than in Blanch ? 
If love ambitious sought a match of birth. 
Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch ? 
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth. 
Is the young Daui)hin every way complete: 
If not complete of, say he is not she ; 
And she again wants nothing, to name want, 
If want it be not that she is not he: 
He is the half jiart of a blessed man, 
Left to be finished by such as she; 
And she a fair divided excellence. 
Whose fulness of perlVctiou lies in him. 
O, two such silver ciu rents, when they join, 
Do glorify the banks that bound them" in ; 
And two "such shores to two such streams made one, 
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, 
To these two princes, if you marry them. 
This imion shall do more than battery can 
To our fast-closed gates ; for at this match, 
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
Tlie mouth of passage shall we lliug wide ope. 
And give you entrance: but without this match, 
The sea enraged is not half so deaf. 
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
More free from motion, no, not Death himself 
111 mortal fury half so peremptory. 
As we to keep this city. 

Bast. Here 's a stay 

Tliat shakes the rotten carcass of old Death 
Out of his rags! Here 's a large mouth, indeed, 
That spits forth death and momitaius, rocks and 
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions [seas. 

As maids of thirteen do of iiuppy-dogs ! 
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? 
He speaks plain cannon lire, and smoke and bounce; 
He gives the liastinado witli liis tongue: 
Our ears are cuilgell'd, not a word of his 
But bullets l.ietter than a fist of France : 
Zounds! I was never so bcthumii'd with words 
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. 

Eli. Sou, list to this con j unit ion, make I his match; 
Give with our niece a dowrv large enough: 
For by this knot thou slialt'so surely tie 
Thy now unsured assurance to the crown. 
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
I see a yielding in the looks of France; 
Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls 
Are capable of this ambition. 
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath 
Of soft petitions, pity and remorse. 
Cool and congeal again to what it was. 

First Cit. Why answer not the double majesties 
This friendly treaty of our threaten 'd town ? 

A'. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for- 
To speak unto this city : what say you ? [ward first 

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely 
Can in this book of beauty read ' I love,' [sou, 

Her dowry shall weigh ecjual with a queen : 
For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 
And all that we upon this side the sea. 
Except this city now by us besieged. 
Find liable to our crown and dignity. 
Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich 
In titles, honours and promotions, 
As she in beauty, education, blood. 
Holds hand with any princess of the world. , 



ACT III, 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE r. 



K. Phil. What say'st thou, boy V look in the lady's 

L(ti-. I do, iny lord ; and in her eye 1 ttnd [face. 
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle. 
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ; 
Which, being but the shadow of your son. 
Becomes a sun and makes your sou a shadow : 
I do protest I never loved myself 
Till now infixed I beheld myself 
Drawn in the llattering table of her eye. 

[ Wliisjjcrs u:ith Blanch. 
Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye ! 

Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! 
And (luarter'd in her heart! he doth espy 

Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, p^e 

Tliat. Iiang'd and drawn and quarter "d, there should 
In such a love so vile a lout as he. 

Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine : 
If he see aught in you that makes him like, 
That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, 
I can with ease translate it to my will; 
Or if you will, to speak more properly, 
I will enforce it easily to my love. 
Further I will not flatter you, my lord. 
That all I see in you is wortliy love, 
Than this ; tliat nothing do I see in you, 
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be 

your judge. 
That i can tind should merit any hate. 

A'. John. What say these young ones ? "What say 
you, my niece y 

Blanch. That she is bound in lionour still to do 
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. 

K.John. Speak theu, prince Dauphin; can you 
love this lady ? 

Lew. Xay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
For I do love her most unfeignedly. [Maine, 

K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Toiu'aine, 
Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces, 
AVith her to thee; and this addition more. 
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. 
Philip of France, if thou lie pleased withal, 
Connnaud thy son and daughter to join hands. 

K. Phi. It likes us well ; young princes, close 
your hands. 

Axist. And your lips too; for I am well assured 
That I did so when I was first assured. 

A'. Fhi. Now, citizens of Anglers, ope your gates, 
Let in that amity which you have made; 
For at Saint Mary's chapel presently 
The rites .of marriage shall be solemnized. 
Is not the Lady Constance in this troop y 
I know she is not, for this match made up 
Her presence would have iuterrupted much : 
AVhere is she and her son 'i tell me, who knows. 
, Lew. She is sad aud passionate at your highness" 
tent. 



A'. Phi. And, by my faith, this league that we 
Will give her sadness very little cure, [have made 
Brother of England, how may we content • 
Tills widow lady V In her right we came; 
Which we, God knows, have turu'd another way, 
To our own vantage. 

K. John. AVe will heal up all ; 

For we "11 create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne 
And Earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town 
We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; 
Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
To our scilenniity : I trust we shall. 
If not till up tlie measure of her will. 
Yet in some measure .satisfy her so 
That we shall stop her exclamation. 
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us. 
To this unlook'd for, unjirepared pomp. 

\_Extanl all but thcBastard. 

Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! 
John, to stop Aitliur"s title in the whole, 
Hath willingly departed with a part. 
And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, 
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field 
As God"s own soldier, rounded in the ear 
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil. 
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, 
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, 
Of kings, of beggars, old men. >oung men, maids, 
AVho, having no external thing to lose 
But the word 'maid," cheats the poor maid of that, 
That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, 
Commodity, the bias of the world. 
The world, who of itself is peised well, 
ilade to run even upon even ground, 
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, 
This sway of motion, this Commodity, 
Jlakes it take head from all indiffereney, 
Friim all direction, jiurpose. course, intent: 
And this same bias, this Couimudity, 
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
Clajjp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, 
From a resolved and honourable war. 
To a nio.st liase and vilr-concluded peace. 
And why rail I on this Coniniddity ? 
But for because he liatli not woo'd" me yet; 
Not that I ha\e the power to clutch my hand, 
When his fair angels would salute my palm; 
But for my hand, as unattempted yet. 
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
Well, whiles I am a beggai', I will rail 
And say there is no sin but to be rich; 
And being rich, my virtue then shall be 
To say there is no vice but beggary. 
Since kings break faith upon commodity. 
Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. [Exit. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I.— The French King's pavilion. 
Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 
Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace ! 
False blood to false blood join'd ! gone to be friends ! 
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those prov- 
inces ? 
It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheard ; 
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be; thou dost but say 't is so : 
I trust I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
Is but the vain breath of a common' man : 
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man; 
I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
Thou shalt be pimish'd for thus frighting me. 



For I am sick and capable of fears, 
Opjjress'd with \\rongs and tlierefore full of fears,' 
A widow, husbandle.ss, subject to fears, 
A woman, naturally born to fears; 
Anil though thou now confess thou didst but jest, 
AVitli my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce. 
But thev will (piake and tremble all tliis dav. 
AVhat dost tluiu mean by shaking of thy head? 
AVliy dost thou look so sadly on my son"'? 
What means tliat hand upon that breast of thine? 
Why liolds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? 
Be these sad signs contirmers of thy words? 
Then speak again; not all thy former tale. 
But this one word, whetlier tiay tale be true. 
281 



ACT III. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE I. 



Sal. As true as I believe you think tlieni false 
That give you cause to prove my saying true. 

Const: O, if thou teach me to believe tliis sorrow, 
Teach fhtui this sorrow how to make me die, 
And let lielief and life encounter so 
As dotli the fury of two desperate men 
Which in the very meeting fall and die. 
Lewis marry Blanch ! O boy, then where art thou ? 
France friend with England, what becomes of me ? 
Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight: 
This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 

Sal. What other harm have I, gooil lady, done, 
But spoke tlie liarrn that is by others done? 

Const. Whic/li iiarni within itself so heinous is 
As it makes liarndul all that speak of it. 

Arth. I do beseech you, madam, bi' (•ontent. 

Const. If thou,thatbid'stniebeiontent,weri grim, 
Ugly and slanderous to thy mntlier's womb. 
Full of unpleasing bints and sightless stains. 
Fame, IViiilisli. croDked, swart, prodigious, 
PatciiM witli tout moles and eye-oftending marks, 
I would not care, 1 then would be content. 
For then I should not love tliee, no, nor thou 
Become thy great birth nor deserve a crown. 
But thou art lair, and at thy birth, dear boy, 
■ Nature ami Foituiie join'd to make thee great: 
Of Nature's gitts tiiou mayst with lilies boast 
And with the haJl-lilown rose. But Fortune, O, 
She is corrupted, elianged and won from tliee; 
She adulterates liomiy with thine uncle Jolm, 
And with her golden hand hath pluek'd on France 
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. 
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
France is a bawd to Fortune and ]\ing John. 
That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John i 
Tell me, tliou fellow, is not France forsworn ? 
Envenom him with words, or get thee gone 
And leave those woes alone which I alone 
Am bound to under-bear. 

Sal. Pardon me, madam, 

I may not go without you to the kings. [thee : 

Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt ; I will not go with 
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop. 
To me and to tlie state of my great grief 
Let kings assemble ; for my grief 's so great 
That no supiiorter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it ui>: here I and sorrows sit; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

[Seats herself on the ground. 

Enter King John, King Philip, Le'wis, Blanch, 
Elinor, the Bastard, Austria, and Attendants. 

K. Phi. 'T is true, fair daugliter; and this blessed 
Ever in France sliall be kei't festival : [day 

To solemnize tliis day the glorious sun 
Stays in his course and plays the alcliemist. 
Turning with splendour of liis precious eye 
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gokl: 
The yearly course that brings this day about 
Sliali never see it but a holiday. 

' hiist . A wicked day, and-not a holy day ! [liising. 
What liath this day deserved? what hath it done. 
That it in i^olden letters should be set 
Among the liigii tides in the calendar? 
Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, 
This day of shame, oppression, perjury. 
Or, if it must stand still, let wives' witli child 
Pray that their burthens may not fall this day, 
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : 
But on this day let seamen fear no wreck; 
No bargains lireak that are not tliis day made: 
This day, all things begun come to ill end. 
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! 

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you sliall liave no cause 
To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 
282 



Const. You have beguiled me with a counterfeit 
Resembling majes-ty, which, being touch "d and tried, 
Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn; 
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours : 
The grappling vigour and I'ough frown of war 
Is cold in amity and painted peace, 
And our oppression hath made up this league. 
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured 

kings! 
A widow cries; be husband to nie, heavens! 
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
AVear out tlie day in peace ; but, ere sunset. 
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings! 
Hear me, O, hear me! 

Aust. Lady Constance, peace ! 

Const. War ! war ! no peace I peace is to me a war. 
OLymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame 
That bloody spoil : thou slave, thou wretch, thou 
Thou little valiant, great in villany! [coward! 

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! 
Thou fortune's cliampioii that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety! thou art perjured too. 
And soothest up greatness. Wliat a fool art thou, 
A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear 
Upon my party ! Tlioii cold-blooded slave, 
Ilast thou not .spoke like thunder on my side. 
Been sworn my soldier, liidding me depend 
Upon thy stars, thy fortune and thy .strength, 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes":' 
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame, 
And han^ a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
■ Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to 
me! [limbs. 

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant 

Aust. Thou darest not say so, villain, for thy life. 

ISast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant 
limbs. [self. 

K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thy- 

Miter Pandulph. 

K. Phi. Plere comes the holy legate of the pope. 

Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven! 
To thee. King ."lolin, my holy errand is. 
I Pandulph, of fair ililan cardinal, 
And from Pope Innocent the legate here, 
Do in Ills name religiously demand 
Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
So wilfully dost spurn ; and force perforce 
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
Of Canterbury, from that holy see'? 
This, in our foresaid holy fatlier's name. 
Pope Innocent, I do deiiumd of thee. 

K. John.. What earthy name to interrogatories 
Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
So slight, unworthy and ridiculous. 
To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
/Tell liini this tale ; and from the mouth of England 
Add thus much more, that no Italian priest 
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; 
But as we, under heaven, are supreme head, 
So under Him that great supremacy. 
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
Witlimit the assistance of a mortal hand: 
So tell tlie pope, all reverence set apart 
To him and his usurp 'd authority. [this. 

K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in 

K. John. Tliough you and all the kings of Chris- 
tendom 
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest. 
Dreading the curse that money may buy out; 
And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
Purchase corru|ited pardon of a man, 
Who in that sale sells pardon from himself, 
Though you and all the rest so grossly led 



ACT III. 



KING JOHN. 



SCEN^E I. 



This juggling witclieraft with revenue cherish, 

Yet I alone, alone do nic oppose 

Against the pope and cnunt liis friends my foes. 

Panel. Then, by the lawful power that I have, 
Thou Shalt stand cursed and excommunicate : 
And blessed shall lie be that doth revolt 
From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
And meritorious sliall that hand be caird. 
Canonized and worsliipp'd as a saint, 
Tliat takes away by any secret course 
Thv hateful life. 

Const. O, lawful let it be 

That I have room witli Rome to curse awhile! 
Good father cardinal, cry thou amen 
To my keen curses; for without my wrong 
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 

Fund. There 's law and warrant, lady, for my 
curse. [i"iglit. 

Const. And for mine too: when law can do no 
Let it be lawful that law Ijar no wrong : 
I^aw cannot give my child his kingdom here. 
For he that liolds his kingdom liolds the law; 
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong. 
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? 

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse. 
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic; 
And raise the power of France upon his head, 
Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 

i:ii. Look'st thou pale, France y do not let go thy 
hand. LPf^nti 

Const. Look to that, devil ; lest that France re- 
And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. 

Ausi. King i'iiilip, listen to the cardinal. 

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant 
limbs. 

Aust. "Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, 
Because — 

Bust. Your breeches best may carry them. 

K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal V 

Const. Wliat should he say, but as the cardinal ? 

Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference 
Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
Forego the easier. 

Blanch. , That 's the ciu'se of Rome. 

Const. O Lewis, stand fast ! the devil tempts thee 
In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. [here 

Blanch. The Lady Constance speaks not from her 
But from her need. [faith. 

Const. O, if thou grant my need, 

Which only lives but by the death of faith, 
That need must needs infer this principle. 
That faith would live again by death of need. 
O then, tread down my need, and faith moiuits up; 
Keep my need u)), and faith is trodden down ! [this. 

King J. The king is moved, and answers not tcu 

Const. O, be removed from him, and answer well! 

Aust. Do so, King PhiUp ; hang no more in doubt. 

. Bast. Hang nothing but a calf 's-sMn, most sweet 

lout. [say. 

K. Phi. I am perplexM, and know not what to 

Pand. What canst thon say liut will perplex thee 
If thou stand excomunuiicate and cursedV [more, 

K. Phi. Good reverend fatlier, make my person 
yours. 
And tell me how you would bestow yourself. 
This royal hand and mine are newly knit. 
And the conjunction of our inward souls 
Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
Witli all religions strength of sacred vows; 
The latest liri'ath that gave the sound of words 
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love 
Between our kingdoms and our royal selves. 
And even before this truce, but new before, 
Ko longer than we well could wash our hands 
To clap this royal bargain up of peace. 
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstaiii'd 



AVitli slaughter's pencil, wliere revenge did paint 

The fearful difference of incensed kings: 

And sliall tliese hands, so lately imrged of blood. 

So newly joiu'd in love, so strong in both, 

Unyoke tiiis seizure and this kind regreet ? 

Play fast and loose with faith V so jest with heaven, 

!Make silch uiieonstant children of ourselves. 

As now again to snatch our palm from palm, 

Uijswear faitli sworn, aud on the marriage-bed 

Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 

And make a riot on the gentle brow -^ 

Of true sincerity y O, holy sir, 

My reverend father, let it not lie so! 

Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 

Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest 

To do your pleasure and continue friends. 

Pand. All finni is formless, order orderless. 
Save what is opposite to England's love. 
Therefore to arms! be champion of our church. 
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 
A motlier"s cur.se, on her revolting son. 
France, thou niayst hold a serpent by the tongue, 
A cliafed lion by the mortal paw, 
A lasting tiger safer by the tooth, 
Thau keep iii peace that hand which thou dost hold. 

K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faitu. 

Pand. So makest thou faith an enemy to faitli ; 
And like a civil war set'st oath to oath, 
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow 
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd. 
That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
AVliat since thou sworest is sworn against thj'self 
And may not be performed liy thyself. 
For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss 
Is not amiss when it is truly done. 
And being not done, where doing tends to ill. 
The truth is then most done not doing it : 
The better act of purposes mistook 
Is to mistake again; though indirect. 
Yet indirection tliereby grows direct, 
And falsehood falsehood cures, as tire cools fire 
Within the scorched veins of one new-burn 'd. 
It is religion that doth make vows kept; 
But thou hast sworn against religion, [swear'st. 
By what thou swear'st against the thing thou 
jVnd makest an oath the surety for thy truth 
Against an oath : the truth thou art unsure 
To swear, swears only not to be forsworn ; 
Else what a mockery should it be to swear! 
l!ut thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; 
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. 
Therefore thy later vows against thy first 
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; 
And better conquest never canst thou m.ake 
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
Against these gidtly loose suggestinns: 
Uiioii which lietter part our jirayers come in. 
If thou vouchsafe them. IJut it not, then know 
The peril of our curses light on thee 
So heavy as thou shaft not shake them off, 
But in despair die under their black weight. 

Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion! 

Ba.'st. Will 't not be ? 

Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine V 

Lew. Father, to arms ! 

Blanch. Upon thy wedding-day ? 

Against the blood that thou hast married ? 
What, shall our feast 1 le kept with slaughter'd men ':" 
Sliall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums, 
Clamours of hell, be measures to our ponipy 
( ) husband, hear me ! ay, alack, how new 
Is husliand in my mouth ! even for that name. 
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
Against mine uncle. 

Const. O, upon my knee, 

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 
283 



ACT III. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE III. 



Tlion virtuous Danphin, alter not the doom 
Foretliouglit by lieaven ! [may 

lilaiick. Xow shall I see thy love : what motive 
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife V 

Const. That which uplioldeth him that thee up- 
liolds, 
His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour! 

Lnr. I muse your majesty doth seem so cold, 
"When such profound respects do pull you on. 

Pawl. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 

K. Phi. Tliou Shalt not need. England, I will 
fall from thee. 

Const. O fair return of baiiishM majesty! 

Eli. O foul revolt of Freiirh iucdiistaney ! 

K. John. France, thou slialt rue tliis liour within 
tliis lioiu'. [Time, 

Bdxt. (JId Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton 
Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. 

Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair day, 
adieu ! 
"Which is the side that I must go withal ? 
I am with both: each nvmy liath a hand; 
And in tlieir rage, 1 liaviiig Imld of botli, 
Tliey wliirl asunder and disnicniber me. 
Husband, I cannot pray tliat thou niayst win; 
Uncle, I needs must pray that tliou mayst lose; 
Father, I may not wisli tlie fortune thiiie; 
Grandam, I will not wisli thy wishes thrive: 
Wlioever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
Assured loss before the match be play'd. 

Lent. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies. 

Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my 
life dies. 

K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. 
[Exit Bastard. 
France, T am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; 
A rage whose heat hath this condition, 
TJiat notliing can allay, notliiug but blood. 
The blood, and dearest-valued i)lood, of France. 

K. Flu. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou 
Shalt turn 
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire: 
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. •> 

K. John. Ko more than he that threats. To arms 
let 's hie ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Plains near Angicrs. 

Alarums, excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Aus- 
tria's head. 
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous 
Some airy devil hovers in the sky [hot ; 

And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there, 
AVhile Philip breathes. 

Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. 

A'. Jolin. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up ; 
My motlier is assailed iu our tent. 
And ta'en, I fear. 

Bast. My lord, I rescued her; 

Her higliness is in safety, fear you not: 
But on, my liege; for very little pains 
Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— The same. 

Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter King John, Eli- 
nor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. 
K.John. [To Elinor]Sosha\] it be; your grace shall 
stay behind [sad: 

So strongly guarded. [To Arthur] Cousin, look not 
Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
As dear be to thee as thy father was. 
Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief! 
K. John. [To the l!it.-:(iiidi Cousin, away for Eng- 
land ! haste before ; 
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
284 



Of hoarding abbots; imprisoneil angels 

Set at lilii'rty : the fat ribs (if peace 

Must Viy the hungry now lie led upon: 

L'se our commission in his utmost force. [Ijack, ' 

Bast. Bell, book, and camlle shall not drive me 
When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
I leave your highness. Grandam, I will pray, 
If ever I remember to be holy. 
For your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand. 

Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin. 

K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. 

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman: hark, a word. 

K. John . Come hither, II ubert. O m v gentle Hu- 
bert. 
We owe thee much ! within this wall of flesh 
There is a soul counts thee her creditor 
And with advantage means to pay thy love: 
And, my godd friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives iu this bosom, dearly cherished. 
Give me tliy hand. I had a thing to say. 
Hut I will lit it with some lietter time. 
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed 
To say what good respect I liave of thee. 

Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. 

A'. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say' 
so yet, 
But thou Shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, 
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. 
I had a thing to say, but let it go : 
The sun is in the lieaven, and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world. 
Is all too wanton and too full of gawds 
To give me audience: if the midnight bell 
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
Sound on into the drowsy race of night ; 
If this same were a churcliyard where we stand. 
And thou jiossessed with a thousand wrongs, 
Or if that sully spirit, melancholy. 
Had baked thy blood and made it Iieavy-thick, 
Which else runs tickling uji and down the veins. 
Making that idiot, lauijiiter, keep men's eyes 
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
A passion hateful to my purposes. 
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes. 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone. 
Without eyes, ears and harmfid sound of words; 
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 
But, ah, I will not! yet I love thee well; 
And, by my troth, I "think thou lovest me well. 

Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act 
By lieaven, I would do it. 

K. John. Do not I know thou wouhlst ? 

.Good Hubert, Hvibert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
On yon young boy: I "11 tell thee what, my friend, 
He is a very serpent in my way ; 
And wheresoe-'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
He lies before me : dost thou understand me ? 
Thou art his keeper. 

Hub. And I '11 keep him so. 

That he shall not offend your majesty. 

K.John. Death. 

Hub. My lord? 

K. John. A grave. 

Hub. He shall not live. 

K. .Tohn. Enough. 

I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; 
Well, I '11 not say what I intend for thee : 
Remember. Madam, fare you well : 
I '11 send those powers o'er to your majesty. 

Eli. INIy blessing go with thee I 

K. ,Tohn. For England, cousin, go; 

Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
With all true duty. On towards Calais, ho ! 

[Exeunt. 



-^ 




I 1 « 



I . < 



-fS 



ACT III. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE IV. 



SCENE IV. — T/ie same. The French ICinrfs tent. 

Enter King Philip, Le-wis, Pandulph, and 
Attendants. 

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on tlie flood, 
A wliole armado of convicted sail 
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from tellowsliip. 

Fund. Courage and comfort ! all sliall yet go well. 

Ji. Phi. Wliat can go well, wlien we have run so 
Are we not beaten Y Is not Anglers lost ? [ill J* 
Artbur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? 
And bloody England into England gone, 
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? 

Lea-. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: 
So hot a speed witli such advice disposed. 
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause. 
Doth want example: who hatli read or heard 
Of anv lviii(h-ed action like to tliis? [praise, 

A'. Ph!. AVell could I beartliat England had this 
So we could find some pattern of our shame. 

Fnter Constance. 
Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul; 
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will. 
In the vile prison of afflictedbreath. 
1 prithee, lady, go away with me. 

Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace. 

K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, geutle 
Constance ! 

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress. 
But that which ends all counsel, true redress. 
Death, death ; O amiable lovely death ! 
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! 
Arise forth from tlie couch of lasting night. 
Thou hate and terror to prosperity. 
And I will Iviss thy detestable bones 
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows 
And ring these fingers with thy household worms 
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust 
And be a carrion monster like thyself : 
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smilest 
And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love, 
O, come to me ! 

K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace! 

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry : 
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! 
Then with a passion would I shake the world ; 
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy 
Wliich cannot liear a lady's feeble voice, 
AVliich scorns a modern invocation. 
■ Fund. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 

Const. Tliou art not holy to belie me so ; 
I am not mad: this hair I "tear is mine; 
^ly name is Constance ; 1 was Geffrey's wife; 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
I am not mad : I would to lieaven I were ! 
For then, 't is like I should forget myself: 
O, if I could, what grief should I forget! 
Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
And thou shall be canonized, cardinal; 
For being not mad but sensible of grief, 
l\[y reasonable part produces reason 
How I may be deliver "d of these woes. 
And teaches me to kill or hang myself : 
If I were mud, I should forget my son. 
Or madly think a luibe of clouts were he: 
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel 
The different plague of each calamity. 

K.Phi. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note 
In the fair multitude of those her hairs! 
Where lint by chance a silver drop hath fallen. 
Even to tliat drop ten thousand wiry friends 
Do glue themselves in sociable grief, 
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
Sticking together in ciilamity. 

Const. To England, if you will. 

K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 



Const. Yes, that I will ; and wherefore will I do it ? 
I tore them from their bonds and cried aloud 
' O tliat these hands could so redeem my son, 
As they have given these hairs their liberty ! ' 
But now I envy at their liberty. 
And will again commit them to their bonds, 
Because my poor cliild is a prisoner. 
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say 
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven : 
If that be true, I shall see my boy again; 
For since the birth of Cain, the first male child. 
To liim that did but yesterday suspire. 
There was not such a gracious creature born. 
But now will canker-sorro^^• eat my bud 
And chase the native beauty from his cheek 
And he will look as hollow as a ghost, 
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit. 
And so he '11 die; and, rising so again, 
AVhen I shall meet liim in the court of heaven 
I shall not know him: therefore, never,never 
]SIust I liehold my pretty Arthur more. 

Fund. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 

Const. He talks to me that never had a son. 

A'. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your child. 

Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down witli me, 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Kemembers me of all his gracious parts. 
Stuffs out his vacant garments witli his form; 
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? 
Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, 
I could give better comfort than you do. 
I will not keep this form upon my head, 
When there is such disorder in my wit. 
O Lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure! [Exit. 

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I '11 follow her. 

[Exit. 

Lew. There 's nothing in this world can make me 
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale [joy : 

Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweetworld's taste, 
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. 

Pand. Before tlie curing of a strong disease. 
Even in the instant of repair and health. 
The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave. 
On their departure most of all show evil : 
'What have you lost by losing of this day ? 

Lew. All days of glory, joy and happiness. 

Pand. If yoii had won it, certainly you had. 
No, no; when fortune means to men most good. 
She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
'T is strange to think how much King Jolni hath lost 
In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner? 

Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath liim. 

Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. 
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; 
For even tlie breath of what I mean to speak 
Sliall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub. 
Out of the path which shall directly lead 
Thy foot to England's thrope ; and therefore mark. 
John hath seized Arthur ; and it cannot be 
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, 
The misplaced John should entertain an hour. 
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. 
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand 
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd ; 
And he that stands upon a slippery place 
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up : 
That John may stand,then Arthur needs must fall; 
So be it, for it cannot be but so. [fall ? 

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's 

Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blancli your wife. 
May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 

Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 
285 



ACT IV. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE I. 



Fand. How green you are and fresh in this old 
world ! 
John lays you plots ; the times conspire with you ; 
For he that steeps Iiis safety in true blood 
Shall find but blcKjily safety and untrue. 
This act so evilly Imrn shall cool the hearts 
Of all his people and Irecze up their zeal, 
That none so small advantai^e shall steji forth 
To check his rei.nii, but they will cherish it ; 
No natural exhalatiou in the sky, 
No scoiie of nature, no distemper'd day, 
No connuon wind, no customed event, 
But tiiey will pluck away his natural cause 
And call them mi-tcors, prodigies and signs, 
Abortives, presaKcs and tongues of heaven. 
Plainly denouncing Vfiigeanci" upon John. 

Lev;. May be he will iint touch young Arthur's life, 
But hold himself sale in his prisonment. 

Fund. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, 
If that young Arthur be not gone already, 



Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts 
Of all ills people shall revolt from him 
And kiss tlie lips of unac(iuainted change 
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath 
Out of the lilooily lingers' ends of John. 
^Nlethinks I see this luuly all on foot: 
And, O, what better matter bri'cds for you 
Than I have named! The bastard Faidconbridge 
Is now in England, ransacking the churcli, 
Offending charity: if but a dozen French 
Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
To train ten thousand Englisli t(j their side. 
Or as a little snow, tumbled about. 
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
Go with me to the king : 't is wonderful 
AVhat may be wrought out of their discontent, 
Xow that their souls are topful of offence. 
For England go : I will whet on the king. [go: 
Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: let us 
If you say ay, the king will not say no. [Exeunt. 



j^CT IV. 



SCENE l.— A room in a castle. 

Enter Hubert and Executioners. 
Huh. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand 
Within the arras: wlien I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of tlie ground, rush forth, 
And bind the boy wluLh you shall find with me 
Fast to tlie chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
Fivst E.ccc. 1 hope your warrant will bear out the 

deed. 
Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! fear not you : look to 't. 
[E.ceunt E.cecutioners. 
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say witli you. 

Enter Arthur. 

Artli. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince, having so great a title 
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me! 

Methinks no body should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So 1 were out of prison and kept sheep, 
I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle practises more harm to me : 
He is afraid of me and I of him : 
Is it my fault that I was Getfrey's son ? 
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven 
I were your son, so you would love me, Ilubert. 

Hub. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent 
He will awake my mercy which lies dead : prate 
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. [day : 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert V you look pale to- 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick, 
Tliat I might sit all night and watch with j'ou : 
I warrant I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. [Asiile] His words do take possession of 
my bosom. 
Read here, young Artlun-. [Shoivinc/ a paper. 

[Asiile] How now, foolish rheum ! 
Turning dispiteous torture out of door! 
I must be brief, lest resolution drop 
Out at mine eyes in tmider womanisli tears. 
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ ? 

Arth'. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 
28G 



Arth. And will you ? 

Hub. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head 
did but ache, 
I knit my handkercher about your brows, 
The best I had, a princess wrought it me, 
And I did never ask it you again; 
And with my hand at midniglit held your head, 
And like the watchful minutes to the liour, 
Still and anon cheer'd up the lieavy time, [grief ? ' 
Saying, ' What lack you';" and ' Wh.ere lies your 
Or ' "VVhat good love liiay I perform for you V ' 
Many a poor man's son would have lien still 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love 
And call it cunning : do, an if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, 
Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes ? 
These eyes that never did nor never shall 
So much as frown on you. 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it ! 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears 
And (piench his fiery indignation 
Even in the matter of mine innocence; 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
But for containing lin* to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stuiiboni-iiard tlian hainmer'd iron? 
An if an angel should have come to me 
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believed him, — no tongue hut 
Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 

Reenter Executioners, with a cord, irons, &c. 
Do as I bid you do. [out 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my es'es are 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hulj. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 

A rth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough'r' 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound 1 
Xay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
Nor look uiKui tlie iron angerly: 
Thrust but tliese men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 



ACT IV. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE II. 



Huh. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 

First Exec. I am best pleased to be from such a 
deed. [Exeunt Executioners. 

Arth. Alas, I then have chid awaj' my friend! 
He liath a stern look, but a gentle lieart : 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
(iive life to j'ours. 

Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Jiuh. None, but to lose your ej'es. 

Arth. O heaven, that there were but a mote in 
yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
Any annoyance in tluit precious sense! 
Then feeling what small things are lioisterous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem Imirilile. 

Huh. Is thisjour promise? go to, liold jour tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: 
Let me not hold my tongue, let nie not, Hubert; 
Or, Hubert, if you w-ill, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes, 
Though to no use but still to look on you! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold 
And would not barm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. .No, in good sooth; the lire is dead with 
Being create for comfort, to be used [grief, 

In undeserved extremes : see else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out 
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 

Huh. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

A-rlh. An if j'ou do, you will but make it blush 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes; 
And like a dog that is compeird to light, 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
All things that you should use to do me WTOng 
Deny their office : only you do lack 
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, 
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. 

Huh. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes; 
Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy. 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while 
You were disguised. 

Huh. Peace ; no more. Adieu. 

Your uncle must not know Imt you are dead ; 
I "11 fill these dogged spies witli false reports: 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure, 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not offend thee. 

Arth. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert. 

Huh. Silence; no more: go closely in with me: 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— King John's palace. 

Enter King John, Pembroke, Salisbury, and 
other Lords. 

K. John. Here once again we sit, once again 
crown'd. 
And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 

Pern. This ' once again,' but that yoiu: highness 
pleased. 
Was once superfluous: you were crowii'd before, 
Anil that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off. 
The faiths of men ne'er staiu'd with revolt; 
Fresh expectation troubled not the land 
With any long'd-for change or better state. 

Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp. 
To guard a title that was rich before, 
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily. 
To throw a perfiuue on the violet. 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue 



Unto the rainbow, or wath taper-light 

To seek the bciuiteous eye of heaveu to garnish, 

Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. 

Pein. But that your royal I'leasure must be done, 
This act is as an ancient tale new told. 
And in the last repeating troublesome. 
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 

Sal. In this tlie antique and well noted face 
Of plain old form is much disfigured; 
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail. 
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about, 
Startles and frights consideration. 
Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected, 
For putting on so new a fashion'd mlie. 

Fern. When workmen strive to di 1 1 let ter than well, 
They do confound their skill in covetuusness; 
And oftentimes excusing of a fault 
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, 
As patches set upon a little breach 
Discredit more in biding of the fault 
Than did the fault before it was so patch 'd. 

Sal. To this effect, before you were new crown'd, 
We breathed our counsel : but it pleased your high- 
To overbear it, and we are all well pleased, [ness 
Since all and every part of what we would 
Doth make a stand at what your biglmess will. 

K. John. Some reasons of this douljle coronation 
I have possess'd you with and tliink them strong; 
And more, more strong, then lesser is my fear, 
I shall indue you with : meantime but ask 
What you would have reform'd that is not well. 
And well shall you perceive how w'illingly 
I will both hear and grant you your requests. 

Pern. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these 
To sound the purposes of all their hearts. 
Both tor myself and them, but, chief of all. 
Your safety, for the which myself and them 
Bend their best studies, heartily request 
The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint 
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
To break into this dangerous argument, — • 
If what in rest you have in right you hold. 
Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend 
The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up ~ 
Your tender kinsman and to choke his days 
With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth 
The rich advantage of good exercise V 
That the time's enemie's may not have this 
To grace occasions, let it be our suit 
That you have bid us ask his liberty; 
Whicii for our goods we do no further ask 
Tlian whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
Counts it yom' weal he have his liberty. 

Enter Hubert. 

A". John. Let it be so : I do commit his youth 
To your direction. Hubert, what news with you ? 
[Taking him apart. 

Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed ; 
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
The image of a wicked heinous fault 
Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
Does show the mood of a much troubled breast ; 
And I do fearfully believe 'tis done. 
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 

Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go 
Between bis purpose and his conscience. 
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set : 
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 

Pern. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence 
The foul corruption of a sweet child's deatli. 

A'. Joliii. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand : 
Good lords, although my will to give is living. 
The suit wliieli you demand is gone and dead: 
He tells us Artliur is deceased to-night. 

.SViL Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure. 

Fern. Indeed we heanl how near his death he was 
2S7 



ACT IV. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE II. 



Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
This must be answer'd either here or he4ice. 

K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on 
Tliink you I bear the shears of destiny y [me ? 

Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? 

Sal. It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame 
That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell. 

Pern. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury ; I '11 go with thee. 
And find the inheritance of this poor child, 
His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle, 
Three foot of it doth hold : bad world the wliile ! 
This must not be thus borne : this will break out 
To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. 

\_Ej:eunt Lords. 

K. John. They burn in indignation. ^I repent: 
There is no sure foundation set on blood, 
Ko certain life achieved by others' death. 

Enter a Messenger. 
A fearful eye thou hast : where is that blood 
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks V 
So foul a sky clears not without a storm: 
Pour down thy weather : how goes all in France ? 

J!/fss. From France to England. Never such a 
For any foreign preparation [power 

Was levied in tliebody of a land. 
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ; 
For when you should be told they do prepare. 
The filling's comes that they are all arrived. 

K. kToJui. O, where hath our intelligence been 
drunk V 
Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's care, 
That such an army could be drawn in France, 
And she not hear of it V 

Mettn. My liege, her ear 

Is stopp'd with dust ; the first or April died 
Your noble mother: and, as I hear, my lord, 
The Lady Constance in a frenzy died 
Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue 
I idly heard; if true or false I know not. 

K'..John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion! 
O, make a league with uie, till I have pleased 
My discontented peers ! What ! mother dead ! 
How wiMly then walks my estate in France! 
Under whose conduct came those powers of France 
That thou for truth givest out are lauded liereV 

3Ies!<. Uuder the Dauphin. 

K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 

With these ill tidings. 

Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret. 

Now, what says the world 
To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff 
My head with more ill news, for it is full. 

Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst, 
Then let the worst imheard fall on your head. 

A'. .Toll II. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amazed 
Under tlie tide: but now I breathe again 
Aloft the Hood, and can give audience 
To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 

Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen. 
The sums I have collected shall express. 
But as I tvavell'd hither through the land, 
I lind tlie people strangely faniasied; 
Possess'd with run. ours, fnll of idle dreams. 
Not knowing wliat they fear, but full of fear: 
And here 's a prophet, that I brought with me 
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom 1 found 
With many hundreds treading on his heels: 
To whom lie sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
Tliat, ere the next Ascension-day at noon. 
Your highness should deliver up your crown. 

K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore did.st 
thou so i* [so. 

Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out 



K. John . Hubert, away with him ; imprison him ; 
And on that day at noon, whereon he says 
I .shall yield ui> my crown, let him be haiig'd. 
Deliver liim to safety; and return, 
For I must use thee. [E.cit Hubert n'ith Peter. 

O my gentle cousin, 
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arrived ? 

Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are 
full of it : 
Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury, 
With eyes as ri'il as lU'W-enkindled fire. 
And others more, going to seek the grave 
Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night | 

On your suggestion. 

A'. John. Gentle kinsman, go, 

And thrust thyself into tlieir companies: 
I have a wag to win their loves again ; 
Briug them before me. 

Bast. I will seek them out. 

A'. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot 
O, let me have no subject enemies, [before. 

AVhen adverse foreigners affriglit my towns 
With drcadlnl pomp of stout invasion! 
Br Merciuy, set leathers to thy heels. 
And tly like tlmuglit from them to me again. 

Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 

[E.cit. 

K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman. 
Go after him ; for he i>erhaps shall need 
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ; 
And be thou he. 

Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. 

K.John. My mother dead! 

lie-enter Hubert. 

Hub. My lord, they say five moons were seen to- 
Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about [night ; 
The other four in wondrous motion. 

K.Jolin. Five moons! 

Huh. Old men and beldams in the streets 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously : 
Youug Arthur's death is common in their mouths: 
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads 
And whisper one another in the ear ; 
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's WTist, 
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action. 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with ridling eyes. 
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus. 
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; 
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand. 
Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste 
Had falsely thrust uiJon contrary I'eet, 
Told of a many thousand warlike French 
That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent: 
Another lean unwash'd artificer 
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death. 

A'. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with 
these fears ? 
Why nrgcst thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 
Thy hand hath nnirder'd him ; I had a mighty cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 

Hub. No had, my lord ! why, did you not provoke 
me y 

K. John. It is the curse of kings to be attended 
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant 
To break within the liloody house of life, 
And on the winking of authority 
To understand a law, to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns 
More upon humour than advised respect. 

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what 1 did. 

A'. Joint. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven 
and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
AVitness against us to damnation ! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 



ACT IV. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE III. 



iMake deeds ill done ! Hadst not tlioii lieeii by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature niark'd. 
Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame, 
This murder had not come into my mind: 
]5ut taking note of thy abhorr"d aspect. 
Finding tliee fit for bloody villany, 
Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, 
1 faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

i//(f). My lord, — [a pause 

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head or niade 
When I spake darkly what I purposed. 
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face. 
As bid me tell my tale in express words, [off, 

Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 
But thou didst understand me by my signs 
And didst in signs again parley with sin; 
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent. 
And conse(iUPntly tliy rude hand to act 
The deed, wliich both our tongues held vile to name. 
Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
My nobles leave me; and my state is braved. 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers: 
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
Between my conscience and my cousin's death. 

Huh. Arm you against your "other enemies, 
I '1! make a peace between your soul and you. 
Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine 
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
W'ithin this liosiim never enter "d yet 
The dreadful motion of a ]iiurderous thought; 
And you have slauder'd nature in my form, 
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, , 

Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
Than to be butcher of an innocent child. [peers, 

K. John. Doth Arthur live V O, haste thee to the 
Throw this report on their incensed rage. 
And make them tame to their obedience ! 
Forgive the comment that my passion made 
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind. 
And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
O. answer not, but to my closet bring 
The angry lords with all expedient haste. 
I conjiu-e thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Before the castle. 
Eater Arthur, on the walls. 
Arth. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down: 
Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not! 
There 's tew or none do know me : if they did, 
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. 
I am afraid ; and yet I '11 venture it. 
If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
I '11 find a thousand shifts to get away : 
As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down. 
O me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : 
•Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! 

[Dies. 

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 

Sal. Lords,! will meet him at Saiid Edmundisbury : 
It is our .safety, and we must tnubnice 
This gentle offer of the perilous time. 

Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal V 

Sal. The Count Meluu, a noble lord of France; 
Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love 
Is much more general than these lines import. 

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 

Sa'l. Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be 
Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet. 
19 



Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. Once more t(^day well met, distemper'd 
lords ! 
The king by me requests your presence straight. 

Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us: 
We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks. 
Return and tell him so: we know the worst, [be.st. 

i?asJ.Whate'er}'outhink,good words, I tliink, were 

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 

Bast. But there is little reason in your grief ; 
Therefore 't were reason you had manners now. 

I'ein. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 

Bast. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man else. 

Sal. This is the prison. What Is he lies here ? 

[Seeing Arthur. 

Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely 
The earth had not a hole to hide tliis deed, [beauty ! 

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done. 
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. 

Biy. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave. 
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ':* have you beheld. 
Or have you read or heard y or could you think ';' 
Or do you almost thiidc, although you see, 
That you do see ':' could thought, witliout this object, 
Form such another ':' This is tlie very top, 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, 
Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest slianie, 
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke. 
That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 

Pcm. All murders past do stand excused in this: 
And this, so sole and so unmatchable, 
Shall give a holiness, a purity. 
To the yet unbegotten sin of times; 
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand. 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand! 
We had a kind of light what would ensue : 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
The practice and the purpose of the king : 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life. 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
The incense of a vow, a holy vow, 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
Never to be infected with delight. 
Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 
Till I have set a glory to this hand. 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Pern. " 



Big. 



• Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 



Enter Hubert. 
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you: 
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. 
Sal. O, he is Ijold and lihishes not at death. 
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 
Hub. I am no villain. 
Sal. Must I rob the law ? 

[Draicing his su-ord. 
Bast. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. 
Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skm. 
Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I 
say; 
By heaven, I think my sword 's as sharp as yom's: 
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself. 
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
Your worth, yovu' "greatness and nobility. [man V 
Big. Out, dunghill! darest thou brave a noble- 
. 289 



ACT V. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE I. 



Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend 
My innocent life against an emperor. 

Sal. Thou art a murderet. 

Huh. Do not prove me so ; 

Yet I am none : whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. 

Pern. Cut him to pieces. 

Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 

Bast. Tliou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury : 
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
Or teacli thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
I '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron, 
Tliat you shall think the devil is come from hell. 

Big. What wilt thou do, renovN'^ied Faulcon- 
Second a villain and a murderer? [bridge V 

Huh. Lord Bigot, I am none. 

Bl(j. Who kill'd this prince ? 

Huh. 'T is not an hour since I left him well : 
I honour'd him, I loved him, and will weep 
My date of life out fur Iiis sweet life's loss. 

Sal. Trust not tlmse cunning waters of his eyes. 
For villany is not witli<nit such rheum : 
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
Like rivers of remorse and iiniocency. 
Away witli nic, all ynu whose souls abhor 
The uncleanly savouis of a slaughter-house; 
For I am stilitMl with tins smell of sin. 

Big. Away toward liury, to the Dauphin there! 

Pern. There tell the king he may inquire us out. 
[E.ceuat Lords. 

Bast. Here 's a good world ! Knew you of this fair 
Beyond the infmite and boundless reach [work ? 
Of mercy, if tlmu didst this deed of death. 
Art thou danin'd, Hubert. 
• Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 

Bast. Ha ! I '11 tell thee what ; 
That 'rt damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so black ; 
Thou art more deep danui'd than Prince Lucifer : 



There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 

As thou Shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 

Hub. Upon my soul — 

Bast. If thou di<lst but consent 

To this most cruel act, do but despair; 
And if thou want'st a cord, tlie smallest thread 
Tliat ever spider twisted from her womb 
Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be a beam 
To hang thee on ; or wouldst thou dro\vn thyself, 
Put but a little water in a spoon, 
And it shall be as all the ocean, 
Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
I do suspect thee very grievously. 

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, 
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
Whii'li was emliounded in tl>is beauteous clay. 
Let liell want pains enough to torture me. 
I left liim well. 

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. 

I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way 
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. 
How easy dost thou take all England up I 
From forth this nmrsel of dead royalty. 
The life, tlie right and truth of all this realm 
Is fled to heaven 1 and I-higland now is left 
To tug and scanible and tn part by the teeth 
The uniiwed interest of prnud-swelling state. 
Now IVir tlie liare-jiirkM bone of majesty 
Doth ilogged war bristle his angry crest 
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of jieace : 
Now powers from home and discontents at home 
Meet in one line; and vast ci infusion waits, 
As doth a raven on a sick-fairn lieast. 
The innninent decay of wrested jioniii. 
Now lia|ipy he wliose cloak and cincture can 
Hold out tills tempest. Bear away tliat child 
And follow nie with speed : I '11 to" the king: 
A thousand businesses are brief in hand. 
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. 

[Exeunt. 



.ACT V. 



SCENE I. — King JohVs palace. 

Enter King John, Pandulph, and Attendants. 

K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your Iiand 
The circle of my glory. [Giving the crown. 

Pand. Take again 

From this my hand, as holding of the pope 
Your sovereign greatness and authority. [French, 

K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the 
And from his holinessuse all your power 
To sto]) their marches 'fore w-e are inflamed. 
Our discontented counties do revolt; 
Our ]ieo]ili' (piarrel witli obedience. 
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul 
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
This inundation of niistemper'd humour 
Bests by you only to be qualitied : 
Tiien i)ause not; for the present time 's so sick. 
That iiresent medicine must be niinister'd. 
Or overthrow incurable ensues. [up, 

Pand. It was my breath tliat lilew this tempest 
Upon your stubborn usage of the iiope; 
But since you are a gentle convertite. 
My tongue shall hush again this stonn of war 
And make fair weather in voiir lilustering land. 
On this Ascension-day, reinember well. 
Upon your oath of service to tlie pope. 
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. 

[Exit 

K. John. Is this Ascension-day V Did not the 

Say that before Ascension-day at nooii Q-irophet 

290 



My crown I should give off ? Even so I have ; 
I did suppose it should be on constraint ; 
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 

Enter the Bastard. 

"Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds 
But Dover castle: London hath received, [out 

Like a kind liost,the Dauphin and his powers: 
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy. 
And wild amazement hurries up and down 
The little number of your dmibtful friends. 

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again. 
After they heard young Arthur was alive ? 

Ba.^t. Tliey found him dead and cast into the 
Ari>mpty casket, where the jewel of life [streets. 
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 

K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 

Bast. Soj on my soul, he did, for auglit he knew. 
But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad y 
Be great in act, as you have been in thought : 
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 
Govern tlie motion of a kingly eye: 
Be stirring as the time; be hre with Are; 
Tlirealeii the tlireatener and outface tlie brow 
Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes. 
That borrow their behaviours from the great, 
Grow great by your example and put on 
The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
Away, and glister like the god of war. 
When he intendeth to become the field : 



ACT V. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE IT. 



Show boldness and aspirin? confidence. 

Wliat, shall they seek the lion in his den, [there V 

And fright him there? and make him tremble 

O, let it not be said: forage, and run 

To meet displeasure farther from the doors, 

And grapple witli him ere he comes so nigh, [me, 

K. Jnhii. Tlie legate of the pope hath been with 
And I have made a happy peace with him ; 
And he hath promised to dismiss the powers 
Led by the Dauphin. 

Bast. O inglorious league ! 

Shall we, upon the footing of our land. 
Send fair-play orders and make compromise, 
Insinuation, parley and base truce 
To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, 
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields, 
And fiesh his spirit in a warlike soil. 
Mocking the air with colours idly spread. 
And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms: 
Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace; 
Or if he do, let it at least be said 
Tliey saw we had a purpose of defence. 

A". John. Have thou the ordering of this present 
time. 

Bast. Away, then, with good courage! yet, I 
know. 
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. \_Exeimt. 

SCENE II. — The. Dauphin's oXmp at St. 
EdmuncUbury. 

Enter, in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pem- 
broke, Bigot, and Soldiers. 

Lcic. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out, 
And keep it safe for our remembrance : 
Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
That, having our fair order written down. 
Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes. 
May know wherefore we took the sacrament 
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 

fifd. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
A voluntary zeal and an unurged faith 
To your proceedings ; yet believe me, prince, 
I am not glad that sucli a sore of time 
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt. 
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound 
By making many. O, it grieves my soul. 
That I must draw this metal from my side 
To be a widow-maker! O, and there 
AVliere honourable rescue and defence 
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury ! 
But such is the infection of the time. 
That, for the lieallli and physic of our right. 
We cannot deal but with the very hand 
Of stern injustice and confused wrong. 
And is 't not pity, O my grieved friends. 
That we, the sons and children of this isle, 
AVere born to see so sad an hour as this ; 
Wherein we step after a stranger march 
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
Her enemies' ranks, — I must withdraw and weep 
Upon the spot of this enforced cause, — 
To grace the gentry of a land remote. 
And follow unacquainted colours here'? 
AVluit, here ? O nation, that thou couldst remove ! 
That Xeptune's arms, who cliiipeth thee about. 
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself. 
And uraiijile thee unto a pagan shore; 
AVhere these two Christian armies might combine 
The blood of malice in- a vein of league. 
And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 

Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; 
And great alfections wrestling in thy bosom 
Doth make an earthcpiake of nobility. 
O, what a noble coniliat hast thou fouglrt 
Between compulsion and a brave respect ! 



Let me wipe off this honourable dew. 

That silvery doth progress on thy cheeks: 

^ly heart hath melted at a lady's tears, 

Being an ordinary inundation; 

But this effusion of such manly drops. 

This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul. 

Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed 

Than had I seen the vanity top of lieaven 

Figured quite o'er with I'uniing meteors. 

Lift up thy brow, renowned Saiislnuy, 

And with a great heart heave away tlie storm: 

Commend these waters to tliosc lialiy eyes 

That never saw the giant world enraged ; 

Xor met with fortune other than at feasts. 

Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping. 

Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 

Into the purse of rich prosperity 

As Lewis himself: so, nobles, shall you all. 

That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 

And even there, methinks, an angel spake : 

Enter Pandulph. 
Look, where the holy legate comes apace. 
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven, 
And on our actions set the name of right 
With holy breath. 

Band. Hail, noble prince of France ! 

The next is this. King John hatli reconciled 
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in. 
That so stood out against the holy church. 
The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up ; 
And tame the savage spirit of wild war, 
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand. 
It may lie gently at the font of jieace. 
And be no further harmful than in show. 

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back : 
I am too high-born to be propertied. 
To be a secondary at control. 
Or useful serving-man and instrument. 
To any sovereign state throughout the world. 
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 
Between this chastised kingdom and myself. 
And brought in matter that should feed this fire; 
And now 'tis far too huge to Vie blown out 
With that same weak wind wliich enkindled it. 
You tauglit me how to know the face of right, 
Accp'.ainted me with interest to this land, 
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; 
And come ye now to tell me John liatli made 
His peace with Rome '? AVhat is that peace to me ? 
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed. 
After young Artliur, claim tliis land for mine; 
And, now it is lialf-conqiier'd. must I back 
13ecause that John hath made his peace witli Rome ? 
Am I Rome's slave ? What penny hath Rome borne, 
Wliat men provided, what munition sent, 
To underprop this action ? Is 't not I 
That undergo this charge"? who else but I, 
And such as to my claim are liable. 
Sweat in this business and maintain this war'? 
Have I not lieard these islanders shout out 
' A^lve le roi ! ' as I have bank'd their towns ? 
Have I not here the best cards for the game. 
To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? 
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set '? 
Xo, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. 

Band. You look but en the outside of this work. 

Lexc. Outside or inside, I will not return 
Till my attempt so much be glorified 
As to my ample hope was promised 
]5f fore I drew this gallant head of war. 
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world. 
To outlook conquest and to win renown 
Even in the jaws of danger and of death. 

[Trumpet sounds. 
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us '? 
291 



ACT V. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE IV. 



Enter the Bastard, attended. 

Bast. According to the fair play of the world, 
Let me have audience; I am sent to speak : 
My holy lord of ^Milan, from the king 
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; 
And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
And warrant limited unto my tongue. 

Paml. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, 
And will not temporize witli my entreaties ; 
He flatly says he '11 not lay down his arms. 

i'a.s^ 'By all the blood that ever fury breathed, 
Tlie youtli' says well. Now hear our English king ; 
For tlius liisroyalty doth speak in me. 
He is prepared, and reason too he should: 
This apish and unmannerly approach, \ 
Tills liarncss'd masque and unadvised revel, 
Tliis uiihair'd sauciness and boyish troops, 
Tlie king duth smile at ; and is well prepared 
To whip tliis dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, 
From (lut tlie circle of his territories. [door, 

Tliat hand whidi liad tlie strength, even at your 
To riidgel ycm and make you take the hatch, 
To di\ e lil;e buckets in concealed wells, 
To crouch in litter of your stable planks. 
To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks, 
To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out 
In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake 
Even at the crying of your nation's crow, 
Tliinking his voice an armed Englishman; 
Shall that victuricms hand be feebled here. 
That in your clianibcrs gave you chastisement? 
No: know tlie gallant monarch is in arms 
And like an eagle o'er his aery towers. 
To souse annoyance tliat comes near his nest. 
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts. 
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 
Of your dear niotht r England, blush for shame ; 
For your own ladies ami pale-visaged maids 
Like Amazons come tripping after drums. 
Their tliimliles iiitii armed gauntlets change. 
Their needles to luiic.s. and their gentle hearts 
To fierce and bloody inclination. [peace; 

Lew. Tliere end thy brave, and turn thy face in 
"We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; 
We hold our time too precious to be spent 
With such a brabbler. 
Pand. Give me leave to speak. 

Bast. No, I will speak. . 

Lew. We will attend to neither. 

Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war 
Plead for our interest and our bein" here. [out ; 
Bust. Indeed, j'our drums, being beaten, will cry 
And so shall you, being beaten: do but start 
An echo with the clamour of thy drum. 
And even at liand a drum is ready braced 
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; 
Sound but another, and another shall 
As loud as thine rattle tlie welkin's ear 
" And mock the deeii-ninntird thunder: for at hand, 
Not trusting to this halting legate here, 
AVhom he hath used rather for sport than need, 
Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. 
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not 
doubt. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The field of battle. 

Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. 
K. John. How goes the day with us ? O, tell me, 

Hubert. 
Huh. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty ? 
K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long. 
Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick! 
292 



Enter a Messenger. 

Jlffss. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon- 
Desires your majesty to leave the field [bridge. 

And send liim word by me which way you go. 

Ji. John. Tell him, toward Svvinstead, to the 
abbey there. 

3Iess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply 
That was expected by the Dauphin here. 
Are wreck'd three nights ago on tJoodwin Sands. 
Tills news was brought to Richard lint even now : 
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. 

K. John. Ay me! this tyrant fever Ininis me up. 
And will not let me welcome this gndd news. 
Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight; 
"Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another jmrt of the field. 

Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot. 

Sal. I did not think the king so stored with friends. 

Pern. Up once again; put spirit in the French: 

If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. [field. 

Pom. They say King John sore sick hath left the 

Enter Melun, ivoimded. 

Mel. Lead nie to the revolts of England here. 

Sid. When we were happy we had other names. 

Pern. It is the Count Melun. 

Sal. Wounded to death. 

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold; 
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion 
And welcome home again discarded faith. 
Seek out King Jolm and fall before his feet; 
For if the French be lords of this loud day, 
He means to recompense the pains you take 
By cutting off your heads; thus hath he sworn 
And I with liiiii, and many moe with me, 
Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury; 
Even on that altar where we swore to you 
Dear amity and everlasting love. 

Sal. May this be possible ? may this be true ? 

Mel. Have I not hideous death within myview, 
Retaining but a quantity of life, 
AV'liich bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire ? 
What in the world should make me now deceive, 
Since I must lose the use of all deceit '( 
Why should I then be false, since it is true 
That I must die here and live hence by truth ? 
I say again, if Lewis do win the day, 
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
Behold another day break in the east : 
But even this night, whose black contagious breath 
Already smokes abiiut the burning crest 
Of the old, feeble and day-wearied sun. 
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, 
Paying the fine of rated treachery 
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, 
If I^ewis by your assistance win the day. 
Commend me to one Hubert with your king: 
The love of him, and this respect besides. 
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, 
Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
Friini forth the noise and rumour of the field. 
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts 
In peace, and ]iart this body and my soul 
With contemplation and devout desires. 

Sal. We do lielieve thee: and beshrew my soul 
But I do love the favour and the form 
Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
We will untread the steps of damned flight. 
And like a bated and retired flood, ^ 
Leaving our rankuess and irregular course, 



ACT V. 



KING JOHN. 



SCENE TIT. 



Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd 

And calmly run on in obedience 

Even to our ocean, to our great Kinjj John. 

My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 

For I do see the cruel pangs of death 

Kight in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight: 

And happy newness, that intends old right. 

\_Exeunt., leadiny vjf Mdun. 

SCENE v.— The French camp. 

Enter Lewis and his train. 
Lew. The sun of heaven methought was loath to 
set, 
But stay'd and made the western welkin blush. 
When English measure backward their own ground 
In faint retire. O, bravely came we off, 
AVhen with a volley of our needless shot, 
After SLicli bloody toil, we bid good night ; 
And wound our tattering colours clearly up, 
Last in the held, and almost lords of it I 

Enter a Messenger. 

Jl/fss. Where is my prince, the Daupliin ? 

Lew. Here : what news ? 

Mess. The Count Melun is slain ; the English lords 
By liis persuasion are again fall'n off. 
And your supply, which you have wishM so long, 
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands. 

Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news! beslirew thy very 
I did not think to be so sad to-niglit [heart ! 

As this hath made me. Who was he that said 
King John did fly an hour or two before 
The stumbling night did part our weary powers ? 

Mess. AVhoever "spoke it, it is true, my lord. 

Lei'\ AVell ; keep good quarter and good care to- 
The day shall not be up so soon as I, [night : 

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — An open place in the neighbourhood 
of Swiastead Abbey. 

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, severally. 

Hub. Who 's there V speak, bo ! speak quickly, or 

iJa««. A friend. What art thou ? [I shoot. 

Hub. Of the part of England. 

Bast. Whither dost thou go ? [mand 

Hub. What 's that to thee? why may not I de- 
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine V 

Bast. Hubert, I think y 

Hub. Tliou hast a perfect thought : 

I will upon all hazards well believe 
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well. 
Who art thou ? 

Bast. Who thou wilt: and if thou please, 

Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think 
I come one way of the Plantagenets. [night 

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless 
Have done me shame : brave soldier, pardon me, 
That any accent breaking from thy tongue 
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 

Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news 
abroad y 

Hub. "Wliy , here walk I in the black brow of night. 
To find you out. 

Bast. Brief, then ; and what 's the news V 

Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, 
Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible. 

Bast. Show me tlie very wound of this ill news: 
I am no woman, I '11 not swoon at it. 

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison 'd by a monk: 
I left him almost speechless; and broke out 
To acquaint you with this evil,tlwt you might 
The better arm you to the sudden time, 
Than if you had at leisure known of this. 

Bast. How did he take it y who did taste to him ? 

Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, 



Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 
Yet speaks and peradventure may recover. 

Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? 

Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are aU come 
back. 
And brought Prince Henry in their company; 
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, 
And they are all about his majesty. 

Bust. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, 
And tempt us not to bear above our power! 
I '11 tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, 
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide : 
Tliese Lincoln Washes have devoured them ; 
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped. 
Away before: conduct me to the king; 
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — The orchard in Swinstcad Abbey. 

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbui-y, and Bigot. 

P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood 
Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain, 
Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house, 
Doth by the idle comments tliat it makes 
Foretell the ending of mortality. 

Enter Pembroke. 

Pern. His highness yet doth speak, and holds be- 
That, being brought into the open air, [lief 
It would allay the burning quality 
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. 
Doth he still rage ? [Exit Biyot. 

Pern. He is more patient 

Than when j'ou left him ; even now he sung. 

P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes 
In their continuance will not feel themselves. 
Deatli, having prey'd ujion the outward parts. 
Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now 
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
With many legions of strange fantasies. 
Which, in "their throng and press to that last hold, 
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death 

should sing. 
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan. 
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, 
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings 
His soul and body to their lasting rest. 

Sfd. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born 
To set a form upon that indigest 
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 

Enter Attendants, and Bigot, carrying King 
John in a chair. 

K. Jfhn. Ay, marry, now my soid hath elVww- 
It would not out at windows nor at doors, [room ; 
There is so hot a summer in my bosom. 
That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 
I am a scribbled form, drawn witli a pen 
Upon a parchment, and against this fire 
Do I shrink up. 
mP. Hen. How fares your majesty ? 

K. John. Poison 'd. — ill fare — dead, forsook, cast 
And none of you will bid the winter come [off: 
To thrust liis icy fingers in my maw. 
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north 
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips 
And comfort rne with cold. I do not ask you much, 
I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait 
And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 

P. Hen. O that "there were some virtue in my 
That might relieve you ! [tears, 

K. .John. The salt in them is hot. 

Within me is a hell; and there the poison 
Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize 
On unreprievable condemned blood. 
293 



ACT V. 



KING JOHK 



SCENE VII. 



Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
And spleen of speed to see your majesty ! 

K. John. O cousin, tliou art come to set mine eye : 
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd, 
And all tlic slirouds wlierewitli uiy life should sail 
Are turned tn mit' thread, one little hair: 
INIy Iieait liidh one poor string to stay it by, 
AVIiicli liolds but till thy news be uttered; 
And then all tliis thou seest is but a clod 
And module of confounded royalty. 

Bast. The Dauphin is prepaiiug' hitherward, 
Where heaven He knows how wesliall answer him ; 
For in a nijiht the best part of my power, 
As I upon advantage did remove. 
Were in the 'Washes all unwarily 
Devoured liy tlie unexpecteil Hood. \_Tlie king dies. 

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead au 
ear. 

My liege ! my lord ! but now a king, now thus. 

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, 
When this was now a king, and now is clay V 

Bast. Art tliou gone so V I do but stay behind 
To do the office for thee of revenge. 
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, 
As it on eartli hatii been thy servant still. 
Kow, now, you stars that move in your right spheres. 
Where be your powers V show now your mended 
And instantly return with me again, [faiths. 

To pirsh ilrst rni'lion ami perpetual shame 
Out of the weak door of our iainting laud. 
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought ; 
The Dauphin rages at our very lieels. 

Sal. It seems yon know not, then, so much as we : 
The Cardinal I'audulph is within at rest, 



Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, 
And brings from him such offers of our peace 
As we witli honour and respect may take. 
With purpose presently to leave tliis war. 

Bust, lie will the ratlier do it when he sees 
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; 
For many carriages he hath dispatehM 
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 
To the disposing of the cardinal: 
With whom yomself, myself and other lords. 
If you think meet, tliis afternoon will post 
To consummate this business happily. 

Bast. Let it be so: and yon, my noble prince. 
With other princes that may best be spared. 
Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 

P. Hen. At Worcester must hisbody be interr'd; 
For so he will'd it. 

Bast. Thither shall it then: 

And happily may your sweet self put on 
The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
To whom, with all submission, on my knee 
I do bequeath my faithful services 
And true subjection everlastingly. 

Sal. And tlie like tender of our love we make. 
To rest without a spot for evermore. [thanks 

P. Hen. I have a kind s(ud that would give you 
And knows not how to do it but witli tears. 

Bast. O, let us pay the time l}ut needful woe, 
Since it hath been beforeh.md v.ith our griefs. 
Tills England never did, nor never shall, 
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. 
But when it first did help to wound itself. 
Xow these her princes are come liome again, 
Come the three corners of the world in arms, [rue, 
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us 
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 




Pand»lpli.—LAdy, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 

Constance— Thnu art not holy to belie me so; 
I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
My name is Constance : I was Geffrey's wife ; 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
I am not mad : — I would to Heaven, I were.— Act III., Scene iv. 



294 



THE TRAGEDY OF KING RICHARD 11. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



uncles to the Kin" 



King Richard the Second. 

John of Gaunt, Duke of 
Lancaster, 

Edmund of Langley.Duke 
of York, 

Henry, siirnamerl BoUngbroke, Duke of Here- 
ford, son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King 
Henry IV. 

Duke of Aumerle, son to the Duke of York. 

Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 

Duke cf Surrey. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Lord Berkeley. 

Bushy, I 

Bagot, >■ servants to King Richard. 

Green, ) 

Earl of Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, suruamed Hotspur, his son. 

[For an Analysis of the Plot of 1 



Lord Ross. 

Lord Willoughby. 

Lord Fitzwater. 

Bishop of Carlisle. 

Abbot of Westminster. 

Lord Marshal. 

Sir Stephen Scroop. 

Sir Pierce of Exton. 

Captain of a band of Welshmen. 

Queen to King Richard. 

Duchess of York. 

Duchess of Gloucester. 

Lady attending on the Queen. 

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keeper, 
Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants, 

SCENE — England and Waka. 
lis Play, see Page LIM.] 



^CT I. 



SCENE I. — London. Kincj Rirhard''s palace. 

Enter King Richard, John of Gaimt, with other 
Nobles and Attendants. 

K. Rich. Old .John of (iaiint, time-lioiiour'd Lan- 
Ilast thou, according to thy oatli and band, [caster, 
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, 
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 
■\Vniic]i then our leisure would not let us hear, 
Against tlie Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 

Gdioit.A have, niy liege. [him, 

A'. Rich. Tell me, moreover, Iiast thou sounded 
If lie appeal the duke on ancient malice; 
Or worthily, as a good sidijcct slionld. 
On some kiiown ground id t reachery in him ? [ment, 

Gdiint. As near as I I'ould silt him on that argu- 
On some apparent danger seen in him 
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice, [face, 

A'. Rirfi. Then ctill them to our presence; face to 
And Innvniiig lirow to brow, ourselves will hear 
The arrnser and the arciiscil Ireelv s]iea.k: 
Hiuli-stoniacird are they both, and full of ire. 
In rage deaf as the sea, iiasty as hre. 

Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray. 

Bolinfj. Many years of happy days liefal 
My gracious .sovereign, my most loving liege! 

j\[oir. Each day still better other's liappihess; 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, 
Add an immortal title to your crown! [us, 

A'. Riih. We thank you both: yet one but flatters 
As well ai)peareth liy the cause you come; 
Kamelv, to api>eal each otlier of high treason. 
Cousin' of Herelord, what dost tliou obiect 
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray V 

JSiilinij. First, heaven lie the record to my speech ! 
In the devotion of a sidiject's love, 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 
And free from other misbegotten hate, . 



("ome I appellant to this princely presence. 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak 
My body shall make good upon this earth, 
Or my divine soul ansv^'er it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, 
Too good to be so and too bad to live, 
Since the more fair and crvstal is the sky, 
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
Once iiKirc. the more to aggravate the note. 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; 
And wish.so |ilease my so\eieigii,ere I move, [prove. 
What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may 

Mow. Let not my cold \\'ords here accuse my zeal: 
'T is not the trial of a woman's war, 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; 
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: 
Yet can I not of such tame jiatienee boast 
As to be hush'd and nought at till to say: 
First, the fair reverence of your highiiess curbs me 
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; 
Wiiich else would post until it had return 'd 
These terms of treason douliled down his throat. 
Setting aside his high bluoirs royalty, 
And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
I do defy him, and I spit at him; 
Call liini a slanderous coward and a villain: 
Which to maintain I would allow liim odds. 
And meet him, were I tied to run afoot 
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
Or any other gromid iidiabitable. 
Where ever Englishman ilurst set his foot. 
Mean time let this defend my loyalty, 
15y all my hojies, most falsely doth he lie. [gage, 

JSiiIiiiij. Tale trembling coward, there I throw my 
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king. 
And lay aside my high blood's roytilty. 
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. 
295 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE IT. 



If guilty dread have left thee so much strength 
As to take hi> mine honour's pawn, then stoop: 
By that and all the rites of knighthooctelse, 
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, 
Wliat I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 

Mow. rtake it up; and by tliat sword I swear, 
Whicli gently laid my knightliood on my shoulder, 
I '11 answiT tliPf in any fair degree, 
Or chivalriuis design of knightly trial : 
And when I mount, alive may 1 not light, 
If I be traitor or unjustly fight ! [charge ? 

A". likk. Wliat doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
It must be great-that can inlierit us 
So much as of a thought of ill in him. [it true; 

Boliiuf. Look, what I speak, my life, shall prove 
That Mowbray hath received eiglif thousand nobles 
In name of Icndings fur your liiglniess' soldiers, 
Tlie wliich he liath detain'd for lewil euii'luynients, 
Like a false traitor and injurious villain. 
Besides I say and will in battle prove. 
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey 'd by English eye, 
That all the trrasdus for tliese eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land [spring. 
Fetch from false Mowbray tlieir first head aiid 
Further I say and further will maintain 
Upon his liad life to make all this good, 
That he did iilot tlie Duke of Gloucester's death, 
Suggest liis soon-believing adversaries. 
And consi'qufutly, like a traitor coward, [blood: 
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of 
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries^ 
Even from tlie tongueless caverns of the earth. 
To me for justice and rough chastisement; 
And, by the glorious worth of my descent. 
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars! 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? 

Mow. 0,let my sovereign turn away his face 
And bid his ears a little while be deaf. 
Till I have told this slander of his blood. 
How God and good men hate so foul a liar, [ears: 

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and 
Were he my brotlier, nay, my kingdom's heir. 
As he is but my father's brother's son, 
Now, by my sci'iitre's awe, I make a vow, 
Sucli ncighiiour nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
The unstooping firmness of my upriglit soul: 
He is our subject, Mowl)ray ; so ait thou : 
Free speech and fearless I to tliee allow. 

Mow. Tlieu, I'.olingbroke, as low as to thy heart, 
Through the liiisc passage of thy throat, thou liest. 
Three parts of I hat receipt I had for Calais 
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; 
The otlier part reserved I by consent. 
For tliat my sovereign liege was in my debt 
Upon remainder of a dear account. 
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 
Nowswallowilown tliat lie. ForGloucester's death, 
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace 
Neglected my sworn duty iii that case. 
For you, my nolile Lord of Lancaster, 
The honoiu'able father to my foe. 
Once did I lay an andjush for your life, 
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; ' 
But ere 1 last received the sacrament 
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd 
Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. 
This is my fault: as for the rest ajipeal'd. 
It issues from tlie rancour i>l' a villain, 
A recreant and most dcucni-niie traitor: 
Which in myself I lioldly will dcrcml: 
And interchangralily liiul down my gage 
Upon this ovcr«-ccniiig traitor's foot. 
To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bo!3om. 
29G 



In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 

Your highness to assign our trial day. [me ; 

K. liich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by 
Let 's purge this choler witliout letting blood : 
Tills we prescribe, though no physician; 
Deep malice makes too deep incision; 
Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed ; 
Our'doctors say this is no month to'bleed. 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
We '11 calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. 

Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age: 
Throw down, my sou, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. 

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 

Gaunt. When, Harry, when V 

Obedience bids I should not bid again. [no boot. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, tlirow down, we bid; there is 

Mnir. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at tliy foot. 
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
The one my duty owes; but my fair name, 
Desiiite of (leath that lives upon my grave. 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here. 
Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, 
The wliich no balm can cure but his heart-blood 
Which breathed this poison. 

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood: 

Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. 

Mow. Yea, but not change his spots: takebutmy 
And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord, [shame, 
The purest treasure mortal times afford 
Is spotless reputation : that away. 
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
Mine honour is my 'life; both grow in one; 
Take honour from me, and my life is done: 
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; 
In that I live and for tliat will I die. [begin. 

K. Rich. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you 

Boling. O, God defend my soul from such deep 
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight > [sin ! 
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my heiglit 
Before this out-dared dastard V Ere my tongue 
Sliall wound my honour with such feeljle wrong, 
Or sound so base a parle,my teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear. 
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's 
face. [Exit Gaunt. 

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, biK to com- 
mand ; 
Which since we cannot do to make you friends. 
Be rc.idw as your lives shall answer it. 
At CoNcutiy, upon Saint Lambert's day: 
Tliere shall ,\our swonls and lances arbitrate 
Tlie swelling dilfcrcuce of your settled hate: 
Since we can not atone you, we shall see 
.Justice design the victor's chivalry. 
Lord marshal, command our officers at arms 
Be ready to direct these home alarms. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The Duke of Lancastcr''s palace. 

Enter John of Gaunt with the Duchess of 
Gloucester. 

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood 
Dotli more solicit me than your exclaims. 
To stir against the butchers of his life ! 
But since correction lieth in those hands 
Wliich made the fault that we cannot correct. 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
Wlio, when they see the hours ripe on earth, 
Will rain hot vengeance on otfenders' heads. 

Buch. Finilsbriitherhoodintlieenoshariierspur? 
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire':* 
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one. 
Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD 11. 



SCENE III. 



Or seven fair branches springing from one root : 
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, 
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; 
But Thomas, uiy dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, 
One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
One flourisliiii;4' lirancli of his most royal root, 
Is crack'd, and all the precious Ii(iuor spilt. 
Is hack'd down, and liis siuinncr leaves all faded, 
By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. [womb. 
All, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that 
That metal, that self-mould, that fashion 'd thee 
Made him a man; and tliough thou livest and 

breathest. 
Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
In some large measure to thy father's death. 
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, 
■yVho was the model of thy father's life. 
Call it not patience, Gaunt ; it is despair : 
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life. 
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: 
That which in mean men we intitle patience 
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
■What shall 1 say '/ to safeguard thine own life. 
The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. 

G<(iwt. God's is the quarrel ; for God's substitute, 
His deputy anointed in His sight, 
Hath caused his death : the which if wrongfully, 
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift 
An angry arm against His minister. 

Duck. Where then, alas, may I complain myself? 

Oawit. To God, the widow's champion aiid de- 
fence. 

Duch. "Whv, tlien, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 
Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold 
Our i-oiisin llerel'iird and fell 2iIowbniy fight: 
O, sit my husljuiid's wrongs on Hereford's spear, 
That it inay enter Ijutilier Mowbray's breast! 
Or, if misfortune miss tlie Hrst career, 
Be ]Mo\\ bray's sins so heavy in his bosom. 
That they may break his foaming courser's back. 
And throw tlie rider headlong in the lists, 
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! 
Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife 
AVith her companion grief must end her life. 

Gaunt. Sister, farewell ; I must to Coventry : 
As much good stay with thee as go with me ! 

Duch. Yet one word more : grief boundeth where 
it falls. 
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
I take my leave before I have begun, 
For sorrow ends not when it seeinetli done. 
Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. 
Lo, this is all : — nay, yet depart not so ; 
Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 
I shall remciii'ier more. Bid him — ah, what? — 
■With all good speed at Flashy visit me. 
Alack, and what shall good old York there see 
But emiity lodgings and unfurnish'd walls. 
Unpeopled otlices, untrodden stones? 
And what hear there for welcome but my groans ? 
Therefore commend me ; let him not conie there, 
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. 
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: 
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The lists at Cncc»tr>/. 

Enter the Lord Marshal and the Duke of Au- 
merle. 

3Iar. My Lord Aumerle,is Harry Hereford arm'il ? 

Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. 

Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and Ijold, 
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 

Aum. Why, then, the champions are prepared, and 
For nothing but his majesty's approach. [stay 



77ie trumpets sound, and the King enters vfith his nobles, 
Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others. When (hey 
are set, enter Mowbray in arms, defendant, with a 
Herald. 

A". Bich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
The cause of his arrival here in arms: 
Ask him his name and orderly proceed 
To swear him in the'justice of his cause. [art 

jUar. In God's name and the king's, say who thou 
And why thou coine.st thus knightly clad in arms. 
Against what man thou comest, and what thy quar- 
Speak truly, on thy kniglitliood and thy oath ; [rel ; 
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour ! 

Mow. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor- 
"Who hither come engaged by my oath — [folk ; 
AVhich God defend a knight should violate I — 
Both to defend my loyalty and truth 
To God, my king and my succeeding issue. 
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me; 
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm. 
To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, my king, and me: 
And as I truly'fight, defend me heaven ! 

The trunijicts sound. Enter Boling-broke, ap- 
pellant, in armour, with a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms. 
Both who he is and why he cometh hither 
Thus plated in habiliiuents of war. 
And formally, according to our law, 
Dejiose him in the justice of his cause. 

3Iar. What is thy name? and wherefore comest 
thou hither. 
Before King Richard in his royal lists ? [rel ? 

Against whom comest thou ? and what 's thy quar- 
Siieak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 

Holing. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby 
Am I ; who ready here do stand ili arms. 
To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour. 
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 
That he is a traitor, foul ami dangerous. 
To God of heaven. King Richard and to me ; 
And as I truly fight, defend me lieaveii I 

Mar. On pain vi death, no person be so bold 
Or darinsr-hardy as to touch the lists. 
Except the marshal and such otiicers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. [hand, 

lidling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
And bow n}y knee before his majesty: 
For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave 
And loving farewell of our several friends, [ness. 

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your high- 
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. 

K. Rich. 'We will descend and fold him in our arms. 
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is riglit. 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
Farewell, my Vilood ; which if to-day thou shed. 
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 

Boliny. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: 
As confident as is the falcon's flight 
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. 
J[y loving lord, I take my leave of you ; 
Of you, my noble cousin. Lord Aumerle; 
Not sick, although I have to do with death. 
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: 
O thou, the earthly author of my blood, 
■Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 
Dotli with a twofold vigour lift me up 
To reach at victory above my head. 
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; 
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, 
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, 
297 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE ITT. 



And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, 
Even in tlie lusty haviour of his son. [perous ! 

Gaunt. God in thy good cause malce tliee pros- 
Be swift lilve lightning in the execution; 
And let tliy blows, doubly redoubled. 
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : 
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 

Boliiuj. Mine innocency and Saint George to 
thrive ! 

Mow. However God or fortune cast my lot, 
Tliere lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, 
A loyal, just and upright gentleman: 
Never did cai>tivf with a freer heart 
Cast oil his i-liaiiis (if liondage and embrace 
Hisgolili-u uncniitroird enfranchisement, 
IMore than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
This IVast (if battle with mine .adversary. 
Most miglity liege, and my companion peers. 
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 
As gentle and as jocund as to jest 
Go I to fight : truth hath a quiet breast. 

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy 
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 
Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, 
Receive th^ lance; and God defend the right! 

Holing, strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. 

Mar. Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of 
Norfolk. 

First llcr. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and 
Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself. 
On pain to be found false and recreant, 
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
A traitor to his God, Ids king and him ; 
And dares him to set forward to the flglit. 

Sec. Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke 
of Norfolk, 
On pain to be found false and recreant, 
IJotli to defend himself and to approve 
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, 
To Gt)d, his sovereign and to him disloyal ; 
Courageously and with a free desire 
Attending but the signal to begin. 

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, com- 
batants. [A charge sounded. 
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 

Ji. Etch. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
spears. 
And both return back to their chairs again : 
"Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound 
"While we return these dukes what we decree. 

[A long flourish. 
Draw near. 

And list what with our council we have done. 
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soilVl 
"With that dear blood wliicli it hath fostered; 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
Of civil wounds plougli"( I up with neighbours' sword; 
And for we think tlic eagle-winged pride 
Of sky-as]iiring and aniliitious thoughts, 
AVith rival-hating envy, set on you 
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
Draws the sweet infant lireath of gentle sleep; 
Which s(i roused up with boisterous untuned drums, 
"With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray. 
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 
Might from our quiet confines fright fair |)eace 
And make us wade even in our kin(hed's blood; 
Therefore, we lianisli you our territories: 
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life. 
Till twice Hve sununers have enrich "d our fields 
Shall not regreet our fair dominions. 
But tread the stranger jiaths of banishment. [be, 

BoUng. Your will lie done: this must my comfort 
That siin that warms you here shall shine' on me ; 
298 



And those his golden beams to 3'ou here lent 
Shall point on me and gil',1 my banishment. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: 
The sly slow hours shall not deternuuate 
The dateless limit of thy dear exile; 
Tlie liopeless word of ' never to return ' 
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 

Mow. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, 
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: 
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
As to be cast forth in the common air. 
Have I deserved at your highness' liands. 
The language 1 have learned these forty years, 
My native English, now I must forego: 
And now my tongue's use is to me no more 
Than an unstringed viol or a liarp. 
Or like a cunning instrument cased up. 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
Tliat knows no touch to tune the harmony : 
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, 
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; 
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance 
Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse. 
Too far in years to be a impil now : 
What is thy sentence then Imt speechless death; 
Whicli robs my tongue from breathing native 
breath V 

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate : 
After our sentence plaining comes too late. [Usbt, 

Mow. Tlien thus I turn me from my country's 
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 

K.Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish "d hands; 
Swear by the duty that you owe to God — 
Our iiart therein we banish with yourselves — 
To keeji the oath that we administer: 
You never shall, so help you truth and God! 
Embrace each other's love in banishment ; 
Nor never look upon each other's face; 
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
This louring tempest of your home-bred hate ; 
Nor never by advised purpose meet 
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 

Boling. I swear. 

j¥oir." And I, to keep all this. 

Bolinij. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy: — 
By this lime, liad the king permitted us. 
One ol our souls had wamler'd in the air, 
Barnslfd this frail sepulchre of our flesli. 
As now our flesh is banish "d from this land: 
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. 

Mmr. No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, 
My name be blotted from the book of life. 
And I from heaven banish 'd as from hence! 
But wliat thou art, God, thou, and I do know; 
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. 
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; 
Save back to England, all the world 's my way. 

[Exit. 

K. Rich. Uncle, even in tlie glasses of thine eyes 
I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banish 'd years 
Pluck'd four away. [3b Boling.] Six frozen win- 
ters spent. 
Return witli welcome home from banishment. 

BoUng. How long a time lies in one little word! 
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs 
End in a word: such is the breath of kings. 

Gnunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me 
He shortens four years of my son's exile: 
But little vantage shall I reaj) thereby; 
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE IV. 



' Can change tlieir moons and lirina- their times about, 
My oil-dried lamp and time-lie wasted light 
Shall be extinct with ayi- and eiuliess night; 
M.v inch of taper will be bnrnt and done, 
And bliuilfold death not let me see my son. [live. 

K. liivh. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to 

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst 
give : 
Shorten uiy days thou canst with sullen sorrow. 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age. 
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; 
Thy word is current with liini for my death, 
But dead, thy kingdom canmit liuy my breath. 

K. Rich. Thy son is banisli'd upon good advice, 
AV hereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: 
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour ? 

Oaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion 
You urged me as a judge ; but I had rather [sour. 
You would have bid me argue like a father. 
O, had it ))een a stranger, not my child. 
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: 
A partial slander sought 1 to avoid. 
And in the sentence my own life destroyed. 
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, 
I was too strict to make mine own away; 
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue 
Aj^aiust my will to do myself this wrong. 

K. Bich. Cousin, farewell; and, uucle, bid liim 

Six years we banish hiin, and he shall go. [so : 

[Flourish. Exeunt King Bichayd and train. 

Aum. Cousin, farewell ; whal presence must not 
know. 
From where you do remain let paper show. 

Mar. ]SIy lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride, 
As fiir as land will let me, by your side. [words. 

Gaunt. O, to what purjiose dost thou hoard thy 
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends '* 

Baling. I have too few to take my leavQ of you, 
When the tongue's othce should be "prodigal 
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 

Baling. .Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 

Oaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly 
gone. [ten. 

Baling. To men in joy ; but grief makes one hour 

Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou takest for pleas- 
ure. 

Baling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, 
Which finds it an inforceil |>ili;riniage. 

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
Esteem as foil wherein them art to set 
Tke precious jewel of fliy home return. 

Baling. !Xay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
Will but remember me what a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that 1 love. 
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
To foreign passages, ajid in the end. 
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
But that I was a journeymau to grief? 

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits 
Are to a wise man ports and liappy havens. 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus; 
There is no virtue like necessity. 
Think not the king did banish thee. 
But thou the king. \V(ie doth the heavier sit, ' 
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honom^ • 
And not the king exiled thee; or suppose 
Devourmg pestilence hangs in our air 
And thou art Hying to a freslier clime: 
Look, what thy soul holils dear, imagine it 
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest : 
Suppose the singing birds musicians, [strewed. 

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence 
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more 
Than a delightful measure or a dance ; 



For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
The man that mocks at it and sets it light. 

Baling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand 
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 
Or cloy the hmigry edge of appetite 
By bare imagination of a feast ? 
Or wallow naked in December snow 
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat ? 
O, no! the apprehension of the good 
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more 
Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. 

Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I '11 bring thee on 
thy way : 
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 

Baling. Then England's ground, farewell; sweet 
soil, adieu; 
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can. 
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE IV.— The caurt. 

Eater the King, with Bagot and Green at one door; 
and thg Duke of Aumerle at another. 

K. Rieh. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? 

Aum. I brought liigh Hereford, if you call him so, 
But to the next highway, and there I left him. 

A'. Rich. And say, what store of parting tears 
were shed? ' [w ind , 

Aitm. Faith, none for»me ; except the northeast 
Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance 
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 

K. Rich. "What said our cousin when you parted 
with him ? 

Aum. ' Farewell ; ' 
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief 
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
ISIarry, would the word 'farewell ' have lengtlien'd 
And adiled years to his short banishment, [hom'S 
He should have had a volume of farewells; 
But since it would not, he had none of me. 

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 't is doubt, 
When time shall call him home from banishment, 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green 
Observed his courtship to the connuon people ; 
How he did seem to dive into their hearts 
AVith humble and familiar courtesy. 
What reverence he did throw away on slaves, 
Wooing poiir craftsmen with the craft of smiles 
And patient underbearing of his fortune. 
As "t were to banish their affects with him. 
Off goes his Ixinnet to an oyst er- wench ; 
A brai-e of draymen bid God speed him well 
And had the tribute of his supple knee. 
With ' Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ; ' 
As were our England in reversion his. 
And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these 
thoughts. 
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, 
Expedient manage must lie made, my liege, 
lOre further leisure yield tliem further means 
For Iheir advantage and your highness' loss. 

A'. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war: 
And, for our coffers, with too great a court 
And liberal largess, are grown'soinewhat light, 
We are inforced to farm our royal realm; 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand : if that come short. 
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; 
Whereto, when they shall know what men are ricli, 
299 



ACT II. 



KING RICHARD II. 



SCENE T. 



They shall subseiibf them fur large sums of gold 
And .send tluMii alter tn su]>iily our wants; 
For we will make for Ireland presently. 

Enter Bushy. 
Bushy, what news ? Pord, 

Jivshji. Old .John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my 
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste 
To entreat yoiu- majesty to visit Mm. 



K. Rich. Where lies he? 

Bmliij. At Ely House. 

K. li'klt. Now put it, God, in the physician's mind 
To help him to his grave iniiiiedialely ! 
The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. 
Come, gentlemen, let 's all go visit him: 
Pray God we may make haste, and come too late ! 

All. Amen. [Exeunt. 



^CT II. 



SCENE l.— Ely House. 



Enter John of Gaunt skk, with the Duke of 
York, &c. 

Gaunt. "Will the king come, that I may breathe my 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth y [last 

York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. p^reath ; 

Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony: [vain. 

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in 
For tliey breathe truth tliat breathe their words in 

pain. 
He that no more must say is listen'd more 

Thau they whom youth and ease have taught to 
glose ; 
More are men's ends mark VI than their lives before : 

The setting sun, and music at the close, 
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, 
AVrit in remembrance more than things long past: 
Though diehard my life's counsel would not hear, 
ily death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 

York. Xo; itisstoiip'il withotherflatteringsounds. 
As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond. 
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound 
The open ear of youth doth always listen ; 
Report of fashions in proud Italy, 
AVhose manners still our tardy apish nation 
Limps after in base imitation. 
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity — 
So it be new, there 's no respect how vile — 
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ? 
Then all too late comes counsel to be lieard, 
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
Direct not him whose way himself will choose : [lose. 
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou 

Gaunt. Methinks I am a }irophet new inspired 
And thus expiring do foretell of him : 
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last. 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves; 
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; 
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; 
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder : 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
Tliis other Eden, di'Uii-paradise, 
This fortress Imilt by Nature for herself 
Against infection and the hand of war. 
This liaiipy breed of men, tliis little world. 
This iireeious stone set in the silver sea. 
Which serves it in the olUce of a wall 
Or as a moat defensi\"e to a house. 
Against the envy of less happier lands, Qand, 

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Eng- 
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed and famous Ijy their liirth, 
Henowned for their deeds as far from home. 
For Christian service and true chivalry. 
As is the sepidchre in stubborn .Jewry 
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son, 
300 



This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, 
Hear for her reputation through the world, 
Is now leased out, I die iironouneing it, 
Like to a tenement or pelting farm : 
England, bound in witli the triumphant sea, 
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
Of watery Xeiitune, is now bound in with shame. 
With inky blots and rotten pareliment bonds: 
That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. 
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life. 
How happy then were my ensuing death ! 

Enter King Richard rtji f7 Queen , Aumerle, Bushy, 
Green, Bagot, Ross, and "Willoughby. 

York. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; 
For young hot colts being raged do" rage the more. 

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster'/ 

jK". Rich. What comfort, man '/ how is 't with aged 
Gaunt ':' 

Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition I 
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: 
AVithin nie grief hath kept a tedious fast; 
And w ho abstains from meat that is not gaunt ? 
For sleeping England long time have I watch 'd; 
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gamit: 
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon. 
Is my strict fast ; I mean, my children's looks ; 
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt : 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave. 
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 

K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
names 'i' 

Gaunt. Jfo, misery makes sport to mock itself: 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee, pive ':* 

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those tliat 

Gaunt. No, no, men living flatter those that die. 

ii. Rich. Thou, now a-dyfug, say 'st thou flatterest 
me. 

Gaunt. O, no ! thou diest, though I the sicker be. 

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. 

Gaunt. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill ; 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; 
And thou, too cariJess patient as thou art, 
Commit'st thy anointed liody to the cure 
Of those physicians that lust wounded thee: 
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown. 
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head ; 
And 5'et, incaged in so small a verge. 
The waste is no whit lesser than tliy land. 
O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye 
Seen how his son's son sliould destroy his sons. 
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, 
Deposing thee before thou wert possess 'd. 
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
AVhy, cousin, wert thou regent of the world. 
It were a shame to let this land by lease ; 
But for thy world enjoying but this land. 
Is it not more than shame to shame it so ? 



ACT II. 



KI^''G RICHARD II. 



SCENE I. 



Liinilloril of England art thou now, not king: 
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; 
And tliou — 

K. Bli-h. A lunatic lean-witted fool, 
Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
Darest with thy frozen admonition 
Make pale our cheek, chasing tlie royal blood 
AVitli fury from his native residence. 
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 
■\\'ert thou not brother to great Edward's son. 
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head 
!51iould run thy head from thy unreverent slioulders. 

Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, 
For that I was his father Edward's son; 
That blood already, like the pelican. 
Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused; 
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul. 
Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls ! 
May be a precedent and witness good 
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: 
Join with the present sickness that I have ; 
And thy unkindness be like crooked age. 
To crop at once a too long wither'd (lower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee: 
These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! 
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
Love they to live that love and honour have. 

[&/«, home off by his Attendants. 

K. Bkh. And let them die that age and sulleus 
liave; 
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 

York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words 
To wayward sickliness and age in him: 
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. 

K. Rich. Right, you say true : as Hereford's love. 
As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. [so his ; 

Enter Northumberland.' 
North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your 
K. Rich. What says he V [majesty. 

Noi-th. j^ay, nothing ; all is said : 

His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; 
Words, life and all. old Lancaster hath spent, [so! 
York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt 
Thou^i death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. [he ; 
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth 
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. 
So much for that. Xow for our Irish wars : 
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, 
Which live like venom where no venom else 
But only they have privilege to live. 
And for these great affairs do ask some charge. 
Towards our assistance we do seize to us 
The plate, coin, revermes and moveables, 
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 

York. How long shall I be patient ? ah, how long 
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong V 
Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment. 
Nor Gaunt 's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs. 
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace. 
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. 
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. 
I am the last of noble Edward's sons. 
Of whom thy father, Prince of AVales, was first : 
In war was never lion raged more fierce. 
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. 
Than was that young and princely gentleman. 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he. 
Accomplish 'd with the number of thy hours; 
But wlien he frown 'd, it was against the French 
And not against his friends; his noble hand 
Did win what he did spend and spent not that 
Which his triumphant father's liaud had won; 
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood. 
But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 



O Richard ! York is too far gone with grief. 
Or else he never would compare between. 

A". Rich. Why, uncle, what 's the mattery 
York. O my liege, 

Pardon me, if you please: if not, I, pleased 
Not to be pardou'd, am content witlial. 
Seek you to seize and gripe into your liands 
The royalties and rights of banish'il llcrelnrd? 
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live ? 
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true y 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir V 
Is not his heir a well-deserving son V 
Take Hereford's rights away, aud take from Time 
His cliarters and his customary rights ; 
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; 
Be not thyself; for how art thou a king 
But by fair sequence aud succession y 
Now, "afore God — God forbid I say true I — 
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, 
Call in the letters-patent that he hath 
By his attorneys-general to sue 
His livery, and deny his offer'd homage. 
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts 
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 

A'. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into our 
hands 
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. 

York. I'll not be by the while: my liege, fare- 
well : 
What will ensue hereof, there 's none can tell ; 
But by bad courses may be understood 
That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. 

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire 
Bid him repair to us to Ely House [straight : 

To see this business. To-morrow next 
AVe will for Ireland ; and 't is time, I trow : 
And we create, in absence of ourself. 
Our uncle york lord governor of England ; 
For he is just and always loved us well. 
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; 
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. 

yFlourish. E.ceunt King, Queen, Aumerle, 
Bushy, Green, and Bayot. 

North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. 

Boss. And living too ; for now his sou is duke. 

Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 

North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 

Boss. My heart is great; but it must break with 
silence. 
Ere 't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 

North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er 
speak more 
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm ! 

}YiUo. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the 
Duke of Hereford i* 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; 
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 

-Ross. No good at all that I can do for him ; 
Unless you call it good to pity him, 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. [are borne 

North. Now, afore God, 't is shame such wrongs 
In liim, a royal prince, and many moe 
Of noble blood in tliis declining land. 
The king is not himself, but basely led 
By flatterers: and what they will inform. 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, 
Tliat will the king severely prosecute 
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 

Boss. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous 
taxes, [fined 

And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lust their hearts. 

Willo. And daily new exactions are devised. 
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not wliut: 
But what, o' God's name, doth become of tliis? 
301 



ACT II. 



KI^G RICHARD II. 



SCENE IT. 



North. Wars liave not wasted it, for warrxl he 
hatli not, 
But basely yielded upon compromise 
That which'his noble ancestors achieved with blows: 
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. 

Boss. The Earl ot Wiltshire hath the realm in 
farm. [man. 

W'dln. The kina; 's grown bankrupt, like a broken 

North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over 
him. 

Boss. He hath not money for these Irish wars. 
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, 
But bv till' robbing (if the banish'd duke. 

Noi'ih. llisiicibh' kiiisniuu : most degenerate king ! 
But, lords, we Iiear this fearful tempest shig. 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails. 
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 

Boss. We see the very wreck tliat we must suffer ; 
And unavoided is the danger now, 
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. [death 

North. Not so ; even through the hollow eyes of 
I spy life peering ; but I dare not say 
How near the tidings of our comfort is. 

WMo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou 
dost ours. 

Boss. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: 
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so. 
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. 

North. Then thus : I have from I'ort le Blanc, a 
In Brittany, received intelligence [Ijay 

That Harry Duke of Hereford, Eainold Lord 
Cobham, 

That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, 
. His brother. Archbishop late of Canterbury, 
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, 
Sir John Norbery , Sir Robert Waterton and Francis 

Quoint. 
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne 
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, 
Are making hither with all due expedience 
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: 
Perhaps tiii-y bad ere this, but that they stay 
The lirst ileparting of the king for Ireland. 
If tlieii we shall shake off our slavish yoke, 
Iniji out our drooping country's broken wing, 
Iledeeni ironi broking pawn the bleniisli'd crown. 
Wipe off tlie dust that hides our sceptre's gilt 
And make high majesty look like itself. 
Away with me in post to Bavenspurgh ; 
But if you faint, as fearing to do so. 
Stay arid be secret, and myself will go. [that fear. 
'Boss. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them 
Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be 

there. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The imlace. 
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 

Bitshi/. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: 
You promised, wlien you |iarted with the king. 
To lay aside life-harming heaviness 
And enteitain a clicerful disposition. 

(Jnuii. To please the king I did; to please my- 
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause [self 

Why I sJKiul'l welcome sueh a guest as grief. 
Save bidillnii fiirewell to so sweet a guest 
As my Kweel llieliiud: yel again, nietliinks. 
Some unlioni sonow, ripe in ioitune's womb. 
Is coming towards nie, and my inward soul 
With nothing trembles: at soine thing it grieves, 
More tlian with parting from my lord the king. 

Bushji. Each substance of a grief hath twenty 
shadows. 
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so ; 
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinduig tears, 
302 



Diviiles one thing entire to many objects; 
Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon 
Show notliing but confusion, eyed awry 
Distingiiisli lorni : so your sweet majesty, 
Looking awry ujion your lord's dejiarture. 
Find sliapes of grief, more tlian himself, to wail; 
AVhich, look'd on as it is, is nought Imt shadows 
Of what it is not. Then, tliriee-t;raeious (pieen, 
More than your lord's ilepartiu'e weeii nut : more "s 
Or if it be, 't is with false sorrow'.-; eye, [not seen ; 
Which for things true weeps things imaginary. 

Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, 
1 cannot but be sad; so heavy sad 
As, though on thinking on no thought I think, 
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 

Bushij. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious 
lady. 

Queen. 'T is nothing less : conceit is still derived 
From some forefather grief; mine is not sOj 
For nothing hath begot my something griet ; 
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 
'T is in reversion that I do possess; 
But what it is, that is not yet knowTi ; what 
I cannot name ; 't is nameless woe, I wot. 

Enter Green. 

Gi-een. God save your majesty! and well met, 
gentlemen : 
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland, [is ; 

Queen. Why hopest thou so ? 't is better hope he 
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope : 
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd ? 

Green. That he, oui' hope, might have retired 
his power. 
And driven into despair an enemy's hope, 
Who strongly hath set footing in this land: 
The banish'd liolingbroke repeals himself, 
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived 
At llavenspurgh. 

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 

Green. Ah, madam, 't is too true: and that is 
worse, [Percy, 

The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry 
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
With all tlieir powerful friends, are fled to him. 

Bushii. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum- 
berland 
And all the rest revolted faction traitors? [cester 

Green. We have: whereupon the Earl of Wor- 
Hath liroke his staff, resign'd his stewardsliip. 
And all the household servants fled with him 
To Bolingbroke. [woe. 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my 
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir; 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, 
And I, a gasping new-<leliver'd mother, _ 
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 

Bushi/. Despair not, madam. 
. Qitten. Who shall hinder me y 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening liope : lie is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper back of death. 
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
Which false hope lingers in extremity. 

Enter York. 

Green. Here comes the Duke of York. 

Queen. Witli signs of war about his aged neck: 
O, full of careful business are fiis looks! 
Uncle, for God's sake, s]ieak conifortaiile words. 

Ymk. Should I do so, I should belie my tlioughts: 
Comfort 's in heaven ; and we are on the eartli. 
Where notlnng lives but crosses, cares and grief. 
Your liusliand, he is gone to save far off, 
AVhilst others come to make him lose at home: 
Here am I left to underprop his land. 



KIJ^G RICHARD IL 



SCENE III. 



AVIio, weak with age, cannot siiyiiiort myself: 
!Xovv eomes the sick iiour that his surlVit made; 
i\o\v shall he try his triends tliat llatter'd him. 

Enter a Servant. 

Scrv. Jly lord, your son was gone before I came. 

York. He was ? Why, so ! go all which way it 
will! [cold, 

The nobles they are fled, the commons they are 
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. 
Sirrah, get thee to Flashy, to my sister Gloucester; 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound : 
Hold, take my ring. 

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, 
To-day, as I came by, I called there ; 
But I sliall grieve you to report the rest. 

York. What is "t, knave ? 

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 

York. God for his mercy ! wliat a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woeful laud at once ! 
I know not what to do : I would to God, 
.So my untruth had not provoked him to it. 
The icing liad cut oft' my head with my brother's. 
Vv'hat, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland V 
How shall we do for money tor these wars i* [me. 
Come, sister, — cousin, I would say, — pray, pardon 
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts 
Aiid bring away the armour that is there. 

lExit Servant. 
Gentlemen, will you go muster men y 
If I know how or which way to order these affairs 
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, 
Xever believe me. Both are my kinsmen : 
Tlie one is my sovereign, whom both my oath 
And duty bids defend; tlie other again 
Is my kin.sman, whom the king hatii wrong'd, 
"\\'liom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I '11 
Dispose of you. 

Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, 
And meet me presently at Berkeley. 
I should to Flashy too; 
But time will not permit : all is uneven, 
And every thing is left at six and seven. 

[Jixeunt York and Queen. 

Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, 
But none returns. For us to levy power 
Froportionable to the enemy 
Is all unpossiljle. 

Grem. Besides, our nearness to the king in love 
Is near the hate of those love not the king. 

llayiit. Anil that's the wavering commons: for 
their love 
Lies in Uieir purses, and whoso empties them 
By so nmch (ills their hearts with deadly hate. 

ISushi/. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
demn'd. 

Bagot. If ju<lgment lie in them, then so do we. 
Because we ever liave been near the king, [castle: 

Green. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol 
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. 

Buishi/. Tliitiier will I with you; for little office 
The hateful conunons will perform for us, 
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. 
Will you go along with us? 

Baijot. No ; I will to Ireland to liis majesty. 
Farewell: if lieart's presages be not vain, 
We tlu'ee here part that ne'er shall meet again. 

Bushy. That 's as York thrives to beat back Bo- 
lingbroke. 

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes 
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry : 
Where one on liis side fights, thousands will fly. 
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. 

Bushy. WeU, we may meet again. 

Baijot. I fear me, never. 

\_Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — Wilds in Oloucestershire. 

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, ivith 
Forces. 

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now ? 

North. Believe me, noble lord, 
I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire: 
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways 
Drawls out our miles, and makes them wearisome; 
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, 
Making the hard way sweet anil delectable. 
But I bethink me what a weary way 
From Kavensimrgh to Cotswold will be found 
In Boss and Willoughby, wanting your couipaiiy, 
Which, I protest, hath very nuicii beguiled 
The tediousncss and process of uiy travel: 
But theirs is sweetened with the iiope to have 
The present benetit whicii I possess; 
And hope to joy is little less in joy 
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords 
Shall uiake tlieir way seem short, as mine bath done 
By sight of what I have, your noble company. 

Boling. Of uuich less value is my company 
Than your good wortls. But who comes here ? 

Enter Henry Percy. 

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
Sent from my brother AVorcester, whencesoever. 
Harry, how fares your uncle? 

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd 
his health of you. 

North. Why, is he not with the queen ':* [court, 

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the 
Broken his staff of office and dispersed 
Tlie household of the king. 

North. What was his reason '? 

He was not so resolved when last we spake together. 

Percy. Because your lordsli ip was proclaimed trai- 
But he, my lord, is gone to Haveiispurgh, [tor. 

To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, 
And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover 
What power the Duke of York had levied there; 
Then with directions to repair to Kavenspurgh. 

North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, 
boy? 

Percy. No, my good lord, for that is not forgot 
Which' ne'er I did remendier: to iny knowledge, 
I never in my life did look on him. [duke. 

North. Then learn to know him now; this is the 

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, 
Such as it is, being tender, raw an(l youug; 
Which elder days sliall ripen and coniirm 
To more approved service and desert. 

Boling. 1 thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sute 
I count myself in nothing else so liapiiy 
As in a soul remembering my gond friends; 
And, as my fortune riiiens with thy love, 
It shall be still tliy true love's recompense: 
My heart this covenant makes, my band thus seals it. 

North. How far is it to Berkeley ? and what stir 
Keeps good old York there with his men of war':' 

I'lrcy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, 
Maiiu'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; 
And in it are the Lords vt York, Ijerkeley, and Sey- 
None else of name and noble estimate. [mour; 

Enter Ross and "Willoughby. 
North. Here come tlie Lords of Ross and AVillough- 
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. [by, 
Boling. AVelcome, my Icirds. I wot your love puV- 
A liauisiiM traitor: all my treasury [sues 

Is yet but unfelt thanks, whicli more enrich 'd 
Shall be your love and labour's recompense, [lord. 
Itoss. Your presence makes us rich, most noble 
Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 
Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the 
poor ; 

303 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE IV. 



Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, 
Stands for my bounty. But wlio comes here V 

Enter Berkeley. 

North. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. 

Berk. MyLordof Hereford, my message is to you. 

Soling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster; 
And I am come to seek that name in England ; 
And I must find that title in your tongue, 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my 
meaning 
To raze one title of your honour out : 
To you, my lord, I come, wlnit lord ye« will, 
From tlie most gracious regent of this land, 
The Duke of York, to know what pricks )ou on 
To take advantage of the absent time 
And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 

Enter York, attended. 

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by 

Here comes his grace in person. [you ; 

My noble uncle ! [Kneela. 

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not tliy 
Whose duty is deceivable and false. [knee, 

Boling. My gracious uncle — 

York. Tut, tut. 
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle : 
I am no traitor's unc/le; and that word 'grace' 
In an ungracious mouth is but iirot'ane. 
Why have those banisli'd and forbidden legs 
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground ? 
But then more ' why ' 'i why have they dared to 

marcli 
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom. 
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war 
And ostentation of despised arms ? 
Comest thou because the anointed king is hence ? 
Why, toolisli boy, the king is left behind, 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth 
As wlien brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself 
Rescued the Black Prince, tliat young Mars of men. 
From fortli tlie ranks of many thousand French, 
O, then how quickly should this arm of mine, 
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise tliee 
And minister correction to thy fault! 

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault : 
On wliat condition stands it and wherein V 

York. Even in condition of the worst degree. 
In gross reliellion and detested treason: 
Thou art a banish 'd man, and liere art come 
Before the expiration of tliy time, 
la braving arms against thy sovereign. [ford ; 

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here- 
But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace 
Look on my wrongs with an indilferent eye: 
You are my father, for methinks in you 
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my fatlier. 
Will you permit tliat I sliall stand condemn'd 
A wanilm'in.i;' vagaliond; my riglits and royalties 
Pluck'cl fi'cini my anus perfcircp and given away 
To upstart unth'rifts ? Wlierefore w.is I born ? 
If tliat my cousin king be King of England, 
It must be granted I am Didie of Lancaster. 
You liave a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin ; 
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. 
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. 
I am denied to sue my livery here, 
And yet my letters-patents give me leave : 
304 



Jly father's goods are all distrain 'd and sold, 
And these and all are all amiss empioy'd. 
Wliat would you luive me do i* 1 am a subject, 
And I L-hallenge law: attorneys are denied me; 
And thcicfore iicrsonally I hiy my claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 

Kortii. Tlienol)le duke liatli been too much abused. 

Bns^. It stands your gnic-e upon to do liim riglit. 

WiUo. Base men by his endowments are made 
great. 

York. j\Iy lords of England, let me tell you this: 
I have liad feeling of my cousin's wrongs 
And laboured all I could to do him riglit ; 
But in this kind to come, in braving arms, 
Be liis own carver and cut out his way, 
To find out right with wrong, it may not be; 
And you tliatdo abet liini in this kind 
Cherish rebellion and are rebels all. 

North. The noble duke hath sworn his coming is 
But for his own ; and for the right of tliat 
We all have strongly sw(uii to give him aid; 
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath ! 

York. Well, well, I see the issue of tliese arms: 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
Because my power is weak and all ill left: 
But if I could, by Ilim that gave me life, 
I would attach you all and make you stoop 
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; 
But since I cannot, be it known to you 
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; 
Unless you please to enter in the castle 
And there repose you for this night. 

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept: 
But we'must win your grace to go with us 
To Bristol castle, which they say is held 
By Bushy, Bagot and their complices. 
The caterpillars of the commonwealth, 
Wliich I have sworn to weed and i>Iuck away. 

York. It may be I will go with you : but yet I '11 
pause : 
For I am loath to break our countiy's laws. 
Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
Things past redress are now with me past care. 

SCENE IV.— A camp in Wales. 

Enter Salisbury and a Welsh Captain. 

Cap. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten 
And liardly kept our countrymen together, [days. 
And yet we hear no tidings from the king; 
Tlierefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. 

Sal. Stay yet another day , thou trusty Welshman : 
The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. 

Cap. 'T is thought the king is dead ; we will not 
stay. 
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; 
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on tlie earth 
And lean-look'd projihets whisper fearful change ; 
Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap, 
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, 
The other to enjoy by rage and war : 
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. 
Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled. 
As well assured Richard their king is dead. [Exit. 

Sal. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind 
I .see thy glory like a shooting star 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament. 
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest : 
Thy friends are fled to wait uijon thy foes. 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE II. 



^CT III. 



SCENE 1.— Bristol. Before the castle. I 

Enter Boling-broke, York, Northiamberland, Ross, 
Percy, WiUoughby, ttiith Bushy and Green, jjrin^ 

Holing. Bring forth these men. 
Bushy and Green, I will not vex jour souls — 
iSince presently your souls must part your bodies — 
"With too much lu'ging your pernicious lives, 
For "t were no charity ; yet, to wash your hlood 
From off my hands, here in tlie view ot men 
I will unfold some causes of your deaths. 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A liappy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
By you unhappied and disfigured clean : 
You have in manner with your sinful hours 
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, 
Broke the possession of a royal bed 
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
"With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. 
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth. 
Near to the king in blood, and near in love 
Till you did make him misinterpret me. 
Have stoop\l my neck under your injuries. 
And sigh'd my Englisli breath in foreign clouds. 
Eating the bitter bread of banishment; 
"Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 
Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, 
From my own winffows torn my liousehold coat, 
Kazed out my imprese, leaving me no sign. 
Save men's opinions and my living blood. 
To show the world I am a gentleman. 
Tliis and much more, mucirmore than twice all this, 
Condemns you to the death. .See tliem deliver'd over 
To execution and the hand of death. 

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me 
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. 

Green. My comfort is that heaven will take our 
And plague injustice with the pains of hell, [souls 

Boling. My Lord Northumberland, see them dis- 
patch'd. 

[Exeunt Korthumherland nnd others, 
uith the prisoners. 
L'^ncle, you say the queen is at your house; 
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated : 
Tell her I .send to her my kind connnend.s; 
Take special care my greetings be di-Uver'd. 

York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'J 
AVith letters of your love to her at large. 

Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away. 
To fight w'ith Gleudower and his complices : 
Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The coast of Wales. A castle in view. 

Brums : flourish and colours. Enter King Richard, 
the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and Soldiers. 
K. Etch . Barkloughly castle call they this at hand ":' 
Awn. Yea, my lord. IIow brooks your grace the 
After your late tossing on the breaking seas ? [air, 
A', iiich. Needs must I like it well: I weep lor 
To stand upon my kingdom once again. [joy 

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my liand. 
Though rebels wound thee with their hor.ses' hoofs: 
As a'iong-parted mother witli lier child 
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting. 
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my eartli. 
And do thee favours witli my royal hands. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, 
Xor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; 
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, 
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 
Whicii with usurpmg steps do trauiple thee 
• 20 



Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; 

And when tliey from thy bosiini jiluck a flower, 

Guard it, I pray thee, witli a lurking adder 

AVliose double tongue may with a mortal touch 

Tlirow deatli upon thy sovereign's enemies. 

Mock not my sensele.ss conjuration, lords: / 

Tills eartii shall have a feelmg and these stones 

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 

Sliall falter under foul rebellion's arms. [king 

Car. Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you 
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. 
The means that heaven yields must be embraced, 
And not neglected ; else, if heaven would, 
And we will not, heaven's offir we refuse. 
The profter'd means of succour and redress. 

Aun(. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; 
AVhilst Bolingbroke, tlirough oiu" security, 
Grows strong and great in substance and in power. 

K. Iiich. DLsconilortable cousin ! know'st thou not 
That when the searching eye ot heaven is hid, 
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, 
Then thieves ;ind robbers range abroad unseen 
In murders and in outrage, boldly here; 
But when from under this terrestrial ball 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines 
And darts his light tlirough every guilty hole. 
Then murders, treasons and detested sins, [backs. 
The cloak of night being pUick'd from oil their 
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves 1' 
So when this thief, this traitor, IJolingbroke, 
"Who all this while hath revell'd in the night 
"Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, 
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, 
His treasons will sit blushing in his face, 
Not able to endure the sight of day. 
But self-aflrighted tremble at his sin. 
Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; 
The breath of worldly men cannot depose 
The deputy elected by the Lord : 
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd 
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
God for Ids llichard hath in heavenly pay 
A glorious angel: then, if angels ligld, [right. 

Weak men must fall, for heaven stiil guards tlie 

Enter Salisbury. 
"Welcome, my lord : how far oft' lies your power ? 

Sal. Nor near nor farther off. my L;racious lord. 
Than this weak arm : discomloit guides my tongue 
And bids nie speak of nothing but despair. 
One day too late, I fear me, uo'ole lord. 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: 
O, call back yesterday, bid time return, 
And thou shall have twelve thousand lighting men! 
To-day, to-ilay, uiihapiiy day, too late, 
(J'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state: 
For all tlie "Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, 
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and lied. 

Auiu. Comfort, my liege: wdiy looks your grace 
so pale ? [men 

K. Iiich. But now the blood of twenty tiiousaud 
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
And, till so much'blood thitlier come again, 
Have I not reason to look pale and dead V 
All souls that will be safe lly from my side, 
For time hath set a blot upon iny pride. 

Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are. 

A'. Iiich. I Iiad forgot myself : am I not king ? 
Awake, thou coward majesty ! thou sleepest. 
Is not the king's name twenty thousand names? 
Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes 
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, 
Ye favourites of a king : are we not high i* 
305 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE IIT. 



High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York 
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who 
comes here 't 

Enter Scroop. 

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege 
Than can my care-tuned tongue deli\>'r him I' 

K.Rich, ilini'ciii isiiiicii ami my heart prepared: 
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 
Say, is my kingdom lost y why, 't was my care; 
And what loss is it to be rid of care? 
Strives Bolinghroke to be as great as weV 
Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God, 
We '11 serve Jlim ton and be his fellow so: 
Revolt our subjects y that we cannot mend; 
They break tlieir faith to God as well as us: 
Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay ; 
The worst is death, and deatli will have his day. 

Scroop. Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd 
To bear the tidings of calamity. 
Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
AVhich makes the silver rivers drowai their shores. 
As if the world were all dissolved to tears, 
So higli above his limits swells the rage 
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
With hard bright steel and hearts liarder tlian steel. 
White-beards have arm'd their thin and liairless 

scali)s 
Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices, 
Strive to speak big and clap their female joiuts 
In stiff unwieldly arms against thy crown: 
Thy very lieadsnien learn to bend their bows 
Of doulile-fatal yew against thy state; 
Yea, distalf-women manage rusty bills 
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel. 
And all goes worse than I have power to tell. [ill. 

K. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so 
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? wliere is Bagot? 
What is become of Busliy ? where is Green ? 
That they have let tlie dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? 
If we prevail, their heads sliall pay for it: 
I warrant they have made peace with Bolingln-oke. 

Scroop. Peace have they made with him indeed, 
my lord. [demption! 

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! [heart ! 
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my 
Tliree Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 
Would tliey make peace V terrible hell make war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence I 

Scrooij. Sweet lo've, I see, changing his property, 
Turns to the sourest and niost deadly hate: 
Again uncurse their souls; tlicir peace is made 
With heads, and not with hands ; those whom you 

curse 
Have felt the worst, of death's destroying wound 
And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground. 

Aum. Is Bushy", Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire 
dead V 

Scroop. Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. 

Autn. Where is tlie duke my father with his 
power y [speak : 

K. Rich. No matter where ; of comfort no man 
Let 's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs; 
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, 
Let 's choose executors and talk of wills: 
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath 
Save "our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
Our lauds, our lives and all are IJolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own but death 
And that small model of the barren earth 
AVlnch .serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
Fin- God's sake, let us sit upon the ground 
And tell sad stories of the death of'kingi?: 
How some have been deposed ; some slain in war ; 
306 



Some haunted by tlie ghosts they have deposed ; 
Some pbison'd by their wives; some sleeping kill'd; 
All murder'd : for witinn the hollow crown 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king 
Keeps Death his cdurt and there the antic sits, 
Scotiing his state and grinning at his pomp. 
Allowing liim a brcatii, a little scene. 
To monarchize, Ije fear'd and kill with looks, 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 
As if this llcsli wliii/li walls aViout our life 
Were brass impregnable, and liumour'd thus 
Comes at the last and with a little i)in 
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king! 
Cover your heads and mock not llesli and blood 
With solenm reverence: throw away respect. 
Tradition, form and ceremonious duty. 
For you have but mistook me all this while; 
I live with bread like you, feel want. 
Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, 
How can you say to me, I am a king? 

(Jar. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their 
But presently prevent the ways to wail. [woes. 

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength. 
Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe, 
And so your follies fight against yourself. 
Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come to fight : 
And fight and die is death destroying death; 
Where" fearing dying i)ays death servile breath. 

Aiifii. Jly father iiath a power; inquire of him. 
And learn to make a body of a limb. 

A'. Rich. Tliou chidest me well: proud Boling- 
broke, I come 
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
This ague fit of fear is over-blown; 
An easy task it is to win our own. 
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power ? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

ticraoji. Men judge by tlie comple.\ion of the sky 

The state and incliiiatii.in of the day: 
So may you by my dull and lieavy eye. 

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
I play the torturer, by small and small 
To lengthen out the worst tliat must be spoken : 
Your uncle York is joined witli Bolingbroke, 
And all your northern castles yielded uji, 
And all your southern geutlemen in arms 
Upon Ills party. 

K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. 

Beshrew tliee, cousm, which didst lead me fortli 

[To Aumerle. 
Of that sweet way I was in to despair 1 
What say you now V what comfort have we now ? 
By heaven, I '11 hate him everlastingly 
That bids me be of comfort any more. 
Go to Flint castle: there I "11 pine away; 
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
That power I have, discharge'; and let them go 
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow. 
For I have none: let no man speak again 
To alter this, for counsel is but vaiu. 

Aiirii. My liege, one word. 

K. Rich. He does me double wrong 

That wounds me with the llatteries of his tongue. 
Discharge my followers:, let them lience away. 
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE in. — Wales. Before Flint Cabtle. 

Enter, n-ith drum and colours, Boling-broke, York, 
Northumberland, Attendants, anelforces. 

Rolimi. .So that liy this intelligence we learn 
The Wclslnnen are dispersed, and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed 
With some few private friends upon this coast. 

North. Tlie news is very fair and good, my lord: 
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. 



ACT ITT. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE III. 



York. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland 
To say ' King Richard : ' alack tlie heavy day 
When such a sacred king should hide his heart. 

North. Your grace mistakes ; only to be brief , 
Lett I Ids title out. 

York. The time hath been, 

Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 

lioUnrj. Mistake not, uncle, further than you 
should. [should, 

York. Take not, good cousin, further than you 
Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads. 

Bofing. I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself 
Against tlieir will. But who comes here? 

Enter Percy. 
Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield ? 

Fcrqi. The castle royally is manu'd, my lord, 
Against thy entrance. 

Boliny. Royally ! 
Why, it contains no king ? 

Pfrcij. Yes, my good lord, 

It doth contain a king; King Ricliard lies 
Within the limits of yon lime and stone: 
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisburj', 
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence ; wlio, I cannot learn. 

Norik. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. 

Boliiiij. Koble lords. 
Go to the ru<le ribs of that ancient castle; 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley 
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: 
Henry Bolingbroke 

On both his knees doth kiss King Ricliard's hand 
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart 
To his most royal person, hither come 
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power. 
Provided that my banishment repeal'd 
And lands restored again be freely granted : 
If not, I '11 use the advantage of my power 
And lay the summer's dust'with showers of blood 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen : 
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, 
!My stooping duty tenderly shall sliow. 
Go, signify as much, while here we march 
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 
Let 's march witliout the noise of threatening drum, 
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements 
Our fair appniritiiients may be well perused. 
Methinks King Uirhanl ami myself should meet 
With no less lerior than tlie elements 
Of tire and water, wlien their thundering shock 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
Be he the lire, I '11 be the yielding water : 
The rage be his, whilst on the eartli I rain 
My waters; on the eartli, and not on him. 
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. 

Parle without, ami answrr within. Tiien a flourish. Knter 
Oil the nvl/s. King- Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, 
Aumerle, Scroop, and Salisbury. 

See, see, King Richard doth himself appear. 
As dotli the blushing discontented sun 
From out the fiery portal of the east. 
When he iierceives the envious clouds are bent 
To dim his glory and to stain the track 
Of his 1/riglit passage to the Occident. 

York. Yt-t looks he like a king: behold, his eye. 
As In'ight as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
ContmilinL; majesty: alack, alack, for woe. 
That any harm sliould stain so fair a show! [stood 

A'. J{ich. We are amazed; and thus long have we 
To watch the fearful bending of tliy knee, [To North. 
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 



And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 

To pay their awful duty to our presence'? 

If we be not, show us the hand of God 

That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; 

For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 

Can gripe the sacred handle of our S(/ei)tre, 

Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 

And though you think that all, as you have done, 

Have torn their souls by turning them from us, 

And we are barren and bereft of friends ; 

Yet know, my master, God omnipotent. 

Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf 

Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike 

Your children yet unborn and unbcgot. 

That lift your vassal hands against my head 

And threat the glory of my precious crown. 

Tell BiiliiiL;liroke — for yond methinks he stands — 

That every stride he makes uiion my land 

Is dangerous treason : he is come to open 

The puriile testament of bleeding war; 

But ere the crown he looks for live in peace. 

Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 

Sliall ill become the flower of England's face. 

Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 

To scarlet indignation and bedew 

Her jiastures' grass with faithful English blood. 

Nnrlli . The king of heaven forbid our lord the king 
Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice nnhlc roiisin 
Harry Bolingbroke doth huiiilily l^iss thy hand; 
And by the honourable tonih he swears. 
That stands upon your royal gramlsire's bones. 
And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
Currents that spring from one most gracious head, 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, 
And by the worth and honour of himself, 
Comjirisiiig all that may be sworn or said. 
His coming hither hath no further scope 
Than for his lineal royalties and to beg 
Enfrancliisement immediate on his knees: 
Which on tliy royal party granted once. 
His glittering arms he will commend to rust. 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; 
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. [turns: 

K. Etch. Xorthuml.ierland, say thus the king re- 
His noble cousin is right welcome hither; 
And all the number of his fair demands 
Shall be acconiplish'd without contradiction: 
With all the gracious utterance thou hast 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. 
We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, 

[2'o Aumerle. 
To look so poorly and to speak so fair 'i 
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? [words 

Anm. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle 

Till time lend friends and friends their heljiful 

swords. [mine, 

K. Kii-h. O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of 
That laid the sentence of (lrea<l banishment 
(.)ii yon proud man, sliould take it off again 
With worils of sooth! O that I were as great 
As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 
Or that I could foi'get what I have been. 
Or not remember what I must be now! pieat. 

Swell 'st thou, proud heart ':' I 'II give thee scope to 
Since foes have scope to beat botirthee and me. 

Aarn. Northumberland comes back from Boling- 
broke. [submit':' 

A". Kirli. What must the king do now':* must he 
The king shall do it: must he be deposed':* 
The king sliall be contented: must he lose 
The name of king? o' God's name, let it go: 
I '11 gife my jewels tor a set of beads. 
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, 
307 



ACT III. 



KIXG RICHARD II. 



SCENE IV. 



Jly nay aiipaifl lor an alinsniairs gown, 

Illy liy'm-fd gol)lHts for a <li.sli of wiiod, 

!My scejitre for a iialiner's walking-staff, 

My subjects for a pair of carved saints 

And my large kingdom for a little grave, 

A little little grave, an obscure grave: 

Or I '11 be buried in the king's highway, 

S<.)me ^vay of eonniion ti-ade, where subjects' feet 

May hourly Iraniple on their sovereign's head; 

I'or on my licart they tread now whilst I live; 

And buriiMl once, why not uiion my head? 

Avnnerlc, (hoii wci'ii'st, my tender-hearted cousin! 

AVe'll make foul weather with dcspiiscil^tears ; 

Our sighs and they shall liidgc Uie suuuiier corn. 

And make a dearth in this I'.'Volting land. 

Or shall we iilay the wantons with our woes. 

And make some pretty match witli shedding tears? 

As thus, to drop them still upon one place. 

Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 

AVithin'the earth; ;iud, tlierein laid, — tliere lies 

Two kinsmen ditig'd their graves with weeping eyes. 

AVould not this ill do well V Well, well, I see 

I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. 

ilost mighty prince, my Lord Isorthumberland, 

"What savs King Ijolingliroke? will his majesty 

Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? 

You make a leg. and i!olingbroke says ay. 

JS'ddli. My lord, in the base court he doth attend 

To speak with you ; may it please you to come down. 

K. likli. Down, down I come; like glistering 

Piiaethon, 
AVanting the manage of unruly jades. [base, 

In the base court '? Base court, where kings grow 
To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. 
In the base court'? Come down? Down, court! 

down, king! 
For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should 

sing. [Exeunt f rum above. 

BoUng. AVhat says his majesty ? 
JS'ortk. Sorrow and grief of heart 

INIakes him speak fondly, like a frantic man ; 
Yet he is come. 

Enter King Richard and his Attendants helow. 

Boling. Stand all apart, 
And show fair duty to his majesty. 

[He kneels clown. 
My gracious lord, — [knee 

K. likh. Fair cousin, you debase your princely 
To make the Inisc earth pnuul with kissing it: 
Me rather had my heart might feel your love 
Than my mipleased eye see your courtesy. 
Up, cousin, up; your lieart is up, I know. 
Thus higli at least, although your knee be low. 

Bolinij. My gracious lord, I come but tor mine 
own. [and all. 

K. Bidi. Your own is yours, and I am yours, 

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
As my true service shall deserve your love, [have, 

A'. Jiicli. AVell you deserve : they well deserve to 
That know the strong'st and surest way to get. 
Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes; 
Tears show their love, but want their remedies. 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
AV hat you will have, I '11 give, and willing too; 
For do we must what force will have us do. 
Set on towards London, cousin, is it so ? 

Boliny. Yea, my good lord. 

A'. Bich. Then I must not say no. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.—Langky. The Duke of York's garden. 

Enter the Queen and two Ladies. 
Quern . AVhat sport sliall we devise here in tfiis gar- 
To drive away the heavy thought of care ? [den, 
308 



Lncly. Madam, we '11 play at bowls. [nibs, 

Queen. 'T will make me think the world is full of 
And that my fortune runs against the bias. 

Lady. Madam, we '11 dance. 

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, 
AA^hen my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 

Lady. Madam, we 'II tell tales. 

Queen. Of sorrow or of joy ? 

Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl : 
For if of joy, being altogether wanting. 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow; 
Or if of grief, being altogether had. 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: 
For what I have I need not to repeat ; 
And what I want it boots not to complain. 

Lady. Madam, I '11 sing. 

Queen. 'T is well that thou hast cause ; 

But thou shouldst please me better, ^^ ouldst thou 

weep. [good. 

Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you 

Queen. And I could sing, would weeping do me 
And never borrow any tear of thee. [good, 

Enter a Gardener, and two Servants. 
But stay, here come the gardeners: * 

lA-'t 's step into the shadow of these trees. 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins. 
They "11 talk of state ; for every one doth so 
Against a change: woe is forerun with woe. 

[Qua II mill Lmlics retire. 

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon ilaiigliiig ai^ricocks, 
AA'hich, like unruly children, make tlieir sire 
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: 
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. 
Go thou, and like an executionei", 
Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, 
Tliat look too lofty in our commonwealth: 
All must be even in our government. 
You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
The n(jisome weeds, wliich without jirotit suck 
The soil's fertility from wholesome Mowers. 

Serv. AVhy should we in th.e compass of a pale 
Keep law and form and due proportion, 
Siiowing, as in a model, our (irm estate, 
AV'hen our sea-walled garden, the v.hole land. 
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up. 
Her fruit-trees all unpruned, lier hedges ruin'd, 
Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars? 

Gdid. Hold thy peace: 

lie that hath siiffer'd this disorder'd spring 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did 

shelter. 
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up. 
Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke, 
I mean the Earl of AViltshire, Bushy, Green. 

Serv. AVhat, are they dead ? 

Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it 
Tliat he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land 
As we this garden ! AVe at time of year 
Do wound tlie bark, the skin of our fruit-trees, 
Lest, Ijeing over-proud in sap and blood, 
AVith too much riclies it confound itself: 
Had lie done so to great and growing men, 
Tliey might have lived to l)ear and lie to taste 
Tlieir fruits of duty : suiierlliauis branches 
AVe lop away, tliat bearing lioughs may live : 
Had he done so, liimself had bnrne tlie crown, 
AVliich waste of idle hours hath (piite tlirown down. 

tServ. AVhat, think you then the king shall be de- 
posed ? 

Gard. Depress 'd he is already, and deposed 
'T is doubt he will be : letters came last night 



ACT IV. 



KING RICHARD IL 



SCENE I. 



To ;i dear friend of the good Duke of York's, 
TliJit tell black tidinj-'S. 

Queen. O, I am press'd to death tlirdugh want of 

speakiiiLj ! [<_'<iii/l)i<i forinnil. 

Thou, old ^Vdaiirs likeness, set todress tliis nanU-ii, 

How dares tliy harsh rude tongue sound Uiis un- 

pleasini;' news? 
What Eve, what seriient, liath suggested thee 
To make a seecind fall of cursed man ^ 
■Why dost thou say King Kichard is deposed ? 
Barest thou, thou little better thing Uian earth, 
Divine his ilownfall ? Say, w here, wlicn. and how, 
Caniest lliou by this ill tiilings? siirak,tiiou wretch. 

Ganl. Pardon nie, niaihuii : little joy have I 
To lireathe tliis news; yet what I say is true. 
King liiehard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of ijolingbroke : their fortunes both are weigh'd : 
In your loriTs scale is notliing but liimself. 
And some few \ unities that make him light; 
But in tlie balaiire of great Boliiigbioke;^ 
Besides himself, are ail the English peers, 



And with that odds he weighs King l^iehard down. 
Post you to London, and you will tind it so; 
I sjieak no more than every one doth know. 

V''' '-'". Xindile mis:>liance, that art so light of foot, 
Dcitii imt thy emliassage belong to me. 
Anil am I last that knows itV O, thou think'st 
To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
Thy sorrow in my breast. (_'ome, ladies, go, 
To meet at London London's king in woe. 
What, was I born to this, that my sad look 
.Should grace the triumph of great ISolingbrokeV 
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe. 
Pray God the plants thou graft Vi nmv never grow. 

[Ex.nnI V""" ""'/ Llldic.-i. 

Gard. Poor queen! so that thy stale might be no 
worse, 
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. 
Here did she fall a tear; here in this place 
I '11 set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace: 
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— Westminster Hall. 

Eiiirr, ns to the Parlinmrii/, Bolingbroke, Anmerle, 
Northumberland, Percy, Fitzwater, Surrey, t/ic 
Bishop of Carhsle, the Abbot of Westminster, and 
aiiol/ier Lord, Herald, Officers, luul Bagot. 

Billing. Call fortli Bagot. 
Now, Bagot, freely si)eak thy mind ; 
AVHiat thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death, 
Who wrought it with tlie kiiiy-, and who perform'd 
The bloody ollice of liis timeless end. 

JJiiiji't. Then set before m\' face the Lord Aunierle. 

Baling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that 
nian. [tongue 

Bagot. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring 
Scorils to unsay what once it liath dejiver'd. 
In that dead time when Gloucester's death was 

plotted, 
I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length. 
That reacheth from the wrestful English court 
As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head y ' 
Amongst much otlier talk, that very time, 
I beard you say that you had rather refuse 
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns 
Than Bolingliroke's return to England; 
Adding witlial, how blest tins land would be 
In this your cousin's death. 

Aum. Princes and noble lords, 

What answer shall I make to this base man ':' 
Shall I so much dishonour my fair .stars, 
On equal terms to give him chastisement ? 
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
With tlie attainder of his slanderous lips. 
There is my gage, the manual .seal of death. 
That marks thee out for liell : I say, thou liest, 
And will maintain what thou hast said is false 
In thy heart -blood, tliough being all too'base 
To stain the temper of my knigiitly sword. 

Billing. Bagot, forbear :" tlioii shalt not take it up. 

Anin. Exceiiting one, I would he were tlie best 
In all this presence that liath moved nie .so. 

Filz. If that thy valour stand on sympathy. 
There is my gage. Aumerle, in gage to thine: 
By tliatfairson which shows me v,lieretliou.st;nid'st, 
1 heard tliee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it, 
Tiiat thou Wert I'ause of nolile (iloucester's deatli. 
If thou denv'st it twentv times, tlum best ; 
And I will turn thy falseliood to thy heart. 
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point, [day. 

Aum. Thou darest not, coward, live to see that 



Fitz. Now, by my soul, T would it were this hour. 

Aum. Fitzwater, thou art daimrd to hell for tliis. 

Put;/. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true 
In this apiieal as thou art all unjust ; 
And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, 
To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thoii darest. 

Aum. An if I do not, may my hands rot off 
And never brandish more revengeful steel 
Over the glittering helmet of my toe! 

Another Lord. 1 task the earth to the like, for- 
sworn Aumerle ; 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 
As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear 
From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. 

Aum. Who sets me else'? by heaven, I "11 throw 
at all : 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast. 
To answer twenty thousand such as you. 

ISavren. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well 
The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 

Fitz. 'T is very true : you wei'e in presence then ; 
And you can witness with me this is true. 

Surrei/. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is 

Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. [true. 

Surreii. Dishonourable boy ! 

That lie shall lie so lieavj' on my sword. 
That it shall render ven.ueance and revenge 
Till thou the lie-giver aiid that lie do lie 
In earth as quiet as tliy father's skull : 
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. 

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness. 
And spit upon him, whilst I say lie lies. 
And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith. 
To tie thee to my strong correction. 
As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true ajipeal : 
Besides, I beard the lianish'd Norfolk say 
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

Anni. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, 
That Norfolk lies: liere do 1 throw down this. 
If he may be repcal'd. to try his honour. 

Billing^ Tliese (litferences shall all rest under gage. 
Till Norfolk be repeal'd: reijcal'd be shall be. 
And, though mine enemy, restored agaiu 
30y 



ACT IV. 



KING RICHARD IL 



SCENE I. 



To all liis lands and signories : when lie 's returned, 
Against Aunierle we will enforce his trial. 

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. 
Jlaiiy a time hatli baiiish"il'>.'(irrolk fought 
Fcr Jesii ('iirist in glorious Christian held, 
iStreaniing tiie ensign of tlie Christian cross 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens ; 
And toil'd with works of war, retired himself 
To Italy ; and there at Venice gave 
His bo(ly to tliat pleasant ciiuntry's earth. 
And his pure soul unto his captaiu Christ, 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 

Bolinij. Why, bisliop, is Js'^orfolk de.td";:' 

Car. As surely as 1 live, my lord. 

Boliiui. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the 
bosom 
Of good old Abraham ! Lords appellants, 
Your difl'erences shall all rest under gage 
Till we assign j ou to your days of trial. 

Enter York, allendcd. 

York. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
From plume-pluck'd llichard ; who wiili willing soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his liigh sceptre yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand: 
Ascend his tlirone, ilescending now from him; 
And long live Henry, fourth of that name! 

Boliiuj. In God's name, 1 '11 ascend the regal 

Car. Marry, God forbid ! [tlirone. 

Worst in this royal presence may I speak. 
Yet best Vicseeiuing me to s|ieak tlie truth. 
Would tiiid that any in tliis iiolile presence 
AVere emui'^li noble to be upright judge 
Of noble iiicliard 1 tlicn true noblesse would 
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
What subject can give sentence'on his king V 
And who sits here that is nut Hichard's subject ? 
Tiiieves are not judged but they are by to hear, 
Altliougli apparent guilt be seen in them; 
And shall tlie liguie of God's majesty. 
His captain, steward, deputy-elect, 
Anoinlcd, crowned, planted many years. 
Be judged by suliject and inferior breath. 
And he himself imt present':' O, forfend it, God, 
That ill a Christian climate souls relined 
Sliould show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! 
1 speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly tor his king. 
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, 
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : 
And if you crown him, let me prophesy : 
The bhiod of English shall manure the ground, 
And future ages groan for this foul act; 
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and intidels. 
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars 
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; 
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny 
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
The field of Gdlgdtha and dead nien's skulls. 
O, if you raise this house against this house, 
It will the woefuUest division prove 
That ever fell upon this cursed earth. 
Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so. 
Lest child, child's children, cry against you 'woe! ' 

North. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your 
Of capital treasini we arrest you here. [i)ains. 

My Lord of Westminster, be" it your charge 
To keep liim safely till Ids day of trial. 
May it (ilease > un, Icirds, tn uraiit the commons' suit. 

Bolimj. Petch hither llichard, that in common 
He may surrender ; so we sliall proceed [view 

Without suspicion. 

York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 

Holing. Lords, you that here are under our arrest. 
Procure your sureties for your days of answer. 
Little are we beholding to your love. 
And little look'd for at your helping hands. 
310 



J?e-eiiJer York, with Richard, aud! OfiBcers fceariiijr 

the regalia. 

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
Before 1 have shook olf the regal thoughts 
Wherewith I reign'd 'y I hardly yet have learn 'd 
To insinuate, llatter, bow, and bend my limbs: 
Give sorniw leave awhile to tutor me 
To this submission. Yet 1 well remember 
The favours of these men : were they not mine ? 
Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail! ' to me 'i 
So .Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve, [none. 
Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, 
God save the king! Will no man say amen ':* 
Am I both priest and clerk':" well then, amen. 
God save the king! although I be not he; 
And yet, aineu, if heaven do think him me. 
To do what service am I sent for hither 'i 

York. To do that office of thine own good will 
Which tired majesty did make thee offer, 
The resignation of thy state and crowu 
To Henry Bolingbroke. 

K. Bidi. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize 
Here cousin ; [the crowu ; 

On this side my hand, and on that side yours. 
Now is this golden crown like a deep well 
That owes two buckets, filling one another. 
The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
The other down, unseen and full of water: 
That bucket down and full of tears am I, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 

holing. 1 thought you had been v.illing to resign. 

K. liidi. My crown I am; but still my griefs are 
You may my glories and my state deiiose, [mine : 
But not my griefs; still am 1 king of those, [crown. 

Bolinq. Part of your cares you give me with your 

A". Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares 
My care is loss of care, by old care done; [down. 
Your care is gain of care, by new care won : 
The cares I give I have, tliough given away; 
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 

Boliny. Are you contented to resign the crown? 

A'. Rich. ^Vy,uo; uo,ay; for I must nothing be; 
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
Now mark me, how I will undo myself: 
I give this heavy weight from off my head 
And this unwieldly sceptre trom my hand. 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; 
Witli mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
AVith mine own hands I give away my crown, 
A\'ith mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
With mine own breath release all duty's rites: 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 
My manors, rents, revenues 1 forego; 
My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny: 
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! 
God keep all vows iiubroke that swear to thee! 
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved. 
And thou with all i)leaseil. that hast all achieved! 
Long mayst thou live in lliehanl's se;it to sit, 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit! 
God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says, 
And send him many years of sunshine days! 
What more remains 'if 

North. No more, hut that you read 

These accusations and these grievous crimes 
Committed by your person and your follow'ers 
Against the state and profit, of this land; 
That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
^lay deem that you are worthih' deposed. 

A'. Rich. Must I do so y and must I ravel out 
My weaved-up folly ':" Gentle Northumberland, 
If thy offences were upon record. 
Would it iKit shame thee in so fair a troop 
To read a lecture of them Y If thou wouldst. 
There shouldst thou find one heinous article, 
Coutaiuing the deposing of a king 



ACT V. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE T. 



And cracking the strong warrant of an oatli, 
Mark'd with a lilot, ilanmM in tlie hoolv of heaven : 
Nay, all of yon tliat stanil and look upon, 
AVhilst tliat my wreteliedness doth liait myself, 
Tlionyh some of yon witii Pilate wash yonr hands 
Siiowiii};- an ontward I'ity ; yet yon Pilates 
Waw here delivered me to my sour cross, 
And water cannot wash away yonr sin. 

Korlh. Jly lord, dispatcli ; read o'er these articles. 

A'. l{U:li. iMine eyes are full of tears, 1 cannot see : 
And yet salt water blinds tliem not so niucli 
But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
I find myself a traitor with the rest; 
For I have siven here ray sours consent 
To undeck tlie pompous body of a king; 
Made glory liase and sovereignty a slave, 
Proud majesty a sufiject, state a peasant. 

A' oc</i. My "lord,— [man, 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting 
Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title, 
No, not that name was given me at the font, 
lint "t is usurp'd: alack the heavy day, 
Tliat I have worn so many winters out. 
And know not now wliat name to call myself! 
O that I were a mockery king of snow. 
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
To melt myself away in water-drops ! 
Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, 
An if my word be sterling yet in England, 
Let it command a mirror hither straight. 
That it may show me what a face I have, 
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 

Boliiuj. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. 
[Exit an atiendani. 

North. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth 
come. 

K. Jiich. Fiend, thou tormenfst me ere I come 
to hell! 

Boling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumber- 
land. 

North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 

A'. liich. They shall be satisfied : I '11 read enough. 
When I do see the very book indeed 
AVliere all my sins are writ, and that 's myself. 

Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. 
Give me the glass, and therein will I read. 
No deeper wrinkles yet ? hath sorrow struck 
So many blows upon this face of mine. 
And made no deeper wounds'? O flattering glass. 
Like to my followers in ))rosiierity. 
Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face 
That every day under Ins household roof 
Did keep ten thousand men > was this the face 
That, like the sun, did n:ake beholders wink"? 



Was this the face that faced so many follies, 
And was at last out-fari'd by Bolingbroke'!' 
A l-irittle glory shineth in tliis face: 
As brittleas the glory is tlie face; 

[Baglifs thi ijhixs against the ground. 
For tliere it is, crack'd in a' Imndred shivers. 
jMark, silent king, tlie moral of this sjiort. 
How soim my sorrow liath destroy'd my face. 

lUtling. The shadow of your sorrow liath destroy "d 
The shadow of your face. 

K. Rich. Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow ! ha ! let 's see : 
'T is very true, my grief lies all within ; 
And these external manners of laments 
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief 
That swells with silence in the tortured soul ; 
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king. 
For thy great bounty, that not only givest 
2*Ie cause to wail but teachest me the way 
How to lament the cause. I "11 beg one boon, 
And then be gone and trouble you iio more. 
Shall I obtain it '? 

Boling. Nfime it, fair cousin. 

A'. Rich . ' Fair cousin ' ? I am greater than a king : 
For when I was a king, my flatterers 
Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 

Jloling. Yet ask. 

K. Rich. And shall I have? 

Baling. You shall. 

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 

Boling. Whither ? [sights. 

K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from yom- 

Boling. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. 

AT. Rich. O, good ! convey '? conveyers are you all. 
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 

[Exeunt Ki)ig Ricli(.tr<i,.-<iiiiie Linils,<ind a Guard. 

Baling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down 
Our coronation: lords, prejiare yimiselves. 

[Exeunt all except thi l,ish"i, nf Carlisle, the 
Ahhat of ]\'' >lnii,i.~h /■, and Amnerle. 

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 

Cor. The woe "s to come ; the children yet unborn 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 

Aum. You holy clergymenj is there no plot 
To rid the realm of tlifs pernicious blot '? 

Abbot. My lord, 
Before I freely speak my mind herein, 
You shall not only take the sacrament 
To bury mine intents, but also to effect 
Whatever I shall happen to devise. 
I see your brows are full of discontent. 
Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears: 
Come home with me to supper; and I '11 lay 
A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. 



A^CT V- 



SCENE I. — London. A street leading to the Tower. 

Enter Queen and Ladies. 
Queen. Tliis way the king will come; this is the 
To .Julius Cii'sar's" ill-erected tower, [way 

To Avhose flint bosom my condemned lord 
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingliroke: 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
Have any resting for her true king's queen. 

Enter Kichard and Guard. 
But soft, but see, or rather do not see. 
My fair rose wither : yet look up, behold. 
That you in pity may dissolve to dew. 
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. 



Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand, 
Tliou map of honour, tliou King Kichard"s tomb. 
And not King Richard; thou most lieauteous inn, 
Wliy should iiard-favour'd grief be lodged in tliee, 
Wlien triumph is become an alehouse guest '? [so, 
A. Rich. Join not with grief, fair wmnan, do not 
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, 
To think our former state a happy (Iream ; 
From which awaked, the truth of wliat we are 
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, 
To grim Necessity, and he and I 
Will keep a, league till death. Hie thee to France 
And cloister thee in some religious house: 
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, 
'Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 
311 



\ 



ACT V. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE IT. 



Queen. "What, is my Ricluird both in sliape and 
iniiiil [ijo.sed 

Tiaiistonii'd and weaken 'd? hath Bolingbroke de- 
Thinc intellect ? hath he been in thy heart? 
The lion dyius tlinislcth fortli his paw, 
Anil wiiunds llie earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, jnipil-like. 
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, 
And fawn on rage with base Immility, 
AVhieh art a lion and a king of beasts ? [beasts, 
A'. Hirh. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but 
■ I had l.ieen still a happy king of men. [France: 

Good snnii'tiiiie ipieen, prepare tliee hence for 
Tliink I am drad and that even here thou takest. 
As from my di'ath-l)ed, thy last living leave. 
In winter's trdious nights sit by the tire 
"With good old folks and let them tell thee tales 
Of woeful ages long ago Ijetid ; 
And ere tliou bid good niglit, to quit their griefs, 
Tell thou the lamentable tale of me 
And send the hearers \w_^eiiing to their beds: 
For wliy. the si'nseless Iminds will sympathize 
The lieaN) ^Kcceiit of Ihy moving tongue 
And in eompassion weep the fire out ; 
And some will mourn m aslies, some coal-black, 
For the deposing of a rightful king. 

Enter Northumberland and others. 

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is 
changed ; 
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. 
And, madam, there is ludeV ta'en for you; 
With all swift speed you must away to France. 

A', liidt. Xorthumberlaud, thou ladder where- 
withal 
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, 
The time shall not be many hours of age 
jMore tlian it is ere tVud sin gathering Jiead 
Shall lireak into eormiition ;" tluui slialt think, 
Tliough lie divide the realm and give thee half. 
It is too little, helping him to all'; 
And liesliall think that tiiou, which know'st the way 
To plant unriglitlul kings, wilt know again. 
Being ne'er so little urged, another way 
To pluck him ln'udlong from tlie usui'ped throne. 
The love of wieked men converts to fear; 
Tliat fear to hate, and hate turns one or both 
To worthy danger and deserved death. 

Noiih. i\Iy guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
Take leave and part ; for you must part forthwith. 

A', lihh . I Soul ily divorced ! Bad men, you violate 
A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me. 
And tlien betwixt me and my married wife. 
Let me unkiss the aath 'twixt thee and me; 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 't was made. 
Part us, Northumberland; 1 towanls tlie north, 
Where shivering cold and si(/kness iiines the elime; 
My wife to France : from whence, set forth in pomp. 
She can:e adorned liither liki> sweet May, 
Sent back like Hallowmas or short 'st of day. 

Quceii. And mtist we be divided':' must we part':' 

K. liich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
from heart. 

Queen. Banish us both and send the king with me. 

North. That were some love Imt little policy. 

Queen. Then whither he goi's. thillier let me go. 

A'. RU-h. So t\vo,togeLlier weejiing, make one woe. 
Wee]) thou fin' me in France, I for thee here; 
Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. 
Go. count thy way with sighs; 1 mine with groans. 

Queen. So longest way shall have the longest 
moans. 

K. liich. Twice for one step I '11 groan, the way 
being short. 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let '.s be brief. 
Since, wedding it, tliere is such length in grief! 
313 



One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; 
Thus give I mine, and tlius take I thy heart. 

Queen. Give me mine own again: 'twere no good 
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. [part 

So, now I have mine own again, be gone, 
That 1 may strive to kill it with a groan, [delay : 

A'. liich. We make woe wanton with this fond 
Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Duke of YorVs palace. 

Enter York and his Duchess. 

Duch . My lord , you told me you would tell the rest. 
When weeping made you break the story otf. 
Of our two cousins coming into London. 

York. Where did 1 leave':' 

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, 

Wliere rude mksgovern'd hands from windows' tops 
Threw dust and ridibish on King Kiehard's head. 

York. Then, as T said, tlie duke, great Bolingbroke, 
jMounted upon a liot and liery steed 
Wliicli his aspiring rider seem'd to know, 
With slow but stately pace kept on his course. 
Whilst all tongues cried 'God^^save thee, Boling- 
broke ! ' 
You would have thought the very windows spake, 
So many greedy looks of yomig an<l old 
Through casements darted tlieir desiring eyes 
Upon bis visage, and that all the walls 
With painted imagery had said at once 
' Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke ! ' 
Whilst be, from the one side to the other turning, 
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
Bespake them thus ; ' I thank you, countrymen : ' 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 

Duch. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the 
whilst ? 

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, 
Are idly bent on him that enters next. 
Thinking his prattle to be tedious: 
Even so, or with niueii more contemiit, men's eyes 
Did scowl on gentle llichard ; no man cried " God 

save him ! ' 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
But dust was thrown upon bis sacred head; 
Which with such gentle soitiiw he shook olf. 
His face still comiiating with tears and smiles, 
The badges of his grief and patience. 
That had not Godi for some strong purpose, steel'd 
The hearts of men, they must perbirce have melted 
And liarbarisni itself have pitied him. 
But heaven hath a hanil in these events. 
To whose liigh will we liound our calm contents. 
To Bolingbroke are we s\vt)rn subjects now. 
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 

York. Aumerle that was; 

But that is lost for being Richard's friend. 
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: 
I am in parliament pledge for his truth 
And lasting fealty to tjie new made king. 

Enter Aumerle. 

Duch. AVelcome, my son : who are the violets now 
That strew the green lap of the new come spring ':' 

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not : 
God knows I had as lief be none as one. [time, 

York. Well, Ijear yon well in this new spring of 
Lest you be cropp'd jiefore you come to prime. 
What news from Oxford':' hold those justs and tri- 
umphs ? 

Aiun. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 

York. You will be there, I know. 

Aum. If Ciod luevent not, I purpose so. [Ijosom? 

York. AVhat seal is that, that hangs witliout thy 
Yea, look'st thou pule '/ let me .see the writing. 



ACT V 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE Til. 



Aum. My lord, "t is notlilnsr. 

York. No matter, then, who see it : 

I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. 

Awn. I do beseecli your grace to ijardoii me : 
It is a matter of small coiisequeiice, 
AVliich for some reasons I would not have seen. 

York. Which for some reasons, sir, 1 mean to see. 
I fear, I fear, — 

Uucli. Wliat should you fear? 

'Tisnotliiiig-lnit somelioiid, th;it he hasenter'd into 
For gay aiii)airl 'giiinst Ihc triuiiiph day. 

York. IJiiuiid tuliiniseU ! what doth hewithabond 
That he lias bound to ? "Wife, thou art a fool. 
Buy, let me see the writing. [show it. 

Auiii. I do lieseecli you, pardon me; I may not 

Yoik. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. 

[7/( jihick.i it out of hix ho^oiit and rends it. 
Treason! foul treason I A''illain! traitor! slave! 

Diicli. What is the matter, my lordV 

l'(/;7i.»Ho ! who is within there 'i 

Enter a Servant. 

Saddle my horse. 
God for his mercy, what treachery is here ! 

Dudi. Why, what is it, my lord ? 

York. Give me my boots, I say ; saddle my horse. 
[Exit Servant. 
Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, 
1 will appeach the villain. 

JJuch. What is the matter ? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. [Aumerle? 

I)uch. I will not peace. What is the matter, 

Aum. Good mother, be content, it is no more 
Than my poor life must answer. 

JJuch. Thy life answer! 

York. Bring me my boots : I will unto the king. 

Re-enter Servant loith boots. 

Buck. Strike him, Aumerle. I'oor boy, thou art 
amazed. 
Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight. 

York. Give me my boots, I say. 

Duch. Why j> York, what wilt thou do ? 
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ? 
Have we more sons V or are we like to liave ? 
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time ? 
And wilt th(ju pluck my fair son from mine age, 
And rob me ot a happy mother's name y 
Is he not like thee ^ is he not thine own ? 

York. Thou fond mad woman. 
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? 
A dozen of them here have ta"en the sacrament, 
And interchangeably set down their hands. 
To kill the king at Oxford. 

Diu-h. He shall be none; 

We '11 keep him here : then what is that to him ? 

York. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times 
I would appeach him. [my son, 

Duck. Iladst thou groan "d for liim 

As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. 
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect 
That 1 have been disloyal to thy bed. 
And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : 
He is as like thee as a man may be, 
jS'ot like to me, or any of my kin, 
And yet I love him. 

York. Make way, unruly woman ! 

[E.nt. 

Duch. After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his 
Spur post, and get before him to tlie king, [horse; 
And beg thy i)ardon ere lie do accuse thee. 
I '11 not lie long behind; though I be old, 
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 
And never will I rise up from the ground 
Till Bolingbroke have pardou'd thee. Away, be 
gone! [Exeunt. 



SCENE III.— ^ roijal palace. 

Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and. other Lords. 

I'ollng. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty sou ? 
'T is full three months since I did see him last : 
If any plague hang over us, 't is he. 
I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
Impure at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
With unrestrained loose companions. 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
And beat our watch, and rob our jiassengers, 
Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy. 
Takes on the point of honour to support 
So dissolute a crew. [prince, 

Percif. My lord, some two days since I saw the 
And told him of those triumphs'held at Oxford. 

Holing. And what said the gallant ? 

Fercij. His answer was, he would imto the stews. 
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove. 
And wear it as a favour: and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. [both 

Boling. As dissolute as despierate ; yet tlirougli 
I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years 
May happUy bring forth. But who comes here V 

Enter Aumerle. 

Aum. Where is the king V [lot'l^s 

I'oUvg. What means our cousin, I hat he stares and 
So wildly y [majesty, 

Aitm. God save your grace ! I do beseech your 
To have some conference with your grace alone. 

Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
alone. [Exeunt Percij and Lords. 

What is the matter with our cousin now V 

Awn. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, 
My tongue cleave to my roof within my moutli, 
Uidcss a pardon ere I rise or speak. 

Jjoliiig. Intended or committed was this fault? 
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be. 
To win thy after-love I pardon thee. [key, 

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the 
That no man enter till my tale be done. 

Bohng. Have thy desire. 

York. [!)'/(/( /)i] My liege, beware: look to thj"self ; 
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 

Boling. Villain, I '11 make thee safe. [Drawing. 

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou Isast no 
cause to fear. [king: 

York. [ Within'] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy 
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face? 
Open the door, or I will break it open. 

Enter York. 

Boling. What is the matter, uncle ? speak; 
Recover breath ; tell us how^ near is danger. 
That we may arm us to encounter it. [know 

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt 
The treason that my haste forbids me show. 

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise 
I do repent me ; read not my name there ; [pass'd : 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. 

York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. 
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; 
Fear, and not love, begets his iienitence: 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity )uove 
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 

Boling. O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy! 
O loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain, 
From whence this stream tlirnngh muddy passages 
Hath held his current and delileil himself! 
Thy overllow of good converts to bail. 
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 

York. So shall my virtue be his \ice's bawd ; 

And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, 

313 



ACT V. 



KING RICHARD II 



SCENE V. 



As tlirii'tless sons their scraping fatliers' gold. 
Mine lioiiciur lives when liis dislionour dies, 
Or my slianied life in his dislionour lies: 
Thou kiifst me in liis life; giving him breath, 
The traitor lives, tlie true man 's put to deatli. 

Bucli.. 'iWilliiii] What ho, my liege! for God's 
sake, let me in. 

BoUitij. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this 
eager cry i:' 

Ducli. A woinan, and thy aunt, great king ; 't is I. 
Speak witli me, pity me, open the door: 
A laeggar begs that never begg'd before. 

BoliU'j. ( )ur srrne is alter'd from a"^erious thing, 
And now ciianucil to 'The Beggar and the King.^ 
My dangrriMis cousin, let your mother in: 
1 know she is come to pray for your foul sin. 

Yovk: If thou do pardon, whosoever pray. 
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. 
Tui.s fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound ; 
Q'iiis let alone will all the rest confound. 

^ I^nler Duchess. 

Buch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man ! 
Love loving not itself none other can. [here ? 

I'oiA;. Thou frantic woman, "what dost thou make 
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? 

l)udi. Sweet \'ork, be patient. Hear me, gentle 
liege. [A'iicc/s. 

BoliiKj. Rise up, good aunt. 

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech : 

For ever will I walk njion my knees. 
And never see day that the liaiipy sees. 
Till tliou give joy ; until thou bid me joy. 
By pardoning Uutland, my transgressing boy. 

Aimu Unto my mother's jirayers I bend my knee. 

York-. Against them both my true joints bended 
111 mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! [be. 

JJuili. I'leails he in earnest'/ look upon his face; 
His eyes do droji no tears, his prayers are in jest ; 
His words come from his mouth, ours from our 

breast : 
He prays but faintly and would be denied ; 
We pray with heart and sou! and all beside: 
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; 
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow : 
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; 
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. 
Our prayers do out-jn-ay liis; then let them have 
That mercy which true prayer ought to have. 

Boliny. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duck. Nay, do not say, ' stand up ; ' 

Say ' pardon ' first, and afterwarils ' stand up.' 
An if I were tliy nurse, thy tminue to teach, 
'Pardon' should be the iirst word of thy speech. 
I never long'd to hear a word till now; 
Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how: 
The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
No word like ' pardon ' for kings' mouths so meet. 

York-. Speak it in French, king; say, ' pardonne 
moi.' 

Duck. Host thou teach pardon pardon to desttoy ? 
Ah, my sour husband, my liard-heai'ted lord. 
That set'st the word itself against tlie word! 
Speak ' pardon ' as "t is current in our land ; 
The chopping French we do not understand. 
Thine eye begins to speak ; set thy tongue there; 
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; 
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce. 
Pity may move thee ' (lardon ' to reliearse. 

Doling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. 1 do not sue to stand ; 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 

Doling. I panhm Iiim, as God sliall pardon me. 

Duch. O hiipiiN \;iiit;i,L;e iif a kneeling knee! 
Yet am I sick lur iVar: siuak it again; 
Twice saying ' pardim ' doth not jardon twain. 
But makes one pardon strong. 
314 



Doling. "With all my heart 

I pardon him. 
Duch. A god on earth thou art. [abbot, 

Bnltng. But for our trusty Ijrotlier-in-lawand the 
"With all the rest of that consorted crew, 
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. 
Good uucle, help to order several powers 
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: 
They shall not live within this world, I swear, 
But I will have them, if I once know where. 
Uncle, farewell: and, cousin too, adieu: 
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 

Duch. Come, my old son : I pray God make thee 
new. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. 

Enter Exton and Servant. 

Exton. Didst tiiou not mark tlie king, what words 
lie spake, 
' Have I no friend will I'id nie of this livir^ fear ? ' 
"NN'as it not so 'i 

Scr. These were his very words. 

Exton. ' Have I no friend ■?' quoth he : he spake it 
And urged it twice together, did he not ? [twice, 

iSfrr. He did. 

Exton. And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me ; 
As who should say, ' I would thou wert the man 
Tiiat would divorce this terror from my heart; ' 
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let 's go : 
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V.— Pomfrcl castle. 

Enter King Richard. 
K. Bich. I have been studying how I may compare 
This |irison where I live unto the world : 
And for because the world is iiojiulous 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do it; yet I "11 hammer it out. 
My brain I '11 prove tlie female to my soul, 
My soul the fatlier: and these two beget 
A generation of still-breeding thoughts. 
And these same thonglits people tlits little world, 
In humours like the people of this world. 
For no thought is contented. The better sort, 
As thouglits of things divine, are interniix'd 
'With scruples and do set the word itself 
Against tlie word : 

As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again, 
' It is as hard to come as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' 
Tliouglits tending to ambition, they do plot 
Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails 
jMay tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
Of this hani world, my ragged inison walls. 
And, for tliey cannot, die in their own ])ride. 
Thouglits tending to content Hatter themselves 
Tliat tliev are not the Iirst of fortune's slaves, 
Nor slialj not be the last ; like silly beggars 
'Who sitting in the stocks refuge their sliame, 
That many have and otliers must sit there; 
And in tliis tliought tliey find a kind of ease, 
Bearing their own misfortunes on tlie back 
Of such as have before endured tlie like. 
Thus play I in one person many people. 
And none contented; sometimes am I king; 
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, 
And so I am : then crusliing penury 
Persuades me I was better when a king; 
Then am I king'd again : and by and by 
Tliink tliat I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
And straight a.m nothing: but whafe'er I be. 
Nor I iiin- any man that Vmt nia'f. is 
With nothing shall lie jileased, till he be eased 
With being notliing. iNlusic do I hearV [Music. 
ITa.lia! keep time: how sour sweet music is, 
Wlien time is broke and no proportion kept ! 



ACT V. 



KIXG RICHARD IT. 



SCEXE -,T. 



So is it in the music of men's lives. 
And liere have I the daintiness of ear 
To checlv time bnil^e in a disordered string; 
But for tlie concord of my state and time 
Had not an ear to liear my true time Ijrnke. 
I wasted time, and now dotli time waste me; 
For now liath time made me liis numbering clock : 
My tliouglits are minutes; and with siglis they jar 
Tlieir watclies on unto mine eyes, tlie outward 
Whereto my linger, liiie a dial's point, [watcli, 

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
Now sir, tlie sound that tells what hour it is 
Are clamorous groans, wliich strike upon my heart. 
Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans 
Sliow minutes, times, and hours : but my time 
Runs posting on in Ijolingbroke's proud joy, 
While I stand iiMiling iiere. Ids Jack o' the clock. 
Tills music mads me; let it sound no more; 
For though it have holp niadmeu to their wits, 
In me it seems it will malce wise men mad. 
Yet blessing on liis heart that gives it me ! 
For 't is a sign of love ; and love to Richard 
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 

Enter a Groom of the Stable. 

Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; 

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
What art tiiou ":' and how coniest thou liither, 
Where no man never comes but that sad dog 
That brings me food to make misfortune live ? 

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king. 
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards 
With much ad(j at length have gotten leave [York, 
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. 
O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld 
In London streets, that coronation-day. 
When ISolingbrdke rode on roan Barbary, 
That horse that tliouso often hast bestrid. 
That horse that 1 so carefully have dress 'd! 

K. liich. Rode he on Barbary y Tell me, gentle 
How went he under him ? [friend. 

Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. 

K. liich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his 
back ! 
That jade hatli eat bread from my royal hand ; 
Tills hand hath made him proud with clapping liini. 
Woulil he not stumble 'r* would he not tall down. 
Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck 
Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 
Since thou, created to be awed by man. 
Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; 
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass, 
Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke. 

Enter Keeper, Tvith a dish. 
Kccji. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. 
A', likli. If thou love me, 't istimp thou wert away. 
. Groom. Wliat my tongue dares not, that my heart 
shall say. [Exit. 

Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to ? 
K. It irk. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 
Kecii. My lord, I dare not: SirPierceof Exton,who 
lately came from the king, commands the contrary. 
K. liich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and 
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [thee! 

[Beats the keeper. 
Keep. Help, help, help ! 

Enter Exton and Servants, armed. 
K. liich. How now! what means deatli in this 
rude assault ? 
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. 
[Snatch in<i on axe from a Servant and killing him. 
Go thiui, and fill another room in hell. 

[He kills aneither. Then Exton strikes him down. 
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire 



That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce 
hand [land. 

Hath with the king's blood stain "d the king's own 
Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on liigb ; 
AVhilst my gross fiesh sinks downward, here to die. 

[Dies. 
Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood : 
Both have I spill'd ; O would the deed were good ! 
For now the devil, that told me I did well. 
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
This dead king to the living king I '11 bear: 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE "VI.— Winelsor castle. 

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, "york, with other 
Lords, and Attendants. 
Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear 
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire 
Our town of C'icester in Gloucestershire; 
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. 

Enter Northumberland. 
Welcome, my lord: what is the news':* 

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap- 
The next news is, I have to London sent [iiiness. 
The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent: 
The manner of their taking may appear 
At large discoursed in this paper here. 

Bohng. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; 
And to thy wortli will add right worthy gains. 

Enter Fitzwater. 

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, 
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors 
That souglit at Oxford thy dire overtlirow. 

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot ; 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, and the Bishop of Carlisle. 

Fercui.- The grand conspirator. Abbot of West- 
minster, 
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy 
Hath yielded up his body to tlie grave; 
But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. 

Billing. "Carlisle, this is your doom : 
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, 
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; 
So as thou livest in peace, die free fiiom strife: 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been. 
High sparks of honourin thee have I seen. 

Enter Exton, with ])ersons bearing a coffin. 

Exton. Great kmg, within this coffin I present 
Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
Richard of Bordeaux, by nie hither brought. 

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not: for thou hast 
A deed of slander witli thy fatal hand [wrought 
Upon my head and all this famous land. [deed. 

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this 

Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, 
Xor do I thee: though I did wish him dead, 
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, 
Bui ni'itlier my gnod word nor jirincely favour: 
With Cain go wander through shades of night, 
And never show thy head by day nor light. 
I^onls. I protest, my soul is'full of woe. 
That blood should sjiriidvle me to make me grow. 
Come, mourn with nie for that I do lament, 
And put on sullen black incontinent : 
I '11 make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
To wash this lilood off from niy guilty hand : 
March sadly after ; grace my niournings here ; 
In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt. 

315 




THE FIRST PART OF 

KING HENRY THE FOURTH. 



DRAMATIS PEBSOX^R 



■ sons to the King. 



King- Henry the Fourth. 

Kenry, Prince of Wales, 1 

John of Ijixncaster, I ' 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

Sir Walter Blunt. 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, surnametl Hotspur, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 

Owen Glendower. 

Sir Richard Vernon. 

Sir John Falstaff. 



Sir Michael, a Friend to the Archbishop of York. 

Poins. 

Gadshi;i. 

Peto. 

Bardolph. 

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. 

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife 

to Mortimer. 
Mistress Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, 
two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. 



[Fo 



an Ana 



of the Plot of this Pla 



^CT I. 



SCENE — Eiirjland. 
:e Liv.] 



SCENE l.—Lnnrlfin. The pahice. 



Enter King Henry, Lord John of Lancaster, tlie 
Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and 

uliurs. 

Kiiuj. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
Find we a time for frisliteil peace to pant, 
And breatlie short-winded accents of new broils 
To be commenced in strands afar remote. 
No more tlie thirsty entrancf of this soil 
Sliall danl) her li|)s with lier own cliildren's blood; 
No more sliall trenchinu' w:ir i-iiannel her lields, 
Nor bruise her liowercls with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces: tlmse uppusfd t'\,'s. 
"Which. like tlie meteurs oi a Inmlilrd lieaven, 
All of one natnre, of one snlistance l)red, 
Did lately meet in tlie intestine shock 
And fnrious close of civil lintchery 
Shall now, in mntual well-l)cs;'cmin,ii' ranlcs, 
March all one way and he no nioiv opposed 
As>'ainst acquaintance, kindred and allies: 
Tlie edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
No more shall cut his master. Tlierefore, friends. 
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
We are iin|iressed and engaged to tiijlit, 
Fortliwith a power of English shall we levy: 
Whose arms were moulded in their motliers' womb 
To chase these paoans in those holy lields 
Over whose acres walk "d those blessed feet 
Whicli fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd 
For our advantage on the bitter cross. 
But this (Hir purpose now is twelve month old, 
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go: 
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear 
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
What yesternight our council did decree 
In forwarding tliis dear expedience. 

TKcsf. My liege, this haste was hot in question, 
And many limits of the charge set down 
But yesternight : when all athwart there came 
316 



A post from AVales loaden with heavy news ; 
Whose w<n'st was, that the noble Mortimer, 
Leading the men of Herebirdshire to fight 
Against the irreguhir and wild (Tlendower, 
Was Ijy the rude' hands of that Welshman taken, 
A thousand of his jieople Imtchered; 
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, 
Such lieastly shameless transformation, 
Bv those AVelshwomen done us may not be 
Witlnnit much shame retold or spoken of. 

KiiKj. It seems then that the tidings of this broil 
Brake off our business for the Holy Land. [lord ; 

^]'tst. This match'd with other did, my gracious 
For iiKU'e uneven and nnwelronie news 
fame from the north and thus it did imiiort: 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, 
Young "Harry Per<y and brave Archibald, 
That ever-valiant ruid approved Scot, 
At Holmedon met. 

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; 
As by disciiarge of their artillery. 
And sliape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
For he tliat Vironght them, in the very heat 
And pride of their contention did take horse, 
Uncertain of the issue any way. 

Kiiui. Here is a dear, a true industrious friend, 
Sir Wiilter Blunt, new lighted from his liorse, 
Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
Betwixt that Ilolmedon and this .seat of onrs; 
And he liath lirought ns smooth and welcome news. 
The Earl of Dcniglas is disn.mlited : 
Ten th(nisand bolil Scots, two and twenty knights, 
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see 
On llolmedoirs plains. Of prisoners, Hotsimr took 
Mordake the Karl of Fife, and eldest son 
To liraten Douglas; and the Ean of Atliol, 
Of Murray, .Vngus, and Menteith: 
And is not this an hononraiile spoil ? 
A gallant iirizeV ha, cousin, is it not? 

Wi^t. In faith. 
It is a conquest for a prince to Ijaiist of. 



ACT I. 



FIEST PART OF KING HEXRY IV. scexe ii. 



Kinfj. Yea, there tbou makest me sad and niakest 
In envy that my Lord Xorthumberkuid [me sin 
Sliouki be the lather to so blest a son, 
A son wlio is the theme of honour's tonsue; 
Amongst a grove, the very straightest iihiiit ; 
AVlio is sweet Fortune's minion and lier pride: 
AVliilst I, Ijy looking on tlie praise of him, 
See riot and dislionoux stain the brow 
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved 
Tliat some night-tripping fairy had exchanged 
In cradlt'-rlothes om" children where they lay, 
And eaird niiiif Percy, his Plantagenet I 
Then would I have his Harry, and lie mine. [eoz. 
But let hini from my thouglits. What think you. 
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, 
AVliirh he in this adventure hath surprised. 
To liis own use he keeps; and sends me word, 
I sliall have none but Mordake Earl of Pife. [ter, 

Wist. This is his uncle's teaching ; thisls Worces- 
^lalevulent to yon in all aspects; 
■Whicli makes Iiim prune himself, and bristle up 
The crest of youth against your dignity. 

Kiaij. But I have sent for him to answer tliis; 
And for this cause awhile we must neglect 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on AVedue.sday next our council we 
AVill hold at Windsor; so inform the lords: 
But come yourself with speed to us again ; 
For more is to be said and to be done 
Tlian out of anger can be uttered. 

]\\sl. I will, my liege. {Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — London. An apartment of the Princess. 
Enter the Prince ofWales and Falstaff. 

Fid. Xow, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? 

rrinrc. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of 
old sack and mibuttouing thee after supper and 
sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast 
forgotten to demand that truly wliicli thou wouldst 
truly know. Wliat a devil bast thou to do with tlie 
time of tlie day ? Unless hours were cups of sack 
and minutes capons and clocks tlie tongues of bawds 
and dials tlie signs of leaping-houses and the blessed 
sun liimself a fair hot wench Ln tiume-coloured taf- 
feta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so super- 
tluous to demand the tiiue of the day. 

Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal ; for we 
that take purses go by the moon and the .seven stars, 
and not by Phffibus, be, ' that wandering kniglit so 
fair.' And, I prithee, sweet wag, wlieli tliou art 
king, as, God save thy grace, — majesty I should say, 
for grace thou wilt have none, — 

Frince. What, none'? 

Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will serve 
to be prologue to an egg and butter. 

Prince. AVell, how then y come, roundly, roundly. 

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, 
let not us tliat are squires of the night's body be 
called thieves of the day's beauty : let\is be Diana's 
foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of tlie 
moon ; and let men say we be men of good govern- 
ment, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble 
and chaste mistress the moon, mider whose coun- 
tenance we steal. 

Prince. Tliou sayest well, and it holds well, too; 
for the fortune of us that are the moon's men doth 
ebb and How like the sea, being governed, as the sea 
is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of 
gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night and 
most dissolutely spent onTuesday morning ; got with 
swearing ' Lay by ' and spent with crying ' Bring 
in ; ' now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder 
and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the 
gallows. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest trae, lad. And is 
not my liostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? 



Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the 
castle. And is not a buff jerkiu a most sweet robe 
of durance '? 

Fal. How now. ho\v now, mad wag! what, in thy 
quips and thy quidilities "? what a plague have I to 
do with a buff jerkin '? 

Prince. "Why, what a pox have I to do with my 
hostess of the tavern ? 

Fal. Yv'ell, thou hast called her to a reckoning 
many a time and oft. 

Prince. Did I e^er call for thee to pay thy part '? 

Fal. No ; I 'U give thee thy due, thou Uiist pL.id 
all there. 

Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
would stretch ; and where it would not, I have used 
my credit. 

Ful. Yea, and so used it that, were it not liere 
apparent that thou art heir apparent — But, I prithee, 
sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in Eng- 
land when thou art king'? and resolution thus 
fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father 
antic the law- ? Do not thou, when thou art king, 
hang a thief. 

Prince. Xo; thou shalt. [judge. 

Fal. Shall I? Orare! By the Lord, I '11 be a brave 

Prince. Thou judgest false already : I mean, thou 
shalt have tlie hanging of the thieves and so become 
a rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps 
with my humour as w^ell as waiting in the court, I 
can tell you. 

Prince. For obtaining of suits '? 

Fed. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the 
liangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as 
melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear. 

Prince. Or an old lion, or a.lover's lute. 

Ful. Yea, or the drone of a Lincobishire bagpipe. 

I'rince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the mel- 
ancholy of Moor-ditch '? 

Fal. Tliou hast the most unsavoury similes and 
art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet 
young prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trouble u.e no 
more with vanity. I would to God thou and I 
knew where a commodity of good names were to 
be bought. An old lord of the council rated n;e 
the other day in the street about you, sir, but I 
marked liim not ; and yet he talked very wisely, 
but I regarded him not ; and yet he talked w isely, 
and in the street too. 

Piince. Tliou didst well; for wisdom cries out in 
the streets, and no mau regards it. 

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration and art in- 
deed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much 
harm upon me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! Be- 
fore I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now 
am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than 
one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and 
I will gi\e it over: by the Lord, an I do not, I am 
a villain : I '11 be damned for never a kmg's sou iji 
Christendom. [Jack "? 

Prince. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 

Fal. 'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I'll make 
one ; an I do not, call me villain and baffle me. 

Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee ; 
from praying to purse-taking. 

Fal. AVhy, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tisnosin 
for a man to labour in his vocation. 

Enter Poins. 
Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a 
match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what 
hole in hell were hot enough for him V This is the 
most omnipotent villain that ever cried ' Stand ' to a 

Prince. Good morrow, Xed. [true num. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says 
Monsieur Remorse"? what says Sir John Sack and 
Sugar ■? Jack ! how agrees the de\'il and thee about 
317 



ACT I. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene hi. : 



thy soul, tliat thou soldest him on Good-Friday last 
for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's lea; ? 

Prince. Sir Jolin stands to his word, the devil 
shall have his bargain ; for he was never yet a 
breaker of proverbs : he will give the devil liis due. 

Poins. Tlien art tliou damned for keeping thy 
word with tlie devil. 

Prince. Else he had been damned for cozening 
the devil. 

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- 
ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadsliill ! there are 
pilgrims going to Canterbury witli rich offerings, 
and traders riding to London w'ith fat purses : I 
liave vizards for you all ; you have horses for your- 
selves : Gailsliill lies to-night in Rochester : I have 
bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap : we 
may do it as secure as sleep. If you w^ill go, I will 
stuff your purses full of crowns ; if you will not, 
tarry at home and be lianged. 

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward ; if I tarry at home and 
go not, I '11 hang you for going. 

Poins. You will, chops y 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ? 

Prince. Who, I rob V I a thief ? not I, by my faith. 

Fal. There 's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
fellowsliip in tliee, nor tliou earnest not of the blood 
royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 

Prince. Well then, once in my days I '11 be a mad- 

Fcd. Why, tliat 's well said. [cap. 

Prince. Well, come wliat will, I '11 tarry at home. 

Fal. By the Lord, I '11 be a traitor then, when thou 

Prince. I care not. [art king. 

Poins. Sir John, 1 prithee, leave the prince and 
me alone : I will lay hiui down such reasons for this 
adventure that he sliall go. 

Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion 
and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speak- 
est may move and what he hears may be believed, 
that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a 
false tliief ; for the poor aljuses of the time want coun- 
tenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap. 

Prince. Farewell, tliou latter spring! farewell, 
All-hallown summer! [k'xit Falisliqj'. 

Poins. How, my good sweet honey lord, ride with 
us to-morrow : I have a jest to execute tliat I can- 
not manage alone. Falstatf, Bardolpli, Peto and 
Gadshill sliall rob those men that we have already 
waylaid ; yourself and I will not be there ; and 
when tliey have the booty, if you and I do not rob 
them, cut this head off from my shoulders, [forth ? 

Prince. How shall we part with them in setting 

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after tlieni , 
and appoint tliem a place of meeting, wherein it is 
at our pleasure to fail, anil then will they adventure 
upon the exploit themselves ; which they shall have 
uo sooner achieved, but we '11 set upon them. 

Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us 
by our horses, by our habits and by every other ap- 
pointment, to be ourselves. 

Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not see ; I '11 tie 
them in the wood; our vizards we will change after 
we leave tliein : and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram 
for the nonce, to immask our noted outward gar- 
ments, [torus. 

Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard 

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be 
as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for 
the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I '11 
forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the 
incompreliensilile lies that this same fat rogue will 
tell us when we meet at supper : how tliirt v, at least, 
he fought with ; what wards, what blows', what ex- 
tremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies 
the jest. 

Prince. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all 
things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in 
Eastcheap ; there I '11 sup. Farewell. 
31S 



Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit. 

Prince. I know you ail, and will awhile uphold 
The unyoked humour of your idleness : 
Yet herein will I iniitatethe sun. 
Who doth permit the li;ise (■ont;igious clouds 
To smother up his beauty fmni the world, 
That, when he please again to be himself. 
Being wanted, he may l,e iiiore wonder'd at. 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours tliat did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays. 
To sport would be as tedious as to' work; 
But when they sekloin come, they wish'd for come, ' 
And nothing iileaseth Init rare accidents. 
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off 
And pay the debt I never promised, 
By how much better than my word I am, 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
And like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
iNIy reformation, glittering o'er iny fault. 
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
Than that which liath no foil to set it off. 
I '11 so offend, to make offence a skill ; 
Kedeemiiig time wlieii men think least I will. [Exit. 

SCENE in.— London. The palace. 

Enter the King, Northumberland, 'Worcester, 
Hotspur, Sir "Walter Blunt, with others. 

Kinf/. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, 
Unapt to stir at these indignities. 
And you have found me ; tor accordingly 
You tread upon my iiatience: but be sure 
I will from henceforth rather be myself, 
Mighty and to be fear'd, tlian my condition ; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, 
And therefore lost that title of respect 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 

Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
And that same greatness too which our own hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 

yorth. Uy lord,— 

King. Worcester, get thee gone ; for I do see 
Danger and disobedience in thine eye: 
O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory, 
And majesty might never yet endure 
Tlie moody "frontier of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us: when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. 

[Exit Wor. 
You were about to speak. [To Korth. 

Xiirth. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took. 
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
As is deliver 'd to your majesty : 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilty of this fault and not my son. 

ilot. >[y liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
But 1 reniember, when the fight was done. 
When I was dry Avith rage and extreme toil. 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, iieat, and trimly dress'd, 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and liis chin new reap'd 
Show'd like a stulible-land at harvest-home; 
He was jierfunied like a milliner; 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pmnieet-liox, wliieh ever and aiion 
He giive his nose and took "t away again; 
Who tlierewitli angry, when it next came there, 
Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk'd, 
And as the soliliers bore dead bodies by. 
He call'd tlieiii untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
Betwixt the wiml and his nobility. 
With many holiday and lady terms 



ACT T. 



FIRST PART OF KING HEXRY IV. scexe in. 



He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded 

My prisoners iu your nuijesty's Ijeludf. 

I then, all smarting witii luy wounds being cold, 

To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answer'd neglectingly 1 know not what. 

He sliould, or he should not ; for he made me mad 

To see liim shine so brisk and smell so sweet 

And t;dk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 

Of guns and drums and wounds, — God save the 

mark! — 
And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth 
■Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ; 
And that it was great pity, so it was. 
This villanous salt-petre sliould be digg"d 
Out of the bowels of tlie harmless earth, 
Which many a good tall fellow luul destroy 'd 
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns. 
He would himself have been a soldier. 
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
I answer'd indirectly, as I said; 
And I beseech you, let not his report 
Come current for an accusation 
Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, 
AVhate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said 
To such a person antl in such a place. 
At such a time, with all the rest retold. 
May reasonably die and never rise 
To do him wrong or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 

ICimj. Why, yet lie dotli deny his prisoners. 
But with proviso and exception, 
That we at our own charge shall ransom straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray "d 
The lives of those that he did lead to "tight 
Against that great magician, daum'd Cilendower, 
Whose daughter, as we hear, tlie Earl of March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, tiieu, 
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home y 
Shall we buy treason V and indent with fears. 
When they have lost and forfeited thenaselves':' 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve; 
For I shall never liold that man my frien<l 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To. ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Ihit. Kevolted Mortimer! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
But by tlie chance of war : to prove that true 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds. 
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 
In single opposition, hand to Iiand, 
He did confound the bist part of an hour 
In changing hardiment with great Glendower: 
Three times they breathed and three times did they 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; [drink, 
Who then, affriglited with tlieir bloody looks, 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did base and rotten policy 
Colour her working with such deadly wounds; 
Nor never could the nolile Mortimer 
Receive so many, and all willingly: 
Tlien let not him be slander'd with revolt. [him ; 

KiiKj. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie 
He never did encounter with Glendower : 
I tell tliee. 

He durst as well have met the devil alone 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art thou not ashamed V But. sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortiiupr: 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means. 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. ily Lord Northumberland, 



AVe license your departure with your son. 
Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. 

[Exiiiiit KuKj IJiKVti, Bhiut, and tniin. 

Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not .send them : I will after straight 
And tell him so; for I will ease my heart, 
Alljeit I make a hazard of my head. [awhile: 

NriHli. What, drunk with choler ? stay and pause 
Here comes your uncle. 



Hot. 



Re-enter "Worcester. 

Speak of Mortimer! 



'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 

Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 

Yea, on his part I '11 empty all these veins. 

And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust, 

But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 

As high in the air as this unthanktiil king. 

As tills ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. [mad. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew 

Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone 'i 

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; 
And when I urged the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale, 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Wor. I cannot blame him : was not he proclaim 'd 
By Richard that dead is the next of blood ';* 

North. He was; I heard the proclamation: 
And then it was when the unhappy king, — 
Whose wrongs in us God pardon ! — did set forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 
From whence he intercepted did return 
To be deposed and shortly murdered. [mouth 

Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide 
Live scandalized and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; did King Richard then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown ? 

North. He did; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve. 
But shall it be, that you, that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man 
And for his sake wear the detested blot 
Of murderous subornation, shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo. 
Being the agents, or base second means. 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ? 
O, pardon me that I descend so low. 
To show the line and the predicament 
Wherein you range under this subtle king; 
Shall it for shame be spoken in these tiays, 
Or (ill up chronicles in time to come, 
Tliat men of your nobility and power 
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf, 
As both of you — God pardon it ! — have done. 
To put down Richard, th.at sweet lovely rose, 
And iilant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke 'i 
And shall it in more shame be further spoken. 
That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off 
By him for whom these shames ye underwent? 
No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem 
Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again. 
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt 
Of this proud king, who studies day and night 
To answer all the debt he owes to you 
Even with the bloody payment of yoiu: deaths: 
Therefore, I say, — 

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more: 

And now I will unclasp a secret book. 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous. 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud 
On the uusteadfast footing of a spear. 
oi'J 



ACT II. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene i. 



Hot. If lie fall in, good niglit ! or sink or swim : 
Send danger froiu tiie east unto the west, 
So honour croKS it from the north to south. 
And let them grapple : O, the blood more stirs 
To rouse a lion than to start a hare ! 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 

Hot. By heaven, mcthinks it were an easy leap. 
To pluck bright honour froni the pale-faced moon, 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
"Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; 
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 
Without corrival all h<'r dignities: 
But out upon this half-faced fellowship! 

Wor. He ajpprehends a world of figures here, 
But not the form of what he should attend. 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 

Hot. I cry you mercy. 

Wor. Those same noble Scots 

That are your prisoners, — 

Hot. I '11 keep them all ; 

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them ; 
Ko, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: 
I '11 keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away 

And lend no ear tnito my purposes. 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Nay, I will ; that 's flat : 

He said he would not ransom Mortimer; 
Forbad my tongxie to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I will find him when hg lies asleep. 
And in his ear I '11 holla ' Mortimer ! ' 
Nay, 

I "11 have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Kothing but • JNIurtimer,' and give it him, 
To keep liis anger still in motion. 

Wor. Hear you, cousin ; a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defj'. 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : 
And that san^e sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales, 
But that I think liis father loves him not 
And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale. 

Wor. Earewell, kinsman : I '11 talk to you 
When you are better temper 'd to attend. [fool 

North. Why, wliat a wasp-stung and impatient 
Art thou to break into this woman's mood, 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! 

Hot. Why, look you, 1 am whipp'd and scourged 
with rods. 
Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of til is vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
In Kichard's time, — what do you call the place ? — 
A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire ; 
'T was where the madcap duke his uncle kept, 
His uiicle York; where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, — 
'Sblood ! — 
When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh. 



North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. You say true : 
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyliound then did proffer me! 
Look, ' when his infant fortune came to age,' 
And ' gentle Harry Percy,' and ' kind cousin ; ' 
O, the devil take such cozeners! God forgive me! 
Good uncle, tell your tale; I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again; 
We will stay your leisure. 

Hot. I have done, i' faith. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
Deliver them up without their ransom straiglit. 
And u]ake the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons 
Which I shall send you written, be assured. 
Will easily be granted. You, my lord, 

['I'o Norlhumherkmcl. 
Your son in Scotland being thus employ 'd. 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well beloved, 
The archbishop. 

Hot. Of York, is it not? 

Wor. True; who bears hard 
His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation. 
As what I think rniglit be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted and set down, 
And only stays but to beholil the fare 
Of that occasion tliat shall laing it on. 

Hot. I smell it: upon my life, it will do well. 

North. Before the game is afoot, thou still let'st 
slip. 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot : 
And then the power of Scotland and of York, 
To join with Mortimer, haV 

Wor. And so they slaill. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 't is no little reason bids lis speed, 
To save our heads by raising of a head ; 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can. 
The king will always think him in our debt, 
And think we think ourselves imsatistied. 
Till he hath found a time to pay us home! 
And see already how he doth begin 
To make us strangers to his looks of love. 

Hot. He does, he does : we '11 be revenged on him. 

Wor. Cousin, farewell: no further go in this 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
When time is ripe, which will be suildrnly, 
I '11 steal to Glendowef and Lord Mortimer: 
Where you and Douglas and our powers at once. 
As I will fashion it, shall hajipily meet. 
To bear oiu' fortunes in our own strong arms. 
Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 

NortJi. Farewell, good brother : we shall thrive, I 
trust. 

Hot. Uncle, adieu: O, let the hours be short 
Till lields and blows and groans applaud our sport ! 

[E.ceunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — i?oc/ifstf7-. An inn yard. 

Enter a Carrier wit/i a lantern in his hand. 

First Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the 
day, I '11 be hanged : Charles' wain is over the new 
chinmey, and yet our horse not packed. What, 
ostler ! 

O.it. [ Within^ Anon, anon. 

First Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put 
a few flocks in tlie jioint ; poor jade, is wrung in the 
withers out of all cess. 

320 



Enter another Carrier. 

Sec. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a 
dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades tlie 
bots: this house is turned upside dowii since Robin 
Ostler died. 

First Car. Poor fellow, never joyed since the 
price of oats rose ; it was the death of liim. 

Sec. (.'(tr. I think this l)e tlie most vilhuious house 
in all London road for lleas: I am stung like a tench. 

First Car. Like a tench ! by the mass, there is 



ACT II. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene it. 



ne'er a king christen could be better bit than I have 
been since tlie first code. 

Sec. Car. Wliy, they \Yill allow us ne'er a Jordan, 
and tlieuwe leak in your chimney; and your cham- 
ber-lie breeds tieas like a loach. 

First Car. ^\■hat, ostler! come away and be 
hanged ! come away. 

Sec. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes 
of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charingcross. 

First Car. God's body ! the turkeys in my ijaiinier 
are quite starved. What, ostler! A plague on tiiee ! 
hast thou never an eye in thy head 't canst not hear ? 
Au 'twere not as good deed as drink, to break the 
pate on thee, I am a. very villain. Come, and be 
hanged ! hast no faith in thee ':" 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What 's o'clock? 

First Car. I think it be two o'clock. 

Gads. I prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
gelding in the stable. 

First Car. Nay, by God soft ; I know a trick 
worth two of that, i' faith. 

Gads. I pray tliee, lend me thine. 

Sec. Car. Ay, when i* canst tell":' Lend me thy 
lantern, quoth he '? marry, I '11 see thee Iiauged lirst. 

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to 
come to London ? 

Sec. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, 
I warrant thee. Come, neighbor jMugs, we '11 call 
up the gentlemen : they will along with company, 
for they have great cliarge. [Fxeunt Carriers. 

Gads. Wliat,ho! chamberlain! 

Chain. [Witliin] At hand, quoth pick-purse. 

Gads. Tliat 's even as fair as — at hand, quoth 
the chaiiiljerlain ; for thou variest no more from 
picking of purses than giving direction doth from 
labouring ; thou layest the plot how. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow. Master Gadshill. It holds 
current that I told you yesternight : tliere 's a fraidc- 
lin in the wild of Kent hath brnunht tliree liundred 
marks witli him iu gold : 1 lieard liini tell it to one 
of his company last ninht at supper; a kind of 
auditor; one that hath abundanrc of charge too, 
God knows what. Tliey are up ahi-ady. and call 
for eggs and butter: they will away iin-smtly. 

Gads. iSirrah, if they meet not with Saint i^ich- 
o!as' clerks, 1 '11 give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, 1 "11 none of it: I pray thee keep that 
for the hangman; for I know thou worshippest 
Saint Xicliolas as truly as a man of falsi'liood may. 

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman ? 
if I hang, I '11 make a fat pair of gallo\vs ; for if I 
hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou know- 
est lie is no starveling. Tut ! there are other Ti'o- 
jans that thou dreaniest not of, the wliich for sport 
sake are content t<i d«> tlie pidlessinn some grace; 
that would, if matters should be locjkeil info, tor 
their own credit sake, make all whole. 1 am joined 
with no foot-laud rakers, no long-staff sixjieuny 
strikers, none of these mad mustachio jiuriile-hued 
malt-worms; but with noliility and tiamiuillity, 
burgomasters and great oneyers, such as ran hold 
in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak 
sooner tlian drink, and di'ink sooner than pray: and 
yet, 'zomiils, I lie ; for they pray continually to tlieir 
saint, the eonunonwealth ; or rather, not pray to 
her, but prey on her, for they ride up and down on 
her and make her tlieir boots. 

Cham. Wliat, the commonwealth their boots ? 
will she hold out water in foul way ? 

Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored 
her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have 
the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisilile. 

Cham. Nay, by my faith, I tliink you are more 
21 



beholding to the night than to fern-seed for your 
walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a share 
in our purchase, as I am a true man. 

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a 
false thief. 

Gads. Go to ; ' homo ' is a common name to all 
men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of tlie 
stable. Farewell, you muddy kiiave. [iiceuiii. 

SCENE II.— The hiyhioay, near Gadshill. 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
Poins. Come, shelter, slielter: I have removed 
Falstaff 's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. 
Prince. Stand clo.se. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins! 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a 
brawling dost thou keep ! 

Fal. Where 's Poins, IL-il ? 

Prince. He is walked up to the top of the hill: 
I '11 go seek him. 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's com- 
pany: the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied 
liim I know not where. If 1 travel but four foot 
by the squier further afoot, I shall lueak my wind. 
Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all 
this, if I 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I 
have forsworn his company hourly any time this 
two and twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with 
the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given 
me medicines to make me love him, I '11 be hanged; 
it could not be el.se; I have drunk medicines. 
Poins! Hal! a plague uiion you both! Bardolph! 
Peto ! I '11 starve ere I '11 rob a toot further. An 
'twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true 
man and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest 
varlet tliat ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards 
of uneven ground is threescore ami ten miles afoot 
with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it 
well enough : a plague upon it when thieves cannot 
be true one to another! [They vldstle.] Whew! 
A plague upon you all ! Give me my horse, you 
rogues; give me my lioise, and be hanged ! 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine 
ear close to tlie ground and list if thou canst hear 
the tread of travellers. 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, 
being down ^ ' 'Sblood, I '11 not bear mine ownllesh 
so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father's 
exchequer. \Vhat a plague mean ye to colt me 
thus 'r* 

Prince. Thou liest ; thou art not colted, thou art 
uncolted. 

Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my 
horse, good king's son. 

Prince. Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler? 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent 
garters! If I be ta'en, I '11 peach for this. An I 
liave not ballads made on you all and sung to liltiiy 
tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison : when a jest 
is so forward, and afoot too ! I hate it. 

Enter Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto with him. 

Gads. Stand. 

Fal. So I do, against my will. 

Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bar- 
dolph, what news? 

Bard. Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 
there 's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 
't is going to the king's exchequer. 

Fal. You lie, ye rogue; 'tis going to the kmg's 
tavern. 

Gads. There 's enough to make us all.. 

Fal. To be hanged. 

321 



ACT II. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene hi. 



Prince. Sirs, you four shall front theui in the nar- 
row lane ; Ned Poins and I will walk lower : if they 
'scape from your encounter, then they light ou us. 

Feto. How many be there of them ? 

Oads. Some eight or ten. 

Mil. 'Zounds, will they not rob us? 

Prince. What, a coward. Sir John Paunch ? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- 
lather; but yet no coward, Hal. 

Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof. 

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
hedge : when thou needest him, there thou shalt find 
liini. Farewell, and stand fast. 

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be 
hanged. 

Prince. Ned, where are our disguises i* 

Poins. Here, hard by: stand close. 

[Exeunt Prince and Poins. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, 
say I : every man to his business. 

Enter the Travellers. 

First Trav. Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead 
our horses down tlie hill ; we '11 walk afoot awhile, 
and ease our legs. 

Thieves. Stand! 

Travellers. Jesus bless us ! 

Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' 
throats : ah ! ^horeson caterpillars ! bacon-fed 
knaves! they hate us youth: down with thein : 
fleece them. 

Travellers. O, we are undone, both we and ours 
for ever ! 

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone V 
No, ye fat chuffs ; I would your store were here ! 
On, bacons, on ! What, ye" knaves ! young men 
must live. You are grandj urors, are ye V we 11 j ure 
ye, 'faith. 

[Here they roh them and hind them. Exeunt. 

Se-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. 
Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go mer- 
rily to London, it would be argument for a week, 
laughter for a month and a good jest for ever. 

Poins. Stand close ; I hear them coming. 

Miter the Thieves again. 

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then 

to horse before day. An the Prince and Poins be 

not two arrant cowards, there 's no equity stirring : 

there 's no more valour in that Poins than in a 

Prince. Your money! [wild-duck. 

Poins. Villains! 

[As the// are sharing, the Prince and Pnins sff 
upon them; they all run away; and Falstalf, 
after a blow or two, runs away too, leacinij 
the booty behind tkcin.] 
Prince. Got "with much ease. Now merrily to 
horse : 
The thieves are all scatter'd and possess'd with fear 
So strongly that they dare not meet each other; 
Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
And lards the lean earth as he walks along : 
Were 't not for laughing, 1 should pity him. 
Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE lll.— mtrhcorth castle. 

Enter Hotspur, solus, reading a letter. 

Hot. ' But, for mine own part, my lord, I could 

be well contented to be there, in respect of the love 

I bear your house.' He could be contented: why 

is he not, then V In respect of the love he bears our 

house : he shows in this, he loves his own barn 

better than he loves ^oiu' house. Let me see some 

.322 



more. ' The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; ' 
— why, that 's certain : 't is dangerous to take a cold, 
to sleep, to drink ; but I tell you, my lord fool, out 
of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 
' The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; the 
friends you have named uncertain ; the time itself 
unsorted ; and your whole plot too light for the 
counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you 
so, say you so V I say unto you again, you are a 
shallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack- 
brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot 
as ever was laid ; our friends true and constant; a 
good plot, good friends, and full of expectation ; an 
excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty- 
spirited rogue is tlus! Why, my lord of York com- 
mends the plot and the general course of the action. 
'Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain 
him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, 
my uncle and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my 
lord of York and Owen Glendower? is there not 
besides the Douglas ? have I not all their letters to 
meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? 
and are they not some of them set forward already ? ■ 
What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you 
shall see now in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, 
will he to the king and lay "pen all our proceedings. 
O, I could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving 
such a dish of skim milk witli so honourable an ac- 
tion! Hang him! let him tell the king: we are 
prepared. I will set forward to-night. 

Enter Lady Percy. 
How now, Kate ! I must leave you within these two 
hours. 

Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone ? 
For what offence have I this fortnight been 
A banish"d woman from my Harry's bed ? 
Tell me, sweet lord, wliat is 't that takes from thee 
Thy stomach, pleasiu-e and thy golden sleep ? 
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth. 
And start so often when tliou sit'st alone? 
Why hast thou lost the fresh bluod in thy cheeks; 
And given my treasures and my rights of thee 
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy? 
In thy faint slumbers 1 by tliee have v.'atch'd, 
And heard tliee murmur tales of iron wars; 
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed: 
Cry ' Courage ! to the field ! ' And thou hast talk'd 
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, 
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets. 
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin. 
Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain, 
And all the currents of a heady fight. 
Thy siiiiit within ti.ee uatli been so at war 
And tluis liatli so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, 
That beads of sweat have stood uponthy brow, 
Like bubbles in a late-distvu'bed stream; 
And in tliy face strange motions have appear'd. 
Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
Oil some great sudden best. O, what portents are 

these? . 
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
And I must know it, else he loves me not. 

Hot. What, ho ! 

Enter Servant. 
Is Gillianis with the packet gone ? 

Srri\ He is, my lord, an hour ago. [sheriff? 

Hot. Ilath Butler brought those horses from the 

Scrr. One horse, my Inrd, he brought even now. 

Hot. "What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 

ticrv. It is, my lord. 

Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 

Well, I will back him straight: O esperance! 
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. 

[Exit Servant. 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say'st thou," my lady? 



ACT II. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



Lady. What is it carries j'ou away ? 

Hot. Why, my horse, Kiylove, my horse. 

Ladij. Out, yon mad-headed ape! 
A weasel halii not such a deal of spleen 
As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
I '11 know your business, Harry, that I will. 
I fear n)y brother ilortiuier doth stir 
About his title, and liath sent for you ■ 
T<,> line his enterprise: but if you go, — 

Hot. So far afoot, I siiall be weary, love. 

Lady. Come, come, you para(iuito, answer me 
Directly unto this qnestion that I ask : 
In faith, I '11 break tliy little finger, Harry, 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hot. Away, 
Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not, 
I care not for tliee, Kate: this is no world 
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips: 
AVe must have bloody noses and crack 'd crowns. 
And pass them current too. God's me, my horse ! 
AVhat say'st thou, Kate '? what would'st thou have 
with rue ? 

Ladij. Do J'OU not love me? do you not, indeed ? 
W:'!l, do not "then; for since you love uie not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love nie ? 
Xay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. 

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? 
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear 
I love thee intinitely. But hark you, Kate; 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Wliither I go, nor reason whereabout : 
AVliither I must, I must; and, to conclude, 
Tliis evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise, but yet no farther wise 
Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are, 
But yet a woman ; and for secrecy, 
Xo lady closer; for I well believe 
Tliou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; 
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. 

Ladij. How ! so far ? 

lint. Xot an inch further. But hark you, Kate: 
AVliither I go, thither shall you go too; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. 
Will this content you, Kate ? 

Lady. It must of force. [Exeunt. 

SCENE TV.— The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap. 
Enter the Prince and Poins. 

Prince, ifed, prithee, come out of that fat room, 
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 

Poins. AVhere hast been, Hal ? 

Prince. With three or four loggerheads amongst 
three or four score hogsheads. I liave sounded the 
very base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn 
brother to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all 
by tlieir christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. 
They take it already upon their salvation, that 
tliough I be but Priuce of Wales, yet I am the king 
of courtesy ; and tell me flatly 1 am no proud Jack, 
like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a 
good boy, by the Lord, so they call me, and when I 
am king of England, I shall command all the good 
lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing 
scarlet ; and wlien you breathe in your watering, 
they cry 'hem!' and bid you play it off. To con- 
clude, 1 am so good a protieient in one quarter of 
an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his 
own language during my life. I "tell thee, Xed, 
thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with 
me in this action. But, sweet Xed, — to sweeten 
which name of Xed, I give thee tliis pennyworth of 
sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under- 
skiuker, oue that never spake other English in his 
life than ' Eight shillings and sixpence,' and ' You 
are welcome,' with this shrill addition, ' Anon, 
anon, sirl Score a pint of bastard in tlie Half- 



moon,' or so. But, Xed, to drive away the time 
till Falstaff come, I pritliee, do thou stand in some 
by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what 
end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave 
calling ' Francis,' that his tale to me may be noth- 
iui^but 'Anon.' Step aside, and I'll show thee a 

Poins. Francis! Qjrecedent. 

Prince. Thou art perfect. 

Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins. 

Enter Francis. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the 
Pomgarnet, Ralph. 

Prince. Come hither, Francis. 

Fran. My lord ? 

Prince. How long hast thou to sen-e, Francis ? 

Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to — 

Poins. [Within] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

Prince. Five year! by 'r lady, a long lease for the 
clinking of pew'ter. But, Francis, darest thou be 
so valiant as to play tlie coward witli thy indenture 
and show it a fair pair of heels and run from it ? 

Fran. O Lord, sir, I "11 be sworn upon all the 
books in England, I could find in my heart. 

Poins. [mthin] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, sir, 

Prince. How old art thou, Francis? 

Fran. Let me see — about Michaelmas next I shall 

Poins. [Wilhiu] Francis! [be — 

Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord. 

Prince. Xay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar 
thou gavest me, 't was a pennyworth, wast "t not ? 

Fran. O Lord, I would it had been two! 

Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : 
ask me wh?n thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 

Poins. [Within] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon. 

Prince. Anon, Francis? Xo, Francis; but to- 
morrow, Francis; or Francis, o' Thursday: or in- 
deed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis! 

Fran. My lord ? 

Prince. Wilt thou robtliis leathern jerkin, crystal- 
button, not-pated , agate-ring, ]inke-stocking,caddis- 
garter, smooth-tongue. Spanisli-pouch, — 

Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean ? 

Prince. Why, then, your brown bastard is your 
only drink ; for look you, Francis, your white canvas 
doublet will sully : in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to 

Fccn). What, sir? [so much. 

Poins. [Within] Francis! 

Prince. Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear 
them call? [Here they both call him; the drawer 
stands amazed, not knoiciny ichich way to go. 

Filler Vintner. 

Vint. What, standest thou still, and liearest such 
a calling ? Look to the guests witliin. [Exit Fran- 
cis.] My lord, old Sir John, with lialf-a-dozen more, 
are at tiie door: shall I let them in ? 

Prince. Let them alone awliile, and then open 
the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 

Be-enter Poins. 

Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 

Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves 
are at the door : shall we be merry ? 

Poins. As merry as crickets, ray lad. But hark 
ye; what cunning match have you made with this 
jest of the drawer? come, what 's the issue? 

Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed 
themselves humours since tlie old days of goodman 
Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock 
at midnight. ^ „ 

Re-enter Francis. 

What 's o'clock. Francis ? 
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit. 

323 



ACT IT. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



Prinrc. Tlmt ever this fellow should have fewer 
words than a parrot, and }'et tlie son of a woman ! 
His industry is np-stairs and down-stairs; his elo- 
queufc the i)arcel of a reekoninc;. I am not yet of 
Percy's mind, the Ilotsjiur of the north; he that 
kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a break- 
fast, washes his hands, and says to his wife Tie 
upon this quiet life I I want work.' ' O my sweet 
}Iarry,' says she, ' how many hast thou killed to- 
day?"' 'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he; 
and answers 'Some fourteen,' an hour after; 'a 
trille, a tdHe.' I prithee, call in Falstaff : I '11 play 
I'erev, and that damned brawn shall play Dame 
Mortimer liis wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. 
Call in riljs, call in tallow. 

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto; 
Francis following toith vnne. 

Poins. AVelcome, Jack : where hast thou been ? 

Fal. A plague ot all cowards, I say, and a ven- 
geance too! marry, and amen! Give me a cup of 
sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I '11 sew nether 
stocks and mend them and foot them too. A plague 
of all cowards ! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is 
tliere no virtue extant? [He drinJcs. 

Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of 
butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the 
sweet tale of the sun's! if thou didst, then behold 
tliat compound. 

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: 
there is i)othi)ig but ro:;uery to be found in villan- 
ous man : yet a. cowanl is worse than a cup ot sack 
witli lime in it. A viHaiious coward ! Go thy ways, 
old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good 
manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, 
then am I a shotten lierring. There live not three 
good men unhanged in England; and one of them 
is fat and grows old: God help the while! a bad 
world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could 
sing psalms or anything. A plague of all cowa'rds, 
1 say still. 

Prince. How now, wool-sack I what mutter you ? 

Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of 
thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all 
thy subjects afore tliee like a flock of wild-geese, 
I '11 never wear hair on my face more. You Prince 
of Wales ! 

Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what 's 
the matter ? 

Fal. Are not you a coward ? answer me to that : 
and Poins there ? 

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me 
coward, by the Lord, I '11 stab thee. 

Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned 
ere 1 call thee coward : but I would give a thousand 
pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are 
straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who 
sees your back : call you that backing of your friends? 
A plague upon such backing ! give me them that 
will face me. Give me a cup of sack : I am a rogue, 
if I drunk to-day. 

Prince. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since 
thou drunkest last. 

Fal. All "s one for that. [He drinls.] A plague 
of all cowards, still say I. 

Prince. What's the matter? 

Fal. AVhat 's the matter! there be four of us here 
have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning. 

Prince. Wliere is it, .lack? where is it? 

Fal. Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred 
upon poor four of us. 

Prince. What, a hundred, man? 

Fal. 1 am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with 
a dozen of them two hiuirs together. I have "scajied 
by miracle. 1 am eight times thrust through the 
doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut 
through and through; my sword hacked like a 
324 



hand-saw — ecce signnm ! I never dealt better since 
I was a man : all would not do. A plague of all cow- 
ards! Let them speak : if they speak more or less 
than truth, they are villains and the sous of ilark- 

Prince. Speak*sirs; how was it? [ness. 

Gads. We four set upon some dozen — 

Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord. 
■ Gads. AikI bound them. 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of 
them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven 
fresh men set upon us — [other. 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the 

Prince. What, fought you \vith them all ? 

Fed. All ! I know not what you call all; but if I 
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of rad- 
ish : if there were not two or three and fifty upou 
poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. 

Prince. Pray God you have not murdered some 
of them. 

P\d. Kay, that's past ]iraying for: I have pep- 
pered two of them ; two I am sure I have paiil, two 
rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if 
I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou 
knowest my old ward ; here I lay, and thus I liore my 
point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me — 

Prince. What, four? tliou saidst but two even now. 

Fal. Pour, Hal ; I told thee four. 

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These tour came all a-front, and mainly 
thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took 
all their seven points in my target, thus. [now. 

Prince. Seven? why, there were but four even 

Fal. In buckram ? 

Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 

Prince. Prithee, let him alone ; we shall have more 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? [anon. 

Prince. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These 
nine in buckram that I told thee of — 

Prince. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, — 

Poins. Down fell their hose. 

Fal. Began to give me ground: but I followed 
me close, came in foot and hand ; and with a thought 
seven of the eleven I paid. 

Prince. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown 
out ot two ! 

Fed. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 
begotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back 
and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that 
thou eouldst not see thy hand. 

Prince. These lies are like their father that begets 
them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, 
thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou 
whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-catch, — 

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not 
the truth the truth? 

Priiii-e. Why, how couldst thou know these men 
in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst 
not see thy liand? come, tell us your reason: what 
sayest thou to this? 

Poins. Come, your reason. Jack, your reason. 

Fed. What, upon compulsion ? 'Zounds, an I were 
at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I 
would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a rea- 
son on compulsion ! if reasons were as plentiful as 
blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon 
compulsion, I. 

Prince. I '11 be no longer guilty of this sin ; this 
sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback- 
breaker, this huge hill of (lesh,— 

Fal. 'S blood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you 
dried neat's tongiie, you bull's pizzle, you stock -fish ! 
O for breath to utter what is like thee ! you tailor's- 



ACT IT. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing- 
tuik, — 

Prince. AVell, breathe awhile, and then to it again : 
and wlieu thou hast tired thyself in base conipari- 
suns, liear nie sijeak but this. 

I'oins. Mark, Jack. 

Prince. We two saw you four set on four and 
bound them, and were masters of their wealtli. 
Mark now, Iiow a plain tale shall put you down. 
Then did we two set on you four; and, with a word, 
out-faced you from your prize, and have it ; yea, 
and can show it you here in the house: and, Fal- 
stalf , you carried >our guts away as nimbly, with as 
quick dexterity, and roared for mercy and still run 
ajid roared, as e\er I heard bull-calf. What a slave 
art tliou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and 
then say it was in fight 1 AVIuit trick, what device. 
What starting-hole, canst thou now find out to hide 
thee from this open and apparent shame? 

Poiiis. Come, let "s hear. Jack ; what trick hast 
thou now ? 

Pal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that 
made ye. Why, hear you, my masters: was it for 
lue to kill the lieir-apparenf:' sliould I turn upou 
tlie true prince ? why, tliou knowest I am as valiant 
as Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion will not 
touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter; 
I was now a coward on instinct. I shall tliink the 
better of myself and thee during my life; I for a 
valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by 
the Lord, lads, I am glad you have tlie money. 
Hostess, clap to the doors: w'atch to-uight, pray 
to-morrow. Gallants, lads, bojs, liearts of gold, all 
the titles of good fellowship come to you ! What, 
shall we be merry ? shall we have a play extempore ? 

Prince. Content; and the argument shall be thy 
running away. 

Fal. Ah, no more of tliat, Hal, an thou lovest me ! 

Enter Hostess. 

Host. O Jesu, my lord the prince! 

Prince. How now, my lady the hostess I what say- 
est thou to me y 

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the 
court at door would speak with you: he says he 
comes from your father. 

Prince. Give him as much as will make him a 
royal man, and send him back again to my mother. 

Pul. Wliat manner of man is he"/ 

Host. An old man. 

Fal. AVliat doth gravity out of his bed at mid- 
night V Shall I give him his answer ? 

Prince. Prithee, do, Jack. 

Fal. 'Faith, and I '11 send him packing. [Exit. 

Prince. Xow, sirs: by 'r lady, you fought fair; 
so did you, Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you are 
lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not 
toui-li tlie true prince; no, fie! 

Pard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

Prince. 'Faitli, tell me no\v ui earnest, how came 
Falstaff's sword so hacked V 

Ptto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and 
said he would swear truth out of England but he 
woulil make you believe it was done in fight, and 
persu.ided us to do the like. 

Hard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
grass to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our 
garments with it and swear it was tlie blood of true 
men. I did that I did not this seven year before, I 
blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 

Prince. O villain, thoustolest a cup of sack eight- 
een years ago, and wert taken with the manner,"and 
ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou 
liadst lire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran- 
iiest away: wliat instinct hadst thou for itV 

Pa rd. ily lord, do you see these meteors ? do you 
beholil tliese exhalations 'i 



Prince. I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend ? 
Prince. Hot livers and cold" piu-ses. 
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
Prince. Xo, if rightly taken, halter. 

Re-enter Falstaff. 
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare -bone. How 
now, my sweet creature of bombast! How long 
is "t ago. Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee ? 

Fal. My own knee ! when I was about thy years, 
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist ; I could 
have crept into any alderman's thmiib-ring: a 
plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up 
like a bladder. There 's villanous news abroad : 
here was Sir John Bracy from your father; you 
must to the court in the morning. That same mad 
fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales, that 
gave Amamon the bastinado and made Lucifer 
cuckold and swore the devil his true liegeman upou 
the cross of a Welsh hook — what a plague call you 
him ? 

Poins. O, Glendower. 

Fal. Owen, Owen, tlie same; and his son-in-law 
Mortimer, and old Xorthumberland, and that 
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' 
liorseback up a hill perpendicular, — 

Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his 
pistol kills a sparrow (lying. 

Fal. You have hit it. 

Prince. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him ; 
he will not run. 

Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to 
praise him so for running ! 

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will 
not budge a foot. 

Prince. Y'es, Jack, upon instinct. 

Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there 
too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps 
more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy fa- 
ther's beard is turned white with the news: you 
may buy land now as cheap as stinking maclcerel. 

Prince. Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot 
June and this civil buffeting hoUl, we shall buy 
maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by. the liundreds. 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like 
we sliall have good trading that way. But tell me, 
Hal, art not thou horrible afeard ? thou being lieii- 
ai)parent, could the world pick tine out three sucii 
enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit 
Percy, and tliat devil Glendower? Art thou not 
horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill at it ";' 

Prince. Xot a wit, i' faith; I lack some of thy 
instinct. 

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow 
when thou comest to thy father : if tliou love me, 
practise an answer. 

Prince. Do thou stand for my father, aud examine 
me upon the particulars of my life. 

Fal. Shall I '? content : this cliair shall be my 
state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cusliiou my 
crown. 

Prince. Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy 
golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious 
rich crown for a pitiful bald crowu! 

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be notquite out of 
tliee, now shalt thou be moved. Give n>e a cup of 
sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be 
thought I have wejit ; for I must speak in passion, 
and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein. 

Prince. Well, here is my leg. 

Fal. And here ismyspeech. Stand aside, nobility. 

Jfost. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith ! 

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears 
are vain. 

Host. O, the father, how he holds his countenance I 



ACT IT. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scekte tv. 



Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful 
queen ; 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these har- 
lotry players as ever I see ! 

Jb'al. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle- 
brain. Harry, I do not only marvel where tliou 
sjiendest thy time, but also how thou art accom- 
panied ; for thougli the camomile, the more it is 
trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more 
it is wasted the sooner it wears. That thou art my 
son, I have partly tliy mother's word, partly my 
own opinion, but chieHy a villanous trick of thine 
eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, tliat doth 
warrant me. If then tliou be son to me, here lies 
the point ; why, being son to me, art thou so pointed 
at ? Shall tlie blessed sun of heaven prove a micher 
and eat blackberries ? a question not to be asiced. 
Shall tlie son of England prove a thief and take 
purses? a question to be asked. There is a thing, 
Harry, which thou hast often heard of and it is 
known to many in our land by the nivne of pitch: 
this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth detile; 
so doth the company tliou keepest : for, Harry, now 
I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in 
pleasure but in passion, not in words only, bat in 
woes also : and yet there is a virtuous man whom I 
have often noted in thy company, but I know not 
his name. 

Prince. What manner of man, an it like your 
majesty V 

Jf\d. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpu- 
lent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most 
noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, 
or, by 'r lady, inclining to three score; and now I 
remember me, liis name is Falstatf: if that man 
should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, 
Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree 
may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, 
then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in 
that Falstatf : liiui keep with, the rest banish. And 
tell me now, tlicni nauglity varlet, tell me, where 
hast thou been tiiis month ? 

Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Ho thou 
stand for me, and I '11 play my father. 

Fal. Depose me ? if thou do.st it half so gravely, 
so majestically, both in w<n-d and matter, hang me 
up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's 

Prince. Well, here I am set. [hare. 

Fal. And here I stand: judge, my masters. 

Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you ? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. [ous. 

Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are griev- 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, tliey are false: nay, I'll 
tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. 

Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
fortli ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried 
away from grace : there is a devil haunts thee in 
the likeness of an old fat man ; a tun of man is thy 
companion. Why dost thou converse with tliat 
truidc of humoiu-s, that liolting-hutch of beastliness, 
that sw^olleii parcel of (Iropsics, tliat huge liouibard 
oi sark, that stuffcil rliiak-bag ofguts, that masted 
ManningU'ee o:c with the pudding in his belly, that 
reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that lather ruthan, 
that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to 
taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, 
but to carve a capon and eat it ? wherein cunning, 
but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? 
wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein 
worthy, but in nothing ? 

Fal. I would your grace would take me with 
you : whom means your grace ? 

Prince. That vill'amms abominable misleader of 
youth, Falstatf, that old white-bearded Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 

Prince. I know thou dost. 
326 



Fal. But to say I know more harm in him tlian 
in myself, were to say more than I know. That he 
is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witne.'-s 
it; but that he is, saving your reverence, a whore- 
master, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be 
a fault, God help the wicked ! if to be old and merry 
be a sin, then many an old host that I know is 
damned : if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 
lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ; 
banish Peto, banish Bardolpli, banish Poiiis: but 
for sweet Jack Falstatf, kind .la<'k Falstatf. true 
Jack Falstatf, valiant Jack Falstatf. and therefore 
more valiant, being, as he is, old ,Iack Falstatf, 
banish not him thy Harry's coniiiany, banish not 
him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, 
and banish all the world. 

Prince. I do, I will. [^l laiocking heard. 

[Exeunt IJoslcss, Francis, and Bardolpli. 

Be-enter Bardolph, running. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a 
most monstrous watch is at the door. 

Fal. Out, ye roguQ! Play out the play: I have 
much to say in the behalf of that Falstatf. 

Be-enter the Hostess. 

Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord I 

Prince. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a fid- 
dlestick: what's the matter? 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the 
door : they are come to search the house. Shall I 
let them in ? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a true piece 
of gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, 
witliout seeming so. [stinct. 

Prince. And thou a natural coward, without in- 

Fal. I deny your major: if }'ou will deny the 
sheriff, so ; if not, let him enter: if I become not a 
cart as well as another man, a plague on my bring- 
ing up ! I hope 1 shall as soon be strangled with a 
halter as another. 

Prince. Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest 
walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face 
and good conscience. 

Fal. Both which I have had: but their date is 
out, and therefore I '11 hide me. 

Prince. Call in the sheriff. 

[Exeunt all except the Prince and Peto. 

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. 
Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me ? 

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. 

Prince. What men ? [lord, 

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 

Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here; 
For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
Send liim to answer thee, or any man. 
For any thing he shall be charged withal : 
And so let me entreat you leave the house. 

S/ier. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen 
Have in tliis robljery lost three hundred marks. 

Prince. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men, 
He shall be answerable ; and so farewell. 

Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 

Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not ? 

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. 
[ISxejnit Sheriff and Carrier. 

Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as 
Paul's. Go, call him forth. 

Peto. Falstatf! — Fast asleep behind the arras, 
and snorting like a horse. 

Prince. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search 



ACT III. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



SCENE I. 



liis pockets. [lie searcheth his pockets, and findtth 
certain ijancrs.] What hast.tliou foimd 'i 
Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
Prince. Let 's see what they be: read them. 
Peto. [Beads] Item, A capon, . . .2s. 2d. 
Item, Sauce, ... 4d. 

Item, Sack, two gallons, . 5s. Sd. 
Item, Anchovies and sack 

after supper, . . 2s. 6d. 

Item, Bread, . . . ob. 

Prince. O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth 



of bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! What 
there is else, keep close ; we '11 read it at more ad- 
vantage : there let him sleep till day. I "11 to the 
court in the morning. We must all to the wars, 
and thy place shall be honourable. I '11 procure 
this fat rogue a charge of foot ; and I know his 
death will be a march of twelve-score. The money 
shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with 
me betimes in the morning; and so, good morrow, 
Peto. [Exeunt. 

Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. 



J^CT III. 



SCENE I. — Bangor. The Archdeacon'' s house. 

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and 
Glendower. 

Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
And our induction full of iiros]>erous Impe. 

Hot. Lord Alortimer, and cousin (ileudower, 
Will you sit down V 

And uncle AVorcester: a plague upon it! 
I have forgot tlie map. 

Glend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur. 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you, liis cheek looks pale and with 
A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven. 

Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen 
Glendower spoke of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
Of burning cressets; and at my birth 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shaked like a coward. 

Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same 
season, if your mother's cat had but kittened, 
though yourself had never been born. 

Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was born. 

Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind. 
If you suppose as fearing you it shook. 

Glend. The heavens were all on tire, the earth did 
tremble. 

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens 
And nut in fear of your nativity. [o'^ tire, 

Diseased nature oftentinjes breaks forth 
In strange eniiitions; oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
Within her wondj ;" which, for enlargement striving. 
Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down 
Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your l)irtli 
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, 
In passion shook. 

Glend. Cousin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
To tell you once again that at my birth 
The front of heaven was full of tiery shajies. 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary; 
And all the courses of my life do show 
I am not in the roll of common men. 
Where is he Ifving, clipp'd in with the sea 
That chiiles the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, 
Which calls me pupil, or hatli read to mei:' 
And bring him out that is but woman's son 
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art 
And hold me pace in deep experiments. 

Hot. I think there 's no man speaks better Welsh. 
I '11 to dinner. [mad. 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you Avill make him 

Glend. 1 can call spirits from the vasty deep. 



Hot. Why, so can 1, or so can any man; 
But will they come when you do call for them ? 

Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command 
Tlie devil. 

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil 
By telling truth : tell truth and shame the devil. 
If thou have power to raise him, bring hini hither. 
And I '11 be sworn I have power to shame him hence. 
O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil I 

Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable 
chat. [head 

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made 
Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye 
And sandy-fiottom'd Severn have I sent him 
Bootless lionie and weather-beaten back. 

JJiit. Home without boots, ami in foul weather too! 
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name"? 

Glend. Come, here 's the map : shall we divide our 
According to our threefold order ta'en ';' [rigiit 

Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits very equally : 
Ejigland, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
By south and east is to my part assign'd: 
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
And all the fertile land within that bound, 
To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you 
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn; 
Which being sealed interchangeably, 
A business that this night may execute. 
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I 
And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth 
To meet ymir fatlier and the Scottish power. 
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
]\Iy father Glendower is not ready yet, 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen daj'S. 
AVitliin that space you may have drawn together 
Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen. 

Glend. A shorter time sliall send me to you, lords: 
xVnd in my conduct shall your ladies come; 
Prom whom you now nuist steal and take no leave, 
For there will be a world of water shed 
Upon the parting of your wives and you. [iiere. 

Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton 
In quantity equals not one of yours: 
See how tliis river comes me cranking in. 
And cuts me from the best of all my land 
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. 
I 'II have the current in this place damm'd up; 
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run 
In a new channel, fair and evenly; 
It shall not wind with such a deep indent, 
To rob me of so rich a bottom here. [doth. 

Glend. Not wind';' it shall, it must; you see it 

Mort. Yea, but 
^Mark liow he bears his course, and runs me up 
With like advardage on the other side; 
Gelding the ojiposed continent as much 
As ou the other side it takes from you. 

War. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here 
327 



ACT III. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene i. 



And on this north side win this cape of land; 
And tlien he runs straight and even. 

Hot. 1 "11 have it so: a little charge will do it. 

Glend. 1 '11 not have it alter'd. 

Hot. Will not you ? 

Glend. No, nor you shall not. 

IJot. Who shall say me nay ? 

. Gleml. AVhy, that will I. [Welsh. 

lint. Let me not understand you, then ; speak it in 

Glend. I can s])eiik English, lord, as well as you; 
For I was train'd up in the English court; 
Where, being lint young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty lovely well 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. ilarry. 
And I an) glad of it with all my heart : 
I lui.d rather be a kitten and cry mew 
Than unc of tliese same metre ballad-mongers; 
1 liad ratluT hear a brazen canstick turn'd. 
Or a dry whrcl grate on the axle-tree; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
Nothing so Huieh as mincing poetry : 
'X is likf llie forced gait of a shuffling nag. 

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 

H(jt. I do not care : 1 '11 give thrice so much land 
To any well-deserving friend; 
But iu the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
1 "11 cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone ? 

Glend. The moon sin lies fair; you may away by 
1 '11 haste the writer niid willial [night: 

Break with your whcs of urur departure hence: 
1 am afraiil my daughter will run mad, 
So nuicli she doteth ou her JIorti)ner. [E.tit. 

Mnrl. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! 

lint. 1 cannot choose : sonietinie he angers me 
With telling me of tlic nioldwarp and the ant. 
Of tlie dreamer Merlin and liis pro[ihecies. 
And of a dragon and a liulcss fish, 
A cli|)-wing"il grillin and a nioulten raven, 
A couching liou and a ramping cat. 
And such a deal of skind.>le-skamble stuff 
As puts me from my faith. 1 tell you what; 
He held me last lught at least nine hours 
In reckoning up the several devils' names [to,' 

Tliat were his lackeys: I cried ' hum,' and 'well, go 
But niark"d him not a word. O, be is as tedious 
As a tiri'd horse, a railing wife ; 
Worse tliaii a smoky house: I had rather live 
AVith cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, 
Than feed ou cates and have him talk to me 
In any summer-house in Christendom. 

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, 
Exceedingly well road, and profited 
In stranuc coiiccalnicnls, valiant as a lion 
And woiKh-oiis alfal.lc and as bountiful 
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 
He holds your temper in a hi^h respect 
And curbs himself even of his natural scope 
When you come 'cross his humour; faith, he does: 
I warrant you, that man is not alive 
Might so have tempted him as you have done, 
Without the taste of danger and reproof: 
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 

Wot. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; 
And since your coming hither have done enough 
To put him (piite beside his patience. 
You must neeils learn, lord, to amend this fault : 
Tliough sometimes it show greatness, courage, 

blood,— 
And that 's the dearest grace it renders you, — 
Yet oftentimes it dotli jircsent harsh rage. 
Defect oi' niainiers, want of government. 
Pride, liaughtiness, o|iiniiui and disdain: 
The least of which haunting a nobleman 
Loseth men's hearts anil leaves behind a stain 
328 



Upon the beauty of all parts besides, 
Beguiling tliem of commendation. [speed ! 

Hot. Well, I am school'd: good manners be your 
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. 

Be-enter Glendower with the ladies. 

Mort. This is the deadly spite that augers me ; 
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 

Glend. My daughter weeps: she will not part 
with you ; 
She '11 be a soldier too, she '11 to the wars. [Percy 

3Inrt. Good father, tell her that she and my aunt 
Sliall follow in your conduct speeilily. 
[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she ansxcers 
him in the same. 

Glend. She is desperate here; a peevish self-will'd 

harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon. 

[The kuhi speaks in Welsh. 

Mort. I understand thy looks : that pretty Welsh 
AVhich thou pour'st down from these swelling heav- 
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, [ens 

In such a parley should I answer thee. 

[27(6 lady speaks again in Welsh. 
I understand thy kisses and thou mine. 
And that 's a feeling disputation: 
But I will never be a truant, love. 
Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties higldy penu'd. 
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 
'With ravishing division, to her lute. 

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 
[The ludij speaks aijain in Welsh. 

Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this! [down 

Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you 
And rest your gentle head uiion her lap. 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you 
And on your eyelids crowu the god of sleep, 
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, 
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep 
As is the difference betwixt day and night 
The hour before the heaveidy-harness'd team 
Begins his golden progress iu the east. 

Mort. With all my heart I "11 sit and hear her sing : 
By that time will our book, 1 think, be drawn. 

Glend. Do so; 
And those nnisicians that shall play to you 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues fromJience, 
And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. 

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: 
come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy 

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. Pap. 

[The mnsic plays. 

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh ; 
And 't is no marvel he is so humorous. 
By 'r lady, he is a good musician. 

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical, 
for you are altogether governed by humors. Lie 
still, ye thief, andliear the lady sing in Welsh. [Irish. 

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl iu 

Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken V 

Hot. No. 

Lady P. Then be still. 

Hot. Neither ; 't is a woman's fault. 

Lady P. Now God help thee ! 

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 

Lady P. What "s that ? 

Hot. Peace ! she sings. 

[Here the lady sings a Welsh song. 

Hot. Come, Kate, I '11 have your song too. 

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! Heart ! you swear 
like a comfit-maker's wife. ' Not you, in good sooth ,' 
and ' as true as I live,' and ' as God shall mend me,' 
and ' as sure as day,' 

And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths. 
As if thou never walk'st further than Finsbury. 
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, 



ACT III. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene it. 



A good mouth-filling oath, and leave ' in sooth,' 
And snt-li prott'st of ]ieiiper-giiigerbread, 
To velvet -giiaids and Sunday-citizens. 
Come, sing. 

Lady P. I will not sing. 

Hot'. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I '11 
away withiu these two hours ; and so, come in when 
ye will. [Exit. 

Olend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as 
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. [slow 

]5y this our book is drawn ; we '11 but seal, 
And then to horse immediately. 

Jlort. ' With all my heart. [E.ccunt. 

SCENE II. — Lo)idon. Tlic palace. 

E)itcr the King, Prince of Wales, and others. 

Kinij. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales 
"and I [hand, 

^lust liave some private conference: but be near at 
For we shall presently have need of you. 

[E.tcunt Lords. 
I know not whether God will have it so, 
For some displeasing service I have done, 
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
lie '11 breed revengenient and a scourge for me; 
But thou <lci^t in tliy jiassages of life 
Make me IhIicvc tluit tliou art only mark'd 
For the hot vcngeinii'e and the rod of heaven 
To punish my uiist uMilinss. Tell me else, 
Could such inoriliiiMti- and low desires, 
Such poor, suclili;'!!. Midi lewd, sucli mean attempts, 
Such barren pleasiiics. rudf society, 
As thou art niatch'd withal and grafted to, 
Accomiiany tlie gnalnest; of tliy blood 
And hold their level with thy princely heart? 

JPriiice. So jiU-ase your majesty, I would I could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse 
As well as I am doubtless I can purge 
Myself of many I am charged withal : 
Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
'As, in reproof of many tales devised, 
-^Wlliich oft till' ear of greatness needs must hear, 
Ky "Ruling iii.k-thanks and base newsmongers, 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
Ilatlj faulty wandcr'd and irregular. 
Find pardon on my true submission. 

Kmy. God pardon thee ! yet let me wonder, Harry, 
At thy affect inns, which do hokl a wing 
Quite from the lliglit of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, 
Which by tiiy younger brother is supplied, 
And art almost an alien to tiie liearts 
Of all the court and princes of my blood : 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd, and tlie soul of every man 
Prophetically doth forethink thy fall. 
Had I so lavish of my presence been. 
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 
So stale and cheap to vulgar company. 
Opinion, that did help me to the crovvn, 
Had still kept loyal to possession 
And left nic in reputeless banishment, 
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. 
By being seldom seen, I could not stir 
But Iik<' a comet I was wonder'd at ; 
That men would tell their children ' This is he ; ' 
Others would say ' Where, which is BolingbrokeV ' 
And then I stole all coiu'tesy from heaven. 
And dress'll myself in such Inimility 
That 1 did i>lnck allegiance from men's hearts, • 
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 
Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
Thus di<l I kee]) my person fresh and new; 
My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at : and so my state, 



Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast 

And won by rareness such solemnity. 

The skipiiing king, he ambled up and down 

A\'ith shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, 

Soon kindled and soonl.iurnl ; lardcd his state, 

Mingled his royalty with capering fnols, 

Had'his great iianiV iirnfaned with their scorns 

And gave his ciuintrnanci', against his name, 

To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push 

Of every beardless vain comjiarative, 

Grew a companion to the common streets, 

Enfeoff'd himself to popularity ; 

That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes. 

They surfeited with honey and began 

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 

More than a little is by much too much. 

So when he had occasion to be seen, 

He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 

Heard, not regarded; s;een, but with such eyes 

As, sick and blunted with community, 

Afford no extraordinary gaze. 

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes; 

But ratlier drowzed and hung their eyelids dovATi, 

Slept in his face and render 'd such aspect 

As cloudy men use to their adversaries, 

Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full. 

And in that very line, Harry, standest thou; 

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege 

With vile participation : not an eye 

But is a-weary of thy common sight, 

Save mine, wliich hath desired to see thee more; 

Which now doth that I wt)uld not have it do, 

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 

Priiirc. I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, 
Be mf)re myself. 

KiiKj. For all the world 

As thou art to this hour was Richard then 
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh, 
And even as I was then is Percy now. 
Xow, by.my sceptre and my soul to hoot, 
lie hath more worthy interest to the state 
Than thou the shadow of succession: 
For of no right, nor colour like to right, 
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm. 
Turns head against the lion's armed j:nvs. 
And, l.icing no more in debt tn .\cars tlian thou, 
Leads ancient lords and rcM-rend bisliops on 
To bloody battles and to bruising arms. 
AV'hat never-dying honour hath lie got 
Against reno^^■ned Douglas! whose high deeds, 
AVIiose hut incursions and great name iu arms 
Holds I'riiin all soldiers chief majority 
And military title raiiital 

Through all the kingdouisthatacknowledge Christ : 
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes. 
This infant warrior, in his enteriu'ises 
Disc(unfited great Douglas, ta'eu him once, 
Knlarged liim and maiie a friend of hina. 
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up 
And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
Antl what say you to thisy Percy, Northumber- 
land, [mer, 
The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Morti- 
Capitnlate against us and are up. 
But wherefore do I tell the.se news to thee? 
A\'hy, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, 
AVhich art my near'st and dearest enemy? 
Thou that art lika enough, through vassal fear, 
Base inclination and the start of spleen. 
To fight against me under Percy's pay. 
To dog his heels and curtsy at his tinwns. 
To show how much thou art drg( luiate. 

Prince. Do net think sn ; you shall not find it so: 
And God forgi\e thcni that so much have sway'd 
YoTU' majesty's yoiid thoughts away from me! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head 
329 



ACT III. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene hi. 



Anrl in the closing of some glorious clay 

Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 

When I will wear a garment all of blood 

And stain my lavours in a bloody mask, 

AVhii'li, wiisli'il away, shall si'our my shame with it : 

And tliat sliall bi' the day, whene'er it lights, 

That this same cliild of honour and renown, 

This gallant: l!(itsi)nr, this all-praised knight. 

And your unthouglit-of Harry chance to meet. 

For every liduniir sitting on his helm, 

Would they wcic nmltitudes, and on my head 

My shames" rcddiililfd ! for the time will come. 

That I shall ma]<e tliis northern youth exchange 

His glorious deeds for my indignities. 

Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 

To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf ; 

And I will call him to so strict account. 

That he shall render every glory up. 

Yea, even tin' sliuhtest worship of his time, 

Or I will tear thr reckoning from his heart. 

This, in tlie name of (iod, I promise here : 

Tlie which if He be pleased I shall perform, 

I do beseech your majesty may salve 

The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: 

If not, the end of life cancels all bands; 

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths 

Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

King. A hundred tliousand rebels die in this; 
Thou Shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. 

Eyiter Blunt. 
How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed. 

Blunt. So bath the business that I come to speak 
Lord Iilortimer of Scotland hath sent word [of. 
Tluit Douglas and the English rebels met 
The eleventh of this montli at Shrew.sbury: 
A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
If promises l>e kei>t on every hand. 
As ever offer'd lonl play in a state. 

Kirifj. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day ; 
With him my son. Lord .John of Lancasty:; 
For tills advertisement is five days old: 
On AVednesday next, Harry, you sliall set forward: 
On Tliursday we ourselves will march : our meeting 
Is Bridgenorth : and, Harry, you shall inarch 
Througli Glimeestershire; Ijy which account. 
Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
Our general forces at Bridgenortli shall meet. 
Our hands are full of business : let 's away ; 
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. 

[E.vcunt. 

SCENE III. — Eastcheap. The Boar's-Head Tnccrn. 

Enter Falstaff coid Bardolph. 

Fed. Bardolph, am I not fallen a.way vilely 
since this last action ? do I not bate ? do I not 
dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an 
old lady's loose gown; I am withered like an old 
apple-john. Well, I '11 repent, and that suddenly, 
while I am in some liking:! shall be out of heart 
shortly, and then I sliall have no strength to repent. \ 
An I liave not forgotten what the inside of a church 
is made of, I am a pepperew-ii, a brewer's horse: 
the inside of a churcli! Company, villanous com- 
pany, bath been the spoil of me. 

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot 
live long. 

Fal. Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy 
song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given 
as a gentleman need to be ; virtuous enougli ; swore 
little; diced not aViove seven times a week; went to 
a bawdy-liouse not above once in a quarter — of an 
hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four 
times; lived well and in good ccnnpass; and now I 
live but of all order, out of all compass. 

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you 
330 



must needs be out of all compass, out of all reason- 
able compass. Sir John. 

Fed. Do thou amend thy face, and I '11 amend my 
life : thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern 
in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art 
the Knight of the Burning Lamp. 

Bard. Why, Sir Jolm, my face does you no harm. 

Fed. No. I '11 be sworn; I make as good use of 
it as many a man doth of a Death's-head or a me- 
mento inori : I never see thy face but I think upon 
liell-flre and Dives that lived in jiuriile ; for there he 
is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any 
way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face ; my 
oath should be ' By this Hre, that 's God'^ angel: ' 
but thou art altogether given over; and wert in- 
deed, but fw the light in thy face, the son of utter 
darkness, "^hen thou rannest up Gadshill in the 
night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou 
hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildtire, 
there 's no purchase in money. O, thou art a 
perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonti re-light! 
Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and 
torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt 
tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast 
drunk me would have bought me lights as good 
cheap at the dearest chandler's in Eurojie. I have 
maintained that salamander i>f yours with fire any 
time this two and thirty years; God reward me 
for it ! 

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your 
belly ! [burned. 

Fed. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be heart- 

Enter IJostess. 
How now, Dame Partlet the hen ! have you inquired 
yet who picked my pocket ? 

BeM. Why, Sir John, what do you think. Sir 
.Johny do you think I keep thieves in myliouse? 
I have searched, I have inquired, so has my hus- 
band, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant : 
the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. 

FaL Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and 
lost many a liair; and I "11 be sworn my pocket was 
picked. Go to, you are a woman, go. ' 

Bost. Who, ly no; I defy thee: God's_l;ight, I 
was iiever called so in mine own house before. 

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 

Bejst. No, Sir John; you do not know me. Sir 
.John. I know you. Sir John: you owe me money, 
Sir John ; and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me 
of it : I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. 

FaL Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them 
away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters 
of tliem. 

Jfnut. Now, as I am a true woman, hoUand of eight 
shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir 
John, for your diet and by-drin'kings, and money 
lent you, four and twenty pound. 

Fed. He had his part of it ; let him pay. 

Host. He V alas, he is poor; lie hath nothing. 

Fed. How! poorV look upon his face: what call 
you rich y let them coin his nose, let them coin his 
cheeks : I '11 not pay a denier. What, will you make 
a younker of .me? shall I not take mine ease in 
mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked ? I 
have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's worth 
forty mark. 

Btost. O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, I 
know not how oft, that that ring was copper ! 

Fed. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: 
'sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel him like 
a dog, if he would say so. 

Enter the Prince and Peto, marrhiiif/, ei.nd Falstaff 

meets them plai/ing on his trtiiiclniDi. like a fije. 
How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i' faith? 
must we ail march V 



ACT IV. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene r. 



Bard. Yea, two and two, Xewgate fashion. 

Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 

Prince. What sayestthou. Mistress Quickly? 
How doth thy husband V 1 love him w ell ; he is an 
honest man. 

lio.-it. Good my lord, hear me. 

Fal. Prithee, let her alone, and list to me. 

Prince. What sayest thou, Jaek ? 

Fal. The other night 1 fell asleep here behind the 
arras and had my pocket picked : this house is turned 
bawdy-house; they pick pockets. 

Prince. What didst thou lose, .Jack V 

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hall' three or four 
bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my 
grandfather's. 

Prince. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 

Host. So I told liim, my lord; and I said I heard 
your grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most 
vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is ; and 
said he would cudgel you. 

Prince. Wliatl lie did not ? 

Host. There 's neither faith, truth, nor woman- 
hood in me else. 

Fal. There 's no more faith in thee than in a 
stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee than in a 
drawn fox; and for womanhood, ilaid ilarian may 
be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you 
thing, go. 

Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 

Fal. What thing ? why, a thing to thank God on. 

Host. I am no tiling to thank God on, I would 
thou shouldst know it ; 1 am an honest man's wife: 
and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave 
to call me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a 
beast to say otherwise. ; 

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou ? 

Fal. AVhat beast! why, an otter. 

Prince. An otter, Sir John! why an otter? 

Fal. Why, she "s neitlier tish nor tiesh ; a man 
knows not where to have her. 

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou 
or any man knows where to have me, thou knave, 
thou! 

Prince. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he slan- 
ders thee most grossly. 

Host. So he doth you, my lord , and said this other 
day you ought him a thousand pound. 

Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? 

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy love 
is worth a million: thou owest me thy love. 

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said 
he would cudgel you. 

Fal. Did I, Jiardolph ? 

Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so. 

Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper. 

Prince. I say 't is copper : darest thou be as good 
as thy word now ? 

Fal. Wliy, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but 
man, I dare: but as thou art prince, I fear thee as 
I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 

Prince. And why not as the Hon? 

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion : 



dost thou think I '11 fear thee as I fear thy father ? 
nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle break. 

Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
about thy knees ! But, sirrah, tliere 's no room for 
faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; it 
is all tilled up with guts and midriff. Charge an 
honest woman with picking thy pocket! why,"thou 
whoreson, impuilent.emlio.ssed rascal, if there were 
anything in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, mem- 
orandums of ijawdy-houses, and one poor penny- 
worth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if 
thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries 
but these, I am a villain: and yet you will stand 
to it; you will not pocket up wrong: art thou not 
ashamed ? 

Fal. Uost thou hear, Hal ? thou knowest in the 
state of innocency Adam fell; and what should 
poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villany ? Thou 
seest I have more flesh tlian another man, and there- 
fore more frailty. You confess then, you picked 
my pocket ? 

Prince. It appears so by the story. 

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready 
breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
cherish thy guests: thou shalt lind me tractable to 
any honest reason : thou seest I am pacified still. 
Nay, prithee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, 
to the news at court : for the robbery, lad, how is 
that answered ? 

Prince. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
angel to thee : the money is paid back again. 

Fal. O, I do not like that paying back ; 't is a 
double labour. 

Prince. I am good friends with my father and 
may do anything. 

Fal. Hob me the exchequer the first thing thou 
doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of 
foot. 

Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall 
I find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief , 
of the age of two and twenty or thereabouts! I 
am lieinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked 
for these rebels, they offend none but the viituous: 
I laud them, 1 praise them. 

Prince. Bardolph! 

Bard. My lord? 

Prince, (io bear this letter to Lord .Tohn of Lan- 
caster, to my brotlier John; this to my Lord of 
Westmoreland. [Exit Bardolph.] Go. Peto, to horse, 
to horse; for thou and I have thirty miles to ride 
yet ere dinner-time. [Exit Pito.] .lack, meet me 
to-morrow in the temple hall at two o'clock in the 
afternoon. 

There shalt thou know thy charge ; and there re- 
ceive 
Money and order for their furniture. 
The land is burning ; Percy stands on high; 
And either we or they must lower lie. [Exit. 

Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my 
breakfast, come! 
O, I could wish this tavern were my drum ! [Exit. 



.ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Tlie rebel camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, "Worcester, and Douglas. 
Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : if speaking truth 



la this fine age were not thought flattery. 
Such attribution should tlie Ddugias have, 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
Suould go so general current through the world. 



By God, I cannot flatter; I do defy 
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place 
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself: 
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord. 

Boufj. Thou art the king of honour: 
No man so potent breathes upon the ground 
But I will beard him. 

Hot. Do so, and 't is well. 

331 



'\ 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene ii. 



Enter a Messenger with letters. 
Whiit letters hast thou there? — I can but thank you. 

Mess. These letters come from your father. 

Hoi. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself? 

Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick. 

Hot. 'Zounils ! how has he the leisure to be sick 
In such a justling time ? Who leads his power ? 
Under whose government come they along ? 

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 

Wor. I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed ? 

Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; 
And at the time of my departure tlience 
He was mucli fear'd by liis phy^-vrians. 

Wor. I would the state of time liad first been whole 
Ere lie by sickness had been visited : 
His healtli was never better worth than now. [feet 

Hot. Sick now I droop now ! this sickness doth in- 
The very life-blood of our enterprise; 
'T is catching hither, even to our camp. 
He writes me here, tliat inward sickness — 
And that his friends by deputation could not 
So soon be drawn, nor did lie think it meet 
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
On any soul removed but on his own. 
Yet dotli he give us bold advertisement, 
That with our small coiij unction we should on, 
To see liow fortune is disposed to us; 
For, as he writes, there is no (luaillng now, 
Because tlie king is certainl> pcissess'd 
Of all our purpose.s. What say you to it ? 

Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd olf : 
And yet, in faith, it is not; his present want 
Seems more tlian we shall And it: were it good 
To set the exact wealtli of all our states 
All at one cast ? to set so rich a main 
On the nice liazard of one doubtful hour? 
It were not good ; for therein should we read • 
The very bottom and the soul of hope, 
Tlie very list, the very utmost bound 
Of all our fortunes. 

Domj. 'Faith, and so we should ; 

AVhere now remains a sweet reversion : 
We may boldly spend upon tlie hope of what 
Is to come in : 
A comfort of retirement liv£S in this. 

Hot. A rendezvous, a liome to Hy unto. 
If that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon tlie maidenhead of our affairs. 

Wor. But yet I would your father had been here. 
The quality and hair of our attempt 
Brooks no division: it will be thought 
By some, tliat know not wliy he is away. 
That wisdom, loyalty and mere dislike 
Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence: 
And think how such an aiiiireliension 
!May turn the tide of fearful faction 
And bieeil a kind of question in our cause; 
For well you know we of the offering side 
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, 
And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence 
The eye of reason may pry in upon us: 
This absence, of your father's draws a curtain, 
Tliat shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. You strain too far. 

I rather of his absence make this use; 
It lends a lustre and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprise. 
Than if the ear! were liere; for men must think. 
If we witlioiit his help can make a head 
To push against a kingdnni, with liis help 
We .shall o'erturn it t(iiis\-lm\y down. 
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 

Dowj. As heart can think : tiiere is not such a word 
Spoke of in Scotland as tiiis term of fear. 
332 



Enter Sir Richard Vernon. 

Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 

T'cr. Pray (Jod my news be worth a welcome, lord. 
The Earl of Westmoreland, .seven thousand strong, 
I.s marching hitlierwards; with him Friiice John. 

Hot. JN'oharm: what more? 

Ver. And further, I have learn'd, 

The king himself in person is set forth. 
Or hitlierwards intended speedily, 
AVMtli strong and miglity preparation. 

Ildt. lie shall be welcome too. Where is his son, 
The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, 
And liis comrades, that daff'd the world aside, 
And bid it pass ? 

I'er. All fumisli'd, all in arms; 

All plumed like estridges that with the wind 
Baited like eagles having lately bathed; 
Glittering in golden coats, like images; 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, with liis beaver on. 
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly ann'd. 
Rise from the gniund'like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat, 
As if an angel di(ji>p"d down from tlie clouds, 
To turn and wind a liery Pegasus 
And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 

Hot. No more, no more: worse than the sun in 
. March, 
This praise dotli nourish agues. Let them come ; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim. 
And to the tire-eyed maid of smoky war 
All hot and bleeding will we offer them: 
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh 
And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse, 
AVho is to bear me like a thunderbolt 
Against the bosom of the Prince of \\'ales: 
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to Jiorse, 
Meet and ne'er part till one dropTlowu a corse. 

that Glendower were come ! 

Ver. There is moreaiews: 

1 learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, 

He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 

Doug. That 's the worst tidings tliat I hear of yet. 

Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 

Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto? 

T'cr. To thirty thousand. 

Hot. Forty let it be : 

My father and Glendower being both away, 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us take a muster speedily : 
Doomsdav is near; die all, die merrily. 

Dong. Talk not of dying: I am out of fear 
Of deatli or death's hand for this one-half year. 

[Kj:c\i.nt. 

SCENE II. — A jniblic road near Coceittrij. ■ 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fnl. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill 
me a bottle of sack; our soldiers shall inarch througii; 
we '11 to Sutton Co'lil" to-night. 

Hard. Will you give me money, captain? 

Fal. Lay out, lay out. 

Dard. This bottle makes an angel. 

Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it 
make twenty, take them all; I '11 answer the coin- 
age. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at town's 
end. 

7>V(i-f7. I will, captain: farewell. [Exit. 

Fal. If I lie not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a 
soused giiniet. I have misused the king's press 
damiiabiy. 1 have got, in e.xchauge of a liuudrcd 



ACT IV. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene hi. 



and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. 
I i)ress me none but good houseliolders, yeoman's 
sons; inquire me out contracted baclielors, sucli as 
had been asked twice on the banns; such a com- 
modity of warm slaves, as had as lieve hear the 
devil as a drum ; such as fear the report of a caliver 
worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. 1 
pressed me none but such toasts-and-butter, with 
hearts in their bellies no bigger tlian pins' heads, 
and they have bonglit out their services; and now 
my whole charge "consists of ancients, corporals, 
lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as 
ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where tlie 
glutton's dogs licked his sores: and sucli as indeed 
were never soldiers, but discarded unjust ser\ing- 
men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted 
■ tapsteVs and ostlers trade-fallen, tlie cankei-s of a 
calm w<irld and a long peace, ten times more dis- 
honourable ragged than an old faced ancient : and 
such have I, tohll up the rooms of them that liave 
bought out their services, that you would think 
thaf I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals 
lately come from swine-keeping, from eating dratf 
and husks. A mad fellow met nie on tlie way and 
told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed 
the dead bodies. Xo eye hath seen sucli scarecrows. 
I '11 not march through Coventry with them, that 's 
Hat: n/iy, and the villains march wide betwixt the 
legs, as "if they had gyves on; for indeed 1 had the 
most of them out of prison. There 's but a shirt and a 
half in all my company ; and the lialf shirt is two nap- 
kins tucl;ed toi;etherand thrown over the sliotilders 
like an herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to 
say the truth, stiden from my host at Saint Alban's, 
or tlie red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that 's 
all one; they '11 find linen enough on every hedge. 

Enter the Prince and Westmoreland. 

Prince. How now, blown Jack ! iiow now, quilt ! 

Fal. AVhat, Hal! how now, mad wag! what a 
devil dost thou in Warwickshire y My good Lord 
of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy: 1 thought your 
honour had already been at Shrewsbury. 

West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that 
I were there, and you too; but my powers are there 
already. The king, I can tell you, looks for us all ; 
we must away all night. 

Fed. Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a 
cat to steal cream. 

Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy 
theft liath already made thee butter. But tell me, 
Jack, wliose fellows are these that come after y 

Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. 

Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 

Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for 
powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well 
as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 

West. Ay, but. Sir John, methinks they are ex- 
ceeding poor and bare, too beggarly. 

i^a?. "'Faith, for their poverty, I know not where 
they liad that; and for their bareness, I am sure 
they never learned that of me. 

Prince. Xo, 1 '11 be sworn ; unless you call three 
fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste ; 
Percy is already in the field. 

Fal. What, is the king encamped ? 

West. He is. Sir Jolm : I fear we shall stay too 

FaJ. Well, [long. 

To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast 
Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The rebel camp near Shreicsbury. 

Enter Hotspur, "Worcester, Douglas, and 

Vernon. 
Hot. We '11 fight with him to-night. 
Wor. It may not be. 



Doug. You give him then advantage. 

Ver. ■ X'^ot a whit. 

Hot. Why say you so ? looks he not for supply ? 

Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 

Wor. Good cousin, be advised; stir not to-night. 

Ver. Do not, my lord. 

Doug. You do not counsel well : 

You speak it out of fear and cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : bj- my life, 
And I dare well maintain it with my life, 
If well-respected honour bid me on, 
I hold as little counsel with weak fear 
As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives: 
Let it be seen to-inorrow in the battle 
Which of us fears. 

Doug. Yea, or to-night. 

Ver. Content. 

Hot. To-night, say I. 

Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, 
Being men of such great leading as you are, 
That you foresee not what impediments 
Drag back our expedition : certain horse 
Of my cousin A'ernon's are not yet come up: 
Your uncle Worcester's hor.se came but to-day; 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep. 
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, 
That not a horse is half the half of himself. 

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
In general, journey-bated and brought low: 
The better part of oui"s are full of rest. 

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: 
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 

[r/(C trumpet sounds apurlei). 

Enter Sir "Walter Blunt. 

Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, 
If you vouchsafe me hearmg and respect. 

Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt ; ami would to 
You were of our determination ! [Gcd 

Some of us love you well; and even those some 
Envy your great deservings and good name. 
Because you are not of our quality, 
But stand against us like an enemy. 

Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so, 
So long as out of limit and true rule 
You stand against anointed majesty. 
But to my charge. The king hath sent to know 
The nature of your griefs, and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold liostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty. If that the king 
Have any way your good deserts forgot. 
Which he confesseth to be manifold. 
He bids you name your griefs; and with all speed 
You shall have your desires with interest 
And pardnn absolute for your.self and tliese 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 

Hot. The king is kind ; and well we know the kmg 
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
My father and my uncle and myself 
Did give him that same royalty he wears ; 
And when he was not six and twenty strong, 
Sick in tlie world's regard, wretched" and low, 
A iioor uniuinded outlaw sneaking liome, 
My fatlier gave him welcome to the shore; 
And when he heard him swear and vow to God 
He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, 
To sue his livery and beg his peace. 
With tears of innocency and terms of zeal. 
My father, in kind lieart and pity moved, 
Swore him assistance and perlunu'd it too. 
Xow when tlie lords and barons of the realm 
Perceived Northumberland did lean to liim. 
The more and less came in witli cap and kuee; 
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages. 
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 
333 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



SCENE I. 



Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him tlieir oaths, 

Gave liini tlieir heirs, as pages foUovv'd him 

Even at the lieels in golden ninltitudes. 

He presently, as greatness knows itself, 

Steps nie a little higher than his vow 

jSIade to my father, while his blood was poor. 

Upon the naked shore at i;a\'eiispurgh ; 

And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 

Some certain edicts and sonit* strait decrees 

That lie too heavy on the commonwealth, 

Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 

Over liis country's wrongs ; and by this face. 

This seeming brow of justice^did he win 

Tiie hearts of all that he did angle for ; 

Proceeded further; cut me off the heads 

Of all the favourites that the absent king 

In deputation left behind hiui here. 

When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 

Hot. Then to the point. 

In short time after, he deposed the king; 
Soon after that, deprived him of his life; 
And in the neck of that, task'd the whole state; 
To make that worse, sulfer'd his kinsman Mareli, 
Who is, if every owner were well placed, 
Indeed his king, to be engaged in Wales, 
There without ransom to lie forfeited ; 
Disgraced me in my happy victories. 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence; 
liated mine uncle from the council-board ; 
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; 
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong, 
And in conclusion drove us to seek out 
This head of safety ; and witlial to pry 
Into his title, the which we Hnd 
Too indirect for long continuance. 

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king? 

Hot. Not so, Sir Walter: we '11 withdraw awhile. 
Go to the king; and let there be impawuM 
Some surety for a safe return again. 
And in the morning early shall my uncle 
Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. 

Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and 
love. 

Hot. And may be so we shall. 

Blunt. Pray God you do. 

lExeunt. 



SCENE IV.— I'oi-A:. The Arrhhishop's palace. 
Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael. 

Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael ; bearthis sealed brief 
With winged haste to the lord marshal ; 
This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest 
To whom they are directed. If you knew 
How much they do import, you would make haste. 

tilr M. My good lord, 
I guess their teuour. 

Arch. Like enough you do. 

To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day 
AV herein the fortune of t^n thousand men 
Must bide the touch ; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
As 1 am truly given to understand. 
The king with mighty and quick-raised power 
Meets with Lord flurry: and, I fear, Sir Jlichael, 
What with the sickness of JS'^rthumberland, 
^Vhose power was in the lirst proportion. 
And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence, 
Who with them was a rated sinew too 
And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies, 
I fear the power of Percy is too weak 
To wage an instant trial with the king. 

fSir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; 
There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer. 

..rl7-c/i. No, Mortimer is not there. 

(S'iV M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord 
Harry Percy, 
And there is my Lord of Worcester and a head 
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. [drawn 

Arch. And so there is: but yet the king hath 
The special head of all the land together : 
The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt ; 
And many moe corrivals and dear men 
Of estimation and command in arms. [opposed. 

!Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well 

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 't is to fear; 
And, to prevent the worst, Sir Mieliael, speed: 
For if Lord Percy tlu-ive not, ere t|ie king 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, 
For he hath heard of our confederacy. 
And 't is but wisdom to make strong against him: 
Therefore make haste. I must go write again 
To other friends; and so farewell. Sir Michael. 

\_Ej:cunt, 



.ACT V. 



SCENE I. — The Kimfs camp near Shrewsbury. 

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lan- 
caster, Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, 
and Falstafif. 

King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
Above yon busky hill ! the day looks pale 
At his disteniperature. 

Prince. The southern wind 

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes. 
And by his hollow whistling in the leaves 
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. 

Kinij. Then with the lasers let it sympathize. 
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 

[Tlie trumpet sounds. 

Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
How now, my Lord of Worcester ! 't is not well 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 
As now we meet. You have deceived our trust, 
And made us doff our easy robes of peace. 
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
What say you to it y will you again unknit 
334 



This churlish knot of all-abhorred war ? 

And move in that obedient orb again 

AVliere you did give a fair and natural light. 

And be no more an exhaled meteor, 

A prodigy of fear and a portent 

Of bniaclietl mischief to the unborn times? 

Wor. Hear me, my lie.ue: 
For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag-end of my life 
With quiet liours; for I do protest, 
I have not sought the day of this dislike. [then ? 

J\in(j. You have not sought it? how comes it 

Fa!. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. 

I'rince. Peace, chewet, peace! 

117)1-. It pleased your majesty to turn )'our looks 
Of favour from myself and all our house; 
And yet I must remember you, my lord, 
"V^'e were the lirst and dearest of your friends. 
For you my staff of office did I break 
In Richard's time; and jiosted day and night 
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand. 
When yet you were in place and in account 
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother and his sou, 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene ii. 



Tliiit brought you home and boldly did outdare 

The dangers of the time. Vou swore to us, 

And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 

That you did nothing purpose 'gainst tlie state; 

Nor claim no furtlier than your new-faU'n rigiit, 

The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 

To this we swore our aid. But in short space 

It rain'd down fortune showering on your head ; 

And such a flood of greatness fell on you, 

Wliat with our help, what with the absent king, 

What with tlie injuries of a wanton time. 

The seeming sufferances that you had liorne, 

And tlie contrarious winds that held tlie king 

So long in his unlucky Irish wars 

That all in England did repute him dead: 

And from tliis'swarm of fair a.lvautages 

You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 

To gripe the general sway into your liand; 

Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ; 

And being fed by us you used us so 

As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 

Useth the sjiarrow ; did oppress our nest ; 

Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk 

That even our love durst not come near your sight 

For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 

"We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly 

Out of your siglit and raise this present head ; 

Whereby we stand opposed by such means 

As you yourself have forged against yourself 

By mikind usage, dangerous countenance, 

And violation of all faith and troth 

.Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. 

King. These things indeed you have articulate. 
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches, 
To face tlie garment of reljellion 
With some line colour tliat may please the eye 
Of fickle cliangelings and poor discontents, 
Which gape and rub the elbow at tlie news 
Of Imrlybnrly innovation : 
And never yet did insurrection want 
Sucli water-colours to impaint his cause ; 
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
Of pellmell havoc and confusion. 

Fi-iiirc. In both your armies there is many a soul 
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter. 
If once fliey join in trial. Tell your nephew, 
Tlie Prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
In praise of Henry Percy : by my hopes. 
This present enterprise set oil his head, 
I do not tliink a braver gentleman. 
More active-valiant or more valiant-young, 
More daring or more l)<)ld, is now alive 
To grace this lattri- age with noble deeds. 
For my i)art,'l iiia\ sjifak it to my shame, 
I liave a truant berii to chivalry; 
And so I hear lie doth account me too; 
Yet this before my father's majesty — 
I am content that he shall take the odds 
Of his great name and estimation. 
And will, to save the blood on either side. 
Try fortune with him in a single fight. [thee, 

Kiiiij. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture 
Albeit considerations infinite 
Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no. 
We love our jieople well; even those we love 
That are misled upon your cousin's part; 
And, will they take the offer of our grace. 
Both he and they and you, yea, every man 
Shall lie my friend again and I "11 be his: 
So tell your cousin, and l)ring me word 
What he will do: but if he will not yield, 
Kebuke and dread correction wait on us 
And they shall do their office. So, be gone; 
We will not now be troubled with reply : 
We offer fair ; take it advisedly. 

YExeimt Worcester awl Vernon. 
Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life : 



The Douglas and the Hotspur lioth together 
Are confident against the world in anus. 

King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge ; 
For, on their answer, will we set on them: 
And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 

[Exeunt all but the Prince of Wales and FaJstaff. 

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and 
bestride me, so ; 'tis a point of friendship. 

Prince. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

Fal. 1 would 't were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 

Prince. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. 

Fal. 'T is not due yet ; I would be loath to pay 
him before his day. What need I be so forward 
with him that calls not on me y Well, 't is no mat- 
ter ; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour 
prick me off when I come on? how then? Can 
honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take 
away the grief of a wound ? no. Honour hath no 
skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a 
word. What is in that word honour ? what is that 
honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? 
he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? no. 
Doth he hear it ? no. 'T is insensible, tlien. Yea, 
to the dead. But will it not live with the living? 
no. Why ? detraction will not suffer it. There- 
fore I '11 none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: 
and so ends my catechism. [Exit. 

SCENE 11.— The rebel camp. 
Enter "Worcester and Vernon. 

Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir 
Ilicliard, 
The liberal and kind offer of the king. 

Ver. 'T were best he did. 

Wor. Then are we all undone. 

It is not possible, it cannot be, 
Tlie king should keep his word in loving us; 
He will suspect us still and find a time 
To punish this offence in otlier faults : 
Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of e3'es; 
For treason is but trusted like the fox. 
Who, ne'er .so tame, so cherish 'd and lock'd up. 
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
Look bow we can, or sad or merrily, 
Interpretation will misquote our looks. 
And we shall feed lil^e oxen at a stall, 
The lietter cherish'd, still the nearer death. 
jSIy nephew's trespass may be well forgot ; 
Ithath tlie excuse of youth and heat of blood. 
And an adopted name of privilege, 
A liare-brain'd Hotspur, govern 'd by a spleen: 
All his offences live upon my head 
And on liis father's; we did train him on, 
And, his corruption being ta'en from us. 
We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know. 
In any case, the offer of the king. 

Ver. Deliver what you will ; I'll say 'tis so. 
Here comes your cousin. 

Enler Hotspur and Doiiglas. 

Hot. My uncle is return'd : 
Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland. 
Uncle, what news? 

Wor. The king will bid you liattle presently. 

Doug. Defy him by the Lord of Westmoreland. 

Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 

JJoug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit. 

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 

Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 

Wor. I told him gently of our grievances. 
Of Ids oath-lireaking; which he mended thus, 
By now forswearing that he is forsworn: 
He calls us rebels, traitors: and will scourge 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
335 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



Ee-enter Douglas. 

Doug. Arm, gentlemen ; to arms! for I have 
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, [tlirown 
And Westmoreland, tliut was engaged, did bear it; 
Which cannot choose bnt bring him quickly on. 

Wot. Tlie Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before 
tlie king. 
And, nephew, challenged you to single figlit. 

Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our lieads, 
And tliat no man miglit draw short breath to-day 
But I and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me. 
How showYl his tasking? seem'd it in contempt? 

Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life 
Did hear a cliallenge urged more modestly, 
Unless a brotlier should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
He gave you all the duties of a man : 
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue, 
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle. 
Making you ever better tlian liis praise 
By still dispraising praise valued with you; 
And, whieli became him like a prince indeed, 
He made a blushing citul of liimself ; 
And cliid his truant youth with sucli a grace 
As if lie master'd tliere a double spirit 
Of teaching and of learning instantly. 
There did he pause: but let me tell the world, 
If he outlive the envy of this day, 
England did never owe so sweet a hope, 
fso mucl) misconstrued iu his wantonness. 

Hot. Cousin, I tliiuk tliou art enamoured 
On his follies: never did 1 liear 
Of any prince so wild a libertine. 
]5ut be lie as lie will, yet once ere night 
] will eiiiljrace him with a soldier's arm, 
That he shall slirink under my courtesy. 
Arm, arm with speed : and, fellows, .soldiers, friends. 
Better consider what you have to do 
Tlian I, that liave not well the gift of tongue, 
C'an lift your blood up witli persuasion. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess, ily lord, here are letters for you. 

Hot. I cannot read them now. 
O gentlemen, the time of life is short! 
To spend tliat shortness basely were too long, 
If life dill ride u|)on a dial's point. 
Still ending at tlie arrival of an hour. 
An if we live, we live to tread on kings; 
If die, brave deatli, when princes die with us! 
Now, for our consciences, tlie arms are fair, 
AV'lien tlie intent of bearing tliem is just. 

Enter another Messenger. 

jl/css. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. 

Hot. I tiuink liiin, tliat he cuts me from my tale, 
For I profess imt talking; only this — 
Let eacli niaii do liis best: and here draw I 
A sword, wliose temper I intend to stain 
^Vitll tlie best lilood tli;i.t I can meet witlial 
In tlie adventure of tliis perilous day. 
Now, Esperance ! I'ercy ! ami set on. 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war. 
And by that music let us all embrace; 
For, lieaven to eartli, some of us never shall 
A second time do such a courtesy. 

[Tlic tniinpcts sound. They embrace, and exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Plain between the canyw. 

The King enters with kis power. Alarum to the battle. 
Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt. 
Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
Thou Grossest me ? what honour dost thou seek 
Upon my head ? 
Dou(j. Know then, my name is Douglas; 

330 



And I do haunt thee in the battle thus 
Because some tell me tliat thou art a king. 
Blunt. They tell tiiee true. [bought 

Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath 
Tliy likeness, for instead of thee, King Harry, 
This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee, 
Unless tliou yield tliee as my prisoner. 

Blunt. 1 was not born a yielder, tliou proud Scot; 
And thou slialt hnd a king that will revenge 
Lord Stafford's death. [Tlict/ fight. Douglas kills 

Blunt. 
Hater Hotspur. 

Hot. O Douglas, hadst tliou fought at Holmedoii 
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. [tlius, 

Doug. All 's done, all 's won ; here breathless lies 

J/ot. Wliere"? [the king. 

Doug. Here. 

Hot. This, Douglas? no: I know tliis face full well: 
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt; 
SemblaVily furiiisli'd lilce the king himself. 

Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes! 
A borrow 'd title hast thou bouglit too dear: 
Wliy didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? 

Hot. The king hath many marcliing in liis coats. 

Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kili all liis coats; 
I '11 murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
Until I meet the king. 

Hot. Up, and away ! 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt. 

Alarum. Enter Palstaff, solus. 
Fal. Though I could 'scape sliot-free at London, 
I fear tlie shot here ; here 's no scoring but upon the 
pate. Soft ! who are you ? Sir Walter Blunt : there 's 
lionour for you ! liere 's no vanity ! I am as hot as 
molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep lead out of 
me ! I need no more weight tlian mine own bowels. 
I have led my ragamufhns where they are pejipered : 
there 's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive ; 
and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. 
But wlio comes here ? 

Enter the Prince. 

Prince. What, stand 'st thou idle liere ? lend me thy 
Many a nobleman lies staik and stiff [sword : 

Under tlie hoofs of vaunting enemies. 
Whose deaths are yet uurevenged : 1 prithee, lend me 
thy sword. 

Fal. O Hal, I prithee, give me leave to breathe 
awhile. Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms 
as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, 1 have 
made him sure. 

Prince. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee. I 
prithee, lend me thy sword. 

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou 
get'st not my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. 

Prince. Give it me: wliat. is it in the case? 

Fal. Ay, Hal ; 't is hot, 't is hot ; there 's that will 

sack a city. [The Prince draws it out, and finds it 

to be a bottle of sack. 

Prince. What, is it a time to jest and dally now ? 
[He throws tlie bottle at him. Exit. 

Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I '11 pierce him. If 
he do come in my way, so : if lie do not, if I come 
in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. 
I like not such giinning honour as Sir Walter hath : 
give me life: which if I can save, so; if not, honour 
comes unlooked for, and there 's an end. [Exit. 

SCENE TV.— Another part of the field. 

Alnrum. Excur.'iiomt. Enter Ike King, the Prince, Lord 
John of Lancaster, and Earl of Westmoreland. 

King. I prithee, 
Harry, withdraw tliyself ; thou bleed'st too much. 
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 

Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.' 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



Prince. I beseech your majesty, make up, 
Lest your retirement do amaze your friemls. 

King. I will do so. 
My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.- 

West. Come, my lord, I '11 lead you to your tent. 

I'rince. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your lielp : 
And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive 
The Prince of Wales from such a held as this, 
Where staiu'd nobility lies trodden on. 
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres! 

Lan. We breathe too long: come, cousin West- 
moreland, 
Our duty this way lies ; for God's sake, come. 

[Kccuat Prince John and Weatinoreland. 

Pi-iuce. By God, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster; 
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
Before, I loved thee as a brother, Jolm ; 
But now, 1 do respect tliee as my soul. 

King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point 
With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
Of such an migrown warrior. 

Prince. O, this boy 

Lends mettle to us all ! [Exit. 

Enter Douglas. 

Dnug. Another king ! they grow like Hydra's 
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those [heads : 

That wear those colours on tliem : what art thou, 
That counterfeit 'st the iieisou of a king? 

King. The king hiuisclf ; who, Douglas, grieves at 
So many of his sliadows tliou hast met [heart 

And not the very king. I have two boys 
Seek Percy and thyself about the field : 
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
1 will assay thee: so, defend thyself. 

Pinuj. I tear thou art another counterfeit ; 
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: 
But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be, 
And thus I win thee. [SVie;/ pjht; the King 

being in danger, re-enter Prince of Wales. 

Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art 
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits [like 

Of valiant .Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : 
It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee; 
Who never promiseth but he means to pay. 

[Theij fiijlU : Itouglas flies. 
Cheerly, my lord : how fares your grace ? 
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hatii for succour sent, 
And so hath Clifton: 1 '11 to Clifton straight. 

King. Stay, and breathe awhile: 
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion. 
And show'd thou makest some tender of my life, 
lu this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 

Prince. O God! they did me too umch injury 
Tluit ever said I hearken'd for your death. 
If it were so, I uught have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you, 
Which would have been as speedy in your end 
As all the poisonous potions in the world 
And saved the treacherous labour of your son. 

King. Make up to Clifton: I'll to Sir Nicholas 
Gawsey. „ „ [Exit. 

Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 

Prince. Thou speak 'st as if I would deny my name. 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 

Prince. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of the name. 
I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, 
To share with me in nlory any more: 
Two stars keep not tiieir motion in one sphere ; 
Nor can one Englanil brook a double reign, 
Of Harry Percy and tlie Prince of Wales. 

IJot. Nor shall it, Harry; tor the hour is come 
To end the one of us ; and would to God 
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! 

Prince. 1 "11 make it greater ere I part from thee ; 
22 



And all the budding honours on thy crest 

I '11 crop, to make a garland for my head. 

Hot. I can uo longer brook thy vanities. 

[Phei/ Jiyht. 
Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal ! Nay, you shall 
find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 

Ee-enter Douglas ; hejitjhts with Falstaflf, who ful/s down, 
as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspur is 
wounded, and falls. 

Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of iny youth ! 
I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; 
They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword 

my tlesh : 
But thought 's the slave of life, and life time's fool; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, 
But that tlie earthy and cold hand of death 
Lies on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art dust, 
And food for — [Dies. 

Prince. For worms, brave Percy: fare thee well, 
great heart ! 
Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk! 
When that this body did contain a spirit, 
A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 
But now two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough : this earth that bears thee dead 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
I should not make so dear a show of zeal : 
But let my favoiu's hide thy mangled face; 
And, even in thy behalf, I '11 thank myself 
For domg these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy iiraise with thee to heaven ! 
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! 

[He spieth Falstaff on the ground. 
What, old acquaintance ! could not all this tlesh 
Keep in a little life V Poor Jack, farewell ! 
I could have better spared a better man : 
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee. 
If I were much in love with vanity! 
Death hath not stiaick so fat a deer to-day, 
Though uuuiy de:;rer, in this bloody fray. 
Eniboweird \\ill 1 see thee by and by: 
Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 

Fal. [liising vp] Embowelled ! if thou embowel 
me to-day, I '11 give you leave to powder me and eat 
me too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 't was time to counter- 
feit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot 
and lot too. Counterfeit ? I lie, I am no counter- 
feit : to die, is to be a counterfeit ; for he is but the 
counterfeit of a man ^\ ho hath not the life of a man : 
but to counterfeit dying, wlien a man thereby liveth, 
is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect 
image of life indeed. The better part of valour is 
discretion ; in the which better part I have saved 
my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder 
Percy, though he be dead : how, if he should coun- 
terfeit too and rise? by my faith, I am afraid he 
would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I '11 
make him sure ; yea, and I '11 swear I killed him. 
Vv'liy may not he rise as well as I ? Nothuig con- 
futes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Tlicrefore, 
sirrah [stabbing hini], with a new wound iu your 
thigh, come you along with me. 

[Takes up Hotspur on liis hack. 

Be-enter the Prince of "Wales and Lord John 

of Lancaster. 
Prince. Come, brother John; full bravely hast 
Thy maiden sword. [thou Uesh'd 

Lan. But, soft! whom have we here "i* 

Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? 
337 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. scexe v. 



Prince. I did ; I s;uv him dead, [alive? 

Breathless aud bleeding on the ground. Art thou 
Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight ? 
I prithee, speak ; we will not trust our eyes 
Witliout our ears : thou art not what thou seem'st. 

Fal. No, that 's certain ; I am not a double man : 
but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. 
There is Percy [throiHng the hodij duwii] : if your 
father will do me any honour, so; if not, let "him 
kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl 
or duke, I can assure you. [dead. 

Prince. Why, Percy I killed myself and saw thee 

Fal. Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is 
given to lying ! I grant you I was down and out of 
breath ; and "so was he : but we rose both at an in- 
stant and fought a long hour by Shrewsliury clock. 
If I may be believed, so ; if not , let them tliat should 
reward valour bear the sin upon their own heads. 
I '11 take it upon my death, I gave him this wound 
in the thigh ; if the man were alive and would deny it, 
'zounds, i woidd make liim eat a piece of my sword. 

Lan. This is the strangest tale that ever I heard. 

Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. 
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: 
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
I '11 gild it with the happiest terms I liave. 

[A retreat is sounded. 
The trumpet sounds retreat; tiie day is ours. 
Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field, 
To see what friends are living, who are dead. 

[Exeunt Prince of Wales and Lancaster. 

Fal. I '11 follow, as they say, for reward. He that 
rewards me, Uod reward him ! If I do grow great, 
I '11 grow less; for I '11 purge, and leave sack, and 
live cleanly as a nobleman should do. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— Another part of the field. 

Tlie trumpets soniul. Enter the King-, Prhice of Wales 
Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, 
with Worcester and Vernon prisoners. 

King. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. 
Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send giace, 
Pardon and terms of love to all ot j on ^ 



And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary ? 
Misuse tlie tenour of thy kinsman's trust ? 
Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl and many a creature else 
Had been alive this hour. 
If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne 
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 

Wor. Wliat I liaA'c dune my safety urged me to; 
And I eiubrace this fortune jiatieiitly, 
Since not to be avoided it falls on me. [too: 

King. Bear Worcester to the death and Vernon 
Other offenders we will pause upon. 

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded. 
How goes the field ? [saw 

Prince. The noble Scot, Ijord Douglas, when he 
The fortune of tlie day quite turn'd from him, 
The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, tied with tlie rest : 
And falling from a hill, he was so bruised 
That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace 
I may dispose of him. 

King. With all my heart. 

Prince. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
This honourable bounty shall belong: 
Go to the Douglas, aud deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, rausondess and free: 
His valour shown upon our crests to-day 
Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds 
Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 

Lan. I thank your grace for this high courtesy, 
Which I shall give away immediately. [power. 

King. Then this remains, tluit we divide our 
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland 
Towards York shall bend you with yoiu: dearest 

speed, 
To meet Northumberl-uict and the prelate Scroop, 
A\ ho ds\\eheai ik 1 n^ih niTims: 
M^ self and you sonlliiu \\ ill to\\ ards Wales, 
To h_ht \Mth (tU nd iwei did the Earl of March. 
Reb 111 111 111 this 1 mil sh ill lose his sway, 
Meetiii., the ( h( !_ k ot su< h i lotliei day : 
And Miice this I usiikss so t ii is done, 
Let us not k ut till ill oui own be won. [Exeunt. 




^J 




338 



M.s(o#.-Ihavepcprere.lhvnu , „ ,„ ; , I „,„ -„.e. I have paid, two ropies in buckram suits. 

I tell thee what, Hal, — il I tuU thee a lie, spit in uiy lace, uall me hurse.-Aci II., bcene iv. 



THE SECOND PART OF 

KING HENRY THE FOURTH. 



DEAJIATIS PEIiSOX^. 



Rumour, the Presenter. 

King- Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards "I 

King Henry V., 
Thomas, Duke of Clarence, !• his sons. 

Prince Jobn of Lancaster, j 

Prince Humphrey of Gloucester, J 
Earl of ■Warwick. 
Earl of Westmoreland. 
Earl of Surrey. 
Gower. 
Harcourt. 
Blunt. 

Lord Chief-Ju?tice of the King's Bench. 
A Serrant of the Chief-Justice. 
Earl of Northumberland. 
Scroop, .irelibishop of York. 
Lord Mowbray. 
Lord Hastings. 
Lord Bardolph. 
Sir John ColevUe. 
Travers and Morton, retainers of Nortluimberland. 



[Fo 



Sir John Falstaff. 

His Pa-e. 

Bardolph. 

Pistol. 

Poins. 

Peto. 

Shallow, 1 

Silence, | ^"ntry justices. 

Davy, .Servant to Shallow. 

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, 

recruits. 
Fang and Snare, Slieriff's officers. 
Lady Northumberland. 
Lady Percy. 

Mistress Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. 
Don Tearsheet. 

Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers, Beadles, 
Grooms, <fcc. 
A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. 

SCB^E — Enr/lund. 

■ this Play, see Page LIV.] 



IN^DXJCT ION. 



Warl'worth. Before the castle. 
Eater Rumour, painted full of tongues. 
Jfum. Open your ears; for which of j-ou -will 
stop 
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks ? 
I, from the orient to tlie drooping west, 
ilaking the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The acts commenced oh this hall of earth : 
Upon my tonanes continual slanders ride, 
Tlie which in every languase I pronounpe, 
StutBng tlie ears of men with false reports. 
I siieak of peace, while covert enmity 
Under the smile of safety wounds tlie world: 
And who but Rumour, wlm hut only I, 
Make fearful musters and pre|iared defence. 
Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief, 
Is thought witli child by the stern tjTant war, 
And no such matter ? Rumour is a pipe 
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, 
And of .so easy and so plain a stop 
That the bkmt monster with uncounted heads, 
Tlie still-discordant wavering multitude, 



Can play upon it. But what need I thus 

JSIy well-known body to anatomize 

Among my household ? Why is Rumour here ? 

I run before King Harry's victory; 

Who in a bloody field by .•Shrewsbury 

Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops. 

Quenching the Hame of bold rebellion 

Kven with the reliel's blood. But what mean I 

To speak .so true at first ? my ottice is 

To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell 

Under the wnitb of noble Hotspur's swortl, 

And that the king liefore the Douglas' rage 

Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 

Tliis have I rumour 'd tlirongh the ])easant to^\iis 

Between that royal field of Shrew.sbury 

And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone. 

Where Hotsinir's father, old Xorthumberland, 

Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on, 

And not a" man of tliem brings other news 

Than they have learn 'd of me: from Rumour's 

tongues 
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true 

wrongs. [Exit. 

339 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene i. 



^CT I. 



SCENE l.— Thesmnc. 
Enter Lord Bardolph. 
L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho ? 
The Porter opens the gale. 

Where is the earl ? 
Port., What shall I say you are V 
•i. Bard. Tell thou the earl 

That the Lord Bardolph doth attend hiiu liere. 
Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the 
orcliard : 
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 
And he himself will answer. 

Enter Northumberland. 

L. Bard. Here comes the earl. 

[Exit Porter. 

North. Wliat news, Lord Bardolph ? every minute 
Sliould be tlie father of some stratagem : [now 

The times are wild ; contention, lilie a Iiorse 
Full of liigh feeding, madly hath broke loose 
And l>ears down all before him. 

L. Bard. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 

Iforth. Good, an God will ! 

L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : 

Tlie king is almost wounded to tlie death ; 
And, in the fortune of my lord your son. 
Prince Harry slain outriglit ; and both the Blunts 
Kill'd by tlie liand of Douglas; young Prince John 
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled tlie field ; 
And Plarry Monmouth's brawn, tlie hulk Sir John, 
Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day. 
So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won, 
Came not till now to dignify the times, 
Since Coesar's fortunes ! 

North. How is this derived ? 

Saw you the field? came you from Sli'rewsbury ? 

L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, tliat came 
from tlience, 
A gentleman well bred and of good name. 
That freely reuder'd me these news for true. 

North. Here comes my servant Travers, wliom I 
sent 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. 

Enter Travers. 

L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; 
And lie is furnislied with no certainties 
More tlian lie liaply may retail from me. 

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes 
with you ? 

Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back 
With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed, 
Outrode me. After him came s;iuiriiig hard 
A gentleman, almost forspent with spcecl. 
That stopped by me to breatlie liis bloodied horse. 
He ask'd tlie way to Chester; and of him 
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury : 
He told me that rebellion had bad luck 
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. 
With that, lie gave his able horse the head. 
And bending forward struck his armed heels 
Against the panting .sides of his jioor jade 
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so 
He seem'd in tunning to devour the way. 
Staying no longer question. 

North. Ha ! Again : 

Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold ? 
Of Hotspur Coldspur ? that rebellion 
Had met ill luck ? 

L. Bard. My lord, I '11 tell you what; 

If my young lord your son have not the day, 
340 



Upon mine honour, for a silken point ] 

I '11 give my barony : never talk of it. [Tra\Trs i 

Nortli. 'W'liy sliould that gentleman that rode by -i 

Give then such instances of loss ? ' 

L. Bard. Who, he? ' 

He was some hilding fellow that had stolen ' 
Tlie horse he rode on, and, upon my life, 
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. 

Enter Morton. 

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, ; 
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume : | 

So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood j 

Hath left a witness'd usurpation. ; 

Say, Jlorton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury ? 

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; 1 

Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask j 

To fright our party. j 

North. How doth my son and brother ? 

Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek ! 
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. i 

Even.sucli a man, so taint, so spiritless, 
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, ' 

And would have told him half his Troy was burnt ; i 
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, ' 

And I my Percy's death ere thou report 'st it. 
This thou wouldst say, ' Your son did thus and thus ; , 
Your brother thus : so fought the nolile Douglas:' I 
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds: 
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed, i 

Thou hast a sigh to Wow away this praise. 
Ending with ' Brother, son, and all are dead.' i 

3{or. Douglas is living, and your brother, j'et; | 
But, for my lord your son, — 

North. Why, he is dead. ! 

See what a ready tongue suspicion liath ! 
He that but fears the thing he would not know , 

Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes ' 

That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Moi'ion ; ; 
Tell thou an earl his divination lies, 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace j 

And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. | 

Mor. You are too great to Vje by me gainsaid: : 

Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. I 

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy'sdead. j 
I see a strange confession in thine eye: 
Thou sliakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin ■'. 
To speak a truth. If he lie slain, say so; ■• 

The tongue offends not that reports his death : > 

And he doth sin that doth belie tlie dead, ' 

Not lie which says the dead is not alive. ] 

Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 1 

Hath but a losing office, and Ids tongue ! 

Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, ' 

Remember'd tolling a departing friend. 

L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your.son isdead. ! 

Mor. I am sorry I should force you to believe 
That which I would to God I had not seen ; 
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out- i 
breathed, ] 

To Harry Monmouth ; wliose swift wrath beat down 
The never-daunted Percy to the earth. 
From whence with life he never more sprung up. 
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire | 

Even to the dullest peasant in liis camp, 
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
From the best-teui|)er'd courage in his troops; 
For from his metal was his party steel'd; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Turn'd on themselves, lilie dull and heavy lead : 
And as the thing that 's heavy in itself, ' 

Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed, 



ACT T. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene it. 



So did our men. heavy in Hotspur's loss. 
Lend to this weight such liglitness with their fear 
That arrows fled not swifter toward tlieir aim 
Than did our soldiers, ainiinn; at their safety, 
Ply from the held. Tlien wa.'; tliat noble Worcester 
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and tliat furious Scot, 
The bloody Uouu;las. whose well-laliouring sword 
Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
'Gan vail his stomach and did .urace the shame 
Ot those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight, 
Stundjling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is that the king hath v.'on, and hath sent out 
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, 
Under the conduct of young Lancaster 
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. 

North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. 
In poison there is pliysic ; and tliese news. 
Having been well, that would have made me sick, 
Being sick, have in some measure made me well: 
And as the wretcli, whose fever-weaken'd joints, 
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 
Impatient of his tit, breaks like a lire 
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs, 
WeakenM with grief, being now enraged with grief. 
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice 
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel [crutch ! 
Must glove this hand ; and hence, thou sickly quoit ! 
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head 
Which princes, Hesh'd with coiKjuest, aim to hit. 
Now bind my brows with iron ; and approach 
The ragged'st liour that time and spite dare bring 
To frown upon the enraged Northumberland! 
L'et heaven kiss earth ! now let not Nature's hand 
Keep the wikl tlood confined ! let order die! 
And let this world no longer be a stage 
To feed contention in a lingering act; 
But let one spirit of the flrst-born Cain 
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
On liloody cour.ses, the rude scene may end. 
And darkness be tlie burier of tlie deatl ! [lord. 

Tta. This strained passion doth you wrong, my 

L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from 
your honour. 

Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
Lean on your health ; the which, if you give o'er 
To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 
And summ'd the account of chance, before you said 
' Let us make head.' It was your presurmise. 
That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop: 
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge. 
More likely to fall in than to get o'er ; 
You were advised his flesh was capable 
Of woinids and scars and that his forward spirit 
Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged : 
Yet did you say ' Go forth ; ' and none of this, 
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
The stiff-borne action : what hath then iiefallen. 
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth. 
More than that being which was like to be ? 

L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this loss 
Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas 
That if we ^\Tought our life 't was ten to one ; 
And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed 
Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd ; 
And since we are o'erset, venture again. 
C^me, we will all put forth, body and goods. 

Mor. 'T is more than time : and, my most noble 
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth, [lord. 
The gentle Arolibishop of York is up 
With well-api)ointed powers : he is a man 
AVho with a double surety binds his followers. 
ISIy lord your son had only but the corpse. 
But shadows and the shows of men, to hght ; 
For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
The action of their bodies from their souls; 
And they did hght with queasiness, constrain 'd. 



As men drink potions, that their weapons only 

Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls. 

This word, rebellion, it had froze them up. 

As fish are in a pi.iud. But now the bishop 

Turns insurrection to religion: 

Supposed siiirt^rr and holy" in his thouglits. 

He "s followed both with body and with mind; 

And doth enlarite his rising with the blood 

Of fairKing liichard, scraiied fnuu i'omlVet stones ; 

Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause; 

Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land. 

Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; 

And more and less do flock to follow him. 

Xiirth. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, 
This i)resent grief liad wiped it from my mmd. 
Go in with me; and counsel every man 
The apt est way for safety and revenge: 
Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed : 
Never so few, and never yet more need. [KctwU. 

SCENE n.— London. A street. 

Miter Falstaff, with his Page heariny his sword 
and buckler. 

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to 
my water y 

Pacje. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
healthy water; but, for the party that owed it, he 
might "have more diseases than he knew for. 

i'al. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : 
the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is 
not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, 
more than I invent or is invented on me: I am not 
only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in 
other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow 
that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If 
the prince put thee into my service for any other 
reason than to set me off, why then I have no judg- 
ment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter 
to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I 
was never manned with an agate till now: but I 
will inset you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile 
apparel, and send you back again to your master, 
for a jewel, — the juvenal, the prince your master, 
whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have 
a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall 
get one ou his cheek; and yet he will not stick to 
say his face is a face-royal : God may finish it when 
he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it 
still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn 
si.xpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if 
he had writ man ever since his fatlier was a bach- 
elor. He may keep his own grace, but he 's almost 
out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master 
Uombledou about the satin for my short cloak and 
my slops y 

I'ttjje. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
assurance than Bardolpii : he would not take his 
band and yours ; he liked not the secmity. 

F(d. Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray 
God his tongue be hotter ! A whoreson Achitophel ! 
a rascally yea-forsootli knave ! to bear a gentleman 
in hand, and then stand upon security ! The wliore- 
son smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high 
shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if 
a man is through with them in honest taking up, 
then tliey must stand upon security. I had as lief 
they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to 
stop it with security. I looked a' should have .sent 
me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true 
knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may 
sleep in security ; for he hath the horn of abundance, 
and the lightness of his wife shines through it ; and 
yet cannot he see, though he have his own lauthorn 
to light him. Where "s Bardolpii y 

Paije. He 's gone into Smithtteld to buy your wor- 
ship a horse. 

341 



ACT I. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene it. 



Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he '11 buj' me a 
horse in Sunthfield : an I could get me but a wife in 
the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. 

Enter the Lord Cliief-Justioe and Servant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that com- 
mitted the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 

Fal. Wait close; I will not see him. 

Ch. Just. Wliat 's he that goes there ? 

Serv. Falstaff, an 't please your lordsliip. 

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the rob- 
bery y 

iSery. He, my lord: but he hath since done good 
service at Slirevvsbury ; and, as I hear, is now going 
with some charge to the Lord .John of Lancaster. 

Ch. Just. "W'liat, to York ? Call him back again. 

Serv. Sir John Fulstaff ! 

Fal. Boy, tell him I am ileaf. 

Fage. You must speal; louder; my master is deaf. 

Cli. Just. I am sure lie is, to the hearing of any- 
thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow ; I must 
speak with him. 

Serv. Sir John ! 

Fal. What! a young knave, and begging! Is 
there not wars? is there not employment y doth 
not the king lack subjects ? do not the rebels need 
soldiers V Though it be a shame to be on any side 
but one, it is worse shame to beg tlian to be on the 
worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion 
can tell how to make it. 

Sero. You mistake me, sir. 

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man V 
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I 
had lied in my throat, if I ha:d said so. 

Serv. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood 
and your soldiership aside ; and give me leave to 
tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any 
other than an honest man. 

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay aside 
that which grows to me ! If thou gettest any leave 
of me, hang me: if tliou takest leave, thou wert 
better be hanged. You hmit counter: hence! 
avaunt ! 

Serv. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Cfi. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 

Fal. My good lord! God give your lordsliip good 
time of day. I am glad to see your lordsliip abroad : 
I heard say your lordship was sick: I hope your 
lordship goes abroad by advice. Y''our lordship, 
though not clean past your youth, hatli yet some 
smack of ao;e in you, some relish of the saltness of 
time; and I most humbly beseech your lordship to 
have a reverent care of your health. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your ex- 
pedition to Shrewsbury. 

Fal. An 't please your lordship, I hear his majesty 
is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty : you would not 
-come wlien I sent for you. 

Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen 
into this same whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch. Just. AVell, God mend him! I pray you, let 
me speak with you. 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of 
lethargy, an 't please your lordshij); a kind of sleep- 
ing in the blood, a winu'cson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What toll you me of it V be it as it is. 

Fal. It hatli its original from much grief, from 
study and perturbation of the brain : I have read 
the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of 
deafness. 

Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the disease ; 
for you hear not what I say to you. 

Fal. Very well, my lord, very well : rather, an 't 
please you, it is the disease of not listening, tlie 
malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would amend 
■6-k2 



the attention of your ears ; and I care not if I do 
become your physician. 

Fnl. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so 
patient : your lordship may minister tlie potion of 
imprisonment to me in resjject of poverty; but how 
I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, 
the wise may malce some dram of a scruple, or in- 
deed a scruple itself. 

Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
against you for j'our life, to come speak witli me. 

Fal. As I was thru ailvisrd by my leaiiied counsel 
in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. 

Ch. Just. Well, tlie truth is. Sir John, you live in 
great infamy. 

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live 
in less. 

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
waste is great. 

Fal. I would it were otherwise; I woidd my 
means were greater, and my waist slenderer. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 

Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I am the 
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 

Cli. Just. AVell, I am loath to gall a new-healed 
wound : your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a 
little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: 
you may thank the unquiet time for yom- quiet o'er^ 
posting that action. 

Fal. My lord ? 

Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : wake 
not a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. 

Ch. Just. What ! you are as a candle, the better 
part burnt out. ■^- 

Fal. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I 
did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 

Ch. Just. Tiiere is not a white hair ou yoiu' face 
but should have his effect of gravity. 

Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and 
down, like his ill angel. 

Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but 
I hope he that looks upon me will take me without 
weighing : and yet, in some respects, I grant, I can- 
not go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard 
in these costermonger times that true valoiu- is 
turned bear-herd : pregnancy is made a ta|>stei-, and 
hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings : all 
the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of 
this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. 
Y'ou that are old consider not the capacities of us 
that are young; you do measure the heat of our 
livers with the bitterness of your galls : and we that 
are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are' 
wags too. 

Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll 
of youth, that are written down old witli all the 
characters of age > Have you not a moist eye ? a 
dry hand V a yellow cheek ? a white beard V a de- 
creasing leg y an increasing belly y is not your voice 
broken y your wind sliort Y your chin double y your 
wit single y and every part about you blasted with 
antiquity y and will you yet call yourself young y 
Fie, tie, tie. Sir John ! 

Fnl. My lord, I was bom about three of the clock 
in the afternoon, witli a white head and soiuetliing 
aTound belly. For my voice, I have lost it with 
halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my 
youth further, 1 will not: tlie truth is, I am only 
old in judgment and uiulerstanding ; and he that 
will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him 
lend me the money, and have at him ! For tlie box 
of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like 
a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. 
I have cliecked him for it, and the young lion re- 
pents ; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new 
silk and old sack. 



ACT I. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene hi. 



Ch. Just. Well, God send the prince a better com- 
panion ! 

Fal. God send the companion a better prince ! I 
cannot rid my hands of liim. 

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and 
Prince Harry : I hear you are going witli Lord Jolm 
ot Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl 
of Northumberland. 

Ful. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
But look you pray, all" you that kis.s my lady Peace 
at home, tliat our armies join not in a hot day ; for, 
by the Lord, I take but two sliirts out with me, and 
1 mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot 
day, and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would 
I might never spit white again. There is not a 
dangerous action can peep out his head but I am 
thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever; but it was 
alway yet the trick of our English nation, if tliey 
luive a good thing, to make it t;oo common. If ye 
will needs say I am an old man, you should give me 
rest. I wouiil to God my name were not so terrible 
to tlie enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to 
death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing 
witli perpetual motion. 

Ck.Just. Well, be h«nest, be honest; and God 
bless your expedition ! 

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound 
to furnish me forth y 

Ch. .Just. Xot a penny, not a penny; you are too 
impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well : commend 
me to my cousin 'Westmoreland. 

[E.nuiit ('likf-Justice and Servant. 
Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A 
man can no more separate age and covetousness 
than a' can part young limbs and lechery: but tlie 
gout galls tlie one, and the pox pinches the other ; 
and so botli the degrees prevent my curses. Boy ! 
Page. SirV 

Fal. What money is in my purse? 
Fage. Seven groats and two pence. 
Fal. I can get no remedy against this consump- 
tion of tlie purse : borrowing only lingers and lingers 
it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this 
letter to my Lord of Lancaster ; this to tlie prince ; 
this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old 
Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to 
marry since I perceived tlie lirst wliite hair on my 
chin. About it : you know where to find me. \^Exil 
Page.] A pox of this gout ! or, a gout of this pox ! 
for the one or tlie otiier plays the rogue with my 
great toe. 'T is no matter if I do halt ; I have the 
wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the 
more reasonable. A good wit will make use of any 
thing: 1 will turn diseases to commodity. \_Exit. 

SCENE III.— Yorl;. Tlie Archhlshop^s palace. 

Eater the Archbishop, the Lords Ha,stings, 
Mo'wbray, ayul Bardolph. 

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and known 
our means ; 
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes : 
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it ? 

Motch. I well allow the occasion of our arms ; 
Bijt gladly would be better satisfied 
How in our means we should advance ourselves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon tlie power and puissance of tlie king. 

Hast. Our i)resent musters grow upon tlie file 
To five and twenty thousand men of choice; 
And our supplies live largely in tlie hope 
Of great Xortluimberland, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed lire of injuries. [eth thus; 

i.Bai-tL The question then. Lord Hastings, stand- 
Whether our present five and twenty thousand 
May hold up head without if orthumberland 'i 



Hast. With him, we may. 

L. Bard. Yea, marry, there 's the point : 

But if without him we be thought too feeble, 
My judgment is, we should not step too far 
Till we had his assistance by the hand; 
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this 
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
Of aids iiieertain sliould not be admitted. 

Arch. 'Tis very true. Lord Bardolph; for indeed 
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury, [hope, 
L. Bard. It was, my lord ; who lined himself with 
Eating the air on promise Of supply, 
Flattering himselt in project of a power 
Mucli smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: 
And so, with gie;it imagination 
Proper to luuilmeii, led his powers to death 
And winking leap'd into destruction. 

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt 
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. 

L. Bard. Yes, if this present quality of war, 
Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot 
Lives so ill liope as in an early spring 
We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, 
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair 
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, 
We first survey the plot, tlien draw the model; 
And when we see the figure of the house, 
Tlien must we rate tlie cost of the erection; 
Which if we find outweighs ability. 
What do we then but draw anew the model 
In fewer offices, or at last desist 
To build at all ? iluch more, in this great work, 
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down 
And set anotlier up, should we survey 
The plot of situation and the model. 
Consent upon a sure foundation. 
Question surveyors, know our own estate, 
How able such a work to undergo. 
To weigh against his opposite ; or else 
We fortify in paper and in figures, 
Using tlie names of men instead of men : 
Like one that draws the model of a house 
Beyond his power to build it ; who, halt through, 
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost 
A naked subject to the weeping clouds 
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 

Hast. Grant tliat our hopes, yet likely of fair birth. 
Should be still-born, and tliat we now possess 'd 
The utmost man of expectation, 
I tliink we are a body strong enough, 
Even as we are, to equal with the king, [tliousand ? 
L. Bard. Wliat, is the king but five and twenty 
Hast. To us no more ; nay, not so niucli. Lord Bar- 
For his divisions, as the times do brawl, [dolph. 
Are in three heads: one power against the French, 
And one against Glendower; perforce a third 
Must take up us: so is the uiifirm king 
In three divided; and his coffers sound 
With hollow poverty and emptiness. [together 

Arch. That he should draw his several strengtlis 
And come against us in full puissance, 
N'eed not be dreaded. 

Hast. If he should do so. 

He leaves his back unarm VI, the French and Welsh . 
Baying him at the heels: never fear that, [hither: 
L. Bard. Wlio is it like should lead his forces 
Hast. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland ; 
Against the "Welsh, himself and Harry Monmoulh: 
But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
I have no certain notice. 

Arch. Let us on. 

And publish the occasion of our arms. 
The commonwealth is sick of their owni choice; 
Tlieir over-greedy l(jve hath surfeited: 
An habitation giddy and unsure 
Hath he tluit buildetli on the vulaar heart. 
O thou fond many, witli what loud applau.se 
343 



ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene i. 



Didst tliou beat heaven witli blessing Bolingbroke, 
Before he was wluit thou wuuhlst have hiui'be! 
And bein}< now trimm'd in tliine own desires, 
Tliou, beastly feeder, art so lull ot hiai, 
That thou provokest tliyself to cast him up. 
So, so, tliou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
Tliy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; 
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, 
And liowPst to find it. What trust is in these times ? 
Tney that, when liichard lived, would have him die, 



Are now become enamour'd on his grave : 
TIiou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head 
When through proml London he came sighing on 
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
Oriest now ' O earth, yield us t liat king again, 
And take thou this! ' O tliouglits of men accursed! 
Past and to come seems best ; things present worst. 
Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers and set on y 
Ilast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be 
gone. [ii'xc((/ii. 



J^CT II. 



SCENE I.— London. A street. 



Enter Hostess, Fang and his Boy ivith her, and 
Snare following. 

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action ? 
■ Fany. It is entered. 

Host. Where 's your yeoman ? Is 't a lusty yeo- 
man ? will a' stand to 't i* 

Fang. Sirrah, where 's Snare? 

Host. O Lord, ay ! good Master Snare. 

Hnare. Here, here. 

Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. 

Host. Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered 
him and all. 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, 
for he will stab. 

Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; he stabbed 
me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in 
good faith, he cares not v>'hat mischief he does, if 
his weapon be out : he will foin like any devil ; he 
will spare neither man, woman, nor child. 

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his 
thrust. 

Host. No, nor I neither: I '11 be at your elbow. 

Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come but 
within my vice, — 

Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant you, 
he 's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Mas- 
ter Fang, hold him sure: good Master Snare, let 
him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie- 
corner — saving your manhoods — to buy a saddle ; 
and he is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in 
Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silkman: 
I pray ye, since my exion is entered and my case so 
openly known to the world, let him be brought in 
to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a 
poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and 
borne, and borne, and have been fubbed off, and 
fubbed oif , and fubbed off, from this day to that 
day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is 
no honesty in such dealing ; unless a woman should 
be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's 
wrong. Yonder he comes ; and that arrant inalmsey- 
nose knave, Bardolph , with him. Do your ofiices, do 
your oflices : Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, 
do me, do me your offices. 

Enter Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph. 

Fal. How now ! whose mare's dead ? what 's the 
matter V 

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mis- 
tress Quickly. 

Fal. Away, varlets ! Draw, Bardolph : cut me off 
the villain's head: throwthe quean in the channel. 

Host. Throw me in the channel ! I '11 tlirow thee 
in t!ie channel. Wilt thou V wilt tliou V thou bas- 
tardly rogue ! Murder, murder ! Ah, thou honey- 
suckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the 
king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a 
honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller. 

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolpli. 
344 



Fang. A rescue ! a rescue ! 

Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou 
wo't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou 
rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed ! 

Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you 
fustilarian I I '11 tickle your catastrophe. 

Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men. 

Ch. Just. What is the matter ? keep the peace 
here, ho! 

Host. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech 
you, stand to me. 

.Ch. Just. How now, Sir John; what are you 

brawling here ? [ness ? 

Doth this become your place, j'our time and busi- 

You should have fieeu well on your way to York. 

Stand from him, fellow : wherefore hang'st upon 

him ? 

Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please 
your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and 
he is arrested at my suit. 

Ch. /((*■(. For what sum ? 

Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for 
all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and 
home ; he hath put all my substance into that fat 
belly of his : but I will have some of it out again, 
or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare. 

Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
have any vantage of ground to get up. 

Ch.Jiist. How comes this, Sir John ? Fie! what 
man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
exclamation ? Are you not ashamed to enforce a 
poor widow to so rough a course to come by her 
own ? 

Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? 

Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself 
and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon 
a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, 
at the round-table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Weilnes- 
day in Wheeson week, when tlie prince broke thy 
head for liking his father to a singing-man of Wind- 
sor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing 
thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady 
thy wife. Canst thou deny it ? Did not goodwife 
Keech, the butcher's wife", come in then and call 
me gossip Quickly ? coming in to borrow a mess of 
vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; 
whereby thou didst desire to eat some ; whereby I 
told thee they were ill for a green wound ? And 
didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, 
desire me to be no more so familiarity with such 
poor people ; saying that ere long they should call 
me madam ? And didst thou not kiss me and bid 
me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to 
thy book-oath : deny it, if thou canst. 

Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she 
says up and down the town that her eldest son is 
like you: she hath been in good case, and the truth 
is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these fool- 
ish officers, I beseech you I may have redress agamst 
them. 



ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene ii. 



Ch. Ju.st. Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted 
with your manuer of wrenching the true cause the 
false wa}'. It is not a confident brow, nor the 
tlirong of words that come with such more than 
impudent sauciness from you, can tlirust me from 
a level consideration: j'ou have, as it appears to 
me, practised upon tlie easy-yielding- spirit of this 
woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse 
and in pereon. 

Jhost. Yea, in truth, my lord. 

Ch. Just. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you 
owe her, and \nipay tlie villany you have done her: 
tlie one you may do with sterling money, and the 
other with current repentance. 

Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap with- 
out reply. You call honourable boldness impudent 
sauciness ; if a man will make courtesy and say 
nothing, he is virtuous : no, my lord, my humble 
duty remembered, 1 will not be your suitor. I say 
to you, I do desire deliverance from tliese officers, 
being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. 

Ch. Just. You'speak as liaving power to do wrong : 
but answer in the effect of yoiu- reputation, and sat- 
isfy tlie poor woman. 

±al. Come hither, hostess. 

Enter Oo'weT. 

Oil. .Just. Xow, Jlaster Gower, what news ? 

Gow. Tlie king, my lord, and Harry Prince of 
Are near at hand : the rest the paper tells. [Wales 

I'al. As I am a gentleman. 

Host. Paith, you said so before. [of it. 

J'V/i. As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words 

Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must 
be fain to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of 
my dinmg-chambers. 

Mil. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: itnd 
for tliy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story 
of the Prodigal, or tlie German hunting in water- 
work, is wortli a thousand of these bed-liangings 
and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, 
if tliou canst. Come, an 't were not for thy hu- 
mours, there 's not a better wench in England. 
Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. Come, 
thou must not be in this humour with me ; dost 
not know me? come, come, I know thou wast set 
on to this. 

Host. Pray thee. Sir John, let it be but twenty 
nobles : i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so 
God save me, la ! 

Fal. Ijiit it alone ; I '11 make other shift : you '11 
be a fool still. 

Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pavra my 
go-s^ii. I hope you '11 come to supper. You '11 pay 
me all together ? 

Fal. Will I live? [To Bardolph] Go, with her, 
with her; hook on, hook on. 

Host. Will you have Doll Tearslieet meet you at 

Fal. Ifo more words; let 's have her. [supper? 
[Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers and Boy. 

CJi. Just. 1 have heard better news. 

Fal. What 's the news, my lord ? 

Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night ? 

Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 

Fal. I hope, my lord, all 's well : what is the news, 
my lord ? 

Ch. Just. Come all his forces back ? [liorse, 

Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred 
Are inarch 'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
Against Northumberland and tlie Archbishop. 

Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble 
lord ? [ently : 

Ch. Just. You shall have the letters of 'me pres- 
Come, go along with me, good ilaster Gower. 

Fal. My lord ! 

Ch. Just. What 's the matter ? [to dinner ? 

Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me 



Goic. I must wait upon my good lord here; I 
thank j'oh, good Sir John. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being 
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. 

Fal. Will .you sup with me. Master Gower? 

Ch. Just. AVhat foolish master taught you these 
manners, Sir Jolm ? 

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he 
was a fool that taught them me. This is the right 
fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so part fair. 

Cli. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a 
great fool. [E.ceunt. 

SCENE U.—London. Another street. 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

Prince. Before God. I am exceeding weary. 

Foins. Is 't come to that ? I had thought weari- 
ness durst not have attached one of .so liigh blood. 

Frince. Faith, it does me; tiiough it discolours 
the complexion of my greatness toacknowledge it. 
Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer ? 

Foin.s. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
studied as to remember so weak a composition. 

Frince. Belike then my appetite was not princely 
got; for, by my trotli, I do now remember the poor 
creatm-e,' smaU beer. But, indeed, these humble 
considerations make me out of lo\-e with my great- 
ness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember tliy 
name ! or to know tliy face to-morrow ! or to take 
note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, 
viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured 
ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shh-ts, as, one 
for superfluity, and another tor use! But that the 
tennis-court -keeper knows better than I; for it is 
a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not 
racket there; as thou hast not done a great while, 
because the rest of thy low countries have maile 
a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, 
whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen 
sliall inherit his kingdom : but the midwives say 
tlie chiltlren are not in the fault; whereupon the 
world increases, and kincU'eds are mightily strength- 
ened. 

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured 
so hard, you should talk so idly ! Tell me, how many 
good young princes would do .so, tlieir fathers behig 
so sick as yours at this time is? 

Prince. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? 

Poins. Yes, faith ; and let it be an excellent good 
thing. 

Prince. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one thing 
that you will tell. 

Prince. Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I 
should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could 
teU to thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a 
l)etter, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad 
indeed too. 

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 

Prince. By this hand, thou thiiikest me as far in 
the devil's book as thou and Falstaft for obduracy 
and 'persistency : let the end try tlie man. But I 
tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father 
is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou 
art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of 

Poins. The reason ? [sorrow. 

Prince. What wouldst thou think of me, if I 
should weep ? [crite. 

Poins. 1 would think thee a most princely hypo- 

Prince. It would be every man's thought; and 
thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man 
thinks : never a man's tliought in tlie world keeps 
the road-way better than thine : every man would 
think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites 
your most worshipful tliought to think so ? 
345 



ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iir. 



Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd ami 
so much engrafted to Falstaff. 

Prince. And to thee. 

Poins. By this light, I am well spoke on ; I can 
liear it with mine own ears: the worst tliat they 
can say of me is tliat I am a second brotlier and 
tliat I am a proper fellow of my hands ; and those 
two things, I confess, I caimot help. By the mass, 
here comes Bardolph. 

Enter Bardolph and Page. 

Prince. And the boy that I gave Falstaff : a' 
liad liim from me Christian; and look, if tlie fat 
villain liave not transformed him ape. 

liiird. God save your grace! 

Prince. And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 

Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, 
must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now V 
AVhat a maideiUy man-at-arms are you become ! 
Is 't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead ':* 

Page. A' calls nie e'en now, my lord, through 
a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
from tlie window: at last I spied his eyes, and me- 
thought he had made two holes in tlie ale-wife "s 
new petticoat and so peeped tlirough. 

Prince. Has not tlie boy prolited"? 

Hard. Away, yon whoreson upright rabbit, away ! 

Paye. Away, you rascally Alth;ea's dream, away ! 

Prince. Instruct us, l)(iy ; what dream, boy V 

Page. Marry, my lonl, Altha'a dreamed she was 
delivered of a lire-brand ; and thei'efore I call liim 
her dream. 

Prince. A crown's worth of good interpretation: 
there 't is, boy. 

Poing. O, that this good blossom could be kept 
from cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve 
thee. 

Bard. An you do not make him hanged among 
you, the gallows shall have wrong. 

Prince. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ? 

Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's 
coming to town : there 's a letter for you. 

Poins. Delivered with good respect. And how 
doth the martlenias, your master V 

Bard. In bodily health, sir. 

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physi- 
cian; but that moves uot him: though that be sick,, 
it dies not. 

Prince. I do allow this wen to be as familiar 
with me as my dog ; and he liolds his place ; for 
look you how he writes. 

Poins. [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,' — every 
man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to 
}iame himself : even like those that are kin to the 
king; for they never prick their finger but they 
say, 'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 
' How comes that ? ' says he, that" takes upon him 
not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a bor- 
rower's cap, ' I am the king's poor cousin, sir.' 

Prince. Xay, they will be kin to us, or they will 
fetch it from .laphet. But to t!ie letter: 

Poins. [Heads] ' Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the 
son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince 
of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate. 

Prince. Peace! 

Poins. [Heads] ' I will imitate the honourable Ro- 
mans in brevity: ' he sure means brevity in breatli, 
short-winded. ' I commend me to tliee, I corninend 
thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with 
Poins ; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he 
swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent 
at idle times as tlmu mayest ; and .so, farewell. 

' Thine, by yea and no, which is as much 
as to say, as thou usest him, Jack Fal- 
staff with my familiars, John with my 
brothers and sisters, and Sik John witii 
all Europe.' 

346 



My lord, I '11 steep this letter iu sack and make 
him eat it. 

Prince. That 's to make him eat twenty of his 
words. But do you use me thus, ]S^edi' must I 
marry your sister V 

Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune! 
But I never said so. 

Prince. Well, thus we play the fools with tlie 
time, and the spirits of the wi.se .sit in the clouds 
and mock us. Is your master here in London ?* 

Bard. Yea, my lord. 

Prince. Where sups he? doth tlie old boar feed 
in tlie old frank ? 

Bard. At the old place, my lord, in Eastclieap. 

Prince. What company ? 

Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. 

Prince. Sup any women with liim ? 

Page. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly 
and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. 

Prince. What pagan may that be ? 

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- 
woman of my master's. 

Prince. Even such kin as the parish heifers are 
to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ked, 
at supper V [you. 

Poins. 1 am your shadow, my lord ; I '11 follow 

Prince. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word 
to your master that I am yet come to town : there 's 
for your silence. 

Bard. I have no^ngue, sir. 

Page. And for ifflne, sir, I will govern it. 

Prince. Fare you well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph 
cmd Page.] This DoU Tearsheet should be some 
road. 

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way be- 
tween Saint Alban's and London. 

Prince. How might we see Falstaff bestow liim- 
self to-night in his true coloms, and not dursehes 
be seen ? 

Poins. Tut on two leatliern jerkins and aprons, 
and wait upon him at his table as drawers. 

Prince. From a God to a bull ? a heavy descension ! 
it was Jove's case. From a ]irincp to a prentice y a 
low transformation ! that shall ln' mine ; for in every 
thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Fol- 
low me, Ned. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Warkicorlh. Before the castle. 

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumber- 
land, a?!C? Lady Percy. 

North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daugh- 
Give even way unto my rough atliiirs: [ier. 

Put not you (in the visage of the times 
And be like them to Percy troublesome. 

Ladij K. I have given over, I will speak no more: 
Do what you will : your wisdom be your guide. 

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn ; 
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. [wars! 

Lady P. O yet, for God's sake, go not to these 
The time was, father, that you broke your word, 
AVhen you were more endear'd to it than now; 
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, 
Tlirew many a northward look to see his father 
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. 
Who then persuaded you to stay at home? 
There were two honom-s lost, yours and your son's. 
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! 
For his, it stuck upon him as tlie sun 
111 the grey vault of heaven, and by his light 
Did all the chivalry of England move 
To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass 
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: 
He had no legs that prar-tised not his gait ; 
And speaking thick, which nature made liis blemish, 
Became the ai-cents of the valiant ; 
For those that could speak low and tardily 



-^ 




ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



Would turn their own perfection to abuse, 

To seem like liim: so that in speech, in gait, 

In diet, in affections of delight, 

In military rules, humours of blood. 

He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 

Tliat fasliion"d otliers. And him, O wondrous him ! 

miracle of men ! him did you leave, 
Second to none, unsecouiied by you. 
To look upon the liideous god of war 
In disadvantage ; to abide a field 

AVhere nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
Did seem defensible: so you left him. 
Kever, O never, do his ghost the wrong 
To hold your honour more precise and nice 
With others than with him! let them alone: 
The marshal and the archbishop are strong : 
Had my sv,-eet Harry had but half their numbers. 
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 

North. Beshrew your heart, 

Fah- daugliter, you do draw my spirits from me 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I must go and meet with danger there, 
Or it will seek me in another place 
And find me worse provided. 

Lathj X. O, fly to Scotland, 

Till that the nobles and the armed commons 
Have of their puissance made a little taste, [king, 

Ladij P. If tliey get ground and vantage of the 
Then 'join you with them, like a rib of steel. 
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves. 
First let them try themselves. So did your son; 
He was so suffered : so came I a widow ; 
And never shall haVe length of life enough 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, 
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
For recordation to my noble husband. [mind 

North. Come, come, go in with me. 'T is with my 
As witli the tide swell'd up unto his height. 
That makes a still-stand, running neither way: 
Fain would I go to meet the arciibishoi). 
But many thousand reasons hold me back. 

1 will resolve for Scotland: there am I, 

Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — -London. The Boar's-Head Taveryi 
in Ea&tcheap. 

Enter two Drawers. 

First Draw. What the de^'il hast thou brought 
there '? apiiie-johns V thou knowest Sir John cannot 
endm-e an apiile-john. 

Sec. Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince 
once set a dish of apple-jolms before him, and told 
him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off 
his hat, said ' I will now take my leave of these six 
dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him 
to the heart : but he hath furgot that. 

First Draw. Why, then, cover, and set them down: 
and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mis- 
tress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dis- 
patch : the room where they supped is too hot : 
they '11 come in straight. 

Sec. Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince and 
Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of 
our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must not 
know of it: Barddlpli liath brought word. 

First Draw. By the mass, here will be old Utis: 
it will be an excellent stratagem. 

Sec. Draw. I '11 see if I cantind out Sneak. [Exit. 

Enter Hostess and Doll Tearsheet. 
Host. V faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are 
in an excellent good teuiiierality : your pulsidge 
beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire ; and 
your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in 
good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drmrk too 



much canaries ; and that 's a marvellous searching 
wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 
' What 's this ? ' How do you now Y 

Dol. Better than I was : hem ! 

Host. AVhy, that 's well said ; a good heart 's worth 
gold. Lo, liere comes Sir John. 

Enter FalstaflF. 

Fal. [Sincjintj] 'When Arthur first in court' — 
Empty the Jordan. [Exit First Drawer]. — [SiriginfA 
' And was a worthy king.' How now. Mistress Doll !v 

Host. Sick of a calm ; yea, good faith. \ 

Fal. So is all her sect ; an they be once in a calm, 
they are sick. 

Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort 
you give me? 

Fal. You make fat rascals. Mistress Doll. 

Dol. I make them ! gluttony and diseases make 
them ; I make them not. 

Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you 
help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch of you, 
Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue, 
grant that. 

Dol. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels. 

Fal. ' Your brooclies, pearls, and ouches : ' for to 
serve bravely is to come halting off, you know: to 
,come off the beach with his pike bent bravely, and 
to surgery bravely; to ventiu-e upon the charged 
chambers bravely, — 

Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang 
yourself ! 

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you 
two never meet but you fall to some discord : you 
are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic as two dry 
toasts ; you cannot one bear with another's con- 
firmities. What the good-year! one must bear, 
and that must be you : you are the weaker ves-sel, 
as they say, the emptier vessel. 

Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a luige 
full hogshead '■* there "s q^ whole merchant's venture 
of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have riot seen a 
liulk better stulied in the hold. Come, I '11 be 
friends with thee, .Jack: thou art going to the 
wars; and wliether I shall ever see thee again or 
no, there is nobody cares. 

Re-enter First Drawer. 

First Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol 's below, and 
would speak with you. 

Dol. Hang him. .swaggering rascal ! let him not 
come hither: it is the foul-mouthed "st rogue in Eng- 
land. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here: no, 
by my faith; I must live among my neighbours; 
I '11 no swaggerers : I am in good name and fame 
with the very best: shut the door; there comes no 
swaggerers here: I have not lived all tliis while, to 
have swaggering now : shut the door, I pray you. 

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess V 

Host. Pray ye, pacify jourself, Sir John: there 
comes no swaggerers here. 

Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. 

Host. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me: your 
ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was 
before Master Tisick, the deputy, t' other day : and, 
as he said to me, 't was no longer ago than Wed- 
nesday last, 'I' good faith, neighbour Quickly,' 
says lie ; Master Dumbe, our minister, was by then ; 
'neighbour Quickly,' says he, 'receive those that 
are civil; for,' said he, 'you are in an ill name: ' 
now a' said so, I can tell whereupon ; ' for,' says 
he, ' you are an honest woman, and well tliouglit 
on; therefore take heed what guests you receive: 
receive,' says he, 'no swaggering companions.' 
There comes none here: you would bless you to 
hear what he said : no, I '11 no swaggerers. 

Fal. He 's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame cheuter, 
347 



ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



i' faith ; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy 
greyliound : lie '11 not swagger with a Barbary hen, 
it her feathers turn back iu any siiow of resistance. 
Call him up, drawer. [£xrt First JJrawer. 

Host. Cheater, call you him V I will bar no hon- 
est man my house, nor no cheater : but I do not love 
swaggering, by my troth ; I am the worse, when 
one says swagger : feel, masters, how I shake ; look 
you, I warrant you. 

Jjol. So you do, hostess. 

Host. Do ly, yea, iu very truth, do I, an 'twere 
an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Fist. God save you. Sir John ! 

Fed. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I 
charge you with a cup of sack : do you discharge 
upon mine hostess. 

Fist. I will discharge upon her. Sir John, with 
two bullets. 

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly 
offend her. 

Host. Come, I 'U drink no proofs nor no bullets : 
I '11 drink no more than will do me good, for no 
man's pleasure, I. 

Fist. Then to you. Mistress Dorothy; I will 
charge you. 

JJol. Charge me I I scorn you, scurvy companion.' 
Wliat ! you p'oor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen 
mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am 
meat for your master. 

Fist. I know you. Mistress Dorothy. 

Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy bung, 
away ! by this wine, I '11 thrust my knife in your 
mouldy chaps, and you play the saucy cuttle with 
me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt 
stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? 
God's light, with two points on your shoulder ? 
much ! 

Fist. God let me not live, but I will murder your 
ruff for tills. 

Fal. No more, Pistol ; I would not have you go 
off here : discharge yourself of our company. Pistol. 

Host. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet 
captain. 

Dol. Captain ! thou abominable damned clieater, 
art thou not ashamed to be called caiitain';' An 
captains were of my mind, they would truncheon 
you out, for taking their names ujion you before 
you have earned them. You a captain! you slave, 
for what ? for tearing a poor wliore's ruff in a 
bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him, rogue! 
he lives upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried 
cakes. A captain! God's light, these villains will 
make the word as odious as the word 'occiipv:' 
which was an excellent good W'ord belore it wab ill 
sorted : therefore captanis had need look to 't. 

Bard. Pray tliee,go down, good ancient. 

Fal. Hark thee hither, ilistress Doll. 

Fist. Not I : I tell thee wliat, Corporal Bardolph, 
I could tear her: 1 'U be revenged of her. 

Faije. Pray thee, go down. 

Fist. I '11 see her damned first ; to Pluto's damned 
lake, by this hand, to the internal deep, with Erebus 
anil tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. 
Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have we not 
Hiren here ? 

Host. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very 
late, i' faith : I beseek you now, aggravate your 
choler. 

Fist. These be good humours, indeed ! Shall pack- 
Aiid hollow pani'per'd jades of Asia, [horses 

"WHiicli cannot go but thirty mile a-ihiy, 
ConiiKire with Ctesars, and willi Cauiiilials, 
And Trojan (ireeksV nay, rather dauin them with 
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys ? 
348 



Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter 
words. 

Bard. Be gone, good ancient : this will grow to a 
brawl anon. 

Fist. Die men like dogs ! give crowns like pins ! 
Have we not Hiren here ? 

Host. O' my word, captain, there's none such 
here. What the good-year! do you think I would 
deny her V For God's sake, be quiet. 

Fist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis. 
Come, give 's some sack. 

' Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.' 
Fear we broadsides'? no, let the tiend give (ire: 
Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there. 
[Litiji)iij doirn his strord. 
Come we to full points here; and are etceteras 

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. [nothing? 

Fist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: what! we 
have seen the seven stars. 

FoL For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: 
I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. 

Fist. Thrust him down stah'sl know we not 
Galloway nags ? 

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove- 
groat shilling: nay, an a' do nothing but speak 
nothing, a' shalllie nothing here. 

Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 

Fist. Whatl- shall we have incision? shall we 

imbrue ? [Sftati-hiny up his sirord. 

Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days ! 

Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 

Untwine the Sisters Three ! Come", Atropos, I say! 

Host. Here 's goodly stuff toward ! 

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. • 

Fol. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. 

Fal. Get you down stairs. 

IFrau'ing, and driving Fistol cut. 

Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I 11 forswear 
keeping house, afore I '11 be in these tirrits and 
frights. So ; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! 
put up your naked weapons, put up your naked 
weapons. \^Exeunt Fistol and Bardoljih. 

Dol. I pray thee. Jack, be quiet ; the rascal 's gone. 
Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you ! 

Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought 
a' made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 

Fe-enter Bardolph. 

Fal. Have you turned him out o' doors? 

Bai-d. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have 
hurt him, sir, i' the shoulder. 

Fal. A rascal! to brave me! 

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, poor 
ape, how thou sweatest ! come, let me wipe thy face ; 
come on, you whoreson chops: ah, rogue! i' faith, 
1 love thee : thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, 
worth live of Agamemnon, and ten times better 
than the Nine Worthies: ah, villain! 

F((l. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue in a 
blanket. 

Fol. Do, an thou darest for thy heart: an thou 
dost, I '11 canvass thee between a pair of sheets. 

Enter Music. 

Faqe. The music is come, sir. 

Fal. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, 
Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue fled from 
me like quicksilver. 

Fol. r faith, and thou followedst him like a 
church. Thou whoresnu little tidy Bartholomew 
boar-pig, when wilt thou leave lighting o' days and 
foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old 
body for heaven ? 

Enter, behind, Prince Henry and Poins, disguised. 
Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a death's- 
head ; do not bid me remember mine end. 



ACT ir. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



Dol. Sirrah, what humour 's the prince of ? 

FaJ. A good shallow j'ouug fellow: a' would have 
made a good pantler, a' would ha' chipped bread 

l)nl. Tliej' say Poiiis has a good wit. [well. 

F(d. He a good wit ? haug him, baboon ! his wit 's 
as thiek as Tewksbury mustard; there's no more 
coiK'eit in him than is in a mallet. 

DoJ. Why does the prince love him so, then V 

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 
a' plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, 
and ilrinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons, and 
rides tlie wild-mare with the boys, and jumps upon 
joined-stools, and swears with a good grace, and 
wears his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of 
the leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet 
stories ; and such other gambol faculties a' has, that 
show a weak mind and an able body, for the which 
the prince admits him: for the prince himself is 
such another; the weight of a hair will tui-u the 
scales between their avoirdupois. 

Prince. Would not this nave of a wheel have his 
ears cut off ? 

Poias. Let 's beat him before his whore. 

Prince. Look, whether the withered elder hath 
not his poll clawed like a parrot. 

Puins. Is it not strange that desire should so 
many years outlive performance':' 

Fid. Kiss me, Doll. 

Prince. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
tion ! what says the almanac to that ? 

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his 
man, be not lisping to his master's old tables, his 
note-book, his counsel-keeper. 

Fed. Thou dost give me tlattering busses. 

Dol. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most con- 
stant heart. 

Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy 
yomig boy of them all. 

Fal. What stuff wilt have "a kirtleof ? I shall 
receive money o' Thursday: slialt have a cap to- 
morrow. A merry soug, come : it grows late ; we '11 
to bed. Thou 'It forget me when I am gone. 

Dol. By my troth,"tliou'lt set me a-weeping, an 
thou sayest so : prove tliat ever I dress myself liaud- 
some till thy return: well, hearken at the end. 

Fa!. Some sack, Francis. 

p'otnT' I -^"O"^! anon, sir. [Comin<j forward. 

Fal. Ila! a bastard son of ^he king's? And art 
not thou Poins his brother? 

Prince. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
what a life dost thou lead I 

Fal. A better than thou : I am a gentleman ; thou 
art a dra\ver. 

Prince. Very true, sir; and I come to draw you 
out by the ears. 

Ho.st. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! by 
my troth, welcome to London. Now, the Lord bless 
tliat sweet face of thine! O Jesu, are you come 
from Wales '? 

Fal. Tliou whoreson mad compound of majestv, 
by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art wel- 

Dol. Hinv, you fat fool I I scorn you. [come. 

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your re- 
v.enge and turn all to a merriment, if you take not 
the heat. 

Prince. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how 
vilely did you speak of me even now before this 
honest, virtuous, civil gentlewom.an ! 

IIiiM. (Joil's blessing of your good heart I and so 
she is, by my troth. 

Fal. Didst thou hear me? 

Prince. Yea, and you knew me, as you did when 
you rah away by Gad's-hill: you knew I was at 
your l.iack, and spoke it on purpose to try my pa- 
tience. 



Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think thou wast 
within hearing. 

Prince. I shall drive you then to confess the wil- 
ful abuse ; and then I know how to handle you. 

Fal. No abuse, Hal, o' my honour; no abuse. 

Prince. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler 
and bread-chipper and I know not what ? 

Fal. No abuse, Hal. 

Poins. No abuse ? 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, 
none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the 
wicked might not fall m love with him ; in which 
doing, I have done the part of a careful friend and 
a true subject, and thy father is to give me tlianks 
for it. No abuse, Hal : none, Ned, none : no, faitli, 
boys, none. 

Prince. See now, whether pure fear and entire 
cowardice doth not make thee wrong this virtuous 
gentlewoman to close with us ? is she of the wicked ? 
is thine hostess hereof the wicked? or is thy boy 
of the wicked ? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal 
burns in his nose, of the wicked ? 

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irre- 
coverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, 
where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. Fiu' 
the boy, there is a good angel about him; but the 
devil outbids him too. 

Prince. For the women ? 

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, and 
burns poor souls. For tlie other, I owe her money ; 
and whether she be damned for that, I know not." 

Most. No, I warrant you. 

Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art 
quit for that. Marry, there is another indictment 
upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy 
house, contrary to the law ; for the which I think 
thou wilt howl. 

Host. All victuallers do so ; what 's a joint of mut- 
ton or two ui a whole Lent ? 

Prince. You, gentlewoman, — 

Dol. What says your grace? 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
against. [Knocking irithiri. 

Ho.<t. Who knocks so loud at door ? Look to the 
door there, Francis. 

Enter Peto. 

Prince. Peto, how now! what news? 

Pcto. The king 5'our father is at Westminster; 
And there are t\^'enty weak and wearied posts 
Come from the north: and, as 1 came along, 
I met and overtook a dozen captains. 
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
And asking every one tor Sir John Falstaff. 

Prince. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame, 
So idly to profane the precious time, 
AVhen tempest of commotion, like the south 
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt 
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
Give me my sword and cloak. FalstaS, good night. 
[Exeunt Prince Denry, Poins, Pcto, 
and Ba.rditlpli. 

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the 
night, and we must hence and leave it unpicked. 
[Knocking within.] More knockmg at the door! 

Ee-enter Bardolph. 
How now ! what 's the matter ? 

Bard. You must away to court, sir, pre.sently; 
A dozen captains stay at door for you. 

Fal. [To the Page] Pay the musicians, sirrah. 
Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my 
good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : 
the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action 
is called on. Farewell, good wenches: if I be not 
sent awa}' post, 1 will see you again ere I go. 
349 



ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene ii. 



Dol. I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to 
burst, — well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. 

I'al. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Falstaff and 

Bardolph. 

Host. Well, fare thee well : I have known thee tliese 
twenty nine years, come peascod-time ; but an hon- 
ester and truer-hearted man, — well, fare thee well. 



Bnrd. [IVithin'] Mistress Tearsheet ! 

Host. What 's till' matter? 

Bard. [WUuin] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to 
my master. 

Host. O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll: come. 
[She comes blubbered.] Yea, will you come, Doll ? 

[Exeunt. 



J^CT III. 



SCENE I. — Westminster. The palace. 

Enter the King in his nightgmen, with a Page. 
King. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick ; 
But, ere tliey come, bid them o'er-read these letters. 
And well consider of them : make good speed. 

[Exit Page. 
How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, 
Xature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down 
And steep my senses in forgetfulness V 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee 
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber. 
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 
Under the canopies of costly state. 
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody ? 
O thou dull god, why lii'st thou with the vile 
In loathsome beds, and leuvest the kingly couch 
A watch-case or a connuon 'larum-bell y 
Wilt tiiou upon the high and yiddy mast 
Seal up the sliip-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of tlie rude imperious surge 
And in the visitation of the winds. 
Who take the ruHian billows by the top. 
Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them 
With dealeiiing rlamour in the slippery clouds. 
That, with thehurly, death itself awakes':' 
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude. 
And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
Witli all appliances and means to boot. 
Deny it to a king ? Then happy low, lie down ! 
Uneasy lies the iiead that wears a crown. 

Enter "War-wick and Surrey. 

War. Many good morrows to your majesty ! 

King. Is it good miivrow, lords V 

War. 'T is one o'clock, and past. [lords. 

King. Why, then, gnod morrow to you all, my 
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? 

War. We liave, my liege. 

King. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom 
How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow. 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 

War. It is but as a, body yet distemper 'd; 
Which to his tornier strenu'th mav be restored 
With good advice and little niedirine : 
Mv Lord Xortluunlii-rland will soon be cool'd. 

King. OGod! tliatdueniiglit read the book of fate. 
And see the revulutidu of the times 
Make mountains level, and the continent, 
Weary of solid liruniess, melt itself 
Into the sea! and, other times, to see 
The beachy girdle of the ocean 
Too wide for Neiitune's hips ; how chances mock. 
And changes lill tlie cup of alteration 
AVith divers li(|iuirs ! O, it this were seen. 
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, 
What perils iiast, what cro.sses to ensue, 
W^ould shut the Ijook, and sit him down and die. 
'T is not ten years gone 

Since Kichard and Northumberland, great friends, 
350 



Did feast together, and in two years after 
Were they at wars : it is but eiglit years since 
This Percy was the man nearest my soul. 
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs 
And laid his love and life under my foot. 
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Kichard 
Gave him dehance. But which of you was by — 
You, cousin Kevil, as I may remember — 

[To Warwick. 
When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears. 
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, 
Did speak these words, now proved a prophe'-y ? 
'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which 
My cousiji Bolingbroke ascends my throne ; ' 
Tliough then, God knows, I had no such intent, 
But that necessity so bow'd the state 
That I and greatness were compelTd to kiss: 
' The time shall come,' thus did he follow it, 
' The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
Shall break into corruption: ' so went on, 
Foretelling this same time's condition 
And the division of our amity. 

War. There is a histwy in all men's lives, 
Figuring the nature of the times deceased; 
The which observed, a man may prophesy. 
With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to fife, which in tlieir seeds 
Anil weak beginnings lie intreasured. 
Such things become the hatch and brood of time; 
And by the necessary form of this 
King Richard might create a perfect guess 
That great Northumberland, then false to him, 
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness ; 
Which should not find a ground to root upon. 
Unless on you. 

King. Are these things then necessities? 

Then let us meet tliem like neiessities : 
And that same word even now crii's out on us: 
They say the bisliop and Northumberland 
Are fifty thousand strong. 

War. It cannot be, my lord ; 

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo. 
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your grace 
To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord, 
The powers that you already liave sent forth 
Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
To comfort you tlie more, I have received 
A certain instance that Glendower is dead. 
Your niaiesty hath been this fortnight ill. 
And these unseason'd hours perforce must add 
Unto your sickness. 

Ki)i'g. I will take your counsel : 

And were these inward wars once out of hand, 
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Gloucestershire. Before Justice 
tihallow''s house. 

Entn- Shallow and Silence, mrdinrj ; Mouldy, Shadow, 
Wart, Feeble, BuUcalf, a Servant or two with them. 

Slial. Come on, come on, come on, sir; give me 
your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early 
stirrer, by the rood ! And how doth my good cousin 
Silence ? 



ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene ii. 



Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 

tilml. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? 
and your fairest daugfiter and mine, my god- 
Uausiiter EUen V 

S'd. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow! 

Skal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my cousin 
William is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford 
still, is he not i' 

l^il. Indeed, sir, to my cost. 

tihal. A' must, then, to the inns o' court shortly. 
I was once of Clement's Inn, wliere I think they 
will talk of mad Shallow yet. 

nil. You were called ' histy Shallow ' then, cousin. 

Shul. By the mass, I was called a)iy thing; and 
I would liiive done any tiling indeed too, and round- 
ly too. There was I, and little Joliu Doit of Staf- 
fordshire, and black George Barnes, and Francis 
Pickbone, and Will Squele,a Cotswold man; you 
had not four such swiuge-bucklers in all the inns 
o' court again: and I may say to you, we knew 
where the bona-robas were and liad the best of them 
all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now 
Sir John, a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, 
Duke of Xorfolk. 

Sil. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither 
anon about soldiers J* 

aiud. The same Sir John, the very same. I see 
him break Skogan's head at the court-gate, when 
a' was a crack not thus high : and tlie very same 
day did I light with one Sampson Stocktish, a fruit- 
erer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, .Jesu, the mad days 
that I have spent ! and to see how many of my old 
acquaintance are dead ! 

tiil. We shall all follow, cousin. 

8!ml. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure : 
death, as the Psalmist saitli, is certain to all: all 
shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stam- 
ford fair V 

mi. By my trotli, I was not there. 

Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of your 
town living yet '' 

t<il. Dead, sir. 

niial. Jesu, Jesu, dead! a' drew a good bow; and 
dead ! a' sliot a tine shoot : John a Gaunt loved him 
well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! 
a' would have clapped i' the "clout at twelve score; 
and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteeji and 
fourteen and a half, that it would have done a 
man 's heart good to see. How a score of ewes now Y 

Sil. Thereafter as they be : a score of good ewes 
may be worth ten pounds. 

Shal. And is old Double dead ? [I think. 

Sil. Here come two of Sir John Falstaff's men, as 

Unter Bardolph and one with him. 

Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen ; I beseech 
you, which is Justice Sliallow y 

Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire 
of this county, and one of the king's justices of the 
peace : wliat is your good pleasure witli me V 

Bard. My captain, sir, comniemls him to you; 
my captain. Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentleman, by 
heaven, and a most gallant leader. 

Shal. He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good 
backsword man. How doth tlie good knight ? may 
I a.sk how my lady liis wife doth? 

'Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommo- 
dated than with a wife. 

Shal. It is well .said, in faith, sir; and it is well 
said indeed too. Better accommodated ! it is good : 
yea, indeed, is it : good plu-ases are surely, and ever 
were, very commendable. Accommodated ! it comes 
of ' accommodo : ' very good ; a good piu'ase. 

Bard. Pardon nie, sir; I liave heard the word. 
Phrase call you it ? by this good day, I know not 
tlie phrase; tiut I wiirmaintaiu the word with my 
sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of ex- 



ceeding good command, by heaven. Accommo- 
dated ; that is, when a man is, as they say, accom- 
modated ; or when a man is, being, wliereby a' may 
be thought to be accommodated ; which is an ex- 
cellent thing. 
Shal. It is very just. 

Enter Palstaflf. 
Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your 
good liand, give me yoCir worship's good hand : by 
my troth, you like well and bear your years very 
well: welcome, good Sir John. 

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master 
Robert Shallow: Master Surecard, as I think ? 

Shal. Xo, Sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, in 
commission with me. 

Fal. Good Master Silence, it well befits you 
should be of the peace. 

Sd. Your good worship is welcome. 

Fal. Fie! this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have 
you provided me here half a dozen sutlicient men ? 

Shal. JIarry, have we, sir. Will \'ou sit Y 

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 

Shal. Where 's the roll V where 's the roll ? where 's 
the roll y Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, 
so, so, so, so, so, so: yea, marry, sir; Ralph Mouldy! 
Let them appear as I call ; let them do so, let them 
do so. Let me see ; where is Mouldy y 

M(nd. Here, an 't please you. 

Shal. AVhat think you. Sir John V a good-limbed 
fellow; young, strong, and of good friends. 

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy V 

M(jul. Yea, an 't please you. 

Fal. 'T is the more time tliou wert used. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! things 
that are mouldy lack use: very singular good! in 
faitli, well said," Sir John, very "well said. 

Fd. Prick him. 

Moid. I was pricked well enough before, an you 
could have let me aloue : my old dame will be un- 
done now for one to do her husbandry and her 
drudgery: you need not to liave pricked me; there 
are otlier men titter to go out tlian I. 

Fal. Go to : peace, Jlouldy ; you shall go. Mouldy, 
it is time you were spent. 

Moid. Spent ! 

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside : know 
j'ou where you are 'i F(n- the other, Sir John : let 
me see : Simon Shadow ! 

Fal. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under: 
he 's like to be a cold soldier. 

Shal. Where 's Shadow 't 

Shad. Here, sir. 

Fal. Shallow, whose son art thou ? 

Shad. My mother's son, sir. 

Fal. Thy mother's son! like enough, and thy 
father's shadow: so the son of the female is the 
shadow of tlie male: it is often so, indeed; but 
much of the father's substance! 

Shal. Do you like him. Sir Jolin y 

Fal. Sluidow will serve for summer; prick him, 
for we liave a number of sliadows to hll up the mus- 

Shal. Thomas AVart ! [ter-bouk. 

Fal. Where 's hey 

Wart. Here, sir. 

Fal. Is thy name Wart? 

Wart. Yea, sir. 

Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 

Shal. Shall I prick him down. Sir John ? 

Fal. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built 
upon his back and the whole frame stands upon 
pins: prick him no more. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do 
it : I commend you well. Francis Feeble ! 

Fee. Here, sir. 

Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble? 

Fee. A woman's tailiu'. sir. 
3.31 



ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene it. 



Slml. Sliall I prick him, sir? 

Fal. You may : but if lie liad been a man's tailor, 
be '1(1 lia' pricked you. Wilt thou make as many 
holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a 
woman's petticoat ? [more. 

Fee. I will do my good will, sir : you can have no 

Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, 
courageous Feeble ! thou wilt be as valiant as the 
wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. Prick 
the woman's tailor: well, Master Shallow; deep, 
Master Shallow. 

Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir. 

Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou 
mightst mend him and make him fit to go. I can- 
not put him to a private soldier that is tlie leader of 
so many thousands : let that sulfice, most forcil>le 

Fee. it shall suffice, sir. [Feeble. 

Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who 

Shul. Peter BuUcalf o' the green ! [is next V 

Fal. Yea, marry, let 's see Bullculf. 

Bull. Here, sir. 

Ful. 'Fore God, a likely fellow ! Come, prick me 
BuUcalf till he roar again. 

Bull. O Lord ! good my lord captain, — 

Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked ? 

Bull. O Lord, sir ! 1 am a diseased man. 

Fal. What disease hast thou V 
. Bull. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I 
caught with ringing in the king's affairs upou his 
coronation-day, sir. 

Fal. Come, thou slialt go to the wars in a gown ; 
Ave will have away tliy cold ; and I will take such 
order that thy friends shall ring for tliee. Is here all '? 

Shal. Here is two more called than yoiu- number ; 
you :nust have but four here, sir: and so, I pray 
you, go in with me to dinner. 

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot 
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, 
Master Shallow. 

SJial. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay 
all ni"'lit hi the windmill in Saint George's field V 

Fal. No more of that, good Master Shallow, no 
more of that. 

Shal. Ha! 'twas a merry niglit. And is Jane 
Nightwork alive V 

Fal. She lives. Master Shallow. 

Shal. She never could away with me. 

Fal. Never, never ; she would always say she 
could not abide Master Shallow. 

Shal. By the ipass, I could anger her to the heart. 
She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own 

Fal. Old, old. Master Shallow. [well V 

Shal. Nay, she must be old; slie cannot choose 
but be old ; certain she 's old ; and had Kobin Night- 
work by old Nightwork before I came to Clement's 

Sil. That 's fifty-five year ago. [Inn. 

Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou liadst seen 
that that this knight and I have seen! Ila, Sir 
John, said I well 'i 

Fat. We have heard the chimes at midnight. Mas- 
ter Shallow. 

Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have ; 
in faith, Sir John, we have: our watcliword was 
' Ilem boys ! ' Come, let 's to dinner ; come, let 's 
to dimier : Jesus, the days that we have seen ! Come, 
come. [Exeunt Fahtaff ami Ihc .Tnstirc^. 

Bull. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, sbuid my 
friend; and here 's four Harry ten shillings in French 
crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief Vie 
hanged, sir, as go : and yet, for mine own part, sir, 
I do not care; but rather, because I am uuwiliing, 
and, tor mine own part, have a desire to stay with 
my friends ; else, sir-, I did not care, for miiie own 
part, so much. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Moid. And, good master corporal captain, for my 
old dame's sake, stand my friend : she has nobody 
352 



to do any thing about her when I am gone ; and she 
is old, and cannot help herself : you shall have forty. 

Bard. Goto; stand aside. [sir. 

Fee. By my troth, I care not ; a man can die liut 
once : we owe God a death : I '11 ne'er bear a base 
mind : an 't be my destiny, so ; au 't be not, so : no 
man is too good to serve 's jirince ; and let it go which 
way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next. 

Bard. Well said ; tliou 'rt a good fellow. 

Fee. Faitli, I "11 bear no base niiud. 

Tte-erder Falstaff and the Justices. 

Fal. Come, sir, which men shall \ have V 

Shal. Four of which you please. 

Bard. Sir, a word w'Ah you : I have three pound 
to free Mouldy and BuUcalf. 

Fal. Go to ; well. 

Shal. Come, Sir John, which four will you liave? 

Fal. Do yoiichoose for me. [Shadow. 

Slinl. Marry, then, Mouldy, BuUcalf, Feeble and 

Fal. Mouldy and BuUcalf : for you. Mouldy, stay 
at lumie till you are past service : and for your part, 
BuUcalf, grow till you come uuto it : I will none 
of you. 

Slud. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong : 
they are your likeliest men, and I would have you 
served witli the best. 

Fal-Jf^Wi you tell me, Master Shallow, how to 
choose a man V Care I for the limb, the thewes. 
the stature, bulk, and big assemblauce of a man ! 
Give me the spirit. Master Shallow. Here 's Wart; 
you see wl'.at a ragged appearance it is: a' shall 
charge you and discharge you with the motion of 
a pewterer's hammer, come off and on swifter than 
he that gibbets on the brewer's bucket. And this 
same half-faced teil'.v. , fShadow; give me this man: 
he presents no mark to the enemy ; the foeman may 
witli as great aim level at the edge of a penknife. 
And for a retreat ; how swiftly will this Feeble the 
woman's tailor run off! 0,give me the spare men, 
and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into 
Wart's hand, Banlolph. 

Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus. 

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So: vei-y 
well: go to: very good, exceeding good. O, give 
nie always a little, lean, old, chapt, bald shot. Well 
said, i' faith, Wart; tiiou 'it a good scab: hold, 
there 's a tester tor thee. 

Shal. He is not his craft's master; he doth not 
do it right. I remember at Mile-end Green, when 
I lay at Clement's Inn, — I was then Sir Dagouet hi 
Arthur's show, — there was a little quiver IVUow, 
and a' would manage you his piece thus ; and a' 
would about and about, and come you in and come 
you in: 'rah, tah, tab,' would a' say; 'bounce' 
would a' .say; and away again would a' go, :uid 
again would a' come : I shall ne'er see such a fellow. 

Fal. These fellows will do well, jMasti-r Shallow. 
God keep you. Master Silence: I will not use many 
words with you. Fare you well, gentlemen both : 
I thank you : I must a dozen mile to-night. Bar- 
dolpli, give the soldiers coats. 

Shal. Sir John, the Lord bless you ! God prosper 
your affairs! God send us peace! At your return 
visit our house; let our old acquaintance be re- 
newed : peradventure I will with ye to the court. 

Fal. 'Fore God, I would you would. Master Shal- 
low. 

Shal. Goto; I have spoke at a word. Godkecpyou. 

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Kceicit 
Justicef!.] On, Bardoli)h; lead the men away. [£.1- 
e)(i)( JJard'iIijIi, IfccruUs, etc.] As I return, I will 
fetch off these justices : I do see the butloni of Jus- 
tice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men 
are to tliis vice of lying ! This same starved justice 
hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildness 
of his youth, and the feats he hath done about 



ACT IV. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY- IV. scene i. 



Turubull Street ; and every tliird word a lie, duer 
paid to the liearer tliau the Turk's tribute. I do 
remember liim at Clement's Inn liice a man made 
after supper of a clii't'si^-liariuj;' : wlien a' was naked, 
he was, for all the woriil, like a forked radish, with 
a liead fantastically carved upon it with a knife: a' 
was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick 
sjnlit were invincible: a' was the very genius of 
famine ; yet lecherous as a monkey, and tlie whores 
called hiin mandrake: a'came ever in the rearward 
of the fashion, and sung those tunes to the over- 
scutched huswives that he heard the carmen whis- 
tle, and sware they were his fancies or his good- 
nights. And now is this Vice's dagger become a 



squire, and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as 
if he had been sworn brother to him ; and I '11 be 
sworn a' ne'er saw Inm but once in the Tilt-yanl ; 
and then he burst his head for crowding among the 
marshal's men. I saw it, and told John aGaunt he 
beat his own name; for you miuht have thrust him 
and all his aiii)arel into an eel-skin ; the case of a 
treble hautboy wasa mansion for him, acourt: and 
now has he land and beefs. Well. I '11 be acquainted 
with him, if I return; and it shall go hard but I 
will make him a philosopher's two stones to me: if 
the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no 
reason in the law of nature but I may snap iit him. 
Let time shape, and there an end. [_Exil. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Yorkshire. GauHree Forest. 

Enter the Archbishop of York, Mo'wbray, Hast- 
ings, and others. 

Arch. What is this forest call'd ? [grace. 

Hust. 'T is Gaultree P'orest, an 't shall please your 

Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send discoverers 
To know the numbers of our enemies. [forth 

Hast. We have sent forth already. 

Arch. 'T is well done. 

My friends and brethren in these great affairs, 
I must ae(iuaint you that I have received , 
New-dated letters from ^Northumberland; 
Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus: 
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
As might hold sortance with his quality. 
The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes. 
To .Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers 
That your attempts may overlive the hazard 
And fearful meeting of their opposite. [ground 

Moich. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
And dash themselves to pieces. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Hast. Now, what news ? 

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, 
In goodly form comes on the enemy ; 
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. 

Moicb. The just jn'oportion that wi' i;ave them out. 
Let us sway on and face them in the lield. 

Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here ? 

Enter "Westmoreland. 

Mowb. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. 

West. Health and fair greeting from our general, 
The prince. Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. 

Arch. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in 
What doth concern your coming 'f [peace : 

West. Then, my lord, 

Unto your grace do I in chief address 
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
Came like itself, in base and abject routs. 
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, 
Ayd countenanced by boys and beggary, 
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd. 
In his true, native and most jiroper shape, 
You, reverend father, and these nolile lords 
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 
Of l)ase and bloody insurrection 
With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, 
AVhose see is by a civil peace maintain'd. 
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd, 
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd, 
Whose white investments figure innocence, 
The dove and very blessed spi it of peace, 
23 



Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself 
Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace, 
Into the harsR and boisterous tongue of war ; 
Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood. 
Your pens to lances and your tongue divine 
To a loud trumpet and a point of war V 

Arch. Wherefore do I this Y so the question stands. 
Briefly to this end: we are all diseased. 
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours 
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
And we must bleed for it; of which disease 
Our late king, Kichard, being infected, died. 
But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, 
I take not on me here as a physician, 
Nor do I as an enemy to peace 
Troop in the throngs of military men ; 
But rather show awhile like fearful war, 
To diet rank nunds sick of happiness 
And purge the obstructions wliich begin to stop 
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
I have in equal balance justly weigh 'd [suffer. 

What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we 
And tind our griefs heavier than our offences. 
We see which way the stream of time doth run, 
And are enforced from our most quiet there 
By the rough torrent of occasion ; 
And have the summary of all our griefs. 
When time shall serve, to show in articles; 
Which long ere this we offer'd to the king. 
And might by no suit gain our audience: 
When we are wrong'd and would unfold our griefs, 
We are denied access unto his person 
Even by those men that most have done us wrong. 
The dangers of the days but newly gone, 
Whose memory is written on the earth 
With yet appearing blood, and the examples 
Of every minute's instance, present now. 
Hath putnis in these ill-beseeming arms, 
Not to break peace or any branch'of it, 
But to establish liere a peace indeed. 
Concurring both in name and quality. 

West. When ever yet was your appeal denied? 
Wherein have you been galled by the king ? 
What peer hath been suliorn'd to grate on you, 
That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
Of forged rebellion with a seal divine 
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? 

Arch. My bi-other general, the commonwealth, 
To brother born an houseliold cruelty, 
I make my quarrel in particular. 

West. There is no need of any such redress; 
Or if there were, it not belongs to you. 

Mowb. Why not to him in part, and to us all 
That feel the bruises of the days before. 
And suffer the condition of these times 
To lay a heavy and unequal haud 
Upon our honours ? 

353 



ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene ii. 



West. O, ni)' good Lord Mowbray, 

Construe the times to their necessities, 
And you shall say indeed, it is the time, 
And not the king, tliat doth you injuries. 
Yet for your part, it not appears to me 
Either from the king or in tlie present time 
Tliat you should have an inch of any ground 
To buikl a grief on: were you not restored 
To all the l)uke of Norfolk's signories. 
Your nol)le and right well remember'd fatlier's ? 

Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost, 
That need to be revived and breathed in me? 
Tlie king that loved him, as the state stood then, 
AVas force perforce conipell'd to banish him : 
And tlien that Henry Bolingbroke and he. 
Being mounteil and both roused in tlieir seats, 
Their neighing eoursers daring of the spur. 
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, 
Tlieir eyes of tire s]iarkling througli sights of steel 
And the loud trumiiet blowing them together. 
Then, then, when tbere was Uothing could have 
My father from tlie breast of Bolingbroke, [stay'd 
O, when the king did throw his wartler down, 
His own life hung upon the staff he tlirew; 
Then tlirew he down himself and all their lives 
That by indictment and liy dint of sword 
Have since miscarried lunU'r liolinglinike. 

West. You speak, Lord JNIow bray, now you know 
not what. 
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then 
111 England the most valiant gentleman: 
Who knows on wIkuu fcn'tune would then have 
But if your father had been victor there, [smiled r' 
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry: 
For all the country in a general voice 
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers and love 
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on 
And bless 'd and graced indeed, more than the king. 
But this is mere digression from my purpose. 
Here come I from our princely general 
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace 
That he will give you audience; and wherein 
It shall appear that j'our demands are just, 
You shall enjoy them, every thing set off 
That might so much as think you enemies. 

Monh. But he liatli forced us to compel this offer ; 
And it proceeds from policy, not love. 

West. Mowbray, you overween to take it so ; 
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : 
For, lo ! within a ken our army lies, 
Uiion mine honour, all too confident 
To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
Our battle is more full of nauies than yours, 
Our men more perfect in the use of arms. 
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ; 
Then reason will our hearts should be as good: 
Say you not tlien our offer is compell'd. 

Mowb. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley. 

West. That argues but the shame of your offence : 
A rotten case abides no handling. 

Hast. Hath the Prince .John a full commission. 
In very ample virtue of Ids father, 
To hear and absolutely to iletermine 
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? 

West. That is intended in the general's name: 
I muse you make so slight a (luestion. [schedule. 

Arch. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this 
For this contains our general grievances: 
Each several article herein redressM, 
All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
That are insinew'd to this action. 
Acquitted by a true substantial form 
And present execution of our wills 
To us and to our purjioscs conlined. 
We come within our awful banks again 
And knit our powers to llie arm of peace. [lords, 

West. This will I show the general. Please you, 
354 



In sight of both our battles we may meet; j 

And either end in peace, whirh tJod so frame! ] 

Or to the place of dilferenee call the swords '• 

Which must decide it. ; 

vlrc/). My lord, we will do so. [Exit West. \ 

M(Mfb. There is a thing within my bosom tells me j 
That no conditions of our peace can stand. ' 

Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our 
Upon such large terms and so absolute [peace 

As our conditions shall consist upon. 
Our peace shall stand as linn as rocky mountains. . 1 

Mowb. Yea, but our valuation shall be such 
That every slight and false-derived cause, 
Yea, every idle, nice and wanton reason 
Shall to the king taste of this action; 
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, 
We shall be winno\?'d with so rough a wind 
Tliat even our corn shall seem as light as chaff ^ 

And good from bad find no partition. [weary I 

^1/c/i. No, no, my lord. Note this; the king is 
Of dainty and such picking grievances : ■ 

For he hath found to end one doubt by death 
Revives two greater in the heirs of life. 
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean 
And keep no tell-tale to his memory < 

That may repeat and history his loss ' 

To new remembrance ; for full well he knows , 

He cannot so precisely weed this land j 

As his misdoubts present occasion; i 

His foes are so enrooted with his friends 
That, plucking to unfix an enemy, ; 

He doth unfasten so and shake a fi'iend: 
So that this land, like an offensive wife : 

That hath enraged him on to offer strokes, ; 

As he is striking, holds liis infant up I 

And hangs resolved correction in the arm ' 

That was uprear'd to execution. 

Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods i 
On late offenders, that he now doth lack I 

The very instruments of chastisement: 
So that his power, like to a fangless lion, 
May offer, but not hold. ! 

Arch. 'T is very true : , 

And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal. 
If we do now make our atonement well. 
Our peace will, like a broken limb united, ] 

Grow stronger for the breaking. 

Mowb. Be it so. 

Here is return 'd my Lord of Westmoreland. 

He-enter 'Westmoreland. 
West. The prince is here at hand : pleaseth your 
lordship 
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our a:'mies. i 
Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name, then, 

set forward. 1 

Arch. Before, and greet his grace: my lord, we j 
come. \_Excunt. 

SCENE II. — Another iKirt of the forest. 

Enter, from one side, Mowbray, attended; aftenoards the i 
Archbishop, Hasting-s, ««(/ ulhers; from the oilier side, | 
Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmoreland; 
Oflacers, and others with them. 

Lan. You are well encounter'd here, my cousin ; 
Mowbray : 
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop; 
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. 
My Lord of York, it better sliow'd with you : 

When that your Hock, assembled by the bell, \ 

Encircled you to hear with reverence ( 

Your exposition on the holy text 
Than now to see you here an iron man, 
Cheermg a rout of rebels with your drum, I 

Turning the word to sword and life to death. ] 

That man that sits within a monarch's heart, i 



ACT IV 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene hi. 



And ripens in the sunshine of liis favour, 
WouM lie abuse tlie countenance of the king, 
Alack, wliat mischiefs nu,i;lit lie set abroacli 
lu shadow of such greatness! With you, lord 

bishop, 
It is even so. Who hatli not heard it spoken 
How deep you were within tlie bodks of God V 
To us the speaker in liis parlianii-iit ; 
To ns tlie iiiiaijined voice of God liiiuself ; 
Tlie very opener and intelligencer 
Between tlie grace, the sanctities of heaven 
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe 
Pint you misuse the reverence of your place. 
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, 
As a false favourite doth his prince's name. 
In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'eu up. 
Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 
The subjects of his substitute, my father. 
And both against the peace of heaven and him 
Have here up-swarm\l them. 

Arch. Giiod my Lord of Lancaster, 

I am not here against your lather's peace ; 
But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland, 
■J'lie time uiisorder'd doth, in common sense. 
Crowd us and crush us to tliis monstrous form, 
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
The parcels and particulars of our grief, [court. 
The which hath been with scorn slioved from the 
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born; 
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep 
AVith grant of our most just and riglit desires. 
And true obedience, of this madness cured. 
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 

Iloirb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
To the last man. 

Hasl. And though we here fall down, 

AVe have supplies to second our attempt : 
If tliey miscarry, theirs sliall sicond them ; 
And so success of mischief shall l)e liorn 
And heir from heir slial! lioUl this quarrel up 
Whiles England shall have generation, [shallow, 

Lan. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 
To sound the bottom of tlie after-times. 

West. Pleaseth your grace to answer them di- 
IIow far forth you do like tlielr articles. [rectly 

Lrm. I like them all, and do allow them well, 
And swear here, by tlie honour of my blood, 
My father's purposes have been mistook. 
And some about him have too lavishly 
Wrested his meaning and authority. 
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ; 
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you. 
Discharge your powers unto their several counties. 
As we will ours: and here between the armies 
Let 's drink together friendly and embrace. 
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home 
Of our restored love and amity. 

Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses. 

Lan. I give it you, and will maintain my word: 
And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 

llast. Go, captain, and deliver to the army 
This news of peace : let them have pay, and part : 
I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain. 

[Exit Officer. 

Arch. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland. 

.West. I pledge your grace; and, if you knew 
what pains 
I have bestowed to breed this present peace. 
You would drink freely : but my love to ye 
Shall show itself more "openly hereafter. 

Arch. 1 do not doubt you. 

West. I am glad of it. 

Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 

Mowh. You wish me health in very happy season ; 
For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 

Arch. Against ill chances men are ever merry; 
But heavuiess foreruns the good event. 



West. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden 

sorrow [morrow.' 

Serves to say thus, ' some good thing comes to- 

Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 

Mowh. So much the worse, if your own rule be 

true. [Shouts ivithin. 

Lan. The word of peace is render 'd: hark, how 

they shout ! 
Moicb. This had been cheerful after victory. 
Arch. A peace is of tlie nature of a conquest ; 
For then both parties nobly are subdued. 
And neither party loser. 

Lan. Go, my lord. 

And let our army be discharged too. 

[Exit Westmoreland. 
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains 
Marcli by us, that we may peruse the men 
AVe should have coped withal. 

Arch. Go, good Lord Hastings, 

And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march bv. 

[E.rit lJasli)nis. 
Lan. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together. 

He-enter AAT'estmoreland. 
J^ow cousin, wherefore stands our army still ? 

West. The leaders, having charge from .you to 
AA^ill not go off until they hear you speak, [stand, 

Lan. They knov,' their duties. 

Bc-enier Hastings. 

Hast. My lord, our army is dispersed already : 

Like youthful steers vmyoked, they take their 

courses [up. 

East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke 

Each hurries toward his home and siiortiiig-place. 

West. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the 
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : [which 
And you. lord archbishop, and you, lord Mowbray, 
Of capital treason I attach you both. 

Moiclj. Is this proceeding just and honourable ? 

West. Is your assembly so V 

Arch. AVill you thus break your faith ? 

Lan. I pawn'd thee none : 

I promised you redress of these same grievances 
AVhereof you did complain; which, by mine hon- 
I will perform with a most Christian care. [our, 
But for you, rebels, look to taste the due 
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. 
Most shallowly did you these arms commence, 
Foiidly liriiuul'it here and fodlislily sent lience. 
Strike'up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray: 
God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. 
Some guard these traitors to the block of death. 
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another part of the forest. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Cole- 
vile, meeting. 

Fal. What 's your name, sir ■? of what condition 
are you, and of what place, I pray i* 

Cole. lam a knight, sir; and my name is Cole- 
vile of the dale. 

Fal. AVell, then, Colevile is your name, a knight 
is your degree, and your place the dale: Colevile 
shall be still your name, a traitor your degree, and 
the dungeon" your place, a place deep enough; so 
shall you be still Colevile of the dale. 

Cole. Are not you Sir John Falstaff ? 

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do 
ve yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I do 
sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and they 
weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and 
trembling, and do observance to my mercy. 

Cidc. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in 
that thought yield me. 

355 



ACT IV. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iv. 



Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this 
belly of mine, and not a tongue of theui all speaks 
any other word but my name. An I had but a 
belly of any indiffereiicy, I were simply the most 
active fellow in Europe: my womb, my womb, my 
womb, undoes me. Here comes our general. 

Enter Prince John of Lancaster, ■Westmore- 
land, Blunt, and others. 

Lan. The heat is past ; follow no further now : 
Call in the powers, good cousin Y\'cstiiuireland. 

[E.dl 'iV<.-<l inoreland. 
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while y 
When every thing is ended, then you come : 
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
One time or other break some gallows' back. 

Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it sliould be 
thus : I never knew yet but rebuke and check was 
the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, 
an arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my poor and old 
motion, tlie expedition of thought ? I have speeded 
hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; 
I have foundered nine score and odd posts: and 
here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and 
immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colevile of the 
dale, a most furious knight and valorous enemy. 
But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I 
may justly say, with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, 
'I eame, saw, and overcame.' [serving. 

Lan. It was more of liis courtesy than your de- 

Fal. I know not: here he is, and here I yield 
him: and I beseech your grace, let it be booked 
with the rest of this day's deeds ; or, by the Lord, I 
will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine 
own picture on the top on 't, Colevile kissing my 
foot: to the which course if I be enforced, if you 
do not all show like gilt two-pences to nfe, and I in 
the clear sky of fame o'ershine you as much as tlie 
full moon doth the cinders of the element, whicli 
show like pins' lieads to her, believe not the word 
of the noble : therefore let me have right, and let 
desert mount. 

Lan. Tliine 's too heavy to mount. 

Fal. Let it shine, then. 

Lan. Thine 's too thick to shine. 

Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that 
may do me good, and call it what you will. 

Lan. Is thy name Colevile ? 

Cole. It is, my lord. 

Lan. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 

Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 

Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are 
That led me hither : had they been ruled by me. 
You should liave won them dearer than you liave. 

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves : but 
tliou, like a khid fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; 
and I thank thee for thee. 

He-enter 'Westmoreland. 
Lan. Now, have you left pursuit '? 
West. Retreat is made and execution stay'd. 
Lan. Send Colevile with his confederates 
To York, to present execution : 
Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard him sure. 
[Exeunt Blunt and others with Colevile. 
And now disi)atch we toward the court, my lords : 
I hear the king my father is sore sick : 
Our news shall go before us to his majesty, 
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him. 
And we with sober speed will follow you. 

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go 
Through Gloucestershire: and, when you come to 

court. 
Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. 

Lan. Fare you well, Talstaff : I, in my condition, 
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. 

[Exeunt uU bill Falstaff. 
3o6 



Fal. I would you had but the wit : 't were better 
than your dukedom. Good faith, this same young 
sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man 
cannot make him laugh ; but that 's no marvel, he 
drinks no wine. There 's never none of the.se de- 
nmre boys come to any proof; for thin drink doUi 
so over-cool tlieir blood, and making many lish- 
meals, that they fall into a kind of male green- 
sickness; and then, when they marry, they get 
wenches : they are generally fools and cowards ; 
which some of us should be too, but for inflamma- 
tion. A good sherris-sack liath a two-fold opera- 
tion in it. It ascends me into the brain ; dries me 
there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours 
which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, 
forgetive, full of nimble fiery and delectable shapes ; 
which, delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, which 
is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second 
property of your excellent sherris is, the wanning 
of the blood; whicli, before cold and settled, leit 
the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pu- 
sillanimity and cowardice ; but the sherris warms 
it and makes it course from the inwards to the 
parts extreme: it illumineth the face, which as a 
beacon gives warning to all the rest of this little 
kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital com- 
moners and inland petty spirits muster me all to 
their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up 
with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and 
this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the 
weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a- 
work; and learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a 
devil, till sack commences it and sets it in act and 
use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant ; 
for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his 
father he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land, 
manured, husbanded and tilled with excellent en- 
deavour of drinking good and good store of fertile 
sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If 
I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I 
would teach them should be, to forswear thin pota- 
tions and to addict themselves to sack. 

Enter Bardolph. 
How now, Bardolph V 

Bard. The army is discharged all and gone. 

Fal. Let them go. I '11 through Gliiure^tershire; 
and there will 1 visit llasler Robert Shallow, es- 
quire : I have him already tempering between my 
finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with 
him. Come away. [Exeunt. 



SCENE IV. - 



-Westminster. 
Cluanher. 



The Jerusalem 



Enter the King, the Princes Thomas of Clarence 
and Humphrey of Gloucester, Warwick, and 
others. 

King. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end 
To this debate that Ijleedeth at our doors. 
We will our youth lead on to higher fields 
And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
Our navy is address'd, our power ciillerted. 
Our substitutes in absence well invested, 
And every thing lies level to our wish : 
Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot. 
Come underneath the yoke of government. 

War. Botli which we doubt not but your majesty 
Shall soon enjoy. 

King. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, 

Where is the prince your brother i* [Windsor. 

Olou. I flunk he 's gone to hunt, my lord, at 

King. And how accompanied? 

Glou. I do not know, my lord. 

King. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, 
with him ? 



ACT IV. SECOXD PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene v. 



(r'ou. No, my good lord: he is in presence liere. 

('lar. What wouUI my lord and fatlier ? [ence. 

King. Nothiiii; but well to thee, Thomas of Clar- 
IIovv chance thouart not with the prince thy brother^ 
He loves tliee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; 
Thou hast a better place in his affection 
Than all thy lirothers: cherish it, my boy, 
And nolile ollices thou niayst effect 
Of mediation, after I am dead, 
Between his greatness and thy other brethren: 
Therefore onut hiui not ; l)lunt not his love, 
Nor lose tlie good advantage of his grace 
]5y seeming cold or careless of his will; 
For he is gracious, if he be observed: 
He hath a tear for pity and a hand 
Open as day for melting charity : 
Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he 's flint, 
As humorous as winter and as sudden 
As (laws congealed in the spring of day. 
His teni])er, therefore, must be well observed: 
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
"When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth ; 
But, being moody, give him line and scope, 
Til^ that Ills passions, like a whale on ground. 
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, 

Tliomas, 
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, 
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in. 
That the united vessel of their blood. 
Mingled with venom of suggestion — 
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in — 
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
As aconitum or rash gunpowder. 

Ckir. I shall observe him with all care and love. 

Kinij. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
Thomas V 

Clnr. He is not there to-day; he dines iu London. 

Kinci. And how accompanied? canst tliou tell 
that ? [lowers. 

Clar. With Poins, and other his continual fol- 

K'mij. Most suliject is the fattest soil to weeds; 
And lie, tlie noble image of my youth, 
Is overspread with them : therefore my grief 
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death : 
The blood weeps from my heart when 1 do shape 
In forms imaginary the unguided days 
And rotten times that you shall look upon 
When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, 
When rnge and hot lilood are his counsellors. 
When means and lavisli manners meet together, 
O, with, what wings shall his affections fly 
Towards frontingperil and opposed decay ! [quite : 

War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him 
The prince but studies his companions [guage, 

Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the lan- 
'T is needfiii that the most immodest word 
Be look'd upon and learn 'd; which once attain'd. 
Your highness knows, comes to no further use 
But to tie known and liated. So, like gross terms, 
Tlie prince will in the perfectness of time 
Cast otf his followers ; and their memory 
Shall as a pattern or a measure live. 
By which liis grace must mete the lives of others. 
Turning past evils to advantages. [comb 

Klaij. Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her 
In Che dead carrion. 

Enter 'Westmoreland. 

Who 's here ? Westmoreland V 
TFc.s't. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness 
Added to that that I am to deliver! 
Prince .John your son doth kiss your grace's hand: 
Mowbray, the liishoii Scroop, Hastings and all 
Are brouglit to the corri'i-tiou of yunr law ; 
There is not now a rebel's sword unslieatird, 
But Peace puts forth her olive every where. 



The manner bow this action hath been borne 
Here at more leisiu-e may ynur liighness read. 
With every course in his particular. 

King. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, 
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
The lifting up of day. 

KuUr Harcourt. 

Look, here 's more news. 

Har. From enem'es heaven keep your majesty; 
And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
As those that I am come to tell you of i 
The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph, 
With a great power of English and of Scots, 
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: 
The manner and true order of the flght 
This packet, please it you, contains at large. 

King. And wherefore should these good news 
"make me sick '? 
AVill Fortune never come with both hands full. 
But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? 
She either gives a stomach and no food ; 
Such are the poor. In health ; or else a feast 
And takes away the stomach ; such are the rich. 
That have abundance and enjoy it not. 
I should rejoice now' at this happy news; 
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: 
O me ! come near me ; now I am much ill. 

Ghm. Comfort, your majesty ! 

Clar. O my royal father! 

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look 
up. 

War. Be patient, princes; yon do know, these fits 
Are with his highness very ordinary. 
Stand from him, give him air ; he '11 straight be well. 

Clar. No, no, lie cannot long hold out these pangs : 
The incessant care and labour of his mind 
Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in 
So thin that life looks through au<l will break out. 

Glou. The people fear me ; for they do observe 
TJnfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature: 
The seasons change their manners, as the year 
Had found some months asleep and leap'd them over. 

Clar. The river hath thrice flow'd,no ebb between ; 
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
Sa.y it did so a little time before 
That om- great-giandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. 

War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 

Glou. This apoplexy will certain be his end. 

King. I (iray you, take me up, and bear me heuce 
Into some other chamber: softly, pray. 

SCENE v.— Another chamber. 

The King lying on a bed: Clarence, Gloucester, 
■War-wick, and others in attendance. 

King. Let there be no noise made, my gentle 
Unless some dull and favourable hand [friends; 
Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 

War. Call for the music in the other room. 

King. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 

Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 

War. Less noise, less noise ! 

Enter Prince Henry. 

Prince. Who saw the Duke of Clarence ? 

Clar. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 

Prince. How now! rain within doors, and none 
How doth the king V . [abroad ! 

Glon. Exceeding ill. 

Prince. Heard he the good news yet 'i' 

Tell it him. 

Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 

Prince. If he be sick with joy, he '11 recover with- 
out physic, [speak low; 

War. Not so much noise, my lords; sweet prince, 
The king your father is disposed to sleep. 
357 



ACT IV. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene v. 



Clar. Let us withdraw into the otlier room. 

War. Will 't please your grace to go along with us? 

Prince. No ; I will sit and watch here by the 
king. YExeunt all but the Prince. 

■\VIiy doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, 
]!cin;^- so troublesome a bedfellow V 
O pdiish'd perturbation! golden care! 
Tliat keep'st the ports of shniilier open wide 
To many a watciiful ni,n1it ! sleep with it now! 
Yet not so sound and half so (k'eply sweet 
As he whose lnnw with homely bi,iii;en bound 
Snores out the wateli of night. (J majesty ! 
When thou dust iiiiieh thy bearer, thou dost sit 
Like a rich arnieur worn in heat of day. 
That scalds witli safety. By his gates of breath 
There lies a downy feather which stirs not: 
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
Perforce must move. My gracious lord ! my father ! 
This sleep is souml indeed ; this is a sleep 
That from tlils goMen rigol hath divorced 
So many English kings. Thy due from me 
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, 
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
Shall, O dear father, pay tliee plenteously : 
My due from thee is this imperial crown, 
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood. 
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits. 
Which God shall guard : and put the world's whole 
Into one giant arm, it shall not force [strength 
This lineal honour from me: this from thee 
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Kcil. 

King. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence! 

Re-enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence, and 
the rest. 

Clur. Doth the king call y [grace? 

Wiir. What would yourmajesty? Ilowfaresyour 

Ktnij. Why dill you leave me here alone, my lords ? 

CUu-. A\'e left the prince my brother here, my 
Who undertook to sit and watch by you. [liege, 

Khuj. The Prince of Wales ! Where is he ? let me 
He is not here. [see him : 

War. This door is open; he is gone this way. 

Glou. He came not through the chamber where 
we stay'd. [pillow ? 

King. Where is the crown ? who took it from my 

War. AVheu we withdrew, my liege, we left it 
here. [him out. 

King. The prince hath ta'en it hence : go, seek 
Is he so hasty that he doth suppose 
My sleep my death ? 

Find him, my Lord of Warwick ; chide him hither. 
IJExit Warwick. 
This part of his conjoins with my disease. 
And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you 
How quickly nature falls into revolt [are ! 

When gold becomes her oliject ! 
For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains 

with care. 
Their bones with industry ; 
For this they have engrossed and piled up 
The canker'd heaps of strange-aeliieved gold; 
For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
Tlieir sons with arts and martial exercises: 
AVhen, like the bee, culling from every tlower 
The virtuous sweets, [honey. 

Our thiglis paek'd with wax, our mouths with 
AVe bring it to the hive, and, like the bees. 
Are nuu'dered for our pains. This bitter taste 
Yield his engrossments to the ending father. 

Be-enter "War-wick. 
Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
Till his friend sickness hath determined nie? 
War. My lord, I found the prince iu the next 
room, 

358 



Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, 
Willi such a deei> demeanour in great sorrow 
That tyranny, wliich never quaft'd but blood, 
AVould, by beholding him, have wasli'd his knife 
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
King. But wherefore did he take away the crown ? 

Re-enter Prince Henry. 
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. 
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 

[E.reiDit ]\'(iririvk- and the re.sf.. 

Prince. I never thought to hear you speak again. 

King. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that 
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. [thought : 
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair 
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours 
Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
Stay but a little : for my cloud of dignity 
Is held from falling with so weak a wind 
That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
Thou hast stolen tlmt which after some few hours 
AVeie thine wifliont offence; and at my death 
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation: , 

Thy life diil manifest flion lovedst me not, 
And tlion wilt have me ilie assured of it. . 
Thou hidest a thousand daggers in tliy thoughts, 
Which thou hast wlietted on thy stony heart, 
To stab at half an hour of my life. 
What ! canst thou not fovliear me half an hour? 
Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself, 
And bid the merry bells ring to Uiine ear 
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
Let all the tea is that should bedew my hearse 
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head : 
Only compound me wiih forgotten dust; 
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. 
Pluck down my othcers, break my decrees; 
For now a time is come to mock at form : 
Harry the Fifth is crown 'd: up, vanity! 
Down, royal state I all you sage counsellors, hence ! 
And to the English court assemble now. 
From every region, apes of idleness! 
Kow, neighbour conHnes, lairge you of your scum: 
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, 
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins tlie newest kind of ways? 
Be happy, he \\ ill troulile vou no more; 
Englaiul shall (h.uble giurhis treble guilt, 
England shall give him office, honour, miglit; 
For the tifth Harry from curl/d license jilucks 
Tlie niu/,7,le of restrauit, and the wild tlog 
Shall llesh his tooth on every innocent. 

my poor kingdom, sick witli civil bhnvs! 
When that my care could not withliold thy riots, 
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? 

O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. 
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! 

Prince. (). iiardon me, my liege ! but for my tears, 
The moist ini|iediiiients unto my speech, 

1 had forestallM this dear and deep rebuke 
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
And He that wears the crown immortally 
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more 
Than as your honour and as your renown. 
Let me no more from this obedience rise. 
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit 
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. 
God witness with nie, when I here came in. 

And found no course of breath within your majesty, 

How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign, 

O, let me in my present wildness die 

Anil never live to show the incredulous world 

The noble ciiange that I have imrposed ! 

Coming to look on you, thinking yon dead. 

And dead almost, my liege, to think yuu were, 



ACT V. 



SECOND PART OF KING HEXRY IV. scene i. 



I sjiake unto this cro-mi as having sense. 

Ami thus uiibraided it : ' The care on thee depending 

Hatli fed upon the body of my father; 

Tlierefore, tliou best of gold art worst of gold : 

Other, less tine in carat, is more i)recious, 

Preserving life in medicine potable; 

But thou, most tine, most honour'd, most renown 'd, 

Hast eat thy l)earer up.' Thus, my most royal liege, 

Accusing it, I put it on my head. 

To try with it, as with an enemy 

That had before my face murder'd my father, 

Tlie quarrel of a true inheritor. 

But if it did infect my blood with joy. 

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; 

If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 

Did with the least affection of a welcome 

Give entertainment to the might of it. 

Let God for ever keep it from my head 

And make me as the poorest vassal is 

That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 

King. O my son, 
God put it in thy mind to take it hence, 
Tliat thou mightst win the more thy father's love, 
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it ! 
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
Aud hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, 
By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways 
I met tliis crown: and 1 myself know well 
How troublesome it sat upon my head. 
To thee it .'^hall descend with better quiet, 
Better opinion, better contirmation ; 
For all tlie soil of the achievement goes 
With me into the earth. It seem'd iu me 
But as an lionour snatch'd with boisterous hand, 
Aud I had many living to upbraid 
My gain of it by their assistances ; 
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, 
Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears 
Thou see'st with peril I have answered; 
For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
Acting that argument : and now my death 
Changes the motle; for what iu me was purchased, 
Falla upon thee in a more fairer sort; 
So tliou the garland wear'st successively. [do, 

Yet, though thou standst more sure than I could 



Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
And all my friends, which thou must make thy 

friends, 
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 
By whose fell working I was lirst advanced 
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
To be again displaced; wliicli to avoid, 
I cut them off ; and had a purpose now 
To lead out many to tlie Holy Land, 
Lest rest and lying still might make them look 
Too near unto my state. Tlierefore, my Harry, 
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds 
With foreign quarrels ; tliat action, hence borne out, 
May waste the memory of the former days. 
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so 
That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
How I came by the crown, O God forgive ; 
And grant it may witli thee in true peace live! 

Prince. My gracious liege, 
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; 
Then plain aud right must my possession be: 
Which I with more than witli a common pain 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 

Enter Lord John of Lancaster. 
King. Look, look, here comes my John of Lan- 
caster, [latlier! 
Lan. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal 
Kinij. Tliou bring'st me happiness aud peace, sou 
John ; 
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
From this bare withered trunk : upou thy sight 
My worldly business makes a period. 
Wliere is my Lord of Warwick v 
Prince. My Lord of Warwick ! 

Enter "Warwick, and others. 

King. Doth any name particular belong 
Unto the lodging wiiere 1 first did swoon V 

War. 'T is call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 

King. Laud be to God I even there my life must 
It hath been prophesied to me many years, [end. 
I should not die but iu Jerusalem; 
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land: 
But bear me to that chamber; there I '11 lie; 
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. 



^CT V. 



SCENE I. — Gloucestershire. Shallow''s house. 
Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page. 

."ihal. Bv cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to- 
night. What, Davy, I say ! [low. 

Pal. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shal- 

Shal. I will not excuse you: you shall not be 
excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is 
no excuse .shall serve; you shaU not be excused. 
"Why, Davy! 

Enter Davy. 

Bartj. Here, sir. 

tihal. Davy, Davy, Davy. Da\-y, let me see. Dav>' ; 
let me see, Davy; let me see: yea, marry, William 
oook, bid him come hither. Sir John, you shall not 
be excu.sed. 

Bury. Marry, sir, thus; those precepts cannot be 
served : and. again, sir, shall we sow the headland 
Willi wheat r 

.S/tfiL AVith red wheat, Davy. But for William 
cook : are there uo 5'oung pigeons V 

Bacy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for 
shoeing and plough-irons. 

^7/ a K Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, you shall 
not be excused. 



Bavy. Xow, sir, a new link to the bucket must 
needs be had: and, sir, do you mean to stop any of 
AVilliam's wages, about the sack he lost the other 
day at Hinckie\ fair ? 

:Slial. A' sliail answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a 
couple of short -legged hens, a joint of mutton, and 
any prettv little tiiiy kickshaws, tell. William cook. 

Bary. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? 

Shal. Yea, Davy. I will use him well : a friend 
i' the court is better than a penny in purse. LTse 
his men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, 
aud will backbite. 

Bavy. Xo wonse than they are backbitten, sir; 
for they have marvellous foul linen. 

Shal. Well conceited, Davy: about thy business, 
Davy. 

Bavy. I beseech j-ou, sir, to countenance William 
Visor of Woncot against Clement Perkes of the 
hUl. 

<S7io7. There is many complaints, Davy, against 
that Visor: that Visor is an arrant luiave, on my 
knowledge. 

Bavi/. I grant your worship that he is a knave, 
sir; but vet, God forbid, sir, but a knave sliould 
have some countenance at his friend's request. An 
359 



ACT V. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene it. 



honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a 
knave is not. I have served your worship truly, sir, 
this eight years; and if I cannot once or twice in a 
quarter bear out a knave aptainst an honest man, I 
have but a very little credit with your worship. 
The knave is mine lionest friend, sir; therefore, I 
beseech your worship, let him be countenanced. 

Shal. Go to : I say he shall have no wrong. Look 
about, Davy. [Exit Bavi/.] Where are you, Sir 
John ? Come, come, come, off with your boots. 
Give me your hand, Master Bardolph. 

Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 

Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Mas- 
ter Bardolph : and welcome, my tall fellow [to the 
Page]. Come, Sir .John. 

Eat. I '11 follow you, good Master Robert Sliallow. 
[Exit Slialloii-.] Banlolph, look to our horses. [-Bx- 
euntBardol}ih and I'kijc] If I were sawed into quan- 
tities, I should make four dozen of such bearded 
hermits' staves as blaster Shallow. It is a wonder- 
ful thing to see the semliable coherence of his men's 
•spirits and his : they, by observing of him, do bear 
themselves like foolish justices; he, by conversing 
with them, is turned into a justice-like serving-man : 
their spirits are so married in conjunction with the 
participation of society that they flock together in 
consent, like so many wild-geese. If I had a suit 
to Master Shallow, 1 would humour his men with 
the imputation of lieing near their master: if to his 
men, I would curry with Master Shallow that no 
man could better coiuniand his servants. It is cer- 
tain tiiat eitlier wise bearing or ignorant carriage is 
cau!;lit, as men take diseases, one of another: tliere- 
fore let men take iieed of their company. I will de- 
vise matter enough out of this Shallow to keep 
Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out 
of six fashions, which is four terms, or two actions, 
and a' shall laugh without iistervalhuns. O, it is 
much that a lie with a slight oath and a jest with a 
sad brow will do with a fellow that never had the 
ache in his shoulders ! O, you shall see him laugh till 
bis face be like a wet cloak ill laid up! 

674a;. [Wit/iin] Sir .John! 

Eal. I come, Master Shallow; I come. Master 
Shallow. [Ejcit. 

SCENE II.— Westminster. The palace. 

Enter Wanxrick and the Lord Chief-Justice, 
meeting. 

War. How now, my lord chief -justice ! whither 

CVi. Just. How doth the king V [away V 

War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all ended. 

Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 

War. He 's walk'd the way of nature ; 

And to our purposes he lives no more. [ium : 

Ch. Just. I would his majesty had call'd me with 
The service that I truly did Ids life 
Hath left me open to all injuries. 

War. Indeed I think the young king loves you not. 

Ch. Just. I know he doth not, and do arm myself 
To welcome the condition of the time, 
"Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 

Enter Lancaster, Clarence, Gloucester, 
Westmoreland, and others. 
War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry: 
O that the living Harry had the temiier 
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen! 
Howmanv ikiIiIcs tlicn should hold their places, 
Tiiat must striki' sail to spirits of vile sort! 
CVi. Jitst. () (idd, 1 IVar all will be overturn'd! 
Lan. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good mor- 
a'lr. } ^°'^^^ morrow, cousin. t'ow- 

Lan. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. 
3G0 



War. We do remember ; but our argument 
Is all too heavy to admit much talk. [heavy ! 

Lan. Well, peace be with him that hath made us 

Ck. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! 

Ohm. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend in- 
And I dare swear you borrow not that face [deed ; 
Of seeming sorrow, it is sure your own. 

Lan. Though no man be assured what grace to find, 
You stand in coldest expectation : 
I am the sorrier ; would 't were otherwise. [fair ; 

Clar. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff 
Which swims against your stream of quality. 

Ch. Just. Sweet iirinees, what I did, I did in hon- 
Led by the ini])artial conduct of my soul; [our, 
And never sliall you see that I will beg 
A ragged and t'orcstall'd remission. 
If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
I '1! to the king iny master that is dead. 
And tell him who hatli sent me after him. 

War. Here comes the prince. 

Enter King Henry the Fifth, attended. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow; and God save j'our 
majesty ! 

King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, 
Sits not so easy on me as you think. 
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear: 
This is the English, not the Turkish court; 
Not Amurath an Annirath succeeds. 
But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, 
For, by my faith, it very well becomes you: 
Sorrow so royally in you appears 
That I will deeply put the fashion on 
And wear it in my lieart: why then, be sad; 
But entertain no more of it, good brothers, 
Than a joint burden laid upon us all. 
For me, by Heaven, I bid you be assured, 
I '11 be your father and your brother too ; . 
Let me but bear your love, I '11 bear your cares : 
Yet weep that Harry 's dead ; and so will I ; 
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears 
By number into hours of liapjiincss. 

Princes. AVe hope no other from your majesty. 

King. You all look strangely on me : and you most ; 
You are, I think, assured I love you not. 

Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured rightly, 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 

King. No! 
How might a in-ince of my great hopes forget 
So great in<lignities you laid upon niei' 
What ! rate, reljuke. and roughly send to prison 
The inunediate heir ot JOnglandl Was this easy? 
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten? 

Ch. Just. I then did use the in'ison of your father ; 
The image of his power lay then in me: 
And, in the administratioii ot his law. 
Whiles I was busy tor the cinuuKUiwealth, 
Your highness jileased to forget my place, 
The majesty and [Xiwer of law and justice. 
The image of the king whom I presented, 
And struck me in my very seat of judgment; 
Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
I gave bold way to my authority 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
Be you contented, wearing now the garland. 
To have a son set your decrees at noiight, 
To pluck dowu justice from your awtid bench. 
To trip the course of law and lilunt the sword 
That guards the peace and satety of y(U[r person; 
Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image 
And mock your workings in a second bo<ly. 
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours; 
Be now the father and propose a son, 
Hear your own dignity so much profaned. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, 
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd; 
And then imagine me taking your part 



ACT V. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene iti. 



Aiul in your power soft silencing your son : 
After tliis cold considerance, sentence nie ; 
And, as you are a kina;, speak in your state 
Wliat I have done tluit misbecame my place, 
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. [well ; 

Kimj. You are right, justice, and you weigh this 
Therefore still Ijear tlie balance and the sword : 
And I do wisli your honours may increase, 
Till you do live" to see a son of mine 
Offend you and obey you, as I did. 
So shall I live to speak my father's words : 
' Happy am I, that Iiave a man so bold. 
That dares do justice on my proper sou; 
And not li*ss happy, having such a son, 
That would deliver up his greatness so 
Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me: 
For which, I do commit into your hand 
Tlie unstained sword that j'ou liave used to bear; 
With this remembrance, that you use tlie same 
"With the like bold, just and impartial spirit 
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my liand. 
You shall be as a father to my youth : 
Wy voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear, 
Aiid I will stoop and humble my intents 
To your well-practised wise directions. 
And, jirinces all, believe nie, I beseech you; 
My father is gone wild into his grave, 
For in liis tomb lie my affections; 
And witli liis spirit sadly I survive, 
To mock the expectation of the world. 
To frustrate pro])hecies and to raze out 
Eotten oiiiniou, who hath writ me down 
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
llatli iiroudly How'd in vanity till now: 
Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea, 
Wiiere it shall mingle with the state of floods 
And riow liencefortli in formal majesty. 
Now call we our high court of parliament: 
And let us chdose such limbs of noble counsel, 
That tlie great body of our state may go 
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation ; 
Tliat war, or peace, or both at once, may be 
As things aciinaiiited and familiar to us; 
In whirl) you, father, shall have foremost hand. 
Our coronation done, we will accite. 
As I before remember'd, all our state: 
And, God consigning to my good intents, 
No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, 
God shorten Harry's happy life one day! [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— Gloucestershire. SIiallow''s orchard. 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Davy, Bar- 
dolph, and the Page. 
Shah Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in 
an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my 
own grafflng, with a dish of caraways, and so 
forth: come, cousin .Silence: and then to bed. 

Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling 
and a rich. 

Slinl. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beg- 
gars all, .Sir .John : marry, good air. Spread, Davy ; 
spread, Davy; well said, Davy. 

Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is 
your serving-man and your husband. 

.67ioL A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good 
varlet, Sir John : by the mass, I have drunk too 
much sack at supper : a good varlet. Now sit 
down, now sit down : come cousin. 
mi. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a, we shall 
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 

[ISinging. 
And praise God for the merry year ; 
When llesh Is cheap and females dear, 
And lusty lads roam here and there 

So merrily. 
And ever amoug so merrily. 



Fal. There 's a merry heai't ! Good Master Silence, 
I '11 give you a health for that anon. 

Shal. Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy. 
Davy. Sweet sir, sit ; I '11 be with you anon ; most 
sweet sir, sit. Master page, good master page, sit. 
Proface ! What you want in meat, we '11 have in 
drink : but you must bear; the heart 's all. [E^it. 
Shal. Be merry. Master Bardolph ; and, my little 
soldier there, be merry. 
ISil. Be merry, be uierry, my wife has all ; 

[Shu/ing. 
For women are shrews, both short and tall : 
'T is merry in hall when beards wag all, 

And \velcome merry Shrove-tide. 
Be merry, be merry. 
Fal. I did not think Master Silence had been a. 
man of this mettle. 

tSil. Who, IV I have been merry twice and once 
ere now. ^ 

Re-enter Davy. 

Davy. There 's a dish of leather-coats for you. 

[ To Bardolph. 

Shal. Davy! 

Davy. Your worship ! I '11 be with you straight 
[to Bardolph]. A cup of wine, sir "r' 

ISil. A cup of wine that 's brisk and fine, 

[Singing. 
And drink unto the leman mine; 
And a merry heart lives long-a. 

Fal. Well said. Master Silence. 

Sil. An we shall be merry, now comes in the 
sweet o' the night. 

Fal. Health and long life to you. Master Silence. 

Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come; [Singing. 

I '11 pledge you a mile to the bottom. 

Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou wantest 
any thing, and wilt iiot call, beshrew thy heart. 
Welcome, my little tiny thief [to the Page], and wel- 
come indeed too. I '11 drink to Master Bardolph, 
and to all the cavaleros about London. 

Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 

Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, — 

Shal. By the mass, you '11 crack a quart together, 
ha ! will you not, ^Master Bardolph ':* 

Bard. Yea, sir, in a pottle-i>ot. 

Shal. By God's liggens, I thank thee : the knave 
will stick by thee, I can assure thee that. A' will 
not out; he is true bred. 

Bard. And I '11 stick by him, sir. 

Shal. Why J there spoke a khig. Lack nothing: 
be merry. [Knocking within.] Look who 's at door 
there, ho ! who knocks Y [Exit Davy. 

Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 

[2o Silence, seeing him take oij a hnmper. 

Sil. Do me riglit [Singing. 

And dub me knight : 
Samingo. 
Is 't not so ? 

Fal. 'T is so. [somewhat. 

Sil. Is 't so ? Why then, say an old man can do 

Re-enter Davy. 
Davy. An 't please your worship, there 's one 
Pistol come from the court with news. 
Fal. From the court ! let him come in. 

Enter Pistol. 
How now, Pistol ! 

Fist. Sir John, God save you ! 

Fal. What wind blew you hither. Pistol ? 

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to 
good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of the great- 
est men in this realm. 

Sil. By 'r lady, I think a' be, but goodman Puff 
of Barson. 

Pist. Puff! 
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base I 
301 



ACT V. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scene v. 



Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, 
And lielter-sUelter huve I rode to thee, 
And tidiii,i;s i!o 1 bring' and lucliy joys 
And Kolden times and luippy news of price. 

FaL I pray tliee now, deliver them like a man of 
tills world. 

Fist. A foutre for the world and worldlings base ! 
I speak of Africa and golden joys. 

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? 
Let King Coplietua know tlie trutli tliereof. 

Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and Jolin. 

[Singing. 

Fist. Shall dunghill curs confront tlie Helicons V 
And sliall good news be baffled Y 
Tlien, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 

Sil. Honest gentleman, I Icnow not yourbreeding- 

Fist. Wliy then, Uiuient, therefore. 

SIml. Give mi' pardon, sir: if, sir, you come with 
news from the court, I take it there 's but two ways, 
either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, 
under the king, in some authority. 

Fist. Under whicli king, Besonian? speak, or die. 

Shal. Under King Harry. 

Fid. Harry the Fourth ? or Fifth V 

Skal. Harry the Fourth. 

Fist. A foutre for thine office ! 

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; 
Harry the Fifth 's the man. I speak the trutli: 
When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like 
Tlie bragging Spaniard. 

Fal. What, is the old king dead ? 

Fist. As nail in door: tlie tilings I speak are just. 

Fal. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master 
Robert Slialiow, clioose what office thou wilt in the 
land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will double-charge thee 

Bai-d. O joyful day! [witli dignities. 

I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. 

Fist. Wliat! I do bring good nev,-s. 

Fal. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shal- 
low, my Lord Shallow, — be what thou wilt; I am 
fortune's steward — get on thy boots : we '11 ride all 
night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph! [Exit 
Bard.] Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal 
devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot. 
Master Shallow: I know the >oung king is sick for 
me. Let us take any man's liorses; the laws of 
England are at my commandment. Blessed are 
they that have been my friends ; and woe to my lord 
chief-justice! 

Fist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also ! 
' "Wliere is the life tliat late I led ? ' say they : 
AVhy, here it is; welcome these pleasant days! 

[E.ceunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A street. 

Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly and 
Doll Tearsheet. 

Host. No, thou arrant knave ; I would to God 
that I might die, that I might liave thee hanged ; 
thou liast drawn my shoulder out of joint. 

First Bead. The constables have delivered her 
over to me; and she shall liave whipping-cheer 
enough, I warrant lier: there hath been a man or 
two lately killed about her. 

UuL A'ul-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; 
I 'II tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged ras- 
cal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, thou 
wert betler thcui liadst struck thy mother, thou 
paper-faced villain. 

Host. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! he 
would make this a bloody day to somebody. But 1 
pray God the fruit of lier womb miscarry ! 

First Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of 
cushions again ; you liave but eleven now. Come, 
I charge you both go with me; for the man is dead 
lliat you and Pistol beat amongst you. 
362 



Dol. I '11 tell you what, you thin man in a cen- 
ser, I will have you as soundly swiuged for this, — 
you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy lainibhed correc- 
tioner, if you be not swinged, I "11 forswear half- 
kirtles. [come. 

First Bead. Come, come, you she knight-erraut. 

Host. O God, that right should thus overcome 
might ! Well, of sufferance comes ease. [tice. 

I)ol. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a jus- 

Host. Ay, come, you starved blood-hound. 

Dol. Goodman death, goodmau bones! 

Host. Thou atomy, thou! 

JJol. Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal. 

First Bead. Very well. [Exeunt, 

SCENE V. — A iniblic place near ^yis^minsler 
Abbey. 

Filter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 
Fimt Groom. More ruslies, more rushes. 
Sec. Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 
First Groom. 'T will be two o'clock ere they come 
from tlie coronation: dispatch, dispatch. [Exeunt. 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and 



Fal. Stand here by me. Master Robert Shallow ; 
I will make the king do you grace : I will leer upon 
him as a' comes by ; and do but mark the coun- 
tenance that he will give me. 

Fist. Goil liless thy lungs, good knight. 

Fed. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. O, if 
I had had time t<i have made new liveries, I would 
have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of 
you. But 't is no matter ; this poor show doth bet- 
ter: this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. 

Shed. It doth so. 

Ful. It shows my earnestness of affection, — 

Shed. It doth so. 

Fal. My devotion, — 

Shed. It doth, it doth, it doth. 

Fed. As it were, to ride day and night; and not 
to deliberate, not to remember, not to liave pa- 
tience to shift me, — 

Shed. It is best, certain. 

Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweat- 
ing with desire to see liim; thinking of notliing 
else, putting all affairs else in oblivion, as if there 
were nothing else to be done but to see him. 

Fist. 'Tis 'semper idem,' for'obsque hoc nihil 
est : ' 't is all in every part. 

Shal. 'T is so, indeed. 

Fist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
And make thee rage. 

Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts. 
Is in base dunuice and contagious prison; 
Haled thither 

By most mechanical and dir^ hand : [snake. 

Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Aiecto's 
For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nouglit but truth. 

Fal. I will deliver lier. 

[Slioats within, and the trumpets sound. 

Fist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor 
sounds. 

Enter the King and his train, the Lord Chief-Jus- 
tice among them. 
Fal. God save thy grace. King Hal! my royal 
Hal! 

Fist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most 
royal imp of fame! 
Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! [man. 

King. iSIy lord chief-justice, speak to that vaiu 
Ch. .Just. Have you your wits? know you what 

't is you speak ? 
Fal. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my 
heart ! 



ACT V. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. scexe v. 



King. I know thee not, old man: fall to thy 
prayers ; 
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! 
1 have long dream'd of such a kind of nuui, 
So suriVit-sweU'd, so old and so profane ; 
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream. 
Make less tliy body hence, and more thy grace; 
Leave gormandizing; know the grave dolii gape 
For thee thrice wider than for otlier men. 
Keply not to me with a fool-born jest : 
Presume not that I am the thing I was; 
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive, 
That I have turned away my former self; 
So will I those that kept me company. 
When thou dost hear I am as 1 have been. 
Approach me, and thou slialt be as thou wast, 
The tutor and tlie feeder of my riots: 
Till then, 1 bauisli thee, on pain of death. 
As I have done the rest of my misleaders, 
Kot to come near our person by ten mile. 
For competence of life 1 will allow you. 
That lack of means enforce you not to evil: 
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
"We will, according to your strengths aud qualities. 
Give you advancement. 15e it your charge, my lord. 
To see perform'd the tenour of our word. 
Set on. \_E.ctuat King, &c. 

Ful. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. 

Slial. Yea, marry, Sir John; which 1 beseech you 
to let me have home with me. 

Fal. That can hardly be. Master Shallow. Do 
not you grieve at this; 1 sliall be sent for in pri- 
vate to him : look you, he must seem thus to the 
world: fear not your advancements; 1 will be the 
m;m yet tliat shall make you great. 

iSlml. I cannot well perceive how, unless you 
slioidd give me your doublet and stutf me out with 
straw. 1 beseech you, good Sir John, let me have 
live hundred of my thousand. 

Fal. Sir, 1 will be as good as my word: this that 
you heard was but a colour. [John. 

ISJial. A colour that 1 fear you will die in. Sir 

Fal. Fear no colours: go with me to dinner: 
come,' Lieutenant Pistol; come, Bardolph; 1 shall 
be sent for soon at night. 

He-enter Prince John, the Lord Chief-Justice ; 
Officers with than. 

Ch. Just. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet : 
Take all his company along with him. 

Fal. i^Iy lord, my lord, — [soon. 

Ch. Just. I cannot now speak: 1 will hear you 
Take them away. 



Fist. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero contenta. 
[FxewU all but Prince J"lin ami llit (.'liitj -Justice, 

Lan. I like this fair proceeding of the kings: 
He hath intent his wonted followers 
Sliall all be very well provided for; 
But all are banish "d till their conversations 
Appear more wise and luodest to the world. 

Ch. Jui<t. And so they are. 

Lan. The king hath calld his parliament, my lord. 

Ch. Just. He hath. 

Lan. 1 will lay odds that, ere this year expire, 
"We bear our civil swords aud native hre 
As far as France : 1 heard a bird so sing. 
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king. 
Come, will you hence V [Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE. 
Spoken by a Dancer. 

First my fear ; then my courtesy ; last my speech. 
My fear is, your displeasure ; my courtesy, my duty ; 
aud my speech, to beg your pardons, if you look 
for a good speech now, you undo me : for what I 
have to say is of mine own making ; aud what in- 
deed 1 should say will, 1 doubt, prove mine own 
marring. But to the purpose, aud so to the ven- 
ture. Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was 
lately here in the end of a displeasing play, to pray 
your patience for it and to promise you a better. I 
meant indeed to pay you with this; which, if like 
an ill venture it come luduckily home, 1 break, and 
you, my gentle creditors, lose. Here I promised you 
1 woidd be and here I commit my body to your 
mercies: bate me some and 1 will pay you some 
and, as most debtors do, promise you infinitely. 
• If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, 
will you command me to use my legs? and yet that 
were but light payment, to dance out of your debt. 
But a good conscience will make any possible satis- 
faction, and so would I. All the gentlewomen here 
have forgiven me: if the gentlemen will not, then 
the gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, 
which was never seen before in such an assembly. 

One word more, 1 beseech you. If you be not too 
much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will 
continue the story, with Sir John in it , and make you 
merry with fair Ivatharine of France: where, for 
any thing I know, Falstatf shall die of a sweat, 
imk'ss already a' be killed with your liard opinions; 
for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man. 
'Sly tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will 
bid )ou good night : and so kneel down before you; 
but, indeed, to pray for the queen. 




Falstaff.—Yea, marry, let 's see Bullcalf. 
BuUcntf. — Here, sir. 

Falstaff.— 'Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till he 
roar agaiu. Act 111., Scene ii. 



3G3 



THE LIFE OF 

KING HENRY THE FIFTH. 



DRAMATIS PEBSOX^E. 



King Henry the Fifth. 

Duke of Gloucester, 1 , ,,„.,, ,,. 
„ „„ ,^ J J brothers to the King. 

Duke of Bedford, J " 

Duke of Exeter, uncle to the King. 

Duke of York, cousin to the Kin<;. 

Earls of Saisbury, Westmoreland, and War- 
wick. 

Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Bishop of Ely. 

Earl of Cambridge. 

Lord Scroop. 

Sir Thomas Grey. 

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen, Mac- 
morris, Jamy, officers in King Henry's army. 

Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the same. 

Pistol, Nym, Bardolph. 

Boy. • 

A Herald. 

[For an Analysis of the Plot 



Charles the Sixth, King of France. 
Lewis the Dauphin. 

Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourbon. 
The Constable of France. 
Eambures and Grandpr6, French Lords. 
Governor of Hartieur. 
Montjoy, a French Herald. 
Ambassadors to the King of England. 
Isabel, Queen of France. 
Katharine, daughter to Charles and Isabel. 
Alice, a lady attending on her. 

Hostess of a tavern in Eastchcap, formerly Mistress 
Quickly, and now married to Pistol. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, and 

Attendants. 

Chorus. 

SCENE — England ; ujterwards France. 
this Play, see Page LV.] 



I'ROLOaXJE 



Enter Chorus. 



Ulior. O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend 
The briglitest heaven of invention, 
A kinj^iloiii for a stage, princes to act 
Anil iiKiiiarelis to behold the swelling scene! 
Tlieii should the warlike Harry, like himself, 
Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, [fire 
Leasird in like hounds, should famine, sword and 
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, 
Tlie Mat nnraised spirits that have dared 
On tliis uiLWdrthy scaffold to Itriug forth 
So great an object: can this cockpit hold 
The vasty lields of France ? or may we cram 
Within this wooden O the very casques 
That did a tf fight the air at Agincourt i* 
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may 
Attest iu little place a million ; 



And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, 

On your imaginary forces work. 

Suppose witliin the girdle of these walls 

Are now conlined two iiiighly inonarcliies, 

Whose high u|>ieaivd aiKlalmtting fronts 

The perilous narrow ocean p;irts asunder: 

Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; 

Into a thousand parts divide one man, 

And make imagiiiiiiy puissance; 

Think, wlien we talk of horses, that you see them 

Printing their proud iioofs i' the receiving earth ; 

For 'tis your thouglits that now must deck our kings, 

Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, 

Turning the accomplishment of many years 

Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, 

Admit me Chorus to this liistory; 

Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, 

Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. \^Exit. 



^OT I. 



SCENE I. — Londnn. An finte-clmmber in the 
Kimfs pahivc. 

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the 
Bishop of Ely. 

Crtiit. My lord, I '11 tell you ; that self bill is urged, 
AVhich iu the eleventh year of the last king's reign 
AVas like, and had indeed iigainst us pass'd, 
But that the scambliiig and uiKiuiet time 
Did push it out of farther ipicstion. 

Ell/. But how, my lor<l, shall we resist it now? 

Cunt. It must be thought on. If itpassagaiustus, 
364 



We lose the better half of our possession : 

For all the temjioral lands which men devout 

By testament have gi\en to the cliurch 

Would tliey stri|) lioiii us; l.ieing valued thus: 

As murli as would maintain, t(>^the king's honour, 

Full fifteen carls and fifteen hundred knights, 

Si.x thousand and two hundred good esciuii'es; 

And, to relief of lazars and weak age. 

Of indigent faint souls past coriionil toil, 

Ahunilred almshouses right well supplied; 

And to the coffers of the king beside, 

A thousand pounds by the year : thus runs the biU. 



ACT I. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE IT. 



Ely. This would drink deep. 

Vant. 'T would drink tlie cup and all. 

Elij. But what prevention ? 

Cilnl. The king is full of grace and fair regard. 

EUi. And a true lover of the holy church. 

Cant. Tlie courses of his youth prounsed it not. 
The breath no sooner left his father's body, 
But that his wildncss, uiortitied in him, 
Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment 
Consideration, like an angel, came 
And wliipii'd the offending Adam out of him, 
Leaving liis body as a paradise. 
To envelope and contain celestial spirits. 
Never was such a sudden scholar made; 
Never came reformation in a flood. 
With such a lieady curranee, scouring faults; 
Nor never Ilydra-iieaded wilfulness 
So soon did lose his seat and all at once 
As in this king. 

Ebj. We are blessed in the change. 

dint. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
And all-admiring witli an inward wish 
You would desire the king were made a prelate: 
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs. 
You would say it hath been all in all his study: 
List his discourse of war, and you sl)all hear 
A fearful battle render'd you in music : 
Turn him to any cause of policy, 
The (Jordian knot of it he will unloose. 
Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, 
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still. 
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, 
To steal his sweet and honey 'd sentences; 
So that the art and practic part of life 
Must be the mistress to this theoric: 
Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it, 
Since his addiction was to courses vain. 
His companies uidetter'd, rude and shallow, 
His hours tilTd up with riots, banquets, sports. 
And never noted in him any study, 
Any retirement, any sequestration 
From open haunts and popularity. 

Ely. The strawberry grows unJerneath the nettle 
And' wholesome berries thrive and ripen best 
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality : 
And so the prince obscured his contemplation , 
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt. 
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night. 
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 

('ant. It must be so; for miracles are ceased; 
And therefore we must needs admit the means 
How things are perfected. 

Ely. But, my good lord. 

How now for mitigation of this bill 
Urged by the commons y Doth his majesty 
Incline to it, or no? 

Cant. He seems indifferent, 

Or ratlier swaying more upon our part 
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us; 
For I have made an offer to his majesty. 
Upon our spiritual convocation 
And in regard of causes now in hand. 
Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
As touching France, to give a greater sum 
Than ever at one time the clergy yet 
Did to his predecessors part withal. 

Ely. How did this offer seem received, my lord? 

Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty; 
Save that there was not time enough to hear. 
As I perceived his grace would fain have done, 
The severals and unhidden passages 
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms 
And generally to the crown and seat of France 
Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. 

Ehj. What was the impediment tiiat' broke this 

■ off? 
Cant. The French ambassador upon that instant 



Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come 
To give him hearing : is it four o'clock ? 

Ely. It is. 

Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy; 
Which I could with a ready guess declare. 
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 

Ely. I '11 wait upon you, and I long to hear it. 

{Exeunt. I 

SCENE II. — The same. The Presence eliamber. 

Enter K-ingHenvy, Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, J 

"Warw^ick, 'Westmoreland, and Attendants. ] 

K.Hen . Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? \ 

Exe. Not here in presence. 

iiT. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 

West. Shall we call in the aniljassador, my liege? j 

K. lien. Not yet, my cousin : we would be resolved, 
Before we hear him, of some things of weight 
That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. 

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the 1 

Bishop of Ely. 

Cant. God and his angels guard your sacred throne 
And make you long become it! 

K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. 

My learned lord, we pray you to proceed 
And justly and religiously unfold 
Why the law Salique that they have in France 
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim : 
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, [ing, 
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your read- I 

Or nicely charge your understanding soul ' 

With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
Suits not in native colours with the truth ; 
F(.)r God dcith know how many now in health 
Shall drop their blood in approbation 
Of what your reverence shall incite us to. \ 

Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, , 

How you a\\ake our sleeping sword of war : ] 

We charge you, in the name of God, take heed; 
For never tvi'o such kingdoms did contend | 

Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops , 

Are every one a woe, a sore complaint i 

'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords j 

That make such waste in brief mortality. | 

Under this conjuration speak, my lord ; 
For we will hear, note and believe in heart ] 

That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd | 

As pure as sin with baptism. [peers. 

Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you ' 

That owe yourselves, your lives and services 
To tliis imperial throne. There is no bar 
To make against your highness' claim to France 
But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 
' In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant ; ' 
' No woman shall succeed in Salique land : ' 
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze 
To be the realm of France, and I'liaramond 
The founder of this law and IVnialc liar. 
Yet their own authors faithfully allirm 
That the land Salique is in Germany, 
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe ; [ons. 

Where Charles the Great, liaving subdued the Sax- 
There left behind and settled certain French; 
Who, holding in disdain the tierniau women 
For some dislionest manners of their life, 
Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female 
Should lie inheritrix in Salique land: 
Which Salicjue, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, 
Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. 
Tlirn doth it well appear the Salique law 
Was not devised for the realm of France; 
Nor did the French possess the Sali(iue land 
Until four hundred one and tweidy years 
After defunction of King Pharamond, 
Idly supposed the founder of this law; 
365 



ACT I. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE II. 



. Who died within the year of our redomiition i 
Four huiiilred twenty-six; and Cliarles thi^ Great 
.Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 
Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
Eiglit hundrrd live. l!esi(h^s,' their writers say, 
King Pepin, wliieli deposed Childerie, 
Did, as heir general, being descended 
Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, 
Malce claim and title to the crown of France. 
Hu^h Capet also, who usurp'd the crown 
Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male 
Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, 
To find his title with some shows of truth. 
Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, 
Conveyed himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, 
Daughter to Charlemaiu, who was the son 
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the sou 
Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth, 
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
Could not keep quiet in his conscience. 
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 
That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, 
Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, 
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine : 
By tlie which marriage the line of Charles the Great 
Was re-united to the crown of France. 
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim, 
King Lewis liis satisfaction, all ai)pear 
To hold in riglit and title of the female: 
So do the kings of France unto this day; 
Howbeit they would liold up this Salique law 
To bar your highness claiming from the female. 
And rather choose to hide them in a net 
Than amply to imbar their crooked titles 
Usiirp'd from you and your progenitors. [claim '? 

A'. Hen. May I with right and conscience make this 

Cant. Tlie sin upon my head, dread sovereign! 
For in the book of Numbers is it writ. 
When the man dies, let the inlieritance 
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, 
Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; 
Look back into your mighty ancestors; 
Go, my dread lord, to your'gieat-graudsire's tomb, 
From whom you claim; in\dke his warlike spirit, 
And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, 
Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
IMaking defeat on the full power of France, 
AVhiles his most mighty fatlier on a hill 
Stood smiling to beliold Ids lion's whelp 
Forage in blood of Freneli noljilitv. 
O noble English, that could entertain 
AVith half their forces the full pri.le of France 
And let another halt stand lauL;iiiiig by, 
All out of work and cold for action ! 

Jily. Awake remenil)rance of these valiant dead 
And with your imissant arm renew their feats : 
You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; 
The blood and courage that renowned them 
Runs in your veins; and niv thrice-puissant liege 
Is in the very May-morn ot'liis youth. 
Ripe for exploits and mighty enteri)rises. [earth 

JSxc. Your brother kings' and monarchs of the 
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. 
As did the former lions of your blood. 

West. They know your grace hath cause and 
means anil might ; 
So hath your hii^liness; never king of England 
Had nobles rielier and more loval subjects. 
Whose hearts have left t heir IxVdies here in England 
And lie pavilioned in tlie lields of France. 

Cnnt. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, 
With blood and sword and lire to win your right; 
In aid whereof we of the spiritualty 
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum 
As never did the clergy at one time 
Bring in to any of your ancestors. 
366 



K. Hen. AVe must not only arm to invade the 
But lay down our proportions to defend [French, 
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us 
With all advantages. 

Cant. They of those marches, gracious sovereign. 
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
Our inland from the pilfering borderers. [only, 

K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers 
But fear the main intendment of the Scot, 
Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; 
For you shall read that my great-grandfather 
Never went with his forces into France 
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
Came pouring, like the tiile into a breach, 
Witli aniple and brim fulness of his force. 
Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, 
Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; 
That England, being empty of defence, 
Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. 

fJant. She hath been then more fear'd than 
harm 'd, my liege; 
For hear her but exampled by herself: 
AVhen all her chivalry hatli been in France 
And she a mourning widow of her nobles. 
She hath herself not only well defended 
But taken and impounded as a stray 
The King of Scots; whom she did send to France, 
To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings 
And make her chronicle as rich with praise 
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
AVith surdcen wreck and sumless treasuries. 

Went. But there 's a saying very old and true, 
' If that you will France win 
Then with Scotland first begin:' 
For once the eagle England being in prey, 
To lier unguarded nest the weasel Scot 
Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs. 
Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, 
To tear and havoc more than she can eat. 

-Ere. It follows then the cat nuist stay at home: 
Yet that is but a crush 'd necessity. 
Since we have locks to safeguard "necessaries. 
And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
AVhile tliut the armed hand doth light abroad. 
The advised head (lefen<!s itself at home; 
J^or government, tli(uiL;h high and low and lower, 
Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, 
Congreeiug in a full and natural close,"' 
Like music. 

Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide 

The state of man in divers functions. 
Setting endeavour in continual motion; 
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
Obedience: for so work the honey-bees, 
Creatures that by a rule in nature teach 
The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
They have a king and officers of sorts ; 
AVhere some, like magistrates, correct at home, 
Others, like merchanis. venture trade abroad. 
Others, like siddiiTs, armed in their stings. 
Make boot upon the sunuuer's velvet buds, 
AVhieh pillage they with merry march bring home 
To the tent-royal of their emperor; 
AVIiO, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons building roofs of gold. 
The civil citizens kneading up the honey, 
The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
Their liea\ y burdens at his narrow gate, 
Tlie sad-eyed justice, with his surly 1mm, 
Delivering o'er to executors pale 
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, 
Tliat many things, having full reference 
To one consent, may work contrariously : 
As many arrows, loosed several ways, 
Come to one mark ; as many ways meet in one town ; 
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; 
As many lines close in the dial's centre ; 



ACT IT. 



KING HENRY V. 



PROLOGUE. 



So may a thousand actions, once afoot, 
End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
AVithout defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
Divide yonr happy England into four; 
AVhereof take yon one quarter into France, 
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
If we, with thrice such powers left at home, 
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, 
Let us be worried and our nation lose 
The name of liardiness and policy. 
A'. Hen. Call in the me.^sengers sent from the 
Daupliin. [Excant some AUendants. 

Xow are we well resolved; and, by God's help, 
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, 
France being ours, we '11 bend it to our awe. 
Or break it all to pieces: or there we '11 sit, 
Rulina; in large and ample empery 
O'er i'rance and all her almost kingly dukedoms, 
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
Tombless, with no remembrance over them : 
Either our history shall with full mouth 
Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, 
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, 
Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 

Enter Ambassadors of France. 
Xow are we well prepared to know the pleasure 
Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for we hear 
Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 

First Amb. May 't please your majesty to give us 
Freely to render what we have in charge ; [leave 
Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
The I.)aupiiin's meaning and our embassy ? 

K. Hen. AVe are no tyrant, but a Christian king; 
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject 
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons : 
Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness 
Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 

Fir.-<t Amb. Thus, then, in few. 

Your highness, lately sending into France, 
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
Of your great predecessor. King Edward the Third. 
In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
Says that you savour too much of your youth. 
And bids you be advised there 's nouglit in France 
That can be with a nimble galliard won; 
You cannot revel into dukedoms there. 
He therefore sends you, nieeter for your spirit. 
This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this. 
Desires you let the dukedoms that ygu claim 
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. 

K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ? 

E.ce. Tennis-balls, my liege. 

A'. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant 
with U.S ; 



His present and your pains we thank you for: 
AVHien we have match'd our rackets to these bal!::. 
We will, in France, by God's grace, iilay a set 
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. 
Tell him he hath made a match with sucli a wrangler 
That all the courts of France will be ilisturb'd 
With chaces. And we understand him well, 
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, 
Not measuring what use we made of them. 
We never valued this poor seat of England ; 
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 
To barbarous license ; as 't is ever common 
Tliat men are merriest when they are from home. 
P.nt tell the Dauphin I will keep my state. 
Be like a king and show my sail of greatness 
When 1 do rouse me in my throne of France: 
For tliat I have laid by my majesty 
And plodded like a man for working-days, 
But I will rise there with so full a glory 
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. 
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his 
Hatli turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul 
.Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
That shall Hy with them: for many a thousand 

widows 
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear hus- 
bands ; 
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down ; 
And some are yet ungotten and unborn 
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. 
But this lies all within the will of God, 
To whom I do appeal; and in whose name 
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on. 
To venge me as I may and to put forth 
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin 
His jest will savour but of shallow wit. 
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. 
Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. 
[Exeunt Ambasbudors. 

Exe. This was a merry message. 

K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. 
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour 
That may give furtherance to our expedition ; 
For we have now no thought in us but France, 
Save those to God, that run before our business. 
Therefore let our proportions for these wars 
Be soon collected and all things thongh.t upon 
That may with reasonable swiftness add 
ISIore feathers to our wings; for, God before, 
AVe '11 chide this Dauphin at his father's docu". 
Therefore let every man now task liis tliouglit. 
That this fair action may on foot be brought. 

[Exeunt. — Flourish. 



.ACT II. 



PROLOGUE. 



Enter Chorus. 

Clior. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies : 
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought 
Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
They sell the pasture now to buy tlie horse. 
Following the mirror of all Christian kings, 
With winged heels, as English Jlercuries. 
For now sits Expectation in the air, 
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point 
AVith crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, 
Promised to Harry and his followers. 
The French, advised by good intelligence 
Of this most dreadful preparation. 



Shake in their fear and with pale policy 
Seek to divert the English purposes. 
O England ! model to thy inward greatness, 
Like little liodv with a mighty heart, 
AVhat mightst"thou do, that honour would thee do, 
AVere all thy children kind and natural I 
But see tliy'fault! France hath in thee found out 
A nest of hollow bosom's, which he (ills 
AVith treacherous crowns; and tlire('ci>rrnptt''1 men, 
One, Richard Earl of Canibriilge, and tlie second, 
Henry Lord Scroop of Mashani, and the third. 
Sir Thomas Grev, kniglit, of Nortlmnilierland, 
Have, for the gilt of Fnnice.— (> guilt indeed! — 
Conlirm'd conspirafv with fearful France; 
And Viy their hands this grace of kin!;s must die, 
If hell and treason hold their promises, 
367 



ACT II. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE T. 



Ere lie take ship for France, and in Southampton. 
Linger your patience on; and we '11 digest 
The abuse of (Jistance; force a play: 
The surn is |)aid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
The king is set from London; and the scene 
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton; 
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: 
And thence to France shall we convey you safe, 
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may. 
We'll not oltend one stomach with our jilay. 
But, till the king come forth, and not till then. 
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. 

SCENE I. — London. A street. 
Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. Well met, Corporal Xym. 

Nijun. Good morrow, I^ieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends 
yet? 

Nijm. For my part, I care not: I say little; but 
when time shall serve, there shall be smiles, but 
that shall be as it may. I dare not fight ; but I will 
wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; 
but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will 
endure cold as another man 's sword will : and there 's 
an end. 

Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make you 
friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to 
France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym. 

Ni/ni. Faith, I will live so long as t may, that 's 
the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any longer, 
I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the 
rendezvous of it. 

Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married 
to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; 
for you were troth-plight to her. 

Ni/m. I cannot tell : things must be as they may: 
men' may sleep, and they may have their throats 
about them at that time ; and some say knives liave 
edges. It must be as it may: though patience be 
a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be con- 
clusions. AVell, I cannot tell. 

Enter Pistol and Hostess. 

Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: 
good corporal, be patient here. Ilow now, mine liost 

Pist. Base tike, call'st thou me host? [Pistol! 
Now, by this hand, I swear, 1 scorn tlie term; 
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 

Host. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot 
lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen 
that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but 
it will be thcuight we keep a bawdy liouse straight. 
[Nym and Pistol draw.] O well a'day. Lady, if he 
be "not drawn now ! we shall see wilful adultery and 
murder committed. 

Bard. Good lieutenant ! good corporal ! offer 
nothing here. 

Nym. Pish ! 

Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear 'd 
cur of Iceland ! 

Host. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and 
put up your sword. 

Ni/m. Will you shog off ? I would have you solus. 

Pist. ' Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile! 
The 'solus' in thv most niervailous face; 
The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat. 
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, 
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth I 
I do retort the ' solus ' in thy bowels: 
For 1 can take, and Pistol's cock is up. 
And dashing lire will follow. 

Nym. 1 am not Barbason ; you cannot conjure me. 

I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. 

If you grow foul with me. Pistol, I will scour you 

308 



with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would 
walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good 
terms, as I may: and that 's the humour of it. 

Pist. O braggart vile and damned furious wight ! 
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; 
Therefore exhale. 

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say: he that 
strikes the first stroke, I '11 run him up to the hilts, 
as I am a soldier. • [Drairs. 

Pist. An oath of mickle might ; and fury shall 
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give; [abate. 
Thy spirits are most tall. 

Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in 
fair terms; that is the humour of it. 

Pist. ' Couple a gorge ! ' 
That is the word. I thee defy again. 

hound of Crete, think "st thou my spouse to get ? 
No ; to the spital go. 

And from the powdering-tub of infamy 
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse: 

1 have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly 
For the only she; and — pauca, tliere 's enough. 
Go to. 

Enter the Boy. 

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my mas- 
ter, and you, hostess : he is very sick, and would to 
bed. Good Bardoli)h,put thy face between his sheets, 
and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he 's very 

Bard. Away, you rogue! [ill. 

Host. By my troth, he '11 yield the crow a pudding 
one of these days. The king has killed his heart. 
Good husband, come home presently. 

[Exeunt Hostess and Boy. 

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends ? AVe 
must to France together: why the devil should we 
keep knives to cut one another's throats ? [on ! 

Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl 

JV(/})!. You '11 pay me the eight shillings I won of 
you at betting ? 

Pist. Base is the slave that pays. [of it. 

Nym. That now I will have : that 's the himiour 

Pist. As manhood shall compound : pusli home. 

[They draw. 

Bctrd. By this sword, he that makes the first 
thrust, I '11 kill him ; by (ihis sword, I will. 

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have 
their course. 

Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be 
friends : an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies 
with me too. Prithee, put up. 

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings I won of 
you at betting? 

Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; 
And lio.uor likewise will I give to thee. 
And friendship shall couiliiae, and brotherhood: 
I '11 live by Nym, and Nyui slmll live by me; 
Is not this just? for I shall sutler be 
Unto the cam]), and profits will accrue. 
Give me thy hand. 

Nym. 1 sliall have my noble ? 

Pist. In cash most justly paid. 

Nym. Well, then, that 's the humour of 't. 

lie-enter Hostess. 

Host. As ever you came of women, come in quickly 
to Sir John. Ali, poor heart! he is so shaked of a 
burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lament- 
able to beliold. Sweet men, come to him. 

Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the 
knight; that 's the even of it. 

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; 
His heart is fracted and corroborate. 

Nym. The king is a good king : Ijut it must be as 
it may; he passes some humours and careers. 

Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins 
we will live. 



-^ 




ACT II. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE II. 



SCENE II. — Soutlumijiton. A council-chamber. 

Enter Exeter, Bedford, and "Westmoreland. 

Led. Tore God, his grace is bold, to trust tliese 
traitors. 

Exe. They sliall be apprehended by and by. 

West. How smooth and even they do bear them- 
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, [selves ! 

Crowned with faitli and constant loyalty. 

Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend. 
By interception which they dream not of. 

Exe. Nay. but the man that wi.s his bedfellow. 
Whom he hath dulTd and cloy'd with gracious fa- 
That he shouki, for a foreign purse, so sell [vours, 
His sovereign's life to death and treachery. 

Trumpets .«0)(nfZ. Enter King Henry, Scroop, 
Cambridge, Grey, and Attendants. 

K. Hen. Xow sits the wind fair, and we will 
aboard. [Masham. 

My I,ord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of 
And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts : 
Think j'ou not that the powers we bear with us 
Will cut their passage through the force of France, 
Doing the execution and the act 
For which we have in head assembled them V [best. 

Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his 

K. Hen. I doubt not that ; since we are well per- 
A\'e carry not a heart with us from hence [suaded 
That grows not in a fair consent with ours. 
Nor leave not one beliind that doth not wish 
Success and conquest to attend on us. 

Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd and loved 
Than is your majesty : there "s not, I think, a subject 
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
Under the sweet sliade of your government. 

Qrey. True : those that were your father's enemies 
Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you 
With hearts create of duty and of zeal. [fulness ; 

A'. Hen. We therefore liave great cause of thank- 
And shall forget the office of our hand. 
Sooner tlian quittance of desert and merit 
According to the weight and wortliiness. 

Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, 
And labour shall refresli itself with hope. 
To do your grace incessant services. 

K. Hrn. We judge no less. Unc)e of Exeter, 
Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 
That raird against our person: we consider 
It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
And on his more advice we pardon him. 

Scroop. Tliat 's mercy, but too much security : 
Let him be punish 'd, sovereign, lest example 
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 

A". Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 

Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 

Grey. Sir, 
You show great mercy, if you give him life. 
After the t;iste of much correction. 

K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me 
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch ! 
li little faults, proceeding on distemper, 
Sliall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye 
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallovv'd and di- 
gested. 
Appear before us ? We '11 yet efilarge that man, 
Tiiough Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear 
And tender i)reservation of our person, [care 

Would have him punish 'd. And now to our French 
Who are the late commissioners ? [causes : 

Cam. I one, my lord : 
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 

Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 

Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. [is yours ; 

A'. Hen. Then, Kicliard Earl oif Cambridge, there 
There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir 
knight, 
24 



Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: 
Read them; and know. I know your worthiness. 
My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, 
We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentle- 
Wliat see you in those papers that you lose [men! 
So much complexion y Look ye, how they change! 
Their cheeks are paper. ^V^hy," what read you there, 
That hath so cowarded and chased your blood 
Out of appearance V 

Cam. I do confess my fault ; 

And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 

Scroop. } 'r° ^''^* ''■<' *" '^PP^'^'- 

A'. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us but late, 
By your own counsel is suppress'd and killd : 
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; 
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms. 
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. 
See you, my princes and my noble peers, [here, 
These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge 
You know how apt our love was to accord 
To furnish him with all appertinents 
Belonging to his honour : and this man 
Hath, for a few fight crowns, lightly conspired, 
And sworn unto the practices of France, 
To kill us here in Hampton : to the which 
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, 
What shall I say to thee. Lord Scroop ':" thou cruel, 
Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature! 
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels. 
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, 
That almost niightst have coin'd me into gold, 
Wouldst thou have practised on me for tliy use, 
INIay it be possible, that foreign hire 
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil 
That might annoy my linger '^ 't is so strange, 
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross 
As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. 
Treason and murder ever kept together. 
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose. 
Working so grossly in a natural cause. 
That admiration clid not whoop at them: 
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in 
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: 
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was 
That wrought upon thee so preposterously 
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence: 
All other devils that suggest by treasons 
Do botch and bungle up damnation 
With patches, coldurs. and willi birnis being fetch'd 
From glistering scndilanccs of piety; 
But he that temper'd thee bade ihee stand up. 
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason. 
Unless to dub thee with the niuue of traitor. 
If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus 
Shoulil \^■ith his lion gait walk the whole world, 
He might return to vasty Tartar back, 
And tell the legions ' I can never win 
A soul so easy as that Englisliman's.' 
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful ? 
Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned'? 
Why, so didst thou : come they of noljle family y 
Why, so didst thou: seem they religious':' 
AVHiy, so didst thou : or are they spare in diet. 
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger. 
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, 
Garnish 'd and deck'd in modest complement. 
Not working with the eye without the ear, 
And but in purgi^d judgment trusting neither? 
Such and so linclv lidlted didst timu seem: 
And thus thy fall liatli left a kind of lilot. 
To mark the full-fraught man and best indued 
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee ; 
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
Another fall of man. Their faults are open : 
36y 



ACT II. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE IV. 



Arrest them to the answer of the law; 
And God acquit thi-m of their practices! 

Exe. I arrest tliee of liinh treason, by the name of 
Eichard Earl of Cambridge. 

I arrest thee of liigli treason, by the name of 
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. 

I arrest tliee of high treason, by the name of 
Thomas Grey, knight, of Xorthinnberlaud. 

Scroop. Our purposes God justly luitli discovered; 
And I repent my fault more tlian my death; 
Wliich I beseech your highness to forgive, 
Although my body imy the price of it. 

Cam. For me, tiic gold of France did not seduce; 
Although I did admit it as a motive 
The sooner to ellect what I intended: 
But Goil be thanked for prevention; 
Wliich I in sulferance heartily will rejoice, 
Beseeching God and you to pardon me. 

Ore;/. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
At the discovery of most dangerous treason 
Than I do at tliis hour joy o'er myself. 
Prevented from a damned enterprise: 
My fault,but not my body , pardon, sovereign, [tence. 

K.Hen. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sen- 
You have conspired against our royal person. 
Joined with an ejiemyiiroclaiin'd and from his coffers 
Received the goliicu earnest of our death; 
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter. 
His princes and his peers to servitude. 
His sulijects to oiipression and contempt 
And his whole kingdom into desolation. 
Touching our person seek we no revenge ; 
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, 
Wliose ruin you have sought, that to her laws 
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, 
Poor miserable wretches, to your death : 
The taste whereof, God of his mercy give 
You patience to endure, and hue repentance 
Of all your dear offences! Bear tlii'ui lii'nce. 

[Exeunt Cuinbridye, Scrooji (ind Gro/, ijuarded. 
Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof 
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war. 
Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
This dangerous treason lurking in our way 
To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now 
But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
Then forth, dear coinitrynien : let us deliver 
Our puissance into the hand of God, 
Putting it straight in expedition. 
Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance : 
No king of England, if not king of France. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — London. Before a tavern. 
Enter Pistol, Hostess, Nym, Bardolph, and Boy. 

Host. Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring 
thee to Staines. 

Fist. No: for my manly heart doth yearn. 
Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy \aunting veins: 
lioy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstalf he is dead, 
And we must yearn therefore. 

Bard. Would [ were with him, wheresome'er he 
is, either in heaven or in hell ! 

Jifjst. Nay, sure, he 's not in hell : lie 's in Arthur's 
bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' 
made a liner end and went away an it had been any 
christom child; a' parted even just between twelve 
and one, even at the turning*o' the tide : for after 
I saw liim fumble witli the sheets and play with 
flowers and smile upon his lingers' ends, I knew 
there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp 
as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. ' How 
now, Sir John ! ' quoth I : ' what, man ! be o' good 
cheer.' So a' cried out ' God, God, God ! ' three or 
four times. Now I, to comfort liim, bid him a' 
should not thiidi of God ; I. hoped there was no need 
370 



to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So 
a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my 
liand into the bed and felt them, and they were as 
cold as any stone ; then I felt to his knees, and they 
were as cold as any stone, and so upward and up- 
ward, and all was as cold as any stone. 

Ni/m. They say he cried out of sack. 

Host. Ay, that a' did. 

Bard. And of women. 

Host. Nay, that a' did not. [incarnate. 

Boi^. Yes, that a' did ; and said they were devils 

Hfist. A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a 
colour he never liked. [women. 

Bdi/. A" said once, the devil would have him about 

Hist. A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women ; 
but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore 
of Babylon. 

B6!/.' Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick 
upon' Bardolph 's nose, and a' said it was a black 
soul burning in hell-Hrey 

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that 
fire : that 's all the riches I got in his service. 

Kijm. Shall we shog V the king will be gone from 
Southampton. [lips. 

Pist. Come, let 's away. My love, give me tliy 
Look to my chattels and my movables: 
Let senses rule ; the word is ' Pitch and Pay : ' 
Trust none; 

For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, 
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck : 
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. 
Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, 
Let us to France ; like horse-leeches, my boys, 
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 

Boi/. And that 's but unwholesome food, they say. 

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. 

Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. 

JVi/m. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; 
but,' adieu. [command. 

Pist. Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee 

Host. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt. 

SCENE I"V. — France. The Kimfs palace. 

Flotin'.ih. Enter the Frencli King, </if 'Dauphin, the 
Dukes of Berri and Bretague, the Constable, and 
others. 

Ft. King. Thus comes tlie English with full power 
And more" than carefully it us concerns [upon us ; 
To answer royally in our di'fences. 
Therefore the" l)ukes of I'.erri and of Bretagne, 
Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth. 
And you. Prince Daupliin, with all swift dispatch, 
To line and new repair our towns of war 
With men of courage and with means defendant; 
For England his approaches makes as fierce 
As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 
It fits us then to be as provident 
As fear may teach us out of late examples 
Left by the fatal and neglected English 
Upon our fields. 

Bait. My most redoubted father, 

It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe: 
For peace itself should not sci dull a kingdom, 
Though war nor no known ipuirrel were in question, 
Bui tliat defences, niusteis, (ireparations. 
Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, 
As were a war in expectation. 
Therefore, I say 't is meet we all go forth 
To view the sick and feeble parts of France : 
And let us do it with no show of fear; 
No, with no more than if we heard that England 
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: 
For, my good liege, she is so idly kiug'd. 
Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, 
That fear attends her not. 



ACT ITT. 



KING HENRY V. 



PROLOGUE. 



Chn. O peace, Prince Daupliiu ! 

You are too mucli mistaken in this Icing: 
Question your grace the late ambassadors, 
■\Vitli what great state lie heard their embass}% 
How well !<ui)pUed with noble counsellors, 
How modest in exception, and withal 
How terrible iu constant resolution, 
And you sliall find his vanities t'orespent 
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
Covefing discretion with a coat of folly; 
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
That shall first spring and be most delicate. 

Dan. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable; 
But though we think it so, it is no matter: 
In cases of defence 't is best to weigh 
The enemy more mighty than he seems: 
So the proportions of defence are till'd; 
Which of a weak and niggardly projection 
l)oth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting 
A little cloth. 

Fr. King. Think we King Harry strong; 
And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. 
The kindred of him liath been lleslied upon us ; 
And he is bred out of that bloody strain 
I'iiat haunted us in our familiar paths: 
^Vitlless our too much memorable shame 
■When Cressy battle fatally was struck, 
And all our princes captived by the hand 
Of tliat black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales ; 
AV^hiles that his mountain sire, on mountain staiid- 
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, [ing, 
Saw his Iieroical seed, and smiled to see him, 
Mangle the work of nature and deface 
Tiie patterns that by Uod and by French fathers 
H;ul twenty years been made. This is a stem 
Of that victorious stock; and let us fear 
The native mightiness and fate of him. 

Enler a Messenger. 
Mess. Ambassadors from Harry King of England 
Do crave admitiauee to your majesty. 
Fr. Kimj. ^Ve '11 give them present audience. 
Go, and "bring them. 

[Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords. 

You see this chase is hotly foUow'd, friends, [dogs 

Uaa. Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward 

Most spend their mouths when what they seem to 

threaten 
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign. 
Take up the Englisli short, and let tiiem know 
Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
As self-neglecting. 

Be-enter Lords, with Exeter aiicZ train. 

Fr. King. From our brother England ? 

Exe. From him ; and thus he greets your majesty. 
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, 
By law of nature and of nations, 'long 
To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown 
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain 
By custom and the ordinance of times 
Unto the crown of France. That you may know 



'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claimj 
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, 
Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, 
He sends you this most nieniorable line, 
In every branch truly deuioiisUaUve; 
Willing you overlook this [ledigiee; 
And when you Hiid him e\eiily derived 
From his most tamed of t::iii(ius ancestors, 
Edward the Third, lie liids > du tlieii resign 
Your crown and kingdom, indirecl'ly held 
From him the native and true challenger. 
Fr. King. Or else what follows ":' 
Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the crown 
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it : 
Therefore in tierce tempest is lie coming, 
111 thunder and in eartluiuake, like a Jove, 
That, if requiring fail, he will C(unpel; 
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
Deliver up the crown, and to lake mercy 
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war 
Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head 
Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, 
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, 
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, 
That shall be swallow "d in this controversy. 
This is his claim, his threatening and my message; 
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here. 
To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 

Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further: 
To-morrow shall you bear our full mtent 
Back to our brother England. 

JJau. For the Dauphin, 

I stand here for him : what to him from England V 
Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard, contempt, 
And any thing that may not misbecome 
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
Tims says my king; an if your father's highness 
Do not, in grant of all demands at large, 
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty. 
He '11 call you to so hot an answer of it. 
That caves and womby vaultages of France 
Shall chide your trespass and return your mock 
In second accent of his ordnance. 

Dau. Say, if my father render fair return, 
It is against my will; for I desire 
Kothlng Ijiit odds with England: to that end, 
As matching to his youtli and vanity, 
I did present him with the Paris balls. 

Exe. He 11 make your Paris Louvre shake for it, 
Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe: 
And, be assured, you '11 find a difference. 
As we ills subjects have in woinler found. 
Between the proinise of his greener days 
And tliese he masters now: now he weighs time 
Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read 
In your own losses, if he stay in France, [at full. 
Fr. King. To-morrow shall y(m know our mind 
Exe. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our 
Come here himself to question our delay ; [king 
For he is footed in this land already. 
Fr. King. You shall be soon dispatch 'd with fair 
conditions : 
A night is but small breath and little pause 
To answer matters of this consequence. 

[Flourish. — E.ceunt. 



J^CT III. 



PROLOGtTE. 
Enler Chorus. 

Chor. Thus with imagined wing our swift scene 
In motion of no less celerity [tlies 

Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen 



The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
With silken streainers the yiuiiig Pluebus fanning: 
Play with your fancies, and in them behold 
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; 
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give 
371 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE IT. 



To sounds confused ; behold the threaden sails, 
Borne with tlie invisible and ereeping wind, 
Draw the Ijuue boltonis throui;li the fuiTow'd sea, 
Breasting the lofty surge: U, do but think 
You stand upon the rivage and beliold 
A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; 
For so appears this fleet majestical. 
Holding due course to Harfltur. Follow, follow: 
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, 
And leave your England, as dead midnight still, 
Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women. 
Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance; 
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich 'd 
With one ap|ieuring hair, that will not follow 
These cuU'd and (.-hoice-drawn cavaliers to France ? 
Work, work yciur thoughts, and therein see a siege ; 
Beholil llic ordnance on their carriages, 
AVith fatal moutlis gaping on girded Harfleur. 
Suppose tlie and.)assador from the French comes 
Tells Harry that the king doth offer him [back ; 
Katharine his ilaughter, and with her, to dowry, 
Some petty and unproHtable dukedoms. 
Tlie otter likes not: and the nimble gunner 
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches. 

[Alarum, and cliatubers gooff. 
And down goes all before them. Still be kind, 
And eke out om- performance with your mind. 

[Exit. 
SCENE 1.— France. Before Harfleur. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, 
Gloucester, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders. 
K. Hen . Once more unto the breach, dear friends, 
once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead. 
In peace there 's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and liuniility : 
But when the lilast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger; 
Stitt'en the sinews, summon up the blood, 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage ; 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head 
Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it 
As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
O'erliang and jutty his confounded base, 
SwiU'd with tiie wild and wasteful ocean. 
Iv'ow set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, 
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit 
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English, 
Whose blood is let from fatliers of war-proof 1 
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, 
Have in tliese parts from morn till even fought 
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: 
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest 
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood. 
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeo- 
men. 
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear [not ; 
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt 
For there is none of you so mean and base, 
That hath not nolde lustre in your eyes. 
I see'you stand like greyhounds in tlie slips, 
Straining upun the start. The game 's afoot : 
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge 
Cry • God for Harry, England, and Saint George! ' 
[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off. 

SCENE II.— The same. 
Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy. 
Bard. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the 
breach ! 

]Vi/rn. Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are 
too liot ; and, for mine own part, I have not a case 



of lives : the humour of it is too hot, that is the very 
plain-song of it. 
Fist. The plain-song is most just; for hiuno-urs 
do abound : 
Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and die ; 
And sword and shield, 
In bloody held. 
Doth win immortal fame. 
Boi/. AVould I were in an aleliouse in London ! I 
would give all my tame for a pot of ale and safety. 
Fist. And I : 

If wishes would prevail with me. 
My purpose should not fail with me, 
But thither would I hie. 
Boy. As duly, but not as truly. 

As bird doth sing on bough. 

Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you 
cullions! [Brii-iny them forward. 

Fist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. 
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage. 
Abate thy rage, great duke I [chuck ! 

Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet 

Nym. These be good humours! your honour wins 
bad humours. [Exeunt all but Boy. 

Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these 
three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but 
all they three, though they would serve me, could 
not be man to me; for indeed three such antics 
do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is 
white-livered and red-faced; by the means where- 
of a' faces it out, but fights not. For FistT)l, he 
hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the 
means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole 
weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of 
few words are the best men; and therefore he 
scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought 
a coward : but his few bad words are matched 
with as few good deeds; for a' never broke any 
man's head but his ow]i, and that was agiiinst a 
post when he was drunk. They will steal any 
thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute- 
case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three 
half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers 
in filching, and in Calais they stole a tire-sho";el : I 
knew by that piece of service the men would carry 
coals. They would have me as familiar with men's 
poikets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which 
makes much against my manhood, if 1 should take 
from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is 
plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, 
and seek some better service: their villany goes 
against my weak stomach, and therefore 1 nmst 
cast it up. [Exit. 

Re-enter Fluellen, Govrer following. 

Gou.\ Captain Fluellen, you must come presently 
to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak 
with you. 

Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not so 
good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines 
is not according to the disciplines of the war: the 
concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, look you, th' 
athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look 
you, is digt himself four yard under the counter- 
mines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plow up all, if 
there is not better directions. 

Gow. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order 
of the siege is given, is altogetlier directed by an 
Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. 

Flu. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not y 

Goio. I think it be. 

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I 
will verify as much in his beard : he has no more 
directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look 
you, of tlie Koman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCEXE IV. 



Enter Macmorris and Captain Jamy. 

Gow. Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Cap- 
tain Jamy, with him. 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen- 
tleman, that i.s certain ; and of great expedition and 
knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particu- 
lar knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will 
maintain his argument as well as any military man 
in tlie world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars 
of the Romans. 

Jamy. I say gud-day. Captain Fluellen. 

i^/u.' God-den to your worship, good Captain 
James. 

Gmc. How now, Captain Macmorris! liave j'ou 
quit the mines y have the pioners given o'er V 

Mac. ByChrish,la! tish ill done: the work ish 
give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my 
hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish 
ill done ; it ish give over : I would have bio wed up 
the town, so Cln-ish save me, la! in an hour: O. 
tish ill done, tish ill done ; by my hand, tish ill done -! 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I beseech yuu now, will 
you voutsafe me, look you, a few disimtalions with 
you, as partly touehingor concerning the disciplines 
of the war, the Koni;in wars, in the way of argu- 
ment, look you, ami friendly communication ; partly 
to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, 
look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of 
the military discipline ; that is the point. 

Jamij. It sail be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains 
bath : and I sail quit you with gud leve, as I may 
pick occasion; that sail I, marry. 

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save 
me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, 
and the king, and the dukes: it is no time to dis- 
course. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet 
call us to the breach ; and we talk, and, be Cljrish, 
do nothing: 'tis shame for us all: so God .sa' me, 
'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: 
and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done ; 
and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la ! 

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take 
themselves to slomber, ay '11 de gud service, or ay '11 
lig i' the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; and ay '11 
pay 't as valorously as I may, that sail 1 suerly do, 
that is the breff and the long. Marry, 1 wad full 
fain hear some question 'tween you tway. 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under 
your correction, there is not many of your nation — 

Mac. Of my nation ! What ish my nation ? Ish 
a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. 
AVhat ish my nation ? Who talks of my nation ? 

Flu. Look you, if yoiktake the matter otherwise 
than is meant, Cai)tain Macmorris, perad^'cnture I 
shall think you do not use me with that affability 
as in discretion you ought to use me, look you; 
being as good a man as yourself, botii in the disci- 
plines of war, and in the derivation of my birth, 
and in other particularities. 

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself: 
so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. 

Goic. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each 

Jamy. A ! that 's a foul fault. [other. 

[A parley sounded. 

Gore. The town sounds a parley. 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
better opportunity to be required, look you, I will 
be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of 
war; and there is an end. [ExeuiU. 

SCENE HI.— The same. Before the gates. 

Tlie Governor and some Citizens on (he walls; the 

Fnylishforces below. Enter King Henry and train. 

K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the 

This is the latest parle we will admit : [town y 



Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves ; 

Or like to men proud of destruction 

Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, 

A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, 

If I begin the battery once again, 

I will not leave the half-acliieved Ilarfleur 

Till in her ashes she lie buried. 

Tlie gates of mercy shall be all shut up. 

And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart. 

In liberty of bloody hand shall range 

With consciencf wide as hell, mowing like grass 

Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering Infants. 

What is it tlien to me, if impious war, 

Array'd in flames like to tlie prince of fiends, 

Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats 

Enlink'd to waste and desolation ? 

Wliat is 't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 

If your pure maidens fall into the hand 

Of hot and forcing violation ? 

What rein can hold licentious wickedness 

When down the hill he holds his fierce career? 

We may as bootless spend our vain command 

Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil 

As send precepts to the leviathan 

To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, 

Take pity of your town and of your people, 

W hiles yet my soldiers are in my command; 

Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 

O'erblows the filthy and contajjious clouds 

Of heady murder, spoil and villany. 

If not, why, in a moment look to see 

The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 

Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ; 

Your fathers taken by the silver beards. 

And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls. 

Your naked infants spitted upon i)ikes, 

AVhiles the mad mothers with their howls confused 

Do break the clouds, as clid the wives of Jewry 

At Herod's bloody-hunting slauglitermen. 

What say you V will you yield, and this avoid, 

Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy 'd ? 

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end: 
The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated, 
Returns us that his powers are yet not ready 
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king. 
We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. 
Enter our gates ; dispose of us and ours ; 
For we no longer are defensible. 

K. Hen. Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, 
Go you and enter Hartleur; there remain. 
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: 
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, 
The winter coming on and sickness growing 
Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. 
To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest. 
To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 

[Flourish. The King and his train enter the town. 

SCENE IV.— The French King's ixdace. 
Enter Katharine and Alice. 

Kath. Alice, tu as ete en Augleterre, et tu paries 
bien le langage. 

Alice. Un peu, madame. 

Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que j'ap- 
prenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la main tn 
Anglois ? 

Alice. La main V elle est appelee de hand. 

Kath. De hand. Etlesdoigts? 

Alice. Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; 
mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts V je pense 
qu'ils sont appeles de flngres; oui, de fingres. 

Kath. La main, de hand ; les doigts, de fingres. 
Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier ; j 'ai gagne deux 
mots d'Anglois vitemeut. Comment appelez-vous 
les ongles ? 

Alice. Les ongles ? nous les appelons de nails. 
373 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE VT. 



Katli. De nails, ^ficoutez: dites-moi, si je parle 
bien : de hand, de fingres, et de nails. 

Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon 
Anglois. 

Kath. Dites-moi I'Anglois pour le bras. 

Alice. De arm, madame. 

Kuth. Et le coude 'i 

Alice. De elbow. 

Kath. De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de 
tons les mots que vous m'avez appris des a present. 

Alice. 11 est tropdillieile, madame, commejepense. 

Kath. Excusez-moi. Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de 
fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow. 

Alice. De elbow, madame. 

Kath. O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie ! de elbow. 
Comment appelez-vous le col 'i 

Alice. De neck, madame. 

Kuth. De nick. Etlementon? 

Alice. De chin. 

Kath. De sin. Le col, de nick ; de menton, de sin. 

Alice. Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous 
prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Au- 
gleterre. 

Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace 
de Dieu, et en peu de temps. 

Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous 
ai enseigne V 

Kath. Non, je reciterai a vous promptemeut: dc 
hand, de fingres, de mails, — 

Alice. De nails, madame. 

Kath. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. 

Alice. Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. 

Kath. Ainsi dis-je ; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. 
Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe i* 

Alice. De foot, madame ; et de coun. 

Kuth. De foot et de coun ! O Seigneur Dieu ! ce 
sont mots de son mauvais, corrupt ilile, gros, et im- 
pudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: 
je ne voudrais pronoucer ces mots dev;int les seig- 
neurs de France pour tout le monde. Foil ! le foot 
et le coun ! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois 
ma leQon ensemble : de liand, de fingres, de nails, 
de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. 

Alice. Excellent, madame ! 

Kuth. C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous h 
diner. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The same. 

Entei the King- of France, the Dauphin, the Duke 
ofBourbon,</((! Constable of France, a)!rfo(/ie7-s. 

Fr. KiMij. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river 
Sorame. 

Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, 
Let us not live in France ; let us quit all 
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 

Lhm. O Dieu vivant ! sli;dl a few sprays of us, 
The emptying of our fathers' luxury. 
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, 
Spirt up so suddenly hito the clouds. 
And overlook their grafters '? [bastards ! 

Bour. Normans, but liastard Normans, Norman 
Mort de nia vie! if tliey march along 
Unfouglit withal, but I will sell my dukedom, 
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. [tie ? 

Con. Dieu de batailles ! wliere have they this met- 
is not their climate foggy, raw and dull. 
On whom, as in despite, the sun lociks pale. 
Killing their fruit with frowns V ( 'an sodden water, 
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth. 
Decoct their cold l>l(i(>d to such valiant heat ? 
And shall our quick lilood. spirited with wine. 
Seem frosty? O, for lionour of our land, 
Let us not hang like roping icicles 
Upon our houses' tliat ell, w idles a more frosty people 
Sweat droi)s of gallant youtli in our rich fields! 
Poor we may call tliem in tlieir native lords. 
374 



Dau. By faith and honour, 
Our iuadains mock at us, and plainly say 
Our mettle is lired out and they will give 
Tlieir bodies to tlie lust of English youth 
To new-store France with bastard warriors. 

Bour. Tlu y bid us to the English dancing-schools, 
And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos; 
Saying oiu' grace is only in om' lieels, 
And tliat we are most lofty runaways. 

Ft. Kinij. ^v'llere is Moutjoy the herald? speed 
liim hence: 
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. 
Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged 
More sliari>i'r tliau your swords, hie to the field: 
Cliarles D.-labreth, high constable of France; 
You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, 
Alenvoii, Bruliant, Bar, and Burgundy; 
Jaqucs Chatillon, Kambures, Vaudemont, 
Beaumont, C4randpre, lloussi, and Fauconberg, 
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciciualt, and Charolois; 
High dukes, great princes,l)arons, lords and knights, 
For your great seats now (juit you of great sliames. 
Bar Harry England, that sweeps thnuigh our land 
With pennons painted in tlie blood of llarfleur: 
Bush on his host, as doth tlie melted snow 
Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat 
The Alps doth spit and void liis rheum upon: 
Go down upon him, you have power enough, 
And in a captive chariot into Rouen * 
Bring him om' prisoner. 

Con. Th.is becomes the great. 

Sorry am I his numbers are so few, 
His soldiers nek and famish 'd in their march, 
For I am sure, wlien he shall see our army, 
He '11 drop his litart into the sink of fear 
And for achievement oiier us his ransom. 

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on 
Montjoy, 
And let liim say to England that we send 
To know what willing ransom he will give. 
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. 

Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. [us. 

Ft. King. Be patient, for you shall remain witli 
Now forth, lord constable and princes all. 
And quickly bring us word of England's fall. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Tlic English camp in Picardy. 
Enter Go^wer and Fluellen, meeting. 

GiiiP. How now, Captain Fluellen ! come you from 
the bridge ? 

Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent services 
committed at the bridge, e 

Gmc. Is the Duke of Exeter safe ? 

Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as 
Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honour 
witli my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my 
life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is 
not — God be praised and blessed! — any hurt in 
the world; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, 
with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient 
lienteiiant there at the pridge, I think in my very 
conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony ; 
and he is a man of no estimation iu the world ; but 
I did see him do as gallant service. 

Gow. What do you call him ? 

Flu. He is called Aunchient Pistol. 

G'ciio. I know him not. 

Enter Pistol. 

Flu. Here is the man. 

PiM. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: 
The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 

Mu. Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some 
love at liis hands. 

Fist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE VI. 



Anil of tnixoin valour, luith, by cruel fate, 
And giddy Fortune's furious tickle wheel, 
Tliat goddess blind, 
Tliat stands upon the rolling restless stone — 

till. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. For- 
tune is painted blind, with ;ir- muffler afore her eyes, 
to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is 
painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which 
is tlie moral of it, that slie is turning, and incon- 
stant, and mutability, and variation : and her foot, 
look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which 
rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet 
makes a most excellent description of it : Fortune 
Ls an excellent moral. [him; 

Pitst. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on 
For he liath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be: 
A danmed death ! 

Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free 
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: 
But Exeter hath given the doom of death 
For pax of little price. 

Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice: 
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
With edge of penny cord and vile reproach : 
.Speak, captain, for liis life, and I will thee requite. 

Flu. Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand 
your meaning. 

Fist. Why tlien, rejoice therefore. 

Flu. Certainly, aunchient, it is not a thing to re- 
joice at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I 
would desire the duke to use his good jiicasure, and 
put him to execution ; for discipline ouuht to he usi'd. 

Fist. Die and be damu'd! and figo tor thy triend- 

J'/u. It is well. [ship! 

Fist. The fig of Spain ! \Exit. 

Flu. Very good. 

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; 
I remember him now ; a bawd, a cutpurse. 

Flu. I '11 assure you, a' uttered as brave words at 
the pridge as you shall see in a summer's day. But 
it is ^ery well ; what he has spoke to me, that is 
well, I warrant you, when time is serve. 

Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now 
and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his 
return into London under the form of a soldier. 
And such fellows are perfect in the great command- 
ers' names: and they will learn you by rote where 
services were done; at such and such a sconce, at 
such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off 
bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms 
the enemy stood on ; and this they con perfectly in 
the phrase of war, which they trick up with new- 
tuned oaths: and what a beard of the general's cut 
and a horrid suit of the camp will do among foam- 
ing bottles and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be 
thought on. But you must learn to know such 
slanders of the age, or else you may be marvel- 
lously mistook. 

Fin. I tell you what. Captain Gower; I do per- 
ceive lie is not the man that he would gladly make 
show to the world he is: if I find a hole in his coat, 
.1 will tell him my mind. [Drumheard.] Hark you, 
the king is coming, aud I must speak with him from 
the pridge. 

Drum and colours. Enter King Henry, Glouces- 
ter, and Soldiers. 
God pless your majesty ! [the bridge ? 

K. Ben. How now, Fluellen ! earnest thou from 
Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke of 
Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge: 
the French is gone off, look you; and there is gal- 
lant and most prave passages; marry, th' athver- 
sary was have possession of the pridge; but he is 
enforced to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is mas- 
ter of the pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke 
is a prave mau. 



K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? 

Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been 
very great, reasonable great : marry, for my part, 
I think the duke hath lost never a mau, but one 
that is like to be executed for robbing a church, 
one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his 
face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and 
flames o' tire : and his lips blows at his nose, and it 
is like a coal of Are, sometimes plue and sometimes 
red; but his nose is executed, and his lire's out. 

K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut 
off : and we give express charge, t hat in our marches 
through the country, there be notliing compelled 
from the villages, nothing taken but paid for, none 
of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful lan- 
guage; for when lenity and cruelty play for a king- 
doni, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. 

Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. Tou know me by my hal>it. 

A'. Hen. Well then I know thee: what shall I 
know of thee ? 

Mont. My master's mind. 

K. Hen. Unfold it. 

Mont. Thus says my king: Say thou to Harry 
of England: Though we seemed dead, we did but 
sleep: advantage is a better soldier than rashness. 
Tell him we could have rebuked him at Harrteur, 
but that we thought not good to bruise an injury 
till it were full ripe : now we speak upon our cue, 
and our voice is imperial: England shall re])ent his 
folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. 
Bid liim therefore consider of his ransom; which 
must proportion the losses we liave borne, the sub- 
jects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested ; 
which in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would 
bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too 
poor; for the elf usion of our blood, the muster of 
his kingdom too faint a number ; and for our dis- 
grace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, but a 
weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add defi- 
ance ; and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed 
his followers, wliose condenmatiou is pronounced. 
So far my king and master; so much my otKce. 

K. Hen. Wliat is thy name i* I know thy quality. 

3Iont. Montjoy. [back, 

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee 
And tell thy king I do not seek him now ; 
But could be willing to march on to Calais 
Without impeachment: for, to say the sooth, 
Though 't is no wisdom to confess so much 
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage. 
My people are with sickness much enfeebled, 
iSIy luunl.iers lessened, and those few I have • 
Almost no better than so many French ; 
Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, 
I thought ujion one pair of English legs 
Did march three Frenchmen. Yet,forgiveme,God, 
That 1 do brng tlius! This your air of France 
Ilath blown tliat vice in me; I must repent. 
Go therefore, tell thy master here I am ; 
My ransom is this fiail and worthless trunk. 
My army but a weak and sickly guard ; 
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 
Though France himself and such another neighbour 
Stand in our way. There "s for thy labour, Montjoy. 
Go, bid thy master well advise himself: 
If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd. 
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood 
Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
The sum of all our answer is but this: 
We would not seek a battle, as we are; 
Mor, as we are, we say we will not shun it: 
So tell your master. 

Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high- 
ness. [Exit. 

Glou. I hope they will not come upon us now. 
375 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE VII. 



K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in 
tlieirs. 
March to the bridge; it now draws toward night: 
]5eyond the river we '11 encamp ourselves. 
And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — The French camp, near Agineourt. 

Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Ram- 
bures, Orleans, Dauphin, wUIi others. 

Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world. 
Would it were day ! 

Orl. You have an excellent armour ; but let my 
horse have his due. 

Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 

Orl. Will it never be morning V 

Dau. My Lord of Orleans, and my lord high con- 
stable, you talk of horse and armour? 

Orl. You are as well provided of botli as any 
prince in the world. 

Dau. What a long night is this ! I will not change 
my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. 
Q'a, ha! he bounds from the earth, as if his entrails 
were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les 
narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am 
a hawk : he trots the air ; the earth sings when he 
touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more mu- 
sical than the pipe of Hermes. 

Orl. He 's of the colour of the nutmeg. 

Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast 
for Perseus: he is pure air and hre; and the dull 
elements of earth and water never appear in him, 
but only in patient stillness while liis rider mounts 
him: he is indeed a horse; and all other jades you 
may call beasts. 

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and 
excellent horse. 

Bail. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like 
the bidding of a monarch and his countenance en- 
forces homage. 

Orl. No more, cousin. 

Bail. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from 
the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, 
vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a theme 
as fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent 
tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 
't is a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a 
sovereign's sovereign to ride on ; and for the world, 
familiar to us and unknown, to lay apart their par- 
ticular functions and wonder at him. I once writ 
a sonnet in his praise and began thus : ' Wonder of 
nature,' — [tress. 

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mis- 

Baii. Then did they imitate that which I com- 
posed to my courser, for my horse is my mistress. 

Orl. Your mistress bears well. 

Bail. Me well; which is the prescript praise and 
perfection of a good and particular mistress. 

Con. Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress 
shrewdly shook your back. 

Bau. So perhaps did yours. 

Con. Mine was not bridled. 

Bail. O then belike she was old and gentle ; and 
you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your French hose 
otf^ and hi your strait strossers. 

Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship. 

Bau. Be warned by me, "then : they that ride so 
and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had 
rather have my horse to my mistress. 

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 

Bau. 1 tell thee, constable, my mistress wears his 
own hair. 

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I 
had a sow to my mistress. 

Bau. ' Le chien est retourne a son propre vomisse- 
ment, et la truie laviie au bourbier : ' thou makest 
use of any thing. 

376 



Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, 
or any such proverb so little kin to the purpose. 

Hum. My lord constable, the armour that 1 saw in 
your tent to-night, are those stars or suns upon it? 

Con. Stars, my lord. 

Bau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 

Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 

Bau. That may be, for you bear a many super- 
fluously, and 'twere more honour some were away. 

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who 
would trot as well, were some of your brags dis- 
mounted. 

Bau. Would I were able to load him with his 
desert! Will it never be day V I will trot to-mor- 
row a mile, and my way shall be paved with English 
faces. 

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced 
out of my way : but I would it were morning; for 
I would fain be about the ears of the English. 

Ram. Who will go to hazard with me tor twenty 
prisoners y 

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you 
have them. 

Bail. 'T is midnight ; I '11 go arm myseK. [Exit. 

Orl. The Dauphin longs tor morning. 

Ham. He longs to eat the English. 

Con. I think lie will eat all he kills. [prince. 

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he 's a gallant 

Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out 
the oath. 

Orl. He is simply the most active gentleman of 
France." 

Con. Doing is activity ; and he will still be doing. 

Orl. He never did harm, that I lieard of. 

Con. Nor will do none to-morrow : he will keep 
that good name still. 

Orl. 1 know him to be valiant. 

Con. 1 was told that by one that knows him bet- 
ter than you. 

Orl. What 's he ? 

Con. Marry,lie told me so himself ; and he said he 
cared not who knew it. 

Orl. He needs not ; it is no hidden virtue in him. 

Con. By my taitli, sir. but it is ; never anybody saw 
it but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valour; and when it 
appears, it will bate. 

Orl. Ill will never said well. 

Con. I will cap that proverb with ' There is flat- 
tery in friendship.' [his due.' 

Orl. And I will take up that with ' Give the devil 

Con. Well placed : there stands your friend for the 
devil : have at the very eye of that proverb with 'A 
pox of the devil.' 

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much 
' A fool's bolt is soon shot.' 

Con. You have shot over. 

Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie 
within fifteen hundred paces of your tents. 

Con. Who hath measured the ground V 

Mess. The Lord Grandpre. 

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. 
Would it were day ! Alas, poor Harry of England ! 
he longs not for the dawning as we do. 

Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this 
king of England, to mope with his fat-brained fol- 
lowers so far out of his knowledge! 

Con. If the English had any apprehension, they 
would run away. 

Orl. That they lack ; for if their lieads had any 
intellectual armour, they could never wear such 
heavy head-pieces. 

Bam. That island of England breeds very valiant 
creatures ; their mastiffs are of unmatchable cour- 
age. 



ACT IV. 



KIXG HEXRY V. 



SCENE T. 



Orl. Foolish curs, that run winking into tlie 
mouth of a Russian bear and have tlieir heads 
eruslied like rotten apples ! You may as well say, 
that 's a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on 
the lip of a lion. 

Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympathize with 
the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, 
leaving their wits with their wives : and then give 



them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they 

will eat like wolves and Hght like devils. [beef. 
Orl. Ay, but these Englisli are shrewdly out of 
Con. Then sliall we find to-morrow they have only 

stomachs to eat and none to Hglit. Now is it time 

to arm : come, shall we about it ? 

Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me see. by ten 

We shall have each a hundred Englishmen, l^xeunt. 



ACT IV. 



PROLOGUE. 



Enter Chorus. 
Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time 
■\Vlien creeping murmur and the poring dark 
Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
From camp to camp through the foul womb of night 
The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
That the fixed sentinels almost receive 
Tlie secret whispers of each other's watch : 
Fire answers fire, and tlirough their paly flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face; 
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents 
Tlie armourers, accomplishing tlie knights, 
With busy hammei's closing rivets up, 
Give dreadful note of preparation: 
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
Proud of their nuuibers and secure in soul, 
The confident and over-lusty French 
Bo the low-rated English play at dice; 
And chide tlie cripple tardy-gaited night 
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
So te<lionsly away. The poor condemned English, 
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fii'es 
Sit patiently and inly ruuiinate 
Tlie morning's danger, and their gesture sad 
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats 
Preseutetli them unto the gazing moon 
So many horrid ghosts. O now, wlio will behold 
The royal captain of this ruin'd baud 
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 
Let him cry ' Praise and glory on his head I ' 
For fortli he goes and visits all his host. 
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile 
And calls them brotliers, friends and countrymen. 
Upon his royal face there is no note 
How dread an army hath enrounded him; 
Kor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
Unto the weary and all-watched night. 
But freslily looks and over-bears attaint 
"With clicerfid semblance and sweet majesty; 
That every wretch, pining and pale before. 
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: 
A largess universal like the sun 
Ilis lilieral eye doth give to every one, 
Tliawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all. 
Behold, as may unworthiness define, 
A little touch of Harry in the night. 
And so our scene must to the battle fly ; 
Where — O for pity! — we shall much disgrace 
AVitli four or five most vile and ragged foils, 
Eight ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, 
Tlie name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see. 
Minding true things by what their mockeries be. 

\_Exit. 

SCENE I. — The English camp at Agincourt. 
Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloucester. 



K. Hen. Gloucester, 
danger ; 



't is true that we are in great 



The greater therefore should om' courage be. 
Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty! 
Tliere is some stiul of goodne.ss in things evil. 
Would men observingly distil it out. 
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, 
Which is both liealtliful and good husbandry: 
Besides, they are our outward consciences, 
And preachers to us all, admonishing 
That we should dress us fairly for our end. 
Thus may we gather honey fr<mi the weed, 
And make a moral of the devil himself. 

Enter Erpingham. 
Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham : 
A good soft pillow for that good white head 
Were better than a churlish turf of France, [ter, 

Erp. Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me bet- 
Siace I may say 'Now lie I like a king.' [pains 

K.Hen. "'Tis good for men to love their present 
U[)on example; so the spirit is eased : 
And when the mind is quicken 'd, out of doubt, 
The organs, though defunct and dead before. 
Break up their drowsy grave and newly move, 
With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
Lend me thy cloak. Sir Thomas. Brothers both, 
Commend me to the princes in our camp ; 
Do my good morrow to them, and anon « 
Desire tliem all to my pavilion. 

Glou. We shall, my liege. 

Erp. Shall I attend yom' grace ? 

K. Ihn. No, my good knight ; 

Go with my brothers to my lords of England: 
1 and my bosom must debate a \\'hile. 
And then I would no other company. 

Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! 
\_Exeuiit III! bill King. 

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st 
cheerfully. „ „. 

Enter Pistol. 

Fist. Qui va la ? 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Fist. Discuss unto me; art thou officer ? 
Or art tliou base, common and popular ? 

K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 

Fist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike? 

K. Hen. Even so. What are you V 

Fist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 

K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 

Fist. The king 's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, 
A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
Of parents good, of fist most valiant. 
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string 
I love the lovely bully. What is thy name ? 

K. Hen. Harry le Roy. 

Fist. Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of 
Cornish crew^V 

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 

Fist. Know'st thou Fluellen ? 

A". Hen. Yes. 

Fist. Tell him, I '11 knock his leek about his pate 
Upon Saint Davy's day. 

K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap 
that day, lest he knock that about yours. 
377 



ACT IV. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE I. 



Fist. Art tlum his friend? 

K. Ilea. And las kinsman too. 

Fist. The figo for thee, then ! 

K. Hen. I tliank you : God be with j'ou ! 

Fist. My name isPistol cf-U'd. \_Ex'd. 

K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 

Enter Fluellen and Gawer. 

Gmo. Captain Fluellen ! 

Flu. So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower. 
It is the greatest admiration in the universal world, 
when the true and aunchient prerogatifes and laws 
of the wars is not kept : if you woidd take the pains 
but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you 
shall find, I warrant you, that there is no ticldle 
taddle nor pibble pabble in Pompey 's camp; I war- 
rant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, 
and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the 
sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be other- 
wise. 

Goto. Why, the enemy is loud ; you hear him all 
ni^ht. 

Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prat- 
ing coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should 
also, look you, be an ass and a fool and a prating 
coxcomb ? in your own conscience, now? 

Oow. I will speak lower. 

Flu. I pray you and beseech you that you will. 
[Exeunt Gower and Fhicllen. 

K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion. 
There is mucli care and valour in this Welslnnan. 

Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander 
Court, and Michael "Williams. 

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn- 
ing whicli breaks yonder ? 

Bales. I think it be : but we have no great cause 
to desire the approach of day. 

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, 
but I think we shall never see the end of it. Who 
goes there V 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Will. Under wliat captain serve you ? 

K. Hen. Under Sir Tliomas Erpingham. 

Will. A good old commander and a most kind 
gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our 
estate ? 

K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that 
look to be wawhed off the next tide. 

Bates. lie hath not told liis thought to the king? 

K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, 
though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a 
man, as I am: the violet smells to liim as it doth to 
me; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all 
his senses have Imt human conditions: his cere- 
monies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a 
man ; and though his affections are higher mounted 
than ours, yet, when tliey stoop, they stoop with 
the like wing. Therefore when lie sees reason of 
fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the 
same relish as ours are : yet, in reason, no man 
should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest 
lie, by showhig it, should dishearten his army. 

Bates. lie may show what outward courage he 
will; but I believe, as cold a night as 't is, he could 
wish himself in Thames up to the neck ; and so I 
would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so 
we were quit here. 

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience 
of the king: I think he would not wishhimself any 
where but where he is. 

Bates. Then I would he were here alone : so should 
he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's 
lives saved. 

K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill, to 
wish him here alone, howsoever you speak this to 
feel other men's minds : methinks I could not die 
378 



any where so contented as in the king's company; 
his cause being just and his quarrel honouiuble. 

Will. That 's more than we know. 

Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; 
fdr we know enough, if we know we are tlie king's 
subjects: if his cause be wrong, our obedience to 
the king wipes the crime of it out of us. 

Will. But if the cause be not good, the king him- 
self hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all those 
legs and arms and heads, chopped off in a battle, 
shall join together at the latter day and cry all ' We 
died at such a place;' sonie swearing, some crying 
for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor be- 
hind them, some upon the debts tiiey owe, some 
upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there 
are few die well that die in a battle ; for how can 
they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is 
their argument? Now, if these men do not die 
well, it will be a black matter for the king that led 
them to it ; whom to disobey were against all pro- 
portion of subjection. 

K. Hen. So, if a son that is by his father sent 
about merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the 
sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, 
should be imposed upon his father that sent him : 
or if a servant, under his master's command trans- 
porting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers and 
die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call 
the business of the master the autlior of the ser- 
vant's damnation : but this is not so : the king is 
not bound to answer the particular endings of his 
soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his 
servant; for they purpose not their death, when 
they purpose their services. Besides, there is no 
king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to 
the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all 
unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on 
them the guilt of premeditated and contrived mur- 
der; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken 
.seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bid- 
wark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of 
peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men 
have defeated the law and outrun native punish- 
ment, though they can outstrip men, they have no 
wings to Hy from God : war is his beadle, war is his 
vengeance ; so that here men are punished for be- 
fore-breach of the king's laws in now the king's 
quarrel: where they feared the deatli, they have 
borne life away; and where they would be safe, 
,they perish: then if they die unprovided, no more 
is the king guilty of their damnation tlian he was 
before guilty of those impieties for the which they 
are now visited. Every subject's duty is the kin^-'s ; 
but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore 
slioidd every soldier in the wars do as every sick 
man in his bed, wash every mote out of his, eon- 
science: and dying so, death is to him advantage; 
or not dying, the time was blessedly lost whereiii 
such preparation was gained ; and in him that 
escapes, it were not sin to think that, making God 
so free an offer. He let him outlive that day to see 
His greatness and to teach others how they should 
prepare. 

Will. 'T is certain, every man that dies ill, the ill 
upon his own head, the king is not to answer it. 

Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me ; 
and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say he would 
not be ransomed. 

Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully ; 
but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, 
and we ne'er tlie wLser. 

A". Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
word after. 

Will. You pay him then. That 's a perilous shot 
out of an elder-gun, that a poor and private dis- 
pleasure can do against a monarch 1 you may as 



ACT IV 



KING HENRY V. 



SCEXE TT. 



well go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning 
in his face with a peacocli's feather. You '11 never 
trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying. 

A'. Hen. Your reproof is something too round: 
I should be angry with you, if the time were con- 
venient. 

Wni. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. 

K. Hen. I embrace it. 

1)7^. How sliall I know thee again ? 

A'. He)i. Give me any gage of thine, and I will 
wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest 
acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. 

Will. Here 's my glove : give me another of thine. 

K. Hen. There." 

Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever 
thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, ' This 
is my glove,' by this ha»d, I will take thee a box 
on the ear. 

A'. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. 

Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 

K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in 
the king's company. 

Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well. 

Hates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends : 
^\■e have French quarrels enow, if you could tell 
how to reckon. 

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they 
bear them on their shoulders: but it is no English 
treason to cut French crowns, and to-morrow the 
king himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt ISoldiers. 
Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls. 
Our debts, our careful wives. 
Our children and our sins lay on the king ! 
We must bear all. O hard condition. 
Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath 
Of every fool, wliose sense no more can feel 
But his own wringing ! What infinite heart 's-ease 
Must kings neglect, tliat private men enjoy ! 
And what have kings, that privates have not too. 
Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
And wliat art thou, thou idol ceremony? 
What kind of god art thou, tliat suffer'st more 
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers ? 
What are thy rents V what are thy comings in '? 

ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
AVhat is tliy soul of adoration ? 

Art tliou aught else but place, degree and form, 

Creating awe and fear in other men ? 

Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 

Tlian they in fearing. 

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet. 

But iMiisonM llattery? O, be sick, great greatness. 

And bid tliy ceremony give thee cure ! 

Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out 

AVitli lilies blown from adulation ? 

Will it give place to tlexureandlow bending? [l<nee. 

Canst tliiHi, when thou command'st the beggar's 

Ccimmaiiil the health of it ? No, thou proud dream, 

Tliat play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 

1 am a king thai find thee, and I know 

'T is not the balm, the sceptre and the ball, 

Tlie sword, the mace, tlie crown imperial. 

The intertissued robe of gold and pearl. 

The farced title running 'fore the king. 

The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 

That beats upon the liigh shore of this world. 

No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony. 

Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 

Can sleep so soundly as the wretcheil slave. 

Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind 

Gets him to rest, cramm'd witli distressful bread ; 

Never sees horrid night, the child of hell. 

But, like a lackey, from the rise to set 

Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night 

Sleeps in Elysium ; next day after dawn, 

Uoth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, 



And follows so the ever-nmning year, 

\Vith profitable labour, to his grave : 

And, but for ceremony, sucli a \ATetch, 

Winding up days with toil and lyghts with sleep, 

Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 

The slave, a member of tlie country's iieace. 

Enjoys it ; but in gross brain little wots 

What watch the king keeps to niainl;iin the peace. 

Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 

Enter Erpingham. 

Erp. My lord, your noliles, jealous of your absence. 
Seek through your camp to find you. 

K. Hen. Good old kniglit, 

Collect them all together at my tent : 
I '11 be before thee. 

Erp. I shall do 't, my lord. [Exit. 

K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my "soldiers' hearts; 
Possess them not with fear; take from tliem now 
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers 
Pluck their liearts from tliem. Not to-day, O Lord, 
O, not to-day, think not upon the fault 
My father niade in compassing the crown I 
I iiichard's body have interred new; 
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears 
Than from it issued forced drops of Ijlood : 
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay. 
Who twice a-day their withcr'd liaiids liold up 
Toward heaven, to panloii lildod ; and I have Imilt 
Two chantries, where the siid and solrnin priests 
Slug still for Richard's soul. More will I do ; 
Though all that I can do is nothing worth. 
Since that my penitence comes after all, 
Imploring pardon. 

Enter Gloucester. 
Glon. My liege! 

A'. Hen. My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay; 
I know thy errand, I will go with thee: 
The day, mv friends and all things stay for me. 

[E.eeimt. 
SCENE II.— The French camp. 

Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and 
others. 
Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords! 
Dau. Montez a cheval ! My horse ! varlet ! la- 
Orl. O brave spirit ! [quais! ha! 

Dau. Via! les eaux et la terre. 
Orl. Rien puis? Pair et le feu. 
JDau. Ciel, cousin Orleans. 

Enter Constable. 
Now, my lord constable ! 

Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service 
neigli ! [hides, 

Dau. Mount them, and make incision in tlieir 
That their hot blood may spin in Englisli eyes, 
And dout tliem with supertluous courage, ha! , ' 
liam. What, will you have them weep our liorses' 
blood ? 
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears ? 

Enter Meeseng-er. 

Mess. The English are embattled, you French 
peers. [horse ! 

Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to 
Do but behold yon" poor and starved liand. 
And your fair show shall suck away tiieir souls. 
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. 
There is not work enougli for all our hands; 
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins 
To give each naked curlle-axe a stain, 
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out. 
And sheathe for lackof sport: letuslmtlilowon themi 
Tlie vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 
'T is positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, ^ 

379 



ACT IV. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE rir. 



That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, 

"Who hi unnecessary action swarm 

About our squares of battle, were enow 

To jiiuse tins lielil of such a hilding foe, 

Thou^iii we upon this mountain's basis by 

Took stand for idle speculation : 

But that our honours must not. What 's to say ? 

A very little little let us do. 

And all is done. Tiien let the trumpets sound 

The tucket sonance and the note to mount; 

For our approacli shall so much dare the field 

That England shall couch down in fear and yield. 

Enter Grandpr^. 

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of 
France V 
Ton island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
Ill-favouredly become the morning field: 
Their ragged' curtains poorly are let loose, 
And our air sliakes them passing scornfully: 
Big Mars seems liankrupt in their beggar'd host 
And faintly througii a, rusty beaver peeps: 
The horseiiien sit lii;e fixed candlesticks, [jades 
With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor 
Lob down tlieir heads, dropping the hides and hips. 
The gum down-rnjiiiig fmm their pale-dead eyes, 
And'in their pale dull moutlis the giuunal bit 
Lies foul with cliew'd grass, still and motionless; 
And tlieir executors, the knavish crows. 
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. 
Description cannot suit itself in words 
To demonstnite the life of sucli a battle 
In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay 
for death. [suits 

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh 
And give their fasting liorses provender, 
And after fight with them y 

Cov. 1 stay but for my guidon : to the field! 
I will the Ijaimer from a trumpet take, 
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away! 
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. 

[E.i:eunt. 
SCENE 111.— The English camp. 

Miter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingliam, 
with all liishoat: Salisbury aud Westmoreland. 
Glou. Where is tlie king V 

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. 
West. Of fighting men they have full three-score 
thousand. [fresh. 

Exc. There 's five to one ; besides, they all are 
Sal. God's arm strike with us I 't is a fearful odds. 
God be wi' you, princes all ; I '11 to my charge : 
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven. 
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, 
My dear Lord (;ioucester,and my good Lord Exeter, 
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu! 
'lied. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck 

go with thee ! 
Exe. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day : 
And yet I do thee wrong to mind tliee of it. 
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valom-. 

[h'.Tit f<alisbitrtj. 
Bed. lie is as full of valour as of kindness ; 
Princely in both. „ 

Enter the King-. 

West. O that we now had here 

But one ten thousanil of those men in England 
That do no work to-day! 

K. Urn. What 's he that w ishes so ? 

My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair cousin: 
If "we are rnark'd to die, we are enow 
To do our country loss ; and if to live. 
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
^y Jove, I am not covetous for gold, 
380 



Kor care I who doth feed upon my cost; 

It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; 

Si\cli outward things dwell not in my desires : 

But if it be a sin to covet honour, 

I am the most offending soul alive. 

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England : 

God's peace! I would not lose so great an iiouour 

As one man more, methinks, would sliarc from me 

For the best hope I have. O, do not wisli one more ! 

Rather proclaim it,AVestmoreUuid, through my liost, 

That he which hath no stomach to this fight. 

Let him depart ; his iiassport shall be made 

And crowns for convoy put into his purse: 

We would not die in that man's company 

That fears his fellowship to die with us. 

This day is call'd the feast of Crispian : 

He that outlives this day,«ind comes safe home, 

Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 

And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 

lie that shall live this day, and see old age, 

AVMU yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, 

And say ' To-morrow" is Saint Crispian : ' 

Then will he strip his sleeve and sliow his scars. 

And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' 

Old men forget; yet all sh.all be forgot. 

But he '11 remember with advantages 

What feats he did that day : tlien shall our names, 

Familiar in his mouth as iionseliold words, 

Harry the king, Bedfurd and Exeter, 

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, 

Be in their flowing cups freshly renunuber'd. 

This story shall the good man teach his son ; 

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. 

From this day to the ending of the world. 

But we in it shall be remembered ; 

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; 

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 

Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 

This day shall gentle his condition: 

And gentlemen in England now a-bed 

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, 

And hold their manhoods cheap wh.iles any speaks 

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 

Re-enter Salisbury. 

Sa7. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with 

The French are bravely in their battles set, [speed, 

And will with all expedience charge on us. 

K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. 

West. Perish the man whose mind is backward 

now ! 
K. Ben. Thou dost not wish more help from 
England, coz y [ahuie. 

West. God's will! my liege, would you and I 
Without more help, could fight this royal battle! 
K. Hen. Wliy, now thou hast unwish'd five thou- 
sand men; 
Which, likes me better than to wish us one. 
You know your places: God be with you all! 

- Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee. King 
Harry, 
If for Ihv ransom thou wilt now compomid, 
Before tliy most assured overthrow: 
For certainly tliim art so near the gulf, 
Tliou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, 
Tlie constable desires thee tliou wilt mind 
Tliy followers of repentance; that their souls 
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire [bodies 
From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor 
Must lie and fester. 

A'. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ? 

Mont. The Constable of France. 

K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back : 
Bid them acliieve me and then sell my bones. 
Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows thus ? 



ACT IV. 



KINO HENRY V. 



SCENE V. 



The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him. 
A many of our bodies shall no doubt 
Fin<l native jrraves: upon the which, I trust, 
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work : 
And those that leave their valiant bones in France, 
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, 
Tiiey shall be famed ; for there the sun shall greet 

them. 
And draw tlieir honours reeking up to heaven ; 
J^eaving their earthly parts to choke your clime. 
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. 
Mark then abounding valour in our English, 
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, 
Break out into a second course of mischief, 
Killing in relapse of mortality. 
Let me speak proudly; tell the constable 
We are but warriors for the working-day ; 
Our gayness and our gilt are all liesniirch'd 
AVith rainy marching in the painful Held ; 
There 's not a piece of feather in oar liost — 
Good argument, I hope we will not tly — 
And time hath worn us into slovenry : 
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; 
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night 
They '11 be in fresher robes, or they will pluck 
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' lieads 
And turn them out of service. If they do this, — 
As, if God please, they shall, — my ransom then 
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour ; 
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald; 
They shall have none, I swear, but tliese my joints; 
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them, 
Shall yield them little, tell the constable. [well: 

J/'r/if. I shall. King Harry. And so fare thee 
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. 

K. Hen. I fear thou 'It once more come again for 
ransom. „ ' 

Enter York. 

I'ori-. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
Tin' leading of the vaward. 
K. Hen. Take it, brave York. Xow, soldiers, 
march away : 
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE IV.— Th'e field nf hattk. 

Alanim. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Sol- 
dier, and Boy. 

riM. Yield, cur ! 

Fr. Sol. .Te pense que vous etes gentilhomme de 
bonne qualite. 

Fist, (^ualtitie ealmie custure me! Art thou a 
gentleman y what is thy name y discuss. 

Fr. /Sol. O Seigneur i)ieu ! 

Fist. O Signieur Dew should be a gentleman : 
Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark ; 
O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox. 
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 
Egregious ransom. 

Fr. Sol. 0,prenezmisericorde! ayezpitie de moi! 

Piit. Moysluill not serve; I will liave forty moys; 
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat 
Jn drojis of crimson blood. 

Fr. Sul. Est-il impossible d'echapper la force de 

Fist. Brass, cur! [ton brass? 

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 
Offer'st me brass ? 

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi ! 

Fist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys ? 
Come hither, boy : ask me this slave in French 
What isjiis name. 

Boy. Ecoutez : comment etes-vous appele '? 

Fi-. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 

Boi/. He says his name is Master Fer, 

FL'tt. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and 
ferret him : discuss the same in French unto him. 



Boi/. I do not know the French for fer, and fer- 
ret, and tirk. 

Fist. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat. 

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur? 

Boi/. II me commando de vous dire que vous 
faites vous pret ; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a 
cette heure de couper votre gorge. 

Fist. Owj', cuppele gorge, permafoy. 
Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; 
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.. 

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie, pour 1' amour de Dieu, 
me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne 
maisun : gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux 
cents ecus. 

Fist. What are his words? 

Bo;/. He prays you to sa\'e his life : he is a gen- 
tleman of a good house ; and for his ransom he will 
give you two hundred crowns. 

Fist. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I 
The cro^^"us will take. 

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il ? 

Boy. Encore qu"il est contre son jurement de 
pardonner aucun prisonnier, ueanmoius, pour les 
ecus que vous 1' avez promis, il est content de vous 
donner la liberie, le franchisement. 

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille 
remercimens; et je m'estime heureux que je suis 
tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le 
plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue seigneur d' 

Fist. Expound unto me, boy. [Angleterre. 

Bo;/. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
thanks ; and he esteems himself happy that lie hath 
fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most 
brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of Eng- 
land. [Follow me ! 

Fist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. 

Boy. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. [Exeunt 
Pistol, and French Soldier.] I did never know so 
full a voice issue from so empty a heart : but the 
saying is true, ' The empty vessel makes the 
greatest sound.' Bardolph and Xym liad ten times 
more valour than this roaring devil i" the old play, 
that every one may pare liis nails with a wooden 
dagger ; and they are both hanged ; and so would 
this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. 
I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of 
our camp : the French might have a good prey of 
us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it 
but boys. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— Another part of the field. 

Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, 
eind Rambures. 

Con. Odiablel 

Orl. O seigneur ! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu ! 

Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! 
Reproach and everlasting shame 
Sits mocking in our plumes. O mechante fortime ! 
Do not run away. [A short alarum. 

Con. Why, all oiu- ranks are broke. 

Ban. O perdurable shame ! let "s stab ourselves. 
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? 

Orl. Is tills the king we sent to for his ransom ? 

Bour. Shame and eternal shame, nothing but 
shame ! 
Let us die in honour : once more back again ; 
And he that will not follow Bourljon now, 
Let him go hence, and with his ca)) in hand, 
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door 
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog. 
His fairest daughter is contaminated. 

Coil. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now ! 
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. 

Orl. We are enow yet living in the field 
To smother up tlie English in our throngs, 
If any order might be tliought upon. 
381 



ACT IV. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE VII. 



Bour. The devil take .order now! I'll to the 
throiiR : 
Let life be short ; else shame will be too Ions. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE Yl.— Another 2Mrt of the f eld. 

Alarums. Enter K.ing Henry and /o?-cfs, Exeter, 
a>id others. 

K. Hen. "Well have we done, thrice valiant coun- 
trymen : 
But all 's not done ; yet keep the French the field. 

Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your 
majesty. [this hour 

K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within 
I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting ; 
From helmet to the spur all blood he was. 

Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie, 
Larding the plain ; and by his bloody side, 
Yoke-fellow to Ids honour-owing wounds. 
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. 
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over, 
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd. 
And takes him Ijy the beard ; kisses the gashes 
That bloodily did yawn upon his face; 
And cries aloud ' Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk ! 
My .soul shall thine keep company to heaven ; 
Tarry, sweet suid, for mine, then fly abreast. 
As ill lliis glorious iind well-foughten field 
We kept together in uur cliivalry! ' 
Upon these words 1 came and olieer'd Iiim up : 
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand. 
And, witli a feeble gripe, says ' Dear my lord. 
Commend my service to my sovereign.' 
So did he turn and over S\iffolk"s neck 
He threw his wounded arm and ki.ss'd his lips; 
And so espoused to deatli, with blood he seal'd 
A testament of noble-ending love. 
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced 
Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd; 
But I had not so much of man in me, 
And all my mother came into mine eyes 
And gave me up to tears. 

A'. Hen. I blame you not ; 

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
With mistful eyes, or tliey will issue too. [Alarum. 
But, liark ! wliat new alarum is this same V 
Tlie French have reinforced tlieir scatter'd men: 
Then every soldier kill liis prisoners : 
Give the word through. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 'VTl.— Another part of the field. 

Enter Fluellen (tncl Go^wer. 

Flu. Kill the poys and th.e luggage ! 't is expressly 
against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a jiiece of 
knavery, mark you now, as can be offer't; in your 
conscience, now, is it not ? 

Ooio. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; 
and the cowardly rascals tliat ran from the battle 
ha' done this slaughter: besides, they have burned 
and carried away all that was in the king's tent ; 
wherefore the king, most worthily, hath cau.sed 
every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 't is a 
gallant king! 

Flu. Ay. he was porn at Monmouth, Captain 
Gower. What call you the town's name wliere 
Alexander tlie Pig was born ! 

Gnic. Alexander the Great. 

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the pig, 
or the great, or the mighty, or tlie huge, or tlie 
magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save tlie 
plirase is a little variations. 

Goiv. I think Alexander the Great was born in 
Macedon : his father was called Philip of Macedou, 
as I take it. 

Flu. 1 think it is in ISIacedon where Alexander 
382 



is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in the 
maps of the 'orld, I warrant you sail find, in t!ie 
comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, 
that the situations, look you, is both alike. Tliere 
is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover 
a river at Monmouth : it is called Wye at Mon- 
mouth; but it is out of my prains what is tl;e 
name of the other river; but 't is all onCj 't is alike 
as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons 
in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry 
of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well ; 
for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God 
knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, 
and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, 
and liis displeasures, and his indignations, and 
also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in 
his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best 
friend, Cleitus. 

Oow. Our king is not like him in that : he never 
killed any of his friends. 

Mu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take 
the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and 
finished. I speak but in tlie figures and compari- 
sons of it: as Alexander killed Ids friend Cleitus, 
being in liis ales and liis cujis; so also Harry Mon- 
mouth, being in his right wits and liis good judg- 
ments, turned away the fat kniglit with the great 
belly-doublet : he was full of jests, and gipes, and 
knaveries, and mocks ; I have forgot his name. 

Gow. Sir .lohn Falstaff. 

Flu. That is lie : I '11 tell you there is good men 
porn at Monmoutli. 

Gorv. Here comes his majesty. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; "War- 
■wick, Gloucester, Exeter, and others. 
K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France 
LTntil tliis instant. Take a trumpet, lierald ; 
Kide thou unto the horsemen on yon hill; 
If they will figlit with us, bid the'ni comedown. 
Or void the field ; they do offend our sight: 
If they '11 do neither, we will come to them. 
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones 
Enforced from the olil Assyrian slings: 
Besides, we '11 cut tlie throiits of tliose we have, 
And not a man of them tliat we sliall take 
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. 

Enter Montjoy. 

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. 

Glo. His eyes are humbler tlian tliey used to be. 

K. Hen. How now! what means this, herald? 
know'st thou not 
That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom? 
Comest thou again for ransom ? 

Mont. ^''o, great king : 

I come to thee for charitable license, 
That we may wander o'er this liloody field 
To look oiir'dead. and then to bury tliem; 
To sort our noliles from our common men. 
For many of our princes — woe tlie wliile ! — 
Lie drow'n'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
So do our vulgar drench tlieir jieasaiit limbs 
In blood of princes; and tlieir wounded steeds 
Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage 
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters. 
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king. 
To view the field in safety and dispose 
Of their (.fead bodies! 

K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 

I know not if the day be ours or no ; 
For yet a many of your horsemen peer 
Andgallop o'er the field. 

Mont. Tlie day is yours. 

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for 
What is this castle call'd tliat stands hard by ? [it I 

Mont. Tliey call it Agincourt. 



ACT IV. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE VIII. 



K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, 
Fought on the clay of Crispin Ciispianus. 

Flu. Your grandfutlier of famous niemorj', an 't 
please your majesty, ami your great-uncle Edward 
the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the 
chronicles,foup:ht a most pra ve pattle here in France. 

K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 

Flu. Your majesty says very true : if your majes- 
ties is remembered of it, the Welslniien did gund 
service in a garden wliere leeks did grow, wearing 
leeks in their Monnioutli caps ; whicli, your majesty 
know, to tliis hour is an honouraljle badge of tlie 
sei"v'ice; and I do believe your majesty takes no 
scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day. 

K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour; 
.For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 

Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell 
you that : God pless it and preserve it, as long as it 
pleases his grace, and his majesty too ! 

K. Hen. Thanks, good ray countryman. 

Ilu. By Jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman, I 
care not who know it ; I will confess it to all the 'orld : 
I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised 
be God, so long as your majesty is an honest man. 

K. Hen. God keep me so ! Our Ijcralds go with 
Bruig me just notice of the numbers ilead [him : 
On both our parts. Call yonder fellow liither. 
[Points to WilUams. Exeunt Htralds n-itlt Montjo'j. 

Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king, [cap':* 

Ji'. Hen . Soldier, why wearest thou that glove in thy 

Will. An 't please your majesty, 't is the gage of 
one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 

K. Hen. An Englishman ? 

Will. An 't please your majesty, a rascal that 
swaggered with me last night ; who, if alive and 
ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to 
take him a box o' th' ear: or if I can see my glove 
in his cap, which he swore, as he was a soldier, he 
would wear if alive, I will strike it out soundly. 

K. Hen. What tliink you. Captain Fluellen':' is it 
fit tins soldier keep bis bath ? 

Ilu. He is a craven and a villain else, an 't please 
your majesty, in my conscience. 

A'. Hen. It may be his enemy is a gentleman of 
great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. 

Flu. Though he be as good a gentleman as the 
devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebnb himself, it is neces- 
sary, look your grace, that be keep liis vow and his 
oath : if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation 
is as arrant a vUlaiu and a Jacksance, as ever his 
black shoe trod upon God's ground and his earth, 
in my conscience, la ! 

K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, wlieu thou 
meetest the fellow. 

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 

K. Hen. Who servest fliou under V 

Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege. 

-F7m. Gower is a gnod captain, and is good knowl- 
edge and lilenitured in tlie wars. 

K. Hen. Call liim liither to me, soldier. 

Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen; wear thoii this favour 
for me and stick it in tliy cap: when Aleugon and 
myself were do^ii together, I plucked tliis glove 
from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a 
friend to Alenijou, and an enemy to our person ; if 
thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou 
dost me love. 

Flu. Yom- grace doo's me as great honours as can 
be desired in the hearts of bis subjects : I would fain 
see the man, that lias but two legs, that shall find 
himself aggriefed at this glove; that is all; but I 
would fain see it once, an please God of his grace 
that I might see. 

K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower? 

Mu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 



K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him 
to my tent. 

Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. 

K. Hen. ily Lord of Warwick, and my brother 
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels: [Gloucester, 
The glove which I have given him for a favour 
May liajily i)urchase him a box o' th' ear; 
It is the soldier's; I by bargain should 
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick: 
If tliat the soldier strike him, as I judge 
By his blunl liearing he will keep iiis word. 
Some sudilt-n misrhief may arise of it; 
For I do know Fluellen valiant 
And, touched with choler, liot as gmipowder. 
And quickly will return an injury: 
Follow, ami see there be no harni between them. 
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII. — Before King Henrifs pavilion. 
Eater GoTwer and Williams. 

Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. 
Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. God's will and his pleasure, captain, I be- 
seech you now, come apace to the king: there is 
more good toward you peradventure than is in your 
knowledge to dream of. 

Will. Sir, know you this glove '? [glove. 

Flu. Know the glove! I knoAv the glove is a 

Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it. 

[Strikes Itim. 

Flu. 'Sblood ! an arrant traitor as any is in the 
universal world, or in France, or in England ! 

Gow. How now, sir 1 you villain! 

Will. Do you think I '11 be forsworn? 

Flu. Stand away. Captain Gower; I will give trea- 
son his payment into plows, I warrant you. 

Will. I am no traitor. 

Flu. That 's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in 
his majesty's name, apprehend him: he's a friend 
of the Duke Alen^on's. 

Enter 'Warwick and Gloucester. 

TFar. How now, how now ! what 's the matter ? 

Flu. My Lord of Warwick, here is — praised be 
God for it! — a most contagious treason come to 
light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's 
day. Here is his majesty. 

Enter King Henry and Exeter. 

K. Hen. How now! what 's the matter? 

Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, 
look your grace, has struck the glo\e whieli your 
majesty is take out of the helmet of Alengon. 

Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the fel- 
low of it ; andhe that I gave it to in change prom- 
ised to wear it in his cap: I promised to strike him, 
if he did : I met this man with my glove in his cap, 
and I have been as good as my word. 

Flu. Your majesty hear now, saving your majes- 
ty's manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, 
lousy knave it is : I hope your majesty is pear me 
testimony and witness, and will avouchment, that 
this is the glove of AleuQon, that jour majesty is 
give me ; in your conscience, now ? 

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier : look, here is 
the fellow of it. 

'T was I, in<leed, thou promised'st to strike ; 
And thou hast given me most bitter terms. 

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer 
for it, if there is any martial law in the world. 

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? 

Will. All offences, my lord, come from the lieart : 
never came any from mine that miglit offend your 

K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse, [maje.sty. 

Will. Your majesty came not like yuurself : you 
363 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE I. 



appeared to me but as a common man ; witness the 
iii^lit, your garments, your lowliness; and what 
your liigliness suffered under that shape, I beseech 
you take it for yotu' own fault and not mine : for had 
"you been as I took you for, 1 made no offence ; there- 
fore, I beseech your hiiilmess, pardon me. [crowns, 

A'. Ben. Here, umle Exeter, fill this glove with 
And give it to tliis fellow. Keep it, fellow; 
And wear it for an honour in thy cap 
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns : 
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 

Mil. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelve 
pence for you ; and I pray you to serve Got, and 
keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, 
and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better 
for you. 

Will. I will none of your money. 

Flu. It is with a good will ; 1 can tell you, it will 
serve you to mend your shoes: come, wherefore 
sliould you be so pashful y your shoes is not so good : 
'tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. 

Enter an English Herald. 

K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead number'd ? 

Ihr. Here is the number of the slaughtered 
French. [uncle? 

K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, 

E.ce. t;iiarles Dukcof Orleans, nepfiewtotheking; 
John Duke of iJuurlioii, and Lord JSduriqualt : 
Of Otlier lords and barons, knights and siiuires, 
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 

K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
French 
That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number, 
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
One hundred twenty-six : added to these. 
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen. 
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which. 
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights: 
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost. 
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 



The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, 

And gentlemen of blood and quality. 

The names of those their nobles that lie dead: 

Charles Delabreth, high constable of France: 

Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France; 

The master of the cross-bows. Lord Rambures; 

Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard 

Dolphin, 
John Duke of Alen(;on, Anthony Duke of Brabant, 
The brotlier to the Duke of Burgundy, 
And Edward Duke (if Bar: of lusty I'arls, 
Gran<liire and Itnussi, Faucojdierg and Foix. 
Beaumont an'd ]\Iarle, Vaudemont and Lestrale. 
Here was a royal fellowship of death ! 
Where is the number of our English dead ? 

[Herald shov;s him another paper. 
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, 
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: 
None else of name; and of all other men 
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here; 
And not to us, but to thy arm alone, 
Ascribe we all ! When, without stratagem, 
But in plain shock and even play of battle, 
Was ever known so great and little loss 
On one part and on the other ? Take it, God, 
For it is none but thine ! 

Fxe. 'T is wonderful ! 

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to tlie village: 
And be it death proclaimed through our host 
To lioast of this or take that praise from God 
Wliich is his only. 

Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to 
tell how many is killed ? 

K. Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this acknowledg- 
That God fought for us. [ment, 

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good. 

K. Hen. Do we all holy rites; 
Let there be sung ' Non nobis ' and ' Te Deum ; ' 
The dead with cjiarity enclosed in clay: 
And then to Calais; and to England then ; 
Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men. 

[Exeunt. 



j^CT V. 



PROLOGUE. 



Filler Chorus. 
Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the 
story. 
That I may prompt them : and of such as have, 
I humbly pray tliem to admit the excuse 
Of time, of numbers and due course of things. 
Which cannot in tlieir huge and proper life 
Be here presented. Now we bear the king 
Toward Calais: grant him there ; tlieri> seen. 
Heave him away upon your wini^ed tlioughts 
Athwart the sea,. Behold, the Englisli ],v:vh 
Pales in the (lnod with men, with wives and boys. 
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the dcep-niou'th'd 
Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king [sea, 
Seems to prep^ue his way : so let him land. 
And solemnly see him set on to London. 
So swift a pace hat'i tlionght that even now 
You may inuinine liim upon lilacklieath; 
Wliere that his limls desire liim to have borne 
His bruised helmet and his bendeil sword 
Before him tludugh the city: he forbids it. 
Being free from vaiimess and self-glorious pride; 
Giving full tmphy. signal and ostent 
Quite from himself to txod. But now behold. 
In the quick forge and working-liouse of thought. 
How London doth pour out her citizens! 
The mayor ;uid all Ids brethren in best sort, 
38-1 



Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
With the plebeians swarming at their heels. 
Go forth and fetch their coniiuering Cpesar in: 
As, by a lower but loving likeliliood. 
Were now the general of our gracious empress, 
As in good time he may, from Ireland connng, 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword. 
How ni.my would the peaceful city quit. 
To welcome him 1 much more, and much more cause. 
Did thev tins Harry. Now in London place him; 
As yet the lamentation of the French 
Invites tlip King of England's stay at home; 
The emperor's conung in behalf of France, 
To order peace lict ween tliem ; and omit 
All the occurrences, wliatever chanced. 
Till Harry's back-ietuni again to France: 
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd 
The interim, by ri'membering yon 't is past. 
Then brook abridgement, ami your eyes advance. 
After your thoughts, straight back again to France. 

[Exit. 
SCENE I.— France. The Ewjlish camp. 

Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Oow. Nay, that 's right; but why wear you your 
leek to-day ? Saint Davy's day is past. 

Flu. There isoci'asions and causes why and where- 
fore in all things: 1 will tell you, asse my friend. 
Captain Gower : the rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE II. 



pragging knave, Pistol, which 3-011 and yourself and 
all the world know to be no petter than a fellow, 
look you now, of no merits, he is come to me and 
prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and 
bid me eat my leek : it was in a place where I could 
not breed no contention with him : but I will be so 
bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, 
and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. 

Enter Pistol. 

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey- 
cock. 

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his 
turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchieut Pistol! 
you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you ! 

Fist. Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, 
base Trojan, 
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? 
Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, 
at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to 
eat, look you, this leek : because, look you, you do 
not love it, nor your affections and your appetites 
and your digestions doo's not agree with it,l would 
desire you to eat it. 

Fist. Xot for Cadwallader and all his goats. 

Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes Mm.} 
Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it ? 

Fist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 

Flu. You say very true, scauld knave, when God's 
will Ls : I will desire you to live in the mean time, 
and eat your victuals : come, there is sauce for it. 
[Slrikes him.] You called me yesterday mountain- 
squire ; but I will make you to-day a squire of low 
degree. I pray you, fall to : if you can mock a leek, 
you can eat a leek. 

Oow. Enough, captain : you have astonished him. 

Flu. I say, I will make hiui eat some part of my 
leek, or I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray 
you; it is good lor yoiu" green womid and yoiu- 
ploody coxcomb. 

Fist. Must I bite ? 

Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of 
question too, and ambiguities. 

Fist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge ; 
I eat and eat, I swear — 

Flu. Eat, I pray you : will you have some more 
sauce to your leek V there is not enough leek to 
swear by. 

Fist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou do.st see I eat. 

Flu. Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. 
If ay, pray you, thi-ow none away; the skin is good 
for your broken coxcomb. When you take occa- 
sions to see leeks hereafter, 1 pray you, mock at 
'em ; that is all. 

Fist. Good. 

Flu. Ay, leeks is good: hold you, there is a groat 
to heal your pate. 

Fist. Me a groat ! 

Flu. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; 
or I have another leek in my pocket, which you 
shall eat. 

Fist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. 

Flu. If I owe you anything, I will pay you in 
cudgels : you shall be a woodmonger, and buy noth- 
ing of me but cudgels. God b' wi' you, and keep 
ymi, and heal your pate. [Exit. 

Fist. All hell shall stir for this. 

Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, 
begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a 
memorable trophy of predeceased valour and dare 
not avouch in your deeds any of your words ? I 
have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentle- 
man twice or thrice. You thought, because he 
could not speak English in the native garb, he could 
not therefore handle au English cugdel : you find it 
25 



otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction 
teach you a good English condition. Pare ye well. 

[Exit. 
Fist. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me 
now ? 
Ifews have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital 
Of malady of France ; 
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
Old I do wax; and from my weary lindis 
Honoiu- is cudgelled. Well, bawd I '11 turn. 
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
To England will I steal, and there I '11 steal: 
And patclies will I get unto these cudgell'd .scars. 
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — France. A royal palace. 

Enter, at one ilour, King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Glou- 
cester, Warwick, Westmoreland, mid olha Lords; 
at iiniithi-r, the French King, Queen Isabel, I'le 
Princess Katharine, Alice and other Ladies; the 
Duke of Burgundy, and his train. 

K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are 
Uuto our brother France, and to our sister, [met ! 
Health and fair time of day ; joy and good wishes 
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine; 
And, as a branch and member of this royalty. 
By whom this great assembly is contrived. 
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy; 
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all ! 

Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your 
Most worthy brother England ; fairly met: ' [face, 
So are you, "princes English, every one. 

Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England, 
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting, 
As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in. them 
Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
Tlie fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope. 
Have lost their quality, and tliat tliis ilay 
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. 

A'. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. 

Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. 

Fur. My duty to you both, on equal love, 
Great Kings of France and England ! That I have 

labourVl, 
With all my wits, my pains and strong endeavours, 
To bring your most imperial majesties 
Unto this bar and royal iuterview. 
Your mightiness on both parts l.iest can witness. 
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd 
That, face to face and royal eye to eye. 
You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me, 
If I demand, before this royal view. 
What rub or what impediment there is. 
Why that the naked, poor and mangled Peace, 
Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful birtlis, 
Sliould not in this best garden of flie world 
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage ? 
Alas, she hath from France too long been chased, 
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, 
Corrupting in its own fertility. 
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
Unpruned dies ; her hedges even-pleach 'd, 
liike prisoners wildly overgrowii with hair, 
Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas 
The darnel, hemlock and rank fumitory 
Doth mot upon, wliile that the coulter rusts 
That should deracinate such savagery; 
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
Tlie freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover, 
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
Conceives by idleness and nothing teems 
But hateliil'ddrks, roiigli tliistles'^, kecksies, burs, 
Losing both beauty and utility. 
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads- and hedges, 
385 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE II. 



Defective in their natures, grow to wildness, 
Even so our liouses and ourselves and cliildren 
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, 
The sciences that should become our country; 
But grow like savages, — as soldiers will 
That nothing do but meditate on blood. — 
To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire 
And everything that seems unnatural. 
Which to reduce into our former favour 
You are asseuililcd : and my speech entreats 
That I may kiiow tlie let, why gentle Peace 
Should not e.x)"'! tliese inconveniences 
And bless us with her former qualities. [peace, 

K. Hen. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the 
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
AVhich you have cited, you nuist buy that peace 
With full accnnl to all our just demands; 
Whose tenours and particular effects 
You have euschcihili'd brielly in your hands. 

Bur. The king hath heard them; to the which as 
There is no answer made. [yet 

K. Ben. Well then the peace, 

Which you before so urged, lies in his answer. 

jFV. Kinrj. I have but with a cuvsorary eye 
O'erglanced the articles: pleaseth your grace 
To appoint some of your council presently 
To sit witli us once more, with better heed 
To re-survey them, we will suddenly 
Pass our accept and peremptory answer. 

K. Hen. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter, 
And brother Clarence, and Vdu, brother Gloucester, 
Warwick and Iluntingdnii^ go with the king; 
And take with you Ini' powrr to ratify. 
Augment, or alter, as your w isdonis best 
Shall see advantageable for our dignity. 
Anything in or out of our demands. 
And we '11 consign thereto. Will you, fair sister, 
Go with the i)rinccs, or stay here with usi* 

Q. Isa. Our gracious brotlier, I will go with them : 
Haply a woman's voice may do some good, 
When articles too nicely urged be stood on. 

K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here 
with us : 
She is our capital demand, comprised 
Within the fore-rank of our articles. 

Q. ha. She hath good leave. 
\Exeit,nt all except Henry, Katharine, and Alice. 

K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair, 

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms 
Such as will enter at a lady's ear 
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 

Kalh. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot 
speak your England. 

K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me 
soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to 
hear you confess it brokenly with your English 
tongue. Do you like me, Kate V 

ludh. Pardonnez-moi, I cauuot tell vat is ' like 
me.' 

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate, and you are 
like an angel. 

Kath. Que dit-il ? que je suis semblable a les 
anges 'f 

Alice. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi 
dit-il. 

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine; and I must 
not blush to attirm it. 

Kiitfi. () lion Dieu! les langues des hommes sent 
pleines de Irompi-ries. 

K. Hen. W hat says she, fair one ? that the tongues 
of men are full of deceits 'i 

Alice. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full 
of deceits: dat is de princess. 

A". Hen. The princess is the better English- 
woman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy 
understanding: I am glad thou canst speak no 
better English ; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst 
380 



find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think 
I had sold my farm to buy my crown. 1 know no 
ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ' I love 
you : ' then if you urge me farther than to say ' do 
you in faith '? ' I wear out my suit. Give me your 
answer; i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bar- 
gain : how say you, lady 'i* 

Kalh. Sauf votre honneur, me understand veil. 

A'. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses or 
to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: 
for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and 
for the other, I have no strengtli in measure, yet a 
reasonable measure in strengtli. If I could win a 
lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle 
with my armour on my" back, under the correction 
of bragging be it .spoken, I should quickly leap into 
a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound 
my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a 
butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, 
before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp 
out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protes- 
tation : only downright oaths, which I never use 
till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou 
canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face 
is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his 
glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine 
eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier : if 
thou canst love me tor this, take me; if not, to say 
to thee that I shall die, is true ; but for thy love, by 
the Lord, no ; yet I love thee too. And while thou 
livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and un- 
coined constancy; for he perforce must do thee 
right, because lie hath not the gift to woo in other 
places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that 
can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, tliey do 
always reason themselves out again. 'NN'liat! a 
speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. 
A good leg will fall ; a straight back will stoop; a 
black beard will turn white ; a curled pate will grow 
bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax 
hollow : but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the 
moon ; or rather the sun and not the moon ; for it 
sliines bright and never changes, but keeps his 
course truly. If thou would have such a one, take 
me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, 
take a king. And what sayest thou then to my 
love y speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. 

Kath. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of 
France i* 

A'. Hen. No; it is not possible you should love 
the enemy of France, Kate : but, in loving nie, you 
should love the friend of France ; for I love France 
so well that I will not part with a village of it; I 
will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is 
mine and I am yours, then yours is France and 
you are mine. 

Kalh. I cannot tell vat is dat. 

A'. Hen. No, KateV I will tell thee in French ; 
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a 
new-imirried wife about her husband's neck, hardly 
to be .shook off. Je quand sur le possession de 
France, et quand vous avez le jiossession de nioi, — 
let me see, what then y Saint Denis be my speed ! 
— done votre est France et vous etes mieniie. It is 
as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to 
speak so much more French : I shall never move 
thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. 

Kdlh. Sauf votre honneur, le Francois (pic vous 
parlez, il est meilleiir que I'Aiiglois Icquel je jiarle. 

A'. Hen. No, faith, is 't not, Kate : but thy s]icak- 
ing of my tongue, and I thine, most truly-falscly, 
must needs be granted to be much at one. I'.ut, 
Kate, dost thou understand thus much English, 
canst thou love me y 

Kath. I cannot tell. 

K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? 
I '11 ask them. Come, I know tliou lovest me: and 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE II. 



at night, when you come into your closet, you'll 
question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, 
Kate, you will to her ilispniise those parts in me 
tliat you love with your heart : but, good Kate, mock 
me mercittilly ; the rather, gentle princess, because 
I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, 
as I have a saving faith within me tells me thou 
Shalt, I get thee witli scambliug, and thou must 
tlierefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder: sliall 
not thou and 1, between Saint Denis and Saint 
George, compound a lmy,]ialf French, lialf EngKsh, 
that shall go to Constantimiple and take the Turk 
by the beard V shall we not V what sayest thou, my 
fair flower-de-luce ? 

Kath. I do not know dat. 

A'. Hell. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to 
promise: do but now promise, Kate, you will en- 
deavour for your French part of such a boy ; and 
for my Englisli moiety take the word of a king and 
a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katha- 
rine du monde, men tres cher et devin deesse ? 

Kath. Your majestee ave fausse French enough 
to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France. 

K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French ! By 
mine honour, in true English, I lave thee, Kate: 
by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest nie ; 
yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, 
notwithstanding the poor anil untempering effect 
of my visage. N ow, beshrew my father's ambition I 
he was thinking of civil wars when lie got me: 
therefore was 1 created with a stubborn outside, 
with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo 
ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the 
elder I wax, the better I shall appear: my comfort 
is, that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can do no 
more spoil upon my face: thou hast me, if thou 
hast me, at the worst; and thou slialt wear me, if 
thou wear me, better and better: and therefore 
tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me V 
Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts 
of your heart with the looks of an empress; take 
me by the hand, and say 'Harry of England, I am 
thine : ' which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine 
ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud ' England is 
tliine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry 
Pkuitagenet is thine; ' who, though I si)eak it_ be- 
fore his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, 
thou Shalt find the best king of good fellows. 
Come, your answer in broken music ; for thy voice 
is music and tliy Englisli broken; tlierefore, queen 
of all, Katharine, ))reak thy mind to me in broken 
English ; wilt thou have me ? 

Kath. Dat is as it sail please de roi mon pere. 

K. lien. Kay, it will please him well, Kate; it 
shall please liim, Kate. 

Kath. Den it sail also content me. 

K, Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call 
you my queen. 

Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez : ma 
f(.ii, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez voire gran- 
deur en baisant la main d'uiie de votre seigneurie 
indigne serviteur; excusez-moi, je vous supplie, 
mon'tres-puissant seigneur. 

K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips. Kate. 

Kath. Les dames et denioiselles pour etrebaisees 
devant leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France. 

A'. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says she ? 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of 
France, — I cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish. 

K. Hen. To kiss. 

Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moi. 

K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in France 
to kiss before they are married, would she say 't 

Alice. Oui, vraiment. 

A'. Hen. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great 
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be conflned 
wituin the weak list of a country's fashion: we are 



the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that 
follows our places stops tlie mouth of all find-faults; 
as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of 
your country in denying me a kiss: therefore, pa- 
tiently and yielding. [A'/.s.s/)((//jer.] You have witch- 
craft in your lips, Kate : tliere is more eloquence in 
a sugar toucli of tliem than in the tongues of the 
French council ; and they should sooner persuade 
Harry of England than a general petition of mon- 
archs. Here comes your father. 

Re-enter the French King and his Queen, 
Burgundy, and other Lords. 

Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, 
teach you our princess English y 

K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, 
how perfectly I love her ; and that is good Englisli. 

Bur. Is she not apt V 

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condi- 
tion is not smooth : so that, having neither the voice 
nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so con- 
jure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear 
in his true likeness. 

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I an- 
swer you for that. If you would conjure in her, you 
must make a circle ; if conjure up love in her in 
his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. 
Can you blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over 
with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the 
appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing 
self ? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid 
to consign to. 

K. Hen. Yet they do wink and yield, as love is 
blind and enforces. 

Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they 
see not what they do. 

K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin 
to consent winking. 

But. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you 
will teach her to know my meaning : for maids, well 
summered and warm kept, are like flies at Barthol- 
omew-tide, blind, tiiuugh they lune their eyes; and 
then they will endure handling, which before would 
not abide looking on. 

K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time and a hot 
summer; and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, 
in the latter end and she must be l)lind too. 

Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 

A. Hen. It is so : and you may, some of you, thank 
love for my blindness, who cannot see many a fair 
French city for one fair French maid that stands in 
my way. 

Fr. King. T'es, my lord, you see them perspec- 
tively, the cities turned into a maid: for they are 
all girdled with maiden walls that war hath never 
entered. 

K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife ? 

Fr. King. So please you. 

K. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities you 
talk of may wait on her: so the maid that stood in 
the way for my wish shall show me the way to my 
will. [son. 

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of rea- 

K. Hen. Is 't so, my lords of England ? 

Wisl. The king hath granted every article: 
His (laugliter tirst, and then in scciuel all, 
According to their linn proposed natures. 

E.CC. Only be hath not yet subscribed this: 
Where your majesty demands, that tlie King of 
France, having any occasion to write for matter of 
grant, shall name your highness in tliis form and with 
this addition, in French, Xotre tvesclier flls Henri, 
Roi d'Aiigletciie, llcrilier de F'rance; and thus in 
Latin, Pra'clarissinuis Alius noster Heuricus, liex 
Anglia', et ILeres Francise. 

Fr. King. Xor this I have not, brother, .so denied, 
But your request shall make me let it pass. 
3S7 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY V. 



SCENE II. 



K. Ihn. I pray ynu tlieii, in love and dear alliance, 
Let that inif article rank witli the rest; 
And llicreuiiim give nie your daughter. 

Fr. Kiiuj. Take her, fair son, and from her blood 
raise up 
Issue to nie; lliat the contending kingdoms 
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale 
With envy of eacli other's liapinness, 
May cease tlieir liatred, and this dear conjunction 
Plant Hi'ighliiiui hood and Christian-like accord 
In thi'ir swi'it liiisiiiiis, tliat never war advance 
Ilisbleeiliiiy sword 'twixt England and lair France. 

All. Amen! 

K. Hen. Now, welcome, Kate: and bear me wit- 
ness all. 
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 

[Flourish. 

Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages. 
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! 
As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
So be thei-e 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, 
Tliat never may ill ollice, or fell jealousy. 
Which troul)les oft the bed of blessed marriage. 
Thrust in between the jiaction of these kingdoms. 
To make divorce of their ineor])orate league; 
Tliat English may as French, Frencli Englishmen, 
Receive each other. God si)eak this Amen ! 



All. Amen ! 

K. If en. Prepare we for our marriage : on which 
day. 
My Lord of Burgundy, we '11 take your oath, 
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. 
Then shall 1 swear to Kate, and you to me; 
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be ! 

[iS'eiiiict. — Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 

Clior. Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, 

Our bending author halli pursued the story. 
In little room confining miglity men, 

Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. 
Small time, but in that snudl most greatly lived 

This star of England : Fortune made his sword; 
By which the world's best garden he achieved, 

And of it left his son imp<'rial lord. 
Henry the Sixth, in infant l)auds crown 'd King 

Of France and England, did this king succeed; 
Whose state so many had the managing, 

That they lost France and made his England 
bleed : 
Which oft our stage hath "shown ; and, for their sake, 
In your fak miuds let this acceptauce take. \_Exit. 




King Henry.— O Ciod, thy arm was here; 
And not to us, but to thy arm alone, 
Ascribe we all ! When, without stratagem. 
But in plain shock and even play of battle, 
Was ever known so great and little loss 
On one part and on the other? Take it, God, 
For it is none but thine ! —Act IV., Scene viii. 



THE FIRST TART OF 

KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 



DRAMATIS PEIiSON^. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Duke of Gloucester, uncle to the King, and Pro- 
tector. 

Duke of Bedford, uncle to the King, and Regent 
of France. 

Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great-uncle 
to the King. 

Henry Beaufort, great-uncle to thp King, Bishop 
of Winchester, and afterwards Cardinal. 

John Beaufort, Earl, aftenvards Duke, of Somerset. 

Eichard Plantagenet, son of Richard late Earl 
of Cambridge, afterwards Duke of York. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Earl of Suffolk. 

Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. 

John Talbot, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of llarch. 

Sir John Faatolfe. 

Sir William Lucy. 

Sir William Glansdale. 

Sir Thomas Gargrave. 

Mavor of London. 



Woodvile, Lieutenant of the Tower. 

Vernon, of the White-Rose or York faction. 

Basset, of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction. 

A Lawyer. Mortimer's Keepers. 

Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King, of France. 

Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples. 

Duke of Burgundy. 

Duke of Alen9on. 

Bastard of Orleans. 

Governor of Paris. 

Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Son. 

General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. 

A French Sergeant. A Porter. 

An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. 

Margaret, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married 

to King Henry. 
Countess of Auvergne. 

Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc. 

Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Oilicers, Soldiers, 

Messengers, and Attendants. 

Fiends appearing to La Pucelle. 

SCENE — Part/^ in England, and partly in France. 



[Fo 



an Ana 



of the Plot of ihii 



^OT I. 



Page LVl.] 



SCENE 1.— Westminster Ahhey. 



Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King Henry the Fifth, 
atlendnl an hii //k- Duke of Bedford, RciienI i,f France; 
the Duke of Gloucester, Protector ; the Duke of Exe- 
ter, the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, 
Heralds, &c. 

Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day 
to night! 
Comets, importing change of times and states, 
. Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, 
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars 
That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! 
Enpfland ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 

GIiiu. England ne'er had a king until his time. 
Virtue he had, deserving to command : 
His brandish 'd sword did blind men with his beams : 
IHs arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; 
His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire. 
More dazzled and drove back his enemies 
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. 
What should I say V his deeds exceed all speech : 
He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. [blood ? 

Uxe. We mourn in black : why mourn we not in 
Henry is dead and never shall revive : 
Upon a wooden coffin we attend, 
And death's dislionourable victory 
We with our stately presence glorify. 
Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
What ! shall we curse the planets of mishap 



[tor 



That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? 
Or sliuU we think the subtle-witted French 
Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him 
By magic verses have contrived liis end y 

Win. He was a king blessM of tlie King of kings. 
Unto tlie French the dreadful judgment-day 
So dreadful will not be as was his sight. 
The battles of the Lord of luists he fought: 
The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 

Glou. The church ! where is it? Had not church- 
men pray'd, 
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd : 
None do 3'ou like but an elfeminate prince. 
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 

Win. Gloucester, whate'erwelike, thou artprotec- 
And lookest to command the prince and realm. 
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe. 
More than God or religious churchmen m;iy. 

Olou. Xame not religion, for thou lovest the flesh. 
And ne'er tliroughout the year to church thou go'st 
Except it be to pray against thy foes. [peace : 

Bed. Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in 
Let 's to the altar: heralds, wait on us: 
Instead of gold, we '11 offer up our arms; 
Siui-e arms avail not now that Henry 's dead. 
Posterity, await for wretched years, 
When at their mothers" moist eyes babes shall suck, 
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears. 
And none but women left to wail the dead. 
Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate : 
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, 
3S9 



ACT I. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene ii. 



Combat witli adverse planets in the heavens I 
A far more glorious star thy soul will make 
Tlian Julius Ca'sar or bright 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My honourable lonls, liealtli to j'ou all! 
Sad tidings l)ring 1 to you out of France, 
Of loss, of slaugiiter and disconititurc: 
(Uiicnup, C'luimiiagne, Rheinis. Orleans, 
Paris, (iuysors, Foictiers, are all quite lost, [corse? 

JSnl. ■\Vliat say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's 
Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns 
Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. 

Olou. Is Paris lost ? is Rouen yielded up'? 
If Henry were recalled to life again, [ghost. 

These news would cause him once more yield the 

I/.ce. Howwere they lost? what treachery was usedy 

Megs. No treachery; but want of men and money. 
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, • 
That here you maintain sevei-al factions. 
And whilst a li<'ld should be dispati'h'd and fought, 
You are disputing of your generals: 
One would liave lingering wars with little cost; 
Another would lly swift, but wanteth wings; 
A third thinks, witlnuit expense at all, 
]5y guileful fair words peare may be obtain'd. 
Awake, awake, Eiiglisli nobility! 
Let not slotli diui your liontiurs new-begot: 
CroppM are the tlower-de-luces in your arms; 
Of England's coat one half is cut away. 

Ktt'. Were our tears wanting to this funeral. 
These tidings wmild call forth' their llowing tides. 

Bed. Me the\ enneern; Regent I am of France. 
Give me my steeled coat. 1 11 light for France. 
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! 
Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes. 
To weep their iutermissive miseries. 

Enter to them another Messenger. 

Mess. Lords, view these letters full of bad nii.s- 
France is revolted from tlie Englisli quite, [chance. 
Except some petty towiis of no import : 
The Dauphin t'licirles is crowned king in Rheims; 
Tlie Rastavd of Orleans with him is join'd ; 
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth lake Ids part; 
The Duke of Alen(;on tlieth to his side. 

Exc. The Daui)hin crowned king! all fly to him! 
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach 'r* 

Gloii. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats. 
Bedford, if thou be slack, I '11 fight it out. [ness ? 

■ Bed. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my f or ward- 
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts. 
Wherewith already France is overrun. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments. 
Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, 
I must inform you of a dismal fight 
Betwixt the stout Lord Talli<it and the French. 

Win. What! wherein Tnlliot overcame? is 't so? 

Iless. 0,no; whereinLord Talbot waso'erthrown: 
The circumstance I '11 tell you more at large. 
The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, 
Itetiring from tlie siege of Orleans, 
Having full scanM' six tlionsaiid in his troop. 
By three and twenty thousand of the French 
Was round enconiiMssed an<l set upon. 
No leisure had he to enrank his men; 
He wanteil pikes to set liefcjre his archers; 
Listead whereof sharp stakes pluck 'd out of hedges 
They iiitched in tlie ground confusedly. 
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
More tliari three hours the fight continued; 
Where valiant Talbot above liuman thought 
Knacti'd wonders witli his sword and lance: 
Hiuidreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; 
Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew; 
300 



The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms; 

All the whole army stood agazed on him: 

His soldiers spying his tuidaunted spirit 

A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain 

And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 

Here had the conquest fully been scal'd up, 

H' .Sir .John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward: 

He, being in the vaward, placed behind 

With purpose to relieve and follow them. 

Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 

Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ; 

Enclosed were they with their enemies: 

A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 

Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, 

Whom all France wit litheii- chief asseiiil licit strength 

Durst not presume to look once in the face. 

Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself. 
For living idly here in pomp and ease, 
Wliilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
Unto his dastard foemen is betray 'd. 

Mess. O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, 
And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford: 
Most of the rest slaughter "d or took likewise. 

Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay: 
I '11 hale the Dauphin heacUong from his throne : 
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend ; 
Four of their lords I '11 change for one of ours. 
Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; 
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make. 
To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: 
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, 
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. 

Jl/e.s'S. So yiiu had need ; for Orleans is besieged; 
The English army is grown weak and faint : 
The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply. 
And hardly keeps his men from nuitiny, 
Since they, so few, watcli such a multitude. 

Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn. 
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly. 
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 

Bed. I do remember it ; and here take my leave, 
To go about my pre]iaration. {Exit. 

Glou. I '11 to the Tower with all the haste I can. 
To view the artillery and muniti(Ui ; 
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. {Exit. 

Exe. To Eltliam will I, where the young king is, 
Being onlain'd bis spi-cial governor, 
And for his safety there I 'II Ix'st devise. {Exit. 

Win. Each hath his place and function to attend : 
I am left out; for me nothing remains. 
But long I will not be -lack out of office : 
The king from Eltham I intend to steal 
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. {Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — France. Before Orleans. 

Sound a flourish. Enter Charles, AlenQon, and 

Reignier, marchimj with drum and soJdiers. 

Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the 
So in the earth, to this day is not known : [heavens 
Late did he shine upon the English side; 
Now we are victors; upon us he smiles. 
What towTis of any moment but we have ? 
At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; 
Otherwhiles the famish 'd English, like pale ghosts. 
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 

Alen. They want their porridge and their fat 
bull-beeves : 
Either they must be dieted like mules. 
And have their provender tied to their mouths. 
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 

lieig. Let 's raise the siege : why live we idly here ? 
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : 
Remaineth none l)ut mad-brain'd Salisbury; 
And he may well in fretting sjjend his gall, 
Nor men nor money hath he to make war. 

Char. Sound, sound alarum ! we will rush on them. 



ACT I. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene ii. 



Now for the honour of the forlorn French ! 

Him I forgive my death that killeth me 

When he sees me go back one foot or fly. [Exnmt. 

Sere alarum; they are beaten buck by the English mth 
(treat loss. Re-enter Charles, Alenpon, and Beig- 
nler. 

Char. AVho ever saw the like ? what men have I ! 
Dogs ! cowards 1 dastards ! I would ne'er have lied, 
But that they left me 'midst my enemies. 

Jicig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; 
He tightetli as one weary of his life. 
The other lords, like lions wanting food, 
Do rush upon us as their luuigry prey. 

Alcn. Froissart, a countryman cit ours, records, 
England all Olivers and Howlamls bred 
During tlie time Edward the Third did reign. 
More truly now may this be veritied; 
For none but Samsons and Goliases 
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
Lean raw-boned rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
They had such courage and audacity ? 

Char. Let 's leave this town ; for they are hair- 
brain'd slaves, 
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: 
Of old I know tliem ; rather witli their teeth 
The walls they'll tear down than tnrsake the siege. 

Kiiij. I think, by some odd gijinnors or device 
Their arms are set like clocks, siill to strike on; 
Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. 
By my consent, we '11 even let them alone. 

Alen. Be it so. 

Enter ike Bastard of Orleans. 

Bast. Where 's the Prince Dauphin v I have news 
for him. 

Clurr. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. 

Ba>it. ^rethinks your looks are sad, your cheer 
appall'd : 
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? 
Be not dismay 'd, for succor is at hand : 
A holy maid hither with me I bring, 
Whicii by a vision sent to her from heaven 
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege 
And drive the Englislj torlh the bounds of France. 
Tiie spirit of deep prophecy slie liath, 
Excce(ting tlie nine siliyls of idil Home: 
Wliat 's past anil wliat 's to conic she can descry. 
Speal;, shall I call her in ? Believe my words. 
For they are certain and unfallible. 

Char. Go, call her in. [^Exit Bastard.] But first, 
to try her skill, 
Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: 
Question her proudly : let thy looks be stern : 
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. 

He-enter the Bastard of Orleans, with Joan La 
Pucelle. 

Eeig. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wondrous 
feats y [me ? 

Puc. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to beguile 
Where is the Dauphin ? Conic, come from behind ; 
I know thee well, though ncvi^r seen before. 
Be not amazed, there "s nothing hid from me: 
In private will I talk with thee apart. 
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. 

Relg. She takes upon lier liravely at first dash. 

Puc. Dauphin, lam by liirih a slieplierd's daughter. 
My wit untrainM in any kind of art. 
Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased 
To shine on my conteniiitilile estate: 
Lo, whilst I waitcil on my tender lambs, 
And to sun's parcliing heat display'd my cheeks, 
God's mother deigned to ajipear to me * 
And in a vision full of majesty 
Will'd me to leave my base vocation 
And free my country from calamity: 



Iler aid she promised and assured, success: 

In comiilete ghiry she rcveal'd herself; 

And, whereas I was lihiik anil swart before, 

With those clear rays wliicli she infused on me 

That beauty am I liless'd witli wliich you see. 

x\.sk me what question thou canst possible. 

And I will answer uupreniedilatcd : 

My courage try by combat, if tliou darest. 

And thou shalt lind that I exceed my sex. 

Resolve on this, thou sliali lie lortuiiate. 

If thou receive me for tliy warlike mate. [terms : 

Char. Thou hast astonisird me with thy high 
Only this proof I 'II of tliy valour make, 
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me. 
And if thou vanquishe.st, tliy words are true; 
Otlierwise I renounce all coniidcnce. 

I'ac. I am prepar^'d : licrc is my keen-edged sword, 
Deck'd witli live llowcr-dc-hices on each side; 
The wliieh at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's 

churchj-ard. 
Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. 

Char. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no wo- 
man. 

Fnc. And while I live, I '11 ne'er fly from a man. 
[lien thrij fijht. (iiid .Jonn La I'liciUe overcomes. 

Char. Stay, stay thy liandsl thmi art an Amazon 
And flglitest with tlie sword of Deborah. [weak. 

Puc. Christ's mother heljis me, else I were too 

Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must 
help me : 
Impatiently I burn with thy desire ; 
My heart and hands thou li'ast at once subdued. 
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, 
Let me thy servant and not sovmeign be: 
'Tis the French Dauphin suetli to thee thus. 

Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love. 
For my profession 's sacred from above: 
When I luiw chased all tliy foes from hence. 
Then will I think upon a recompense. [thrall. 

Char. Meantime look gracious on thy pro.strate 

licrg. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 

Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her 
smock; 
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 

Beig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no 
mean ? [know : 

Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do 

These women are shrewd tempters with their 

tongues. [on? 

Beig. ,My lord, where are you V what devise you 
Shall we give over Orleans, or no ? 

Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! 
Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard, [out. 

Char. AVhat she says I '11 confirm : we '11 fight it 

Pkc. Assign "d Am I to be the English scourge. 
This night the siege assuredly I 11 raise: 
Expect Saint Martin's suinnicr, halcyon days. 
Since 1 have entered into these wars. 
Glory is like a cin le in the water, 
Which never ceaset!i to enlarge itself 
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. 
AVith Henry's death the English circle ends; 
Dispersed are the glories it included. 
Now am I like that proud insulting ship 
Which Ca'sar and his fortmie bare at once. 

Char. Was ilahoniet insiiired with a dove? 
Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 
Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
Nor yet Saint Pliilii>'s daughters, were like thee. 
]5right star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, 
How may I reverently worship thee enough V 

Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise f he siege. 

Beig. AVoman, do what thou canst to save our 
honours ; 
Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized, [it : 

Char. Presently we '11 try : come, let's away about 
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. 
391 



ACT I. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene iv. 



SCENE 111.— London. Before the Tower. 

Enter the Duke of Gloucester, with his Serving- 
men in blue coats. 
Glou. I am come to survey the Tower this day : 
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. 
Where be tliese warders, that they wait not here ? 
Open the gates ; 't is Gloucester that calls. 
JTirst Warder. [Within] Who 's there that knocks 

so imperiously ? 
First Serv. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. 
Second Warder. [ Witldn] Whoe'er he be, you may 

not be let in. 
First Serv. Villains, answer you so the lord pro- 
tector ? 
First Warder. [WiiJdn] The Lord protect him! 
so we answer him : * 

We do no otlierwise than we are will'd. [mine V 
GMi. Who willed you V or whose will stands but 
There 's none protector of tlie realm but I. 
Break up the gates, I '11 be your warrant ize: 
Shall 1 be flouted thus liy diumliill -n»niis? 

[Glouex^li cV )/(. II rush ul tin Tmn r (intcs, and 

Wii'idvile the Liciilciiitiit f<jiiiiks within. 

Woodv. What noise is this 'f what traitors have 

we here V 
Glou. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear ? 
Open tlie gates ; liere 's Gloucester that would enter. 
Wo'idr. Have patience, noble duke; I may not 
The Cardinal of Winchester forbids : [open ; 

From him 1 have express commandment 
That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. 

Glou. Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore 
me 't 
Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, 
WJiom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? 
Thou art no friend to God or to the king : 
Open the gates, or I '11 shut thee out sliortly. 

Serving-rncn. Open the gates unto the lord pro- 
tector. 
Or we '11 l)iu'st them open, if that you come not 
quickly. 

Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates Winches- 
ter and his men in tawny coats. 

Win. How now, ambitious Humphry 1 what 
means this ? 

Glou. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be 
shut out i' 

TT-'Jii. I do, thou most usurping proditor, 
And not jn'otector, of the king or realm. 

Glou. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, 
Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord; 
Tliou that givest whores indulgences to sin : 
I '11 canvass thee in tiiy broad cardinal's hat, 
n thou proceed in this thy insolence. [foot : 

Win. Xay, stand thou back; I will not budge a 
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
To slay thy brotlier Abel, if tliou wilt. 

Glou. I will not slay thee, but I '11 drive thee back : 
Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth 
I '11 use to carry thee out of this place. 

Win. Do what thou darest ; I beard thee to thy 
face. 

Glou. What ! am I dared and bearded to my face? 
Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; 
Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard; 
I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly : 
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat: 
In spite of pope or dignities of church. 
Here by tlie cheeks I '11 drag thee up and downi. 

Win. Gloucester, thou wilt answer tliis before 
the pope. 

Glou. Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope! 

Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? 

Thee I '11 chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. 

Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite! 

392 



ITere Gloucester's men beat out the Cardinal's men, avd 
enter in the hurli/-burli/ the Mayor of London and his 
Officers. 

il/a;/. Fie, lords ! that you, being supreme magis- 
'trates. 
Thus contumeliously should break the peace! 

Glou. Peace, mayor! thou kuow'st little of my 
wrongs : 
Here 's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
Hatli liere distrain 'd the Tower to liis use. 

Win. Here "s Gloucester, a foe to citizens, 
One tliat still motions war and never peace, 
O'ercharging your free purs<-s witli large tines, 
That seeks to overthrow religion. 
Because he is protector of tlie realm, 
And would have armour here out of the Tower, 
To crown himself king and suiipress the prince. 

Glou. I will not answer thee with words, but 
blows. [Here they slcirmish again. 

May. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous 
But to make open proclamation: [strife 

Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst. 
Cry. 

Off. All manner of men assembled here in arms 
this day against God's peace and the king's, we 
cliarge and command you, in his highness' name, 
to repair to your several dwelling-places ; and not to 
wear, liandle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, 
hencefor^\ard, upon pain of death. 

Ghiu. Cardinal, I "11 be no breaker of the law: 
But we sliall meet, and break our minds at large. 

Win. Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure: 
Thy lieart-blood I will have for tliis day's work. 

ilai/. I "11 call for clubs, if you will not away. 
This cardinal 's more liaughty tlian the devil. 

Glini. ]Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what thou 
mayst. 
. Win. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head ; 
For I intend to have it ere long. 

[Exeunt, severally, Gloucester and Winchester 
with their Serving-men. 

May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. 
Good'God, these nobles should such stomachs bear I 
I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 

SCENE TV.— Orleans. 
Enter, on the toa/ls, a Master-Gunner and his Boy. 

M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is be- 
sieged, 
And how tlie English have the suburbs won. 

Boy. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, 
Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. 

M. Gun. But now tliou shalt not. Be thou ruled 
Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; [by me : 
Something I must do to procure me grace. 
The prince's espials have informed nae 
How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd. 
Wont through a secret grate of iron by,rs 
In yonder tower to overpeer the city 
And thence discover how with most advantage 
They may vex us with shot or with assault. 
To intercept this inconvenience, 
A iiiece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed ; 
And even these three days have I watch'd, 
If I could see them. 

Xow do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. 
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; 
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [E.ut. 

Boy. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; 
I '11 never trouble you, if I may spy them. [Exit. 

Enter, on the turrets, the Lords Salisbury and Talbot, 
Sir William Glansdale, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and 
others. 
8(d. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return 'dl 

How wert thou handled being prisoner ? 



ACT I. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene v. 



Or by what means got'st thou to be released ? 
Discourse, I prithee, on this tui'refs top. 

Tal. The Dulie of Uedford had a prisoner 
Caird the brave Lord Pouton de Santrailles ; 
For hiui was I exchanged and ransomed. 
But with a biiser man of arms by far 
Once in contempt they would have bartered me : 
Which I disdaining scorn VI and craved death 
Katlier than I would be so vile-esteem'd. 
lu fine, redeem \i I was as I desired. 
But, O ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart, 
Whom with my bare fists I would execute. 
If I now had liim brought into my power. 

tSal. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wertentertain'd. 

Tal. With scoffs and scorns and contumelious 
In open market-place produced they me, [taunts. 
To be a public spectacle to all : 
Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
The scarecrow that affrights our children so. 
Then broke I from tlie officers that led me. 
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground. 
To hurl at the beholders of my shame ; 
My grisly countenance made others tly ; 
None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
In iron walls tliey deem'd me not secure ; 
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread 
That they supposed I could rend bars of steel 
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : 
Wlierefore a guard of cliosen shot I had 
That walked <djout me every minute while ; 
And if I did but stir out of my bed, 
Keady they were to shoot me to the heart. 

Enter the Boy with a linstock. 

Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endured, 
But we will be revenged sufficiently. 
Now it is supper-time in Orleans : 
Here, through this grate, I count each one 
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify : 
Let us look in ; the sight will much delight thee. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, 
Let me have your express opinions 
Where is best place to make our Ijattery next. 

Gar. I think, at the north gate; tor there stand 
lords. 

Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. 

Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd. 
Or witli light skirmishes enfeebled. 

[Here the)/ shoot. Salisbury and Gargrave fall. 

Sal. O Lord, have mercy on lis, wretched siniiers ! 

Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man ! 

2al. What chance is this that suddenly hath 
cross 'd usV 
Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak : 
liow farest thou, mirror of all martial men ? 
One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! 
Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand 
That hath contrived tliis woful tragedy! 
In thirteen-liattles Salisbury o'ercame; 
Henry the Fifth lie Ih'St train'd to the wars; 
AVhilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, 
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. 
Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth 

fail. 
One eye thou hast, to look to lieaven for grace: 
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. 
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive. 
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! 
Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ? 
Speak unto Talbot ; nayj look up to him. 
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit witli this comfort ; 
Thou Shalt not die whiles — 
He beckons with his hand and smiles on me. 
As who should say ' When I am dead and gone. 
Remember to avenge ine on the French.' 
Plantagenet, I will; and lilie thee, Nero, 



Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : 
Wretched shall France be only in my name. 

[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens. 
What stir is this V what tumult 's in the heavens y 
Whence cometh this aUirum and the noise ? 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mes.s. My lord, my lord, the French have gathered 
head : 
The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle joiu'd, 
A holy prophetess new risen up. 
Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 

[Here Salisbury lifteth himself up and groans. 
Tal. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan ! 
It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. 
Frenchmen, I '11 be a Salisbury to you : 
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, 
Your hearts I '11 stamp out with iny horse's heels, 
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. 
Convey me Salisbury into his tent, 
And then we '11 try what these dastard Frenchmen 
dare. [Alarum. Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The same. 

Here, an alarum again: and Talbot pursueth the Dau- 
phin, and driveik him: then enter Joan La Pucelle, 
driving Englisiiinen bej'ore lier^ and exit after them : then 
re-enter Talbot. 

Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my 
force y 
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; 
A woman clad in armour chaseth tliem. 

Re-enter La Pucelle. 
Here, here she comes. I "11 have a bout with thee; 
Devil or devil's dam, I '11 conjure tliee : • 

Blood will I draw on thee, tliou art a witch, 
And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest. 

Puc. Come, come, 't is only I that must disgrace 
thee. , [Here they fight. 

Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ? 
My breast I '11 burst with straining of my courage 
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, 
But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. 

[They fight again. 

Puc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: 
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 

[^1 short alarum.: then enter the town with soldiers. 
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. 
Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; 
Help Salisbury to make his testament : 
Tins day is ours, as many more shall be. [Exit. 

Tdh >Iy thoughts are whirled like a potter's 
I know not where I am, nor what I do: [wheel; 
A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, 
Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists : 
So bees witli smoke and doves with noisome stench 
Are from their liives and houses driven away. 
They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs ; 
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 

[A short alarum. 
Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight. 
Or tear the lions out of England's coat; 
Renounce your soil, give slieep in lions' stead: 
Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf. 
Or horse or oxen from the leopard. 
As you tly from your oft-subdued slaves. 

[Alaruvi. Here anrjther skirmish. 
It will not be : retire into your trenches : 
You all consented unto Salisbury's death. 
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. 
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, 
In spite of us or aught that we could do. 
O, would I were to die with Salisbury! 
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. 

[Exit Talbot. Alarum; retreat; flourish. 
393 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI 



SCENE T. 



SCENE Vl.~The same. 

Enter, on the walls, La Pucelle, Charles, Reig- 
nier, Alengon, and Soldiers. 

Pile. Advniife our waving colours on the walls; 
Kescnetl is Orle-ans from the Englisli : 
Thus Joan la Piict'llc lialli iierl'ormed lier word. 

Char. Diviiii'st creature. Astnea's daugliter, 
How shall I lioiioiu' thee for tiiis success ? 
Thy promises are like Adonis" gardens 
That line day liloom'd and fruitful were the next. 
France, triunipli in thy gicirious proplietess! 
Ih'coverM is tlie town of Orleans: 
More lilessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 

liciij. Why ring not out the bells aloud through- 
out the town y 
Dauphin, connnand the citizens make bonfires 
And feast and banquet in the open streets, 
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 



Alcn. All France will be replete witl) mirth and 
joy, 
When they shall hear how we liave phiy'd tlie men. 

Clutr. 'Tis Joan,not we,by wliom theduy is won; 
For which I will divide my crown with her, 
And all tlie priests and friars in my realm 
.Shall in procession sing her endless praise. 
A statelier pyramis to her I '11 rear 
Than Rhodoise's or Memphis' ever was: 
In memory of her when she is dead. 
Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius, 
Transported shall be at high festivals 
Before the kings and queens of France. 
No longer on Saint Denis will we cry. 
But .Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
Come in, and let us banquet royally, 
After this golden day of victory. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



.ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Before Orleans. 



Enter a Sergeant of a band, vfith two Sentinels. 
Serg. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant : 
If any noise or soldier you perceive 
Near to the. walls, hy some apparent sign 
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 
First Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [E.i:it ISergeant.] 
Thus are iK)or servitors, 
When others sleep upon their quiet beds, 
Constrain'd to w\ateh in darkness, rain and cold. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford. Burgundy, and forces, with 
scaling-laJdcrs, their druiiis beating a dead march. 

Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, 
By whose apjiroach the regions of Artois, 
Wallon and Picardy are friends to us. 
This hapjiy night the Frenchmen are .secure, 
Having all day earonsed ami l)anqueted: 
Enilirai'e we then this opportunity 
As lilting Ijest to ([uittance their deceit 
Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. 

Bed. Coward of France! how much he wrongs 
liis fame. 
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude. 
To join with witches and the help of hell! 

Bur. Traitors have never other company. 
But what 's that Pucelle whom they term so pure'? 

Tal. A inaid, they say. 

Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ! 

Bar. Pray God she prove not masculine ere 
long. 
If underneath the standard of the French 
She carry armour as she hath begun. 

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
spirits: 
God is our fortress, in wliose conquering name 
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow thee. 

T'al. Not all together: better far, I guess. 
That we do make our entrance several ways ; 
Tliat, if it chance the one of us do fail. 
The other yet may rise against their force. 

Bed. Agreed : I '11 to yond corner. 

Bur. And I to this. 

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
grave. 
Now, Salisbury, for tliee, and for the right 
Of English Ileniy, sliall tliis niglit appear 
How mueli in duty 1 am liound to both. 

iSent. Arm! arui! tlie enemy doth make assault! 
[C'rii : 'St. George,' '-4 Talbul.' 
394 



The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, sev- 
eral ways, the Bastard of Orleans. Alen9on, and Eeigr- 
nier, half ready, and half unready. 

Alen. How now, my lords! what, all unready so y 

Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. 

Bcicj. 'T was time, I trow, to wake and leave our 
Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. ftjeds, 

Alcn. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, 
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterpri.se 
More venturous or desperate tlian this. 

Bast. I tliink this Talljot be a liend of hell. 

Beig. If notof hell, the lieavens, sure, favour him. 

yl/( n. Here conieth Charles : I marvel how he sped. 

Bust. Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. 

Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 

CItnr. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? 
Didst thou at first, to fiatter us withal, 
iSIake us partakers of a little gain. 
That now our loss might be ten times so much ? 

Fuf. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his 
At all t inies will you have my power alike? [friend? 
Sleeping or waking must I still prevail. 
Or will you lilanie'and lay the fault on me? 
Improvident soldiers! had your watrli bi'en good. 
This sudden mischief never eoidd have falFn. 

Cliar. Duke of Aleni,'on, this was your default, 
That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
Did look no better to that weighty charge. 

Alcn. Had all your quarters been as safely kept 
As that whereof "I had the government. 
We had not been thus shamefully surprised. 

Bast. Mine was secure. 

Beig. And so was mine, my lord. 

Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night, 
Within Iter qu;irter and mine own precinct 
I was enqiloyM in jiassing to and fro, 
About relieving of the sentinels: 
Then how or which way should they first break in ? 

Far. (,»uestion, my lords, no further of the case. 
How or wliieh way : "'t is sure they found some iilace 
But weakly guarded, where the JMeacli was made. 
And now there rests no other shift but this; 
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispensed, 
And lay new platforms to endamage them. 

Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, cri/ing 'A Talbntl 
a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their dollies behind. 
Sold. I '11 he so bold to take what they have left. 

The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 

For I have loaden me with many spoils. 

Using no otlier weapon but his name. [ Exit. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene hi. 



SCENE II. — Orleans. Within the town. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, 
and others. 

Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, 
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd tlie earth. 
Here sound retreat, and cease our liot pursuit. 

[lietreat sounded. 

Tnl. Bring forth the body of old .Salisbury, 
And here advance it in theniarket-place, 
The middle centre of this curst-il town. 
Kow have I i>aid my vow unto his soul; 
For ever}' ihoi) of Ijlood was drawn from him 
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. 
And that heieafter ages may behold 
What ruin liapiienM in revenge of him, 
Within their chiefest teuiple I '11 erect 
A tomb, wherein his coriwe shall be interr'd: 
Upon the which, that every one may read. 
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, 
The treacherous manner of his mournful death 
And what a terror he had been tn France. 
But, lords, in all our blooily massacre, 
I muse we met not witli tlie Daupliin's grace. 
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, 
Nor any of his false confederates. [began. 

Bed. 'T is thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight 
Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, 
They did amongst the troops of armed men 
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 

Bur. Myself, as far as I could well discern 
For smoke and dusty vapours of the night. 
Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull. 
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running. 
Like to a pair of loving turtle-ihives 
That could not live asunder day or night. 
After that things are set in order here. 
We '11 follow them with all the power we have. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely 
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts [train 

So mucli applauded through the realm of France ? 

Tal. Here is the Talbot : who would speak with 
him V 

Mess. The virtuous lady. Countess of Auvergne, 
With modesty admiring thy renown. 
By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe 
To visit her poor castle where she lies. 
That she may boast she hath bi-luld the man 
Whose glory fills the Avorld with loud report. 

Bur. Is it even soV Kay, then, I see our wars 
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, 
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. 
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 

Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for when a world of 
Could not prevail with all their oratory, [^nieu 

Yet hatii a woman's kindness over-ruled: 
And therefore tell her I return great thanks, 
And in submission will attend on her. 
Will not your honours bear me company ? 

Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners will: 
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests 
Are often welcomest when they are gone. 

2\d. Well then, alone, since there 's no remedy, 
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
Come hither, captain.. [Whispers.] You perceive 
my mind ? 

Capt. 1 do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 

[jExeunt. 

SCENE III. — Auverrjne. The Countess'' s castle. 

Enter the Countess and her Porter. 
Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge ; 
And when vou have done so, bring the keys to me. 
Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. 



Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall out right, 
I shall as famous be by this exi)loit 
As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. 
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, 
And his achievements of no less account": 
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears. 
To give their censure of these rare reports. 

Enter Messenger and Talbot. 
Mess. Madam, 
According as your ladyship desired. 
By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. 

Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the 
Mess. Madam, it is. [man '^ 

Count. Is this the scourge of France ':* 

Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad 
That with his name the mothers still their babes ? 
I see report is fabulous and false : 
I thought I should have seen some Hercules, 
A second Hector, for his grim aspect. 
And large i)roportion of his strong-knit limbs. 
Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! 
It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp 
Should strike such terror to his enemies. 

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; 
But since yoiu- ladyship is not at leisure, 
I "11 sort some other time to visit you. [lie goes. 
Count. What means he now ? Go ask iiim whither 
3Iess. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves 
To know the cause of your abrupt depart uie. 

Tal. Marry, for that she 's in a WTong belief, 
I go to certify her Talbot 's here. 

Re-enter Porter with keys. 

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 

Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? • 

Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord; 

And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me. 
For in my gallery thy picture hangs: 
But now the snlistauee shall en<lure the like. 
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine. 
That hast by tyranny these many 3ears 
Wasted our country," slain our citizens 
And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 

Tal. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Count. Laughest thou, wretch V thy mirth shall 
turn to moan. 

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond 
To think that }'ou have aught but Talbot's shadow 
Whereon to practise your severity. 

Count. Why, art not thou the man ? 

Tal. 1 am indeed. 

Count. Then have I substance too. 

Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 
You are (leiei\ ed, my sulistance is not here; 
For what mmi see is Imt tlie smallest part 
And least iini|i(irti(in of liumanity: 
I tell you, madam, were tlie wlmle frame here, 
It is of sueli a spacious lofty pitch. 
Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't. 

Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce ; 
He will be here, and yet he is not here: 
How can these contrarieties agree? 

Tal. That will I show you presently. 

[ iriiiiZs his horn. Drums strike tip: a peal 



of ordnance. Enter Soldiers. 
1 '/ ai 



How say you, madam r are you now persuaded 
That Talbot is but shadow of himself ? 
These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength, 
With which he yoketh your reliellious necks, 
Razeth yoiU" cities and suliverts your towns 
And in a moment makes tlieni des<jlate. 

Count. Victorious Tallidt I iianlon my abuse: 
I And thou art no less than tame liath bruited 
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; 
395 



ACT II. 



FIRST PART OF KIFG HENRY VI. scene iv. 



For I am sorry that with reverence 
I did not entertain thee as thou art. 

Tal. Be not dismay 'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue 
The mind of Talbot', as you did mistake 
The outward composition of his body. 
What you have done hath not offended me ; 
Nor other satisfaction do I crave, 
But only, with your patience, that we may 
Taste of your wine and see what cates you have; 
For soldiers' stoniaclis always serve them well. 

Count. With all my heart, and think me honoured 
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [E.ceunt. 

SCENE IV. —ioiu7o)!. The Temple-gnrdcn. 

Enter the 'EarXs of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; 
Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and anut/ur Lawyer. 

Flan. Great lords and gentlemen, what means 
this silence V 
Dare no man answer in a case of truth ? 

Sitf. Witliin the Temple-hall we were too loud; 
The garden here is more convenient. 

Plan. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth ; 
Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error V 

.S'i(/. Faith, I luive been a truant in the law, 
And" never yet could frame my will to it ; 
And therefore frame the law unto my will. 

Som. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, be- 
a tween" us. Quitch ; 

War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher 
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth ; 
Between two blades, which bears the better temper ; 
Between two horses, winch doth bear him best ; 
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye; 
I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment; 
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, 
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 

Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance ; 
The truth appears so naked on my side 
That any purblind eye may And it out. 

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
So clear, so shining and so evident 
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 

Plan. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to 
speak, 
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : 
Let him that is a true-born gentleman 
And stands upon tlie honour of his birth, 
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth. 
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. 

Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, 
But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 

War. I love no colours, and without all colour 
Of base insinuating flattery 
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 

Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset 
And say withal I think he held the right. 

Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no 
more, 
Till you conclude that he upon whose side 
The icui'sl ruses arc cmiipM from the tree ■ 
Shall yield tlic (itlicr in the right opinion. 

Sum. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected: 
If I liave fewest, I subscribe in silence. 

Plan. And I. 

Ver. Then for the truth and plainness of the case, 
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom liere, 
Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 

Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, 
Lest bleeding you do paint tlie wliitc rose red 
And fall on my side so, against your will. 

Ver. If I, my lonl, for my opinion bleed, 
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt 
And keep me on the side where still I am. 

Som. Well, well, come on: who else V 

Law. Unless my study and my books be false, 
396 



The argument you lield was wrong in you ; 

[To Somerset. 
In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. 

I'litn. Now, Somerset, where is your argument ? 

Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that 
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. [roses; 

Plan. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our 
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
The truth on our side. 

So7ii. No, Plantagenet, 

'T is not for fear but anger that thy clieeks 
Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, 
And j'et thy tongue will not confess tliy error. 

Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? 

Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ? 

Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his 
truth ; 
AVhiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 

Som. Well, I '11 tind friends to wear my bleeding 
roses, 
That shall maintain what I have said is true, 
AVhere false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 

Plan. Now, by tiiis maiden blossom in my hand, 
I scorn thee and thy fashion, iieevish boy. 

Snf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. 

Plan. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him 
and thee. 

Suf. I '11 turn my part thereof into thy throat. 

Som. Away, away, good William de la Pole ! 
We grace the yeoman by conversing witli him. 

War. Now," by God's will, thou wrong'st him, 
Somerset ; 
His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence, 
Third son to the third Edwaixl King of England: 
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ? 

Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, 
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 

Som. By him tliat mailr njr. I '11 mamtain my 
On any plot of gnuuid in Christendom. [words 

Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, 
For treason executed in our late king's days V 
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted. 
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry y 
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; 
And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman. 
■ Plan. My father was attached, not attainted, 
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; 
And that I '11 prove on better men than Somerset, 
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
For your partaker Pole and you yourself, 
I '11 note you in my book of memory, 
To scourge you for this apprehension : 
Look to it well and say you are well warn'd. 

Som. Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still; 
And know us liy these colours for thy foes, 
For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. 

Plan. And, by my soul, this [lale and angry rose. 
As cognizance of my blood-driidiing hate. 
Will f for ever and my faction wear. 
Until it wither with me to my grave 
Or flourish to the height of my degree. [tion ! 

Suf. Go forward and be choked with thy ambi- 
And so farewell until I meet thee next. [Exit. 

Som. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious 
Richard. [Exit. 

Plan. How I am braved and must perforce en- 
dure it ! . [house 

War. This blot that they object against your 
Shall be wiped out in the next i»arliament 
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester; 
And if thou be not then createil York, 
I will not live to be accounted 'W^arwick. 
Meantime, in signal of my love to thee. 
Against proud Somerset and William Pole, 
Will I upon thy party wear this rose ; 
And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day. 
Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden, 



ACT II. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene v. 



Shall send between tlie red rose and the white 
A thousand souls to death and deadly niglit. 

Flan. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you, 
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. 

I'cr. In your behalf still will I wear the same. 

Law. And so will I. 

Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 
Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say 
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The Tower of London. 
Enter Mortimer, hroxight in a chair, and Gaolers. 

3Ior. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, 
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. 
Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment ; 
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
Nestor-like aged in an age of care. 
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, 
Wax diin, as drawing to their exigent; 
Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief, 
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
That droops his sapless branches to the ground : 
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, 
Unable to support this lump of clay. 
Swift-winged with desire to get a' grave. 
As witting I no other comfort have. 
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? 

First Gaol. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will 
come : 
We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber ; 
And answer was return'd that he will come. 

Mor. Enough : my soul shall then be satisfied. 
Poor gentleiuau ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
Since Henry Jlonmouth first began to reign, 
Before whose glory I was great in arms, 
This loathsome .sequestration have I had; 
And even since then hath Richard been obscured, 
Deprived of honour and inheritance. 
But now the arbitrator of despairs. 
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
Witli sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence : 
I would his troubles likewise were expired. 
That so he miglit recover what was lost. 

Enter Richard Plantagenet. 

First Gaol. My lord, your loving nephew now is 
come. 

Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come ? 

Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used. 
Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. 

Mr/r. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck. 
And in his bosom spend my hitter gasp: 
O, tell me wliesi my lips do touch his cheeks. 
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. 
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great 

stock, 
AVhy didst thou say, of late thou wert despised ? 

Plan. Piret, lean thine aged back against mine 
arm; 
And, in that ease, I '11 tell thee my disease. 
This day, in argument upon a case. 
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me ; 
Among wliicli terms he used his lavish tongue 
Aiid did upbraid me with my father's deatli; 
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue. 
Else with tlie like I had requited him. 
Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, 
In lionour of a true Plantagenet 
And for alliance sake, declare the cause 
My fatlier. Earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 

Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me 
And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth 



Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
Was cursed instrument of his decease. 

Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was. 
For I am ignorant and cannot guess. 

Mnr. I will, if that my fading breath permit 
And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,' 
Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son, 
The first-begotten and the lawful heir 
Of Edward king, the third of that descent : 
During whose reign the Percies of tlie north, 
Finding his usurpation most imjust, 
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne : 
The reason moved these warlike lords to this 
Was, for that — young Kmg Richard thus removed. 
Leaving no heir begotten of his body — 
I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
For by my mother I derived am 
From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third sou 
To King Edward the Third; whereas lie 
From John of Gaunt doth bring liis pedigree, 
Being but fourth of that heroic" line. 
But mark : as in this haughty great attempt 
They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
I lost my liberty and they their lives. 
Long after this, wlien Henry the Fifth, 
Succeeding his father Bolinuljroke, did reign, 
Tliy father. Earl of Candjridge, then derived 
From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, 

Marrying my sister that thy'mother was, -~-_ 

Again in pity of my hard distress 
Levied an army, weening to redeem 
And have iiistall'd me in the diadem : 
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl 
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
In whom tlie title rested, were suppress'd. 

Plan. Of wliich, my lord, your honour is the last. 

Mor. True ; and thou seest that I no issue have 
And that my fainting words do warrant death: 
Tliou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather: 
But yet be wary in thy studious care. 

Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me : 
But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
AVas nothing less than bloody tyranny. 

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic : 
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster 
And like a mountain, not to be removed. 
But now thy uncle is removing hence; 
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
With long continuance in a settled place. 

Plan. O, uncle, would some part of my young years 
Might but redeem the passage of your age ! 

Mor. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaugh- 
terer doth 
Which givetli many wounds when one will kill. 
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; 
Only give order for my funeral : 
And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes 
And prosperous be thy life in peace and war I [Dies. 

Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul ! 
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage 
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. 
Well, I will lock his counsel in my brea.st; 
And what I do imagine let that rest. 
Keepers, cunvty him hence, and I myself 
Will see his burial better than his life. 

[Exeunt Gaolers, hearing out the bod;/ of 3fortimer. 
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, 
Choked with ambition of the meaner .sort: 
And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, 
I doubt not but with honour to redress ; 
And therefore haste I to the parliament. 
Either to be restored to my blood. 
Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit. 
31)7 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI 



^CT III. 



SCENE I. — London. The Parliament-house. 

Flourish. Enter King:, Exeter, Gloucester, Warwick, 
Somerset, ami Suffolk; the Bishop of Wincliester, 
Richard Plantagenet, and others. Gloucester offers 
tu put up a bill ; Winchester snatches it, (mil tears it. 

Win. Conicst tlioii with deep premeditated lines, 
With written ]i:iuiiililets studiously devised, 
Humphrey ot (ilimecsteri' If thou canst accuse, 
Or auH'ht intend'sl lo lay unto my charge. 
Do it witliuut invcnlidn, suddenly; 
As I witli sudden and exteniporal speech 
Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 

Glou. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands 
my patience, 
Or thou shouldst lind thou hast dishonour'd me. 
Think not, altliou^h in writing I preferr'd 
The manner ot thy vile outrageous crimes. 
That therefore 1 have forged, or am not able 
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
2^0, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, 
Tliy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks, 
As very infants prattle of thy pride. 
Thou art a most pernicious usurer, 
Fro ward by nature, enemy to peace; 
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
A man of tliy profession and degree; 
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest? 
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, 
As well at J^ondon bridge as at the Tower. 
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, 
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
From envious malice of thy swelling heart. [safe 

Win. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouch- 
To give me hearing what I sliall reply. 
If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse. 
As he will have me, how am I so poorV 
Or how haps it I seek not to advance 
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling V 
And for dissension, who preferreth peace 
More than I do? — except 1 be provoked. 
iNo, my good lords, it is not that offends; 
It is not that that hath incensed the duke: 
It is, because no one should sway but he; 
Xo one but he slionld be aljout the king; 
And that engemlers thunder in his breast 
And makes iiiiu roar these accusations forth. 
But he shall know I am as good — 

Olon. As good! 

Thou bastard of my grandfather I 

Win. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, 
But one imperious in another's throne? 

Ohm. Am I not protector, saucy priest ? 

Will. And am not I a prelate of the church '? 

Glou. Yes, as an outlaw in a ca.stle keeps 
And useth it to patronage his theft. 

Win. Unreverent Gloster ! 

Glou. Thou art reverent 

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 

Win. Rome sliall remedy this. 

War. Roam thither, then. 

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 

War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 

Som. Methinks my lord should be religious 
And know tlio oDiee that belongs to such. 

War. ilethinks liis lordship should be humbler; 
It titteth not a prelate so to (ilead. 

(S'om. Yes, when liis holy state is touch'd so near. 

War. State lioly or unhallow'd, what of that"? 
Is not his grace |irotector to the king? [tongue. 

Plan. [^l.v/('(l Plantagenet, I see, must hold his 
Lest it be said ' Spi-ak, sirrah, when you should; 
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? ' 
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. 
398 



KiiKj. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, 
The special watchmen of our English weal, 
I would ]irevail, if prayers miglit i)revail. 
To join your hearts in love and amity. 
O, what a scandal is it to our erown, 
That two such noble ])eei's as ye should jar! 
Believe me, lorils, niy tender years can tell 
Civil dissension is a vi|)er(ins worm 
That gnaws the bowels of tlie conHnonwealth. 

[A noise rcilhin, ' Down with the tawny-coats! ' 
What tumult 's this ? 

War. An uproar, I dare warrant, 

Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 

[A noise again, ' Stones! stones! ' 

Enter Mayor. 
May. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, 
Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
The bislioji and the Duke of Gloucester's men, 
Forbidden late to carry any weapon. 
Have lill'd their pockets full of pebble stones 
And banding themselves in contrary parts 
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate 
That many have their giddy brains knock 'd out: 
Our windows are broke down in every street 
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. 

Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates. 

Kinrj. AVe charge you, on allegiance to onrself, 
To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace. 
Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. 

First Serv. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we 'U 
fall to it with our teeth. 

Sec. Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 

[Skirinisit ai/ain. 

Glou. You of my household, leave this peevish 
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. [Ijroil 

Third Sen-. ]M.\- lord, we know your grace to be a 
Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth, [man 
Inferior to none but to his majesty: 
And ere that we will suffer such a prince. 
So kind a father of the commonweal, 
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate. 
We and our wives and children all will fight 
And have our bodies slaugliter'd by thy foes. 

First Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails 
Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Bee/in again. 

Glou. Stay, stay, I say! 

And if you love me, as yon say you do, 
Let me persuade you to forljear awhile. 

King. O, how this discord doth altiict my soul! 
Can you, my Lord of Vt'inchester, behold 
My sighs and tears and will not once relent? 
Who should lie iiiliful, if you be not? 
Or who should study to prefer a peace. 
If holy chun-linien take deliglit in broils? 

War. Yield, my lord protector : yield, V\'inchester ; 
Except you mean with obstinate repulse 
To slay your sovereign and destroy tlie realm. 
You see what mischief and what murder too 
Ilath been enacted through your enmity; 
Then be at jieace, except ye tliirst for blood. 

1(7)/. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 

Glou. Conipassinn on the king coiuinands me 
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest [stoop; 
Should ever get that privilege of me. 

War. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke 
Hath banish'd niocidy diseonleiiled fury, 
As by his smoothed brows it dotli appear; 
Why look you still so stern and tragical? 

Glou. Here, Winchester, I otTer thee my hand. 

King. Fie, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard you 
l)reacli 
That malice was a great and grievous sin ; 



ACT III. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene ii. 



And will not yoii maintain the thinsj you teach, 
13nt prove a chief olfemier in the same ? 

War. Sweet kins! the bisliop hath a kindly gird. 
For shame, my Lord of 'Wincliester, relent! " 
What, shall a child instruct you what to do"? 

Win . Well. Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee ; 
Love for thy love and hand for hand 1 give. 

Gloii. [^4sif7e] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow 
heart. — 
See here, my friends and loving- countrymen ; 
Tiiis token serveth for a Hag of truce 
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers: 
So help me God, as I dissemble not ! 

Win. [Aside] So Iieli) nie (iml, as 1 intend it not! 

King. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester, 
How joyful am 1 made by this contract ! 
Away, my ma.sters ! trouble us no more ; 
But join in friendshiii, as your lords have done. 

First Sen- . Content: I "ll to the surwon's. 

Sec. Serv. And so will I. 

TJiird Serv. And I will see what physic the tav- 
ern affords. [Exeunt Serving-men, Mayor, &c. 

War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign, 
Which m the right of Richard Plautagenet 
AV'e do exhibit to your majesty. [prince, 

Ghu. Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: for,sweet 
An if your grace mark every circumstance. 
You have great reason to do Richard right : 
Especially for those occasions 
At Eltham Place I told your majesty. 

King. And those occasions, uncle, were of force : 
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is 
That Richard be restored to his blood. 

War. Let Richard be restored to his blood : 
So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed. 

Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 

King. If Richard will be true, not that alone 
But all the whole inheritance I give 
That doth belong imto tlie house of York, 
From whence you spring by lineal descent. 

Plan. Thy humljle servant vows obedience 
And humble service till the point of death, [foot; 

King. Stoop then and set your knee against my 
And, in reguerdon of that duty done, 
I gird thee with the valiant sword of York: 
Rise, Richard, like a true Plautagenet, 
And rise created princely Duke of York. 

Plan. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall ! 
And as my duty springs, so perish tiiey 
That grudge one thought against your majesty ! 

All. Welcome, high prince, the might v Duke of 
York ! ■ [of York ! 

Srim. [Aside] Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke 

Glou. Xow will it best avail j-our majesty 
To cross the seas and to be crown "d in France: 
The presence of a king engenders love 
Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends. 
As it disanimates his enemies. [Henry goes; 

King. When Gloucester says the word. King 
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 

Glou. Your ships already are in readiness. 

[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt nil but Exeter. 

Exe. Ay, we may march in England or in France, 
Xot seeing what is likely to ensue. 
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers 
Burns under feigned aslies of forged love 
And will at last break out into a I'ame : 
As fester'd members rot but by degree. 
Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away. 
So will this base and envious discord bi-eed. 
And now I fear that fatal prophecy 
Wliich in the time of Henry named the Fifth 
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe : 
That Heiiry l)orn at Monmouth should win all 
And Henry born at Windsor lose all: 
Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish 
His days may finish ere that hapless time. [E.cit. 



SCENE 11.— France. Before Rouen. 

Enter La Pucelle disguised, with four Soldiers 
with sacts upon their hacks. 

Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, 
Through which our policy must make a breach: 
Take heed, be wary how you place your w'ords; 
Talk like the vidgar sort of marketmen 
That come to gather money for their corn. 
If we have entrance, as I hojie we shall. 
And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
I '11 by a sign give notice to our friends, 
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 

First Sol. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the 
And w-e be lords and rulers over Rouen ; [city, 

Therefore we '11 knock. [Knocl^s. 

Watch. [Within] Qui est la? 

Puc. Paysans, pauvres gens de France; 
Poor market folks that come to -sell their corn. 

Watch. Enter, go in ; the market bell is rung. 

Pile. Kow, Rouen, I '11 shake thy bulwarks to the 
ground. [Exeunt. 

Enter Ctiarles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alengon, 
Reignier, and forces. 

Char. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem ! 
And once again we '11 sleep secure iii Rouen. 

Bast. Here euter'd Pucelle and her practisants; 
Xow she is there, how will slie sjiecify 
Where is the best and safest passage in ? 

Reign. By thrusting out atorch from yondertower ; 
Which, once discern 'd, shows that her meaning is, 
Ko way to that, for weakness, which she enter 'd. 

Enter La Pucelle on the top, thrusting out a torch 
burning. 

Puc. Behold, this is the hapny wedding torch 
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, 
But burning fatal to the Talbot ites ! [Exit. 

Bast. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend ; 
The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 

Cliar. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 

Reign. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends : 
Enter, and cry ' The Dauphin ! ' presently, 
And then do execution on the watch. 

[Alarum. Exeunt. 

An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion. 
Tal. France, tliou shalt rue this treason with thy 
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. [tears, 

Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, 
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, 
That hardly we escaped the pride of France. [Exit. 

An alnrum: exciiminnf. Bedford, hmvrjht in sick in a 
chair. Enter Talbot ami Burg-undy vithout : within 
La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alenpon, and Reig- 
nier, on the mills. 

Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for 
I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast [bread 'i 
Before he '11 1 my again at such a rate : 
'Twas full of darnel: do you like the taste? 

Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan! 
I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own 
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 

Char. Your grace may starve perhaps before that 
time. [treason ! 

Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this 

Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard .'' break 
And run a tilt at death within a chair? [a lance, 

Tal. Foiil fiend of France, and liag of all despite, 
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours! 
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age 
And twit with cowardice a man half dead? 
Damsel. I '11 have a bout with y<ui again, 
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 
3'J9 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VL scene hi. 



Puc. Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy 

If Talbot do but tliuiider, raiu will follow. Qjeace ; 

\Tlie English whisper toe/ether in council. 

God speed the pai liauient ! who shall be the speaker V 

Tal. Dare ye coiui' forth and meet us in the Held y 

Puc. Belike your liu'dship takes us then for fools, 
To try if that our own be ours or no. 

Tal. I speak not to tliat railing Hecate, 
But unto thee, Alen90u, and the rest; 
AVill ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ? 

AUn. Signior, no. 

Tal. Signior, hang ! base muleters of France ! 
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls 
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 

Puc. Away, captains 1 let 's get us from the walls ; 
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. 
God be wi' you, my lord ! we came but to tell you 
That we are liere. [Exeunt from the walls. 

Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, 
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! 
Vow, Burgundy, by lionour of thy house. 
Prick 'd on by public wrongs sustaiu'd in France, 
Either to get tlie town again or die : 
And I, as sure as English Henry lives 
And as liis father here was conqueror, 
As sure as in tliis late-betrayed town 
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried. 
So sure I swear to get the town or die. 

Bur. My vows are equal partners with tliy vows. 

Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, 
The valiant Duke ot Bedford. Come, my lord, 
We will l)estow you in some better place. 
Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. 

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dislionour me: 
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen 
And will be partner of your weal or woe. [you. 

Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade 

Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read 
That stout Pendragon in his litter sick 
(Jame to tlie held and vanquished liis foes: 
Methinks I should revive tlie soldiers' liearts. 
Because I ever found them as myself. 

Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! 
Then be it so : lieavens keep old Bedford safe ! 
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
But gather we our forces out of hand 
And set upon our boasting enemy. 

[Exeunt all but Bedford and Attendants. 

An alarum : excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe 
and a Captain. 
Cap. Whither away. Sir John Fastolfe, in such 

haste ? 
Fctst. Whither away ! to save myself by flight : 
We are like to have tiie overthrow again. 

Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot ! 
Fast. Ay, 
All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. [Exit. 
Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill fortune follow thee ! 

[Exit. 

Betreat : exaitrsions. La Pucelle, Alen9on, and 

Charles y?i/. 
Bed. Kow, quiet soul, depart when heaven please. 
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
Wliat is the trust or strength of foolisli man? 
They that of late w ere daring witli their scoffs 
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 

[Bedford dies, and is carried in by tu-o in 
his chair. 

An alarum. Re-enter Talbot, Burgundy, and the 
rest. 
Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again ! 
Tliis is a double honour. Burgundy: 
Yet heavens liave glory for this victory! 
Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy 
400 



Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects 
Thy noble deeds as valour's monument.s. 

Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle 
I think her old familiar is asleep : [now ? 

Now where 's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his 

gleeks V 
What, all amort ? Rouen hangs her head for grief 
That such a valiant company are fled. 
Now will we take some order in the town, 
Placing tliereiu some expert officere. 
And then depart to Paris to the king. 
For there young Henry witli liis nobles lie. 

Bur. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. 

Tal. But yet, before we go, let 's not forget 
The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased, 
But see his exequies fuUlll'd in Rouen: 
A braver soldier never couched lance, 
A gentler heart did never sway in court ; 
But kings and miglitiest potentates must die. 
For that 's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 

SCENE ITL.— The plains near Bourn. 

Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alen9on, 
La Pucelle, and forces. 

Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered : 
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
For things tliat are not to be remedied. 
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while 
And like a peacock sweep along his tail; 
We '11 pull his plumes and take away his train, 
If Dauphii; and the rest will be but ruled. 

Char. We liave been guided by thee hitherto 
And of thy cunning had no diffidence: 
One sudden foil sluill never breed distrust. 

Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies. 
And we will make thee famous through the world. 

Alen. We '11 set thy statue in some holy place. 
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint : 
Employ thee tlien, sweet virgin, for our good. 

Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan devise : 
By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words 
We will entice tlie Duke of Burgundy 
To leave the Talbot and to follow us. 

Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, 
France were no place for Henry's warriors; 
Nor should tliat nation boast it so with us, 
But be extirped from our provinces. 

Alen. For ever should they be expulsed from 
And not have title of an earldom liere. [France 

Puc. Your honours shall perceive Iiow I will work 
To bring this matter to tlie wished end. 

[Bru7n sounds afar off. 
Hark ! by the sound of drum you may perceive 
Their powers are marclmig unto Paris-ward. 

Here sound an Enylish march. Enter, and pass over 

at a distance, Talbot and his forces. 
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread. 
And ail the troops of English after him. 

French march: Enter the Duke of Burgundy and 

forces. 
Now in the rearward comes the duke and his: 
Fortune in favour makes liim lag behind. 
Summon a parley; we will talk with him. 

[IVumpcts sntind a parley. 
Char. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy! 
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? 
Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy coun- 
tryman, [ing hence. 
Bur. What say'st thou, Charles ? for I am mareh- 
Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy 

words. 
Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France 1 
Stay, let thy humble handmaid siieak to thee. 



ACT IV. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI 



SCEXE I. 



Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. 

Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 
And see the cities and the towns defaced 
By wasting; ruin of the cruel foe. 
As looks the mother on her lowly babe 
When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 
See, see the iiinini; malady of France; 
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, 
Which thou thyself liast given her woful breast. 
O, turn thy edged sword another way; 
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help. 
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom 
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign 

gore : 
Keturn thee therefore with a flood of tears. 
And wash away thy country's stained spots. 

Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her 
words. 
Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 

Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on 
Doubting thy birth and lawf ul progeny. [thee, 

Wlio join'st thou witli but with a lordly nation 
That will not trust thee but for prolifs sake y 
When Talbot hath set footing once in France 
And fashion 'd thee that instrnnipnt of ill, 
Who then but English Henry will be lord 
And thou be thrust out like a fugitive ? 
Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof, 
Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe ? 
And was he not in England prisoner? 
But wheu tliey lieard he was thine enemy. 
They set him tree without his ransom paid. 
In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. 
See, then, tliou tightest against thy countrymen 
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. 
Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord; 
Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms. 

Bur. I am vanquished; tliese liaughty words of 
Have batter'd nie like roaring cannon-sliot, [hers 
And made me almost yield upon my knees. 
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen. 
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace: 
My forces and my power of men are yours: 
So farewell, Tall)ot ; I '11 no longer trust thee. 

Puc. [Aside] Done like a Frenchman : turn, and 
turn again ! 

C7iar. Welcome, brave duke I thy friendship makes 
us fresh. 

Bast. And doth beget new courage in our l)reasts. 

Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this. 
And doth deserve a coronet of gold. [powers. 

Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our 
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt. 



SCENE TV.— Paris. Tke palace. 

Enter the King', Gloucester, Bishop of Wlncliester, 
York, Suffolk, Somerset, Warwick, Exeter : Ver- 
non, Basset, and others. To them with his Soldiers, 
Talbot. 

Tal. My gracious prince, and honourable peers, 
Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
I have awhile given truce unto my wars. 
To do my duty to my sovereign : 
In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim 'd 
To your obedience fifty fortresses. 
Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength, 
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem. 
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet, 
And with submissive loyalty of heart 
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got 
First to my God and next unto your grace. [Kneels. 

King. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester, 
That hath so long been resident in France "? 

Glou. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 

Jv/dj/. Welcome, brave cajitain and victorious lord ! 
When I was young, as yet I am not old, 
I do remember how mj' lather said 
A stouter champion never handled sword. 
Long since we were resolved of your truth, 
Your faithful service and your toil in war; 
Yet never have you tasted our reward. 
Or been reguerdou'd with so much as thanks, 
Because till now we never saw your face : 
Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts, 
We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury ; 
And in our coronation take your place. 
[Sennet. Flourish. E.ceunt all hut Vernon and Basset. 

Ver. jSTow, sir, to you, tliat were so hot at sea, 
Disgracing of the.se colours that I wear 
In honour of my noble Lord of York : [spakest ? 
Darest thou maintain the former words thou 

Bas. Yes, sir: as well as you dare patronage 
The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
Against my lord the Duke of Somerset. 

Ver. Sirrah, tliy lord I honour as he is. 

Bas. Why, what is he ':' as good a man as York. 

Ver. Hark ye ; not so : in witness, take ye that. 
[Strikes him. 

Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such 
That whoso draws a sword, 't is present death. 
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 
But I '11 unto his majesty, and crave 
I may have liberty to venge tliis wrong; 
When thou shalt see I '11 meet thee to thy cost. 

Ver. 'Well, miscreant, I '11 be there as soon as you ; 
And, after,meet you sooner than you would. [Exeunt. 



^CT IV^. 



SCENE l.—Paris. A hall of state. 

Enter the King', Gloucester, Bishop of Winchester, 
York, Suffolk, Somerset, Warwick, Talbot, Exeter, 
the Grovernor of Paris, and others. 

Glou. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. 

Win. God save King Henry , of that name the sixth ! 

Glou. Xow, governor of Paris, take your oath, 
That you elect no other king but liim ; 
Esteem none friends but such as are his friends, 
And none your foes but such as shall pretend 
Malicious practices against his state : 
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! 

Enter Sir John Fastolfe. 
Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from 
To haste unto your coronation, [Calais, 

A letter was deliver'd to my hands. 
Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy. 
26 



Tal. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee ! 
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next. 
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg, 

[Plucking it off. 
Which I have done, because unworthily 
Thou wast installed in tliat higli degree. 
Pardon me, princelv Ileurv. and the rest: 
Tliis dastard, at the battle" of Patay, 
When but in all I was six thousand strong 
And that tlie French were almost ten to one, 
Before we met or that a stroke was given, 
Like to a trusty squire did run away : 
In which assault we lost twelve luindred men; 
Myself and divers gentlemen beside 
Were there surprised and taken prisoners. 
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; 
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
This ornament of knightliood, yea or no. 

Glou. To say the truth, this fact was infamous 
4U1 



ACT IV. 



FIRST PART OF KING HFNRY VI 



SCENE I. 



And ill besceuiiiis any coinnnm man, 
Mucli ninn- a knii^ht, a raptain and a leader. 

T(tl. Wlien lirst tliis itrder was ordainM, my lords, 
Knights of the garter were of noble Itirth, 
Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage, 
Such as were grown to credit liy the wars; 
iSTot fearing deatli, nor shrinking I'nr distress, 
But always rcscdute in most extremes. 
He then that is not tuniish'd in this sort 
Doth but usurp tlie sacred name of knight. 
Profaning tins most honourable order, 
And sliould, if I were worthy to be judge. 
Be ((uite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
That doth presume to boast of genth' bloo.l. [doom ! 

Kiuy. .Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy 
Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight : 
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of deatli. 

[Exit Fastolfe. 
And now, my lord protector, view the letter 
Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy, [his style? 

Glou. What means his grace, that he hath changed 
1^0 more but, plain and bluntly, 'To the king 1 ' 
Hath he forgot he is his sovereign y 
Or doth this churlish superscription 
Pretend some alteration in good will ? 
What 's here ? [Reads] ' I have, upon especial cause, 
Moved with compassion of my country's wreck, 
Together with the pitiful complaints 
Of such as your opjjression feeds upon, 
Forsaken your pernicious faction [Prance.' 

And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of 

monstrous treachery! can this be so, 
That in alliance, amity and oaths. 

There should be found such false dissembling guile? 

King. What! doth my uni-li' Burguuily revolt? 

Gloti. He doth, my lord, and is hcconic your foe. 
I King. Is that the worst tliis letter doth contain ? 

Glou. It is the worst, and all, my lord, lie writes. 

King. Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with 
And give him chastisement for this abuse. [him 
How say you. my lord ? are j'ou not content ? 

Tal. Content, my liege! yes, but that I am pre- 
vented, 

1 should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. 
King. Then gather strength and march unto him 

straight : 
Let liim perceive how ill we brook his treason 
And what offence It is to flout his friends. 
2ld. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still 
You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit. 

Enter Vernon and Basset. 

Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign. 

Bcis. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too. 

York. This is my servant : hear him, noble prince. 

Som. And this is mine : sw<'et Henry, favour him. 

K. Hen. Be patient, lords; and give them leave 
to speak. 
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim ? 
And wherefore crave you combat ? or with whom ? 

Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done me 
wrong. 

Bus. And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong. 

K. Hen. What is that wi'ong whereof you botli 
complain ? 
First let me know, and then I '11 answer yon. 

Ba.'s. Crossing the sea from England into France, 
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue. 
Upbraided nie about the rose I wear; 
Saying, tlie sanguine colour of the leaves 
Did reiiresrnt my master's l)lushiug cheeks, 
When stulilionily hi' ilid rejiugn the truth 
About a certain (piestion in the law 
Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him; 
AV'ith other vile and ignominious terms : 
In confutation of which rude reproach 
And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
I crave the benefit of law of arms. 
402 



Ver. And that is my i>etition, noV)lelord: 
For though he .seem witli forged quaint couceit 
To set a gloss upon his bold intent. 
Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him ; 
And he lirst took exceptions at this badge. 
Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower 
Bewray'd tlie faintness of my master's heart. 

l'o;7i-. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left ? 

.S''i//(. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will 
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. [out, 

K. Hen. Good Lord, what madness rules in brain- 
sick men. 
When for so slight and frivolous a cause 
Sueli factious emulations shall arise! 
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 

York. Let this dissension Hrst be tried by fight, 
And then your highness shall command a peace. 

Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone ; 
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. 

York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. 

Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 

B((s. ('onfirm it so, mine honourable lord. 

Glou. Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife! 
And perish ye, with your audacious prate ! 
Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed 
With this immodest clamorous outrage 
To trouble and disturb the king and us? 
And you, my lords, methinks you do not well 
To bear with their perverse objections; 
Much less to take occasion from their mouths 
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves : 
Let me persuade you take a better course. 

Exe. It grieves his highness: good my lords, be 
friends. [batants : 

K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be com- 
Ilenceforth I charge you, as you love our favour, 
Quite to forget tiiis quarrel ami the cause. 
And you, my lords, remcndier where we are; 
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation: 
If they perceive dissension in our looks 
And that within ourselves we disagree. 
How will their grudging stomachs be provoked 
To wilful disobedience, and rebel! 
Beside, what infamy will tliere arise, 
When foreign princes sliall be certified 
That for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
King Henry's peers ami cldef nobility 
Destroy 'd themselves, and lost the realm of France ! 
O, tliink upon tlie coinpiest of my father. 
My lender years, and let us not forego 
That for a trille that was bought with blood! 
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 

[Putting on a red rose. 
That any one should therefore be susjiicious 
I more incline to Somerset than York: 
Both are my kinsmen, ami I love them both: 
As well they may ujiliraiil nie with my crown. 
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crowu'd. 
But your discretions better can persuade 
Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 
So let us still continue peace and love. 
Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
To be our regent in these parts of France: 
And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite 
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; 
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 
Go cheerfully together and digest 
Your angry choler on your enemies. 
Ourself , my lord protector and the rest 
After some respite will return to Calais; 
From thence to England; where I hope ere long 
To be iiresented, by your victories. 
With Charles, Aleiigon and tliat traitorous rout. 

[Flourish. Exeunt all but York, Warwick, Exeter 

and Vernon. 



ACT IV. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene iv 



War. Mj' Lord of York, I promise you, the king 
Prettily, metlioujjlit, did play the orator. 

Y^ork. And so he did: but yet I like it not. 
In that he weare the badge of Somerset. [not; 

War. Tush, tliat was but his fancy, blame him 
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 

i'lirk. An if I wist he did, — but let it rest; 
Other affairs must now be managed. 

[EMunt all but Exeter. 

Exe. "Well didst thou, Richard, to suppre.ss thy 
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, [voice; 
1 fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, 
Tlian yet can be imagined or supposed. 
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
This jarring discord of nobility. 
This shouldering of each other in the court, 
This factious bandying of their favourites, 
liut that it doth presage some ill event. 
'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands; 
But more when envy breeds unkind division; 
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. 

[Exit. 
SCENE II. — Before Bourdeaiix. 

Enter Talbot, with trump and drum. 
Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter; 
Summon their general unto the wall. 

Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft. 
English .John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, 
Servant in arms to Harry King of England ; 
And thus he would : Open your city gates ; 
Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours. 
And do iiim homage as obedient subjects; 
And I "11 withdraw me and my bloody power: 
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace. 
You tempt the fury of my three attendants. 
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire; 
Who in a moment even with the earth 
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers. 
If you forsake the offer of tlieir love. 

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, 
Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge! 
The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
On us thou canst not entiT but l>y death; 
For, I protest, we are well fdrtilied 
And strong enough to issue out and fight: 
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, 
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee: 
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd. 
To wall thee from the liberty of tliglit; 
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress. 
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil 
And i)ale destruction meets thee in the face. 
Ten thousanil French have ta"en the sacrament 
To rive their dangerous artillery 
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
Lo, there thou staiid'st, a breathing valiant man. 
Of an invincible unconquerM siurit ! 
This is the latest glory of thy in-aise 
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ; 
For ere the glass, that now begins to run. 
Finish the process of his sandy hour. 
These eyes, that see thee now "well coloured, 
Simll see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead. 

[Drum afar off. 
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell. 
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; 
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 

[Exeunt General, itc. 

Tal. He fables not; I hear the enemy : 
Out, some light horsemen, and jieruse their wings. 
O, negligent and heedless disciiiline! 
How are we park'd and bounded in a pale, 
A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
^fazed with a yelping ki'imel of French curs I 
If we be English deer, be then in blood; 



Xot rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch. 
But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags. 
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel 
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
Sell every man his life as dear as miue. 
And they shall find dear deer of us. my friends. 
God and Saint George, Talbot and Englainl's right. 
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— Plains in Gascon;/. 

Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter York 
ivith trumpet and many Soldiers. 

York. Are not the speedy scouts returned again. 
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin V 

Mess. They are returned, my lord, and give it out 
That he is manh'd to Bourdeaux witli his power, 
To fight with Talbot: as he march'd along, 
By your espials were discovered 
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led. 
Which jom'd with him and made their march for 
Bourdeaux. 

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, 
That thus delays rny promised supply 
Of h(n-semen, that were levied for this siege! 
Kenowneil Talbot doth exitect my aid. 
And I am lowted by a trait(u- villain 
And cannot help the imble dievalier: 
God comfort him in this necessity! 
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 

Enter Sir "William Lucy. 

iuc^.Thouprincely leader of our English strength. 
Never so nee<lful on the earth of France, 
Spur to till' rescue of the noble Talbot, 
Who now is ginlled with a waist of iron 
And hemni"(l atuiut with grim destruction: 
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke I to I)Ourdeaux,York! 
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's hon- 
our. 

York. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart 
Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place! 
So should we save a valiant gentleman 
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep, 
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 

Luc;/. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord ! 

York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word ; 
We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get; 
All 'long of this vile traitor Somer.s?t. [soul; 

Luc;/. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's 
And on his son young -lohn, who two hours shice 
I met in travel toward his warlike father! 
This seven years did not Talbot see his son; 
And now they meet where botli their lives are done. 

York. Alas, what joy shall nijble Talbot have 
To bid his young son welcome to his grave? 
Away! vexation almost stops my breath, 
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. 
Lucy, farewell : no more my fortune can. 
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. 
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours are won away, 
'Long all of Somerset and his delay. 

[Exit, icith his soldiers. 

Luc;/. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror. 
That ever living man of memory, 
Henry the Fifth : whiles they each other cross, 
Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss. [E.ut. 

SCENE IV. — Other plains in Gascouy. 

Enter Somerset, tvith his army; a Captain of 

Talbot's with hiin. 

Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: 

This expedition was by York and Talbot 

403 



ACT IV. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene vi. 



Too rashly plotted : all our general force 

Alight with a sally of th.e very town 

Be Vmckled with : the over-daring Talbot 

Hath sullied all Ins gloss of former lionour 

By this uiiheedful, desperate, wild adventure: 

York set him on to light and die in sliame, 

That,Talb(it dead, great York might hear the name. 

Cap. Hen' is Sir William Lucy, who with me 
Set from our o'erniatt-hed forces fortli for aid. 

" Enter Sir "William Lucy. 

Som. How now, Sir William ! whither were you 
sent '? [Lord Talbot ; 

Luci). Whither, my lord ? from bought and sold 
Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, 
Cries out for iiolile York and Somerset, 
To beat assailing death from liis weak legions: 
And whiles tlie lioiidurable captain there 
Drops liliiody sweat fnim his war-wearied limbs. 
And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue. 
You, his false Impes, the trust of England's honour, 
Keep off aloof with wcrtliiess emulation. 
Let not your private djsconl keep away 
The levied succours that siiould lend liim aid, 
AVhile lie, renowned iiolile gentleman. 
Yields up his life uuti) a world of odds: 
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, 
Alencon, Keignier, compass him about, 
And Talbot perisheth by your default. Piim aid. 

Som. York set him on ; York should have sent 

Lxri/. And York as fast ujion your grace exclaims ; 
Swearing that ymi witldiold his levied host, 
Collected for this expedition. [liorse; 

ISom. York lies; he might have sent and had the 
I owe him little duty, and less love; 
And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. 

iucy.Thefraudof England, not the force of France, 
Hath now entrapp'd the milile-minded Talbot: 
Never to England shall he liear his life; 
But dies, betray ''d to fortune by your strife. 

Som. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen 
Within six hours they will be at liis aid. [straight : 

Lucy. Too late comes rescue : he is ta'en or slain ; 
For fly he could not, if he would have fled ; 
And tly would Talbot never, though he might. 

Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu! 

Luc;/. His fame lives in the world, his shame in 
you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V.-rThe English camp near Bounleaux. 
Enter Talbot rind John his son. 

Tal. O young .John Tallxit \ I did send for thee 
To tutor thee in stratagems of war, 
That Talbot's name might be in tliee revived 
Wlieu sajiless age and weak unable lindjs 
Slioulil bring tliy fattier to his drooping chair. 
But, U malignant and iU-lnMling stars! 
Now tliou art come unto a feast of death, 
A terrilile and unavoided danger: 
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse; 
And 1 "11 direct thee how thou shalt escape 
By sudden tlight : come, dally not, be gone. 

Jolin. Is my name Talbot V and am I your son? 
And shall I fly V O, if you luve my mother. 
Dishonour not her honouralile name. 
To make a bastard and a slave of me! 
The w<irld will sav, he is not Talliot's blood, 
That basely lied when nolile Talbot stood. 

T(d. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 

John. He that flies so will ne'er return again. 

Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. 

John. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly: 
Your loss is great, so your regard should be ; 
My worth unknown, no loss is knowii in me. 
Upon my death the French can little boast ; 
In yours they will, in you all liopes are lost. 
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won ; 
4t>4 



But mine it will, tliat no exploit, have done : 
You fled for vantage, every one will swear; 
But, if I bow, they '11 say it was for fear. 
There is no hope that ever I will stay, 
If the first hour I shrink and run away. 
Here on my knee I beg mortality. 
Bather than life ])reser\ed with infamy. 

Tid. Shall all tliy iinither's liojies lie in one tomb? 

John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's 
womb. 

Tal. Upon my blessing, I command thee go. 

John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 

Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in thee. 

John. Xo part of him but will be shame in me. 

Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose 
it. [it ? 

John. Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse 

Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from 
that stain. 

John. You cannot witness for me, being slaiu. 
If death be so apiiarent, then both fly. 

Tal. And leave my followers here to fight and die ? 
My age was never taint( d with such shame. 

John. And shall my yi>ut h 1 le guilty of such blame? 
No more can I be sever'd frnm your side, 
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide: 
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; 
For live I Avill not, if my father die. 

Tul. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, 
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
Come, side by side together live and die; 
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE ^^n.— Afield of batlle. 

Alarum: excur!>ions. wherein Talbot's son is 
hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 

Tal. Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, 
fight: 
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word 
And left us to the rage of France his sword. 
Where is John Talliot ? Pause, and take thy breath ; 
I gave thee life and rescued thee from deatli. 

John. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son! 
The life thou gavest me first was lost and done, 
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate. 
To my determined time thou gavest new date. 

Tal. When from tlie Dauplun's crest thy sword 
struck fire, 
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
Of liold-faced victory. Then leaden age. 
Quicken "d with youthful spleen and warlike rage, 
Beat down Alen^'ou, Orleans, Burgundy, 
And from the pride of Gallia rescued tliee. 
The ireful bastard Orleans, that ilrew blood 
From thee, my boy, and had tlie maidenhood 
Of thy first fight, I soon encountered. 
And interchanging blows I quickly slied 
Some of his l)astard blood; and in disgrace 
Besiioke him thus: 'Contaminated, base 
And mislK-gotten blood I spill of thine. 
Mean and right jioor, for that ]mre blood of mine 
Which thou elitist force from Talbot, my brave boy:' 
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, 
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care, 
Art thou not weary, John ? how dost thou fare ? 
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, 
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry y 
Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead: 
The help of one stands me in little stead. 
O, too much folly is it, well I wot. 
To hazard all our lives in one small boat ! 
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, 
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age : 
By me they nothing gain an if I stay ; 
'T is but the shortening of my life one day: 
In thee thy mother dies, onr household's name. 
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame : 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI 



SCENE T. 



All these and more we hazard by thy stay ; 

All these are saved if thou wilt iiy away, [smart; 

Jnhn. The sword of (;)rleaiis hath not made me 
These words of yours ilraw life-blood from my heart : 
On that advanta.Lre, bought with sueh a shame, 
To save a paltry life and slay brislit fame, 
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
The coward horse that liears me fall and die! 
And like me to the peasant boys of France, 
To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance! 
Surely, by all the glory you have won, 
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son: 
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; 
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 

Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
Thou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet : 
If thou wilt light, figlit by thy father's side; 
Aud, commendable proved, let 's die in pride. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE MTl. — Another part of the field. 

Alunim: excursions. Enter old Talbot led by a 
Servant. 

Tal. Where is my other life? mine own is gone; 
O. where 's young Talbot V where is valiant John V 
Triumpliant death, smear'd with captivity. 
Young TalVtot's valour makes me smile at thee: 
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee, 
His bloody sword he brandish 'd over me. 
And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience ; 
But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
Tendering my ruin and assail'd of none, 
Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart 
Suddenly made him from my side to start 
Into the clustering battle of the French ; 
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
His over-mounting spirit, and there died. 
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 

Serv. O my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne ! 

EiHer Soldiers, luUh the body of young Talbot. 

Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to 
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, [scorn, 

Coupled in bonds of perpetuity. 
Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky. 
In thy despite shall "scape mortality. 
O thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death. 
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath ! 
Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no ; 
Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. 
Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks, as wlio should say. 
Had death been French, then death had died to-day. 
Come, come and lay him in his father's arms: 
My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 
Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have, 
Xow my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. 

[Dies. 

Enter Charles, Alenpon, Burgundy, Bastard, 
La Pucelle, and forces. 
Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, 
We should iiave found a bloody day of this. 
JJust. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging- 
wood. 
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 



Puc. Once I encomiter'd him. and thus I said: 
'Thou maiden youth, 1m' vamiuish'd by a maid: ' 
But, with a proud majestical liiuli scorn. 
He answer 'd thus: ' Young Talbot was not born 
To be the pillage of a giglot wench : ' 
So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. [l^night : 

Bur, Doubtless he would have made a noble 
See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms 
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms! [der. 

Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asun- 
Whose life was En[;liind"s ghu'y, Gallia's wonder. 

Char. O, no, forVieav ! for that which we have tied 
During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 

Enter Sir "William Lucy, attended ; Herald of the 
French preceding. 

Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, 
To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. 

Char. On what submissive message art thou sent"? 

Lucy. Submission, Dauphin ! 't is a mere French 
"word ; 
We English warriors wot not what it means. 
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en 
And to survey the bodies of the dead. [is. 

Char. For prisoners ask 'st thou? hell our prison 
But tell me whom thou seek'st. 

Lucy. But where 's the great Aleides of the field, 
Valiant Lord Talbot, Eai-1 of Shrewsbury, 
Created, for his rare success in arms. 
Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and "Valence ; 
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urcliinfield, 
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton, 
Lord Cromwell of Wingfleld, Lord Fm-nival of 

Sheffield, 
The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge ; 
Knight of the noble order of Saint George, 
Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece; 
Great inarslial to Henry the Sixth 
Of all his wars within the realm of France? 

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath. 
Writes not so tedious a style as this. 
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles 
Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet. 

Lucy. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only 
scourge. 
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? 
O, were mine ej-e-balls into bullets turn'd. 
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces! 
O, that I could but call these dead to life ! 
It were enough to fright the realm of France : 
Were but his picture left amongst 5'ou here. 
It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence 
And give them burial as beseems their worth. 

Pm. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost. 
He speaks with such a protid commanding "spirit. 
ForGod's sake, let him have 'em; to keej) them here. 
They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 

Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 

Lucy. I '11 bear them hence; but from their ashes 
shall be rear'd 
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. 

Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou 
And now to Paris, in this con([uering vein : [wilt. 
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot "s slain. [Exeunt. 



A.CT V. 

SCENE I.— London. The palace. 
Sennet. Enter King, Gloucester, and Exeter 



King. Have you perused the letters from the 
pope. 
The emperor and the Earl of Armaguae ? 



Glou. I have, my lord : and their intent is this : 
They humbly sue unto j'om- excellence 
To have a godly jieace concluded of 
Between the realms of England and of France. 

King. Ilow dotli your grace affect their motion ? 

Gloii. Well, my good lord ; and as the only means 
405 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene itt. 



To stop effusion of our Cluiscian blood 
^iitl stablish quietness on every side. 

Kiny. Ay, uian-y, uncle; for I always thought 
It was both iuipidus and unnatural 
That such iniuianity and bloody strife 
fShould reign anmnu luofessors of one faith. 

Glou. Besidi', my lord, the sooner to effect 
And surer liind this knot of amity, 
Tlie Earl of Arnia.unac, near knit to Charles', 
A man of great aulliority in France, 
Proffers his only daugliter to your grace 
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 

KiiHj. ^iarriage, uncle ! alas, my years are young ! 
And litter is my study and my books 
Than wantdii dalliance with a paramour. 
Yet call tlie aiid)assadors; and, as you please, 
.So let tiieni have their answers every one: 
I shall be well content with any choice 
Tends to God's glory and my country's weal. 

^nier Winchester in CardinaVs h<ihit, a Legate 
and two Ambassadors. 

Exe. What! is my Lord of Winchester iustall'd, 
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree y 
Then I perceive that will be yeritied 
Henry tlie i^ifth did sometime prophesy, 
' If once lie come to be a cardinal. 
He '11 make his cai) co-equal with the erovvii.' 

Kiw/. My lords ambassadors, your several suits 
Have Ijeeii considerM and ilfbated on. 
Your purjiose is both good and reasonable ; 
And tlierefore are we certainly resolved 
To draw conditions of a friendly peace; 
Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean 
Shall be transported presently to France. 

Glou. And for the proffer of my lord your master, 
I have inlorm'd his highness so at large 
As liking of the lady's virtuous gifts. 
Her beauty and the value of her dower. 
He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 

King. In argunient and proof of which contract, 
Bear her this jewel, pleilge of my affection. 
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded 
And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd 
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 

[Exeunt all but Winchester and Legate. 

Win. Stay, my lord legate: you sliall first receive 
The sum of money which I promised 
Sliould be deliver'd to his holiness 
For clothing me in these gravi^ ornaments. 

Ley. I will attend uimii ynur Imilsliip's leisure. 

Win. [Asiih'l ^'i)W Winchester will not submit, I 
Or be inferior to the proudest peer. [trow, 

Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive 
That, neither in birth or for authority, 
The bisliiip will lif overbcinie by thee: 
I '11 either make thee stixip and' bend thy knee, 
Or sack this country witli a mutiny. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — France. Plains in Anjou. 

Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alenpon, Bastard, 
Reignier, La Pucelle, and forces. 

Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our droop- 
ing spirits : 
'T is said the stout Parisians do revolt 
And turn again unto the warlike French. [France, 

Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of 
And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 

Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; 
Else, ruiu combat with their palaces ! 

Enter Scout. 
Scnnt. Success unto our valiant general. 
And happiness to his accomplices! [speak. 

(Vifir. What tidings send our scouts ? I prithee, 
Scout. The English army, that divided was 
400 



Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one, 
And means to give you battle presently. 

Char. Somewiiat too sudden, sirs, the warning is: 
But we will presently provide for them. 

Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there: 
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 

Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.. 
Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine, 
Let Henry fret and all the world repine. 

Char. Then on, my lords; and France be for- 
timate! [Exeunt. 

SCENE ni. — Before Anglers. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. 
Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen 
Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; [lly. 
And ye choice spirits that admonish me 
And give me signs of future accidents. [Thunder. 
You speedy helpers, tliKt are substitutes 
Under the lordly monarch of the north, 
Appear and aidme in tliis enterprise. 

JSiUer Fiends. 
This speedy and quick appearance argues proof 
Of your accustom'd diligence to me. 
Now, ye familiar siiirits, tliat are cull'd 
Out of the powerful regions under earth, 
Help me this once, that France may get the field. 

[Thei/ walk, and speak not. 
O, hold me not with silence over-long ! 
Wliere I was wont to feed you with my blood, 
I '11 lop a member off and give it you 
In earnest of a further benefit, 
So you do condescend to help me now. 

[They hang their heads. 
No hope to have redress ? My body shall 
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 

[They shake their heads. 
Cannot my body nor blood-.sacrifice 
Entreat you to your wonted fm'therance ? 
Then take my soul, my body, soul and all. 
Before that England give the French the foil. 

[They depart. 
See, they forsake me ! Now the time is come 
That France must vail lier lofty-plumed crest 
And let her head fall into England's lap. 
My ancient incantations are loo weak. 
And hell too strong for me to buckle witli : 
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. 

Kvciirsions. Jie-nitn- La Pucelle fighting hand to hand 
with York : La Pucelle is taten. The French fly. 

York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast : 
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms 
And trv if they can gain your liberty. 
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
See, how the ugly wench doth bend her lirows, 
As if with Circe slie vvoidd change my shape! 

Puc. Changed to a worser shajie thou canst not be. 

York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man; 
No shape but his can please y<un- dainty eye. 

Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles and 
And mav ye rioth be suddenly Ruri)rised [thee ! 

By bIoody"han<ls, in sleeping on your beds! 

York. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy 
tongue ! 

Puc. I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile. 

York. Curse, miscreant, when tliou comest to the 
stake. [Exeunt. 

Alarum. Enter Suffolk, loilh Margaret «vi his hand. 
Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 

[Oazes on hei\ 

fairest beauty, do not fenr nor fly! 

For I will touch thee but with reverent hands; 

1 kiss these fingers for eternal peace, 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene hi. 



And lay them gently on thy temkr siile. 
Who art tliou? say, that I may liouour thee. 

Mar. ^[arsaret my name, and daughter to a king, 
The Khig of Naiiles". whosoe'er thou art. 

Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
Be not olft'iKied, nature's miracle, 
Thou art all<itted to be ta'en by me: 
So iliith tlie s\yan her downy cygnets save, 
Keejiinu- them prisoner imderneath her wings. 
Yet, if this servile usage once offend, 
Go and be free again as Suffolk's friend. 

[She is going. 
O, stay I I have no power to let her pass ; 
My lianil would free her, but my heart says no. 
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, 
Twinkling another counterfeited beam. 
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak : 
I'll call for peu and ink, and write my miucl. 
Fie, de la Pi.le '. disalile not thyself; 
Hast not a tongue? is she not hereV 
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? 
Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such. 
Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough. 

liar. Say, Earl of Suffolk — if thy name be so — 
What ransom must I pay before I pass ? 
For I perceive I am thy prisoner. 

Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit, 
Befu're tliou make a trial of her love V [1 pay ? 

liar. Why speak 'st thou not ? what ranscmi must 

Suf. She 's beautiful and therefore to be woo'd: 
She is a wcnnan, therefore to be won. 

jl/(()-. AVilt thou accept of ransom ":* yea, or no. 

Suf. Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife ; 
Then how can JIargaret be thy paramour? 

]\lar. I were best to leave liim, for he will not hear. 

Suf. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cooling card. 

3I'ar. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad. 

Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 

Mar. And" yet I would that you would answer me. 

Suf. I "11 win this Lady Margaret. For whom Y 
Why, for my king: tush, that 's a wooden thing! 

liar. He talks of wood : it is some carpenter. 

Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfled. 
And peace established between these realms. 
But there remains a scruple in that too; 
For though her fatlier be the King of Xaples, 
Duke of Anjnu and Maine, yet is he poor, 
And our nobility will scorn the matcli. 

3Lir. Hear ye. captain, are you not at leisure ? 

Suf. It shall be so, disdain tliey ne'er so much : 
Henry is youthful and will quickly yield. 
Madam, t lia\e a secretto reveal. Pinight, 

Mar. What though I be enthrall'di' beseems a 
And will not any way dishonour me. 

Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen vi'hat I say. 

liar. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French; 
And then 1 need not crave his courtesy. 

Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — 

Mar. Tush, women have been captivate ere now. 

>S'((/. Lady, wherefore talk you so ? 

31iir. I cry you mercy, 't is but Quid for Quo. 

Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose 
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen y 

Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile 
Than is a slave in base servility ; . , 

For princes should be free. 

Suf. And so shall you. 

If happy England's royal king be free. 

jl/((/-." Why, what concerns his freedom unto me ? 

Suf. I '11 undertake to make thee Henry's queen, 
To jiut a golden sceptre in thy hand 
And set a precious crown upon thy head. 
If thou wilt condescend to be my — 

Mar. What? 

Suf. His love. 

21ar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 



Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
To woo so fair a dame to be his wift 
And have no portion in the choice myself. 
How say you, madam, are ye so content V 

Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 

Suf. Then call our captains and our colours forth. 
And, madam, at your father's castle walls 
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him. 

A parley sounded. Enter Reignier on the walls. 
See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner! 

lieig. To whom ? 

Suf. To me. 

licig. Suffolk, what remedy ? 

I am ii soldier and unapt to weep 
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 

Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord: 
Consent, and for thy honour give consent, 
Tliy daugliter sliall be wedded to my king; 
Wliom 1 witli pain have woo'd and won thereto; 
And this lier easy held imprisonment 
Hatli gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 

Bcig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks V 

Suf. Fair Margaret knows 

That Suffollv doth not flatter, face, or feign. 

Beig. Upon tliy princely warrant, I descend 
To give thee answer of thy just demand. 

[Kcit from the icalls. 

Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Reignier, below. 

liciy. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories: 
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 

Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child. 
Fit to be made companion with a king: 
AVhat answer makes your grace unto my suit'? 

Beig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth 
To be the princely bride of such a lord ; 
Upon condition I may quietly 
Enjoy ndne own, the country ^Maine and Anjou, 
Free f mm oppression or the stroke of war, 
jNIy daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 

Suf. That is her ransom ; I deliver her; 
And those two counties I will undertake 
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 

Beig. And I again, in Hein-y's royal name, 
As deputy unto that gracious king, 
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 

Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks. 
Because this is in traffic of a king. 
[Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well content 
To be mine own attorney in this case. 
I '11 over then to England with tliis news. 
And make this marriage to be solemnized. 
So farewell, Reignier: set this diamond safe 
In gulden palaces, as it becomes. 

Bci(i. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
The Christian prince. King Henry, were he here. 

Mar. Farewell, my lord: good wishes, praise and 
ijravers 
Shall Suffolk ever have of Iilargaret. [Going. 

Suf. Farewell, sweet madam : but hark you, Mar- 
No princely connnendatimis to my king ? [garet; 

Mar. Such cumnii'iidations as becomes a maid, 
A virgin and his servant, say to him. 

Suf. Words sweetly placed and modestly directed. 
But, madam, I must trouble you again; 
No loving token to his majesty ? 

Mar. Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted heart, 
Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 

Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her. 

Mar. Tliat lor thyself: I will not so presume 
To send such peevish tokens to a king. 

[Exeunt Briipiit r and Margaret. 

Suf. O, wert thou for myself ! l?ut , Suffolk, stay ; 
Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth ; 
There Minotaurs and uglv treasons lurk. 
407 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene iv. 



Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise : 
Bethink tliee dti lier virtues that surmount, 
And natural graces that extinguish art ; 
Eepeat their semblance often on the seas, 
That, when thou comest to kneel at Henry's feet. 
Thou mayst bereave him of liis wits with wonder. 

[Ecft. 

SCENE IV. — Cam}) (f the Buke of Yorlc in Anjou. 

Enter York, Warwick, and others. 

York. Bring forth that sorceress condemn'd to 
burn. 

Enter La Pucelle, gitarded, and a Shepherd. 

Shep. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart out- 
Have I sought every country far and near, [right ! 
And, now it is my chance to find thee out, 
Must I behold tliy timeless cruel death '? 
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I '11 die with thee! 

Ptif. Decrepit miser ! base ignoble wretch ! 
I am descended of a gentler blood : 
Thou art no father nor no friend of mine, [not so; 

Shep. Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis 
I did beget her, all the parish knows : 
Her mother liveth yet, can testify 
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 

War. Graceless ! wilt thou deny thy parentage ? 

York. This argues what her kind of life hath been, 
"Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. 

Shep. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle! 
God knows thou art a collop of my flesh ; 
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : 
Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan. [man, 

Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! You have suborn 'd this 
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. 

Shep. 'T is true, I gave a noble to the priest 
Tlie morn that I was wedded to her mother. 
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. 
Wilt thou not stoop ? Kow cursed be the time 
Of thy nativity ! I would the milk 
Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast. 
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-fleld, 
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? 
O, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good. [Exit. 

York. Take her away _; for she hath lived too long. 
To fill the world with vicious qualities, [demn'd: 

Puc. Pirst, let me tell you wliom you have con- 
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, 
But issued from the progeny of kings ; 
Virtuous and holy ; chosen from above, 
By inspiration of celestial grace, 
To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
But you, that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents. 
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, 
Because you want the grace that others have, 
You judge it straight a thing impossible 
To compass wonders but by help of devils. 
Ko, misconceived ! Joan of Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy. 
Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused, 
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 

York. Ay, ay : away with her to execution I 

War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid. 
Spare for no faggots, let there be enow : 
Place barrels ot pitcli upon the fatal stake. 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Pi!C. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? 
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, 
That warranteth by law to lie thy privilege. 
I am with child, ye bloody homicides: 
Murder not then the fruit within my womb. 
Although ye hale me to a violent death. [child ! 

York. Kow heaven forfendl the holy maid with 
408 



War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: 
Is all your strict prcciseness come to this? 

York. She and the Dauiihin have been juggling: 
I did imagine what would be her refuge. 

War. Well, go to; we "11 have no bastards live; 
Especially since Charles must father it. 

Pac. You are deceived ; my child is none of his: 
It was AleuQon that enjoy'd my love. 

York. AlenQon ! that notorious Machiavel ! 
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 

Puc. O, give me leave. I have deluded you: 
'T was neither Charles nor yet the duke I named. 
But lleignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. 

War. A married man ! that 's most intolerable. 

York. Why, here 's a girl ! I think she knows 
not well. 
There were so many, whom she may accuse. 

War. It 's sign she hath been liberal and free. 

York. And yet, forsootli, she is a virgin pure. 
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee: 
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. [curse: 

Pile. Then lead me hence ; with whom I leave my 
May never glorious sun reflex his beams 
Upon the country where you make abode ; 
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
Environ you, till miscliict anil despair 
Drive you to break your necks or liang yourselves! 
[Exit, guarded. 

York. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes. 
Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 

Enter Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, 
attended. 

Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
With letters of commission from the king. 
F(3r know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils, 
Have earnestly iniiihired a ;;encTal peace 
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; 
And here at hand the Dauphin and his train 
Approacheth, to conl'ci- almut scmie matter. 

York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? 
After the slaughter of so many peers, 
So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers, 
That in this quarrel have been overthrown 
And sold their bodies for tlieir country's benefit, 
Shall we at last conclude eli'eniinate peace? 
Have we not lost most part of all the towns, 
By treason, falsehood and by treachery, 
Our great progenitors had conquered ? 
O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief 
The utter loss of all the realm of France. 

War. Be patient, York :» if we conclude a peace, 
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants 
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 

Enter Charles, Alenpon, Bastard, Reignier, and 

others. 

Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed 
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, 
We come to be informed by yourselves 
What the conditions of that league must be. 

York. Speak,Winchester; for boiling choler chokes 
The hollow passage of my i)oison'd voice. 
By sight of these our balefid enemies. 

Win. Cileries, and the rest, it is enacted thus: 
That, in regard King Henry gives consent, 
Of mere compassion and of lenity, 
To ease your country of distresst'nl war. 
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, 
You shall become true liegemen to his crown: 
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, 
Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him, 
And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 

Alen. Must he be then as shadow of himself? 
Adorn his temples with a coronet. 
And yet, in substance and authority, 



ACT V. 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI scene v. 



Retain but privilege of a private many 
This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 

Clwr. 'T is known already that I am possess'd 
AVith more than halt the Gallian territories. 
And tl'.erein reverenced for their lawful king: 
Shall I, for lucre of the rest uuvanquish"d, 
Detract so much from that prerogative, 
As to tip caird but viceroy of the whole ? 
No, lord andiassador, I '11 rather keep 
That which I have than, coveting for more. 
Be cast from possibility of all. [means 

Y<irl-. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret 
Used intercession" to obtain a league. 
And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
Stand"st thou aloof upon comparison V 
Either accept the title thou usurp'st, 
Of benefit proceeding from our king 
And not of any challenge of desert. 
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 

Eciij. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
To cavil in the course of this contract: 
If once it be neglected, ten to one 
We shall not Hud like opportunity. 

Altn. To say the truth, it is your policy 
To save your subjects from such massacre 
And ruthless slaughters as are daily seea 
By our proceeding in hostility : 
And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
Altliough you break it wUen your pleasure serves. 

War. How say'st thou, Charles V shall our condi- 

Char. It shall; [t ion stand y 

Only reserved, j'ou claim no interest 
In any of our towns of garrison. 

York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty, 
As thou art kniglit, never to disobey 
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. 
So, now dismiss your army when ye please; 
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still. 
For here we entertain a solemn peace. \_Exennt. 

SCENE V. — ioncZon. The palace. 

Enter Suffolk in conference icith the King, Glou- 
cester and Exeter. 

Kinfj. Your wondrous rare description, noble earl. 
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish 'd me: 
Her virtues graced with external gifts 
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart: 
And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts 
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, t' 
So am I driven by breath of her renown 
Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive 
Where I may have fruition of her love. 

Si(f. Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale 
Is but a preface of her worthy praise ; 
The chief perfections of that lovely dame, 
Had I sufficient skill to utter them, 
Would make a volume of enticing lines, • 

Able to ravish any dull conceit : 
And, which is more, she is not so divine. 
So full-replete with choice of all delights. 
But witli as luuiible lowliness of mind 
She is content to be at your command; 
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, 
To love and honour Henry as her lord. 

King. And otherwi.se will Henry ne'er presume. 
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent 
Tliat Margaret may be England's royal queen. 

Glou. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
Unto another lady of esteem : 
How shall we then dispense with that contract, 
And not deface your honour with reproach y 

Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; 
Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd 
To try his strength, forsaketh ye't the lists 



By reason of his adversarj''s odds : 

A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, 

And therefore may be broke without offence. 

Glou. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than 
Her father is no better than an earl, [that y 

Although in glorious titles he excel. 

Suf. Yes, my lord, her father is a king. 
The "King of Naples and .lerusaleui ; 
And of such great authority in France 
As his alliance will contirm' our peace 
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 

Glou. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do, 
Because he is near kinsman unto Cliarles. [do^er, 

Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal 
Wliere Reignier sooner will receive thau give. 

Suf. Adower, my lords! disgrace not so your king, 
That he should be so abject, base and poor, 
To choose for wealth and not for perfect love. 
Henry is able to enrich his queen 
And not to seek a queen to make him rich : 
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or liorse. 
Marriage is a matter of more worth 
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; 
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, 
Must be companion of his nuptial bed: 
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
It most of all these reasons bindeth us. 
In our opinions she should be preferr 'd. 
l^or what is wedlock forced but a hell. 
An age of discord and continual strife ? 
Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, 
And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, 
But Margaret, that is daughter to a kingy 
Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, 
Approves her tit for none but for a king: 
Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, 
More than in women commonly is seen. 
Will answer our hope in issue of a king ; 
For Henry, son unto a conqueror, 
Is likely to beget more conquerors. 
If with a lady of so high resolve 
As is fair ilargaret he be link'd in love. 
Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me 
That Jilargaret shall be queen, and none but she. 

Kiu'j. Whetlier it be through force of your report. 
My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that 
My tender youth was never yet attaint 
With any passion of inflaming love, 
I cannot tell; but this I am assured, 
I feel such sharp dissension in my breast. 
Such fierce alarums botli of hope and fear. 
As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
Take, therefore, shipping ; post, my lord, to France ; 
Agree to any covenants, and procure 
Tliat Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
To cross the seas to England and be crown 'd 
King Henry's faithful and anointed queeu : 
For your expenses and sufficient charge, 
Among the people gather up a tenth. 
Be gone, I say ; for, till you do return, 
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. 
And you, good uncle, banish all offence: 
If you do censiu'e me by what you were. 
Not what you are, I know it will excuse 
This sudden execution of my will. 
And so, conduct me where, from company, 
I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit. 

Glou. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 
[-Exeunt Gloucester and Exeter. 

Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevailed; and thus he 
As did the youthful Paris once to (ireece, [goes. 
With hope to find the like event in love. 
But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the kin^; 
But 1 will rule both her, the king and realm. [Exit, 
409 



THE SECOJ^D TART OF 

KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 



DRAMATIS FEB SON. ^. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. 

Cardinal Beaufort, Bislioji of Wiuchester, great- 
uiK-le to the King. 

Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York. 

Edward and Richard, his sous. 

Duke of Somerset. 

Duke of Suffolk. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Lord Clifford. 

Young Clifford, his son. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Lord Scales. 

Lord Say. 

Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William Staf- 
ford, Ills brotluT. 

Sir John Stanley. 

Vaux. 

Matthew Goffe. 

A Sea-ca])tain, Slaster, and Master's-Mate, and 
Walter Whitmore. 

[For an Analysis of the Plot 



Two Genrleraen, iirisonors with Suffolk. 

John Hume and John Southwell, priests. 

Bolingbroke, a conjurer. 

Thomas Horner, an armourer. Peter, his man. 

Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of Saint Albau's. 

Simpcos, an iniiiostor. 

Alexander Iden, a Kentish gentleman. 

Jack Cade, a rebel. 

George Bevis, John Holland, Dick the butcher. 
Smith the weaver, Michael, <tc., followers of Cade. 

Two Murderers. 

Margaret, Queen to King Henry. 

Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester. 

Margaret Jourdain, a witch. 

Wife to Simpcox. 
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants, Petitioners, Aldermen, a 
Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers, Citizens, 'Pren- 
tices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. 

A Spirit. 



SCENE — England. 
Page Lvn.] 



A.CT I. 



SCENE I.— London. The palace. 

Fhvri'sh of trumpets : then hautboys. Enter the King, 
Humphrey, Dnke of Gloucester, Salisbury, War- 
wick, iitiil Cardinal Beaufort, on the one siije ; the 
Queen, Suffolk, York, Somerset, and Buckingham, 
on the other . 

Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
I had in cliarjie at my depart for France, 
As procurator to your excellence, 
To marry Piiiiccss .N[;ivi;arct for your grace, 
Sa, in tlie iainoiis ancient city Tour.s, 
In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, [con, 
Tlie Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alen- 
Seyen earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend 

bishops, 
I have perform'd my task and was espoused: 
And humbly now upon my bended knee. 
In sight of England and her lordly peers. 
Deliver up my title in the queen 
To your most .uiacioiis hands, that are the substance 
Of that great sliadow I did represent; 
Tlie ha]ipic.st gift that ever marquess gave, 
Tlie fairest (luecn that ever king received. 

Ji ((11/. .Suffolk , arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret : 
I can express no kinder sign of love 
Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, 
Lend me a heart replete witli thankfulness! 
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face 
A world of eartldy lilcssings to my soul. 
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. [lord, 

Qiiccn. Great King of England and my gracious 
410 



The mutual conference that my mind hath had, 
By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, 
111 courtly company or at my beads, 
Willi you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, 
Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
AVitli ruder terms, such as my wit affords 
And over-joy of heart doth minister. 

Kiwj. iter sight did ravish ; but her grace in 
speech. 
Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty. 
Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joj's; 
Such is the fulness of my heart's content. 
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 
'All [knceUnei]. Long live Queeu Margaret, Eng- 
land's happiness! 

Queen. We thank you all. [Flourish. 

Stiff. My lord ])rotector, so it please your grace, 
Here are tlie articles of contracted peace 
Between our sovereign and I he French king Charles, 
For eighteen months conchiilcd by consent. 

Ohio, [luiiih] 'Iniiiriiiiis, It is agreed lietween the 
French king Cliarles, anil William de la Pole, Mar- 
quess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of 
England, that the said Henry shall espouse the 
I^ady Margaret, daughter uiiio Keignier King of 
Naiiles.Sicilia and .Ienisali'ni,aiid crown her Queen 
of England ere the thirtieth of JMay next ensuing. 
Item, that the duchy of Anjou :ind the county of 
Maine shall be released and delivered to the king 
her father ' — [Lets the i^aper fall. 

Kinij. Uncle, how now! 

Glo'u. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 



ACT I. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene t. 



Some siuMeu qualm hath struck me at the heart 
Ami diuHuM mine eyes, that I can read no further. 

KiiKj. Uui'le of Wincliester, I pray, read on. 

Car. {lUads] ' Item, It i.s further agreed between 
them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall 
be released and delivered over to the king her father, 
and she sent over of the King of England's own 
proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' 

King. They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel 
down : 
We here create thee the first duke of SuSolk, 
And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, 
We here discharge your grace from being regent 
I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months 
Be full expired. Tlianks, uncle Winchester, 
Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, 
Salisbury, and Warwick; 
We thank you all for this great favour done. 
In entertainment to my princely queen. 
Come, let us in, and with all speed provide 
To see her coronation be perform 'd. 

[Exeunt King, Qn^n, and Suffolk. 

Olou. Brave peers of EuglaiKl, |iillars of the state. 
To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, 
Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
His valour, coin and people, in the wars? 
Did he so often lodge in open held. 
In winter's cold and sunuin'i's [larching heat, 
To conquer France, his true inheritance? 
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits. 
To keep by policy what Henry got ? 
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
lleeeived deep scars in France ami 2\ormandy i* 
Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself. 
With all the learned council of the realm, 
Studied so long, sat in the council-house 
Early and late, debating to and fro 
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, 
And had his highness in his infancy 
Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? 
And shall these labours and these honours die ? 
Shall Henry's conciuest, Hedford's vigilance. 
Your deeds of war and all our counsel die V 

peers of England, shameful is this league! 
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, 
Blotting your names from books of memory, 
Razing the characters of your renown, 
Defacing monuments of concjuer'd France, 
Undoing all, as all had never been ! [course. 

Car. Nephew, what means this passionate dis- 
This peroration with such circumstance ? 
For France, 't is ours; and we will keep it still. 

Qlou. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; 
But now it is impossible we should: 
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast. 
Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine 
Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style 
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 

Sal. Now, by the death of Him that died for all. 
These counties were the keys of Normandy. 
But wherefore weeps AVarwick, my valiant son ? 

War. For grief that they are past recovery : 
For, were there hope to conciuer them again. 
My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. 
Anjou and Jilaine ! myself did win them both ; 
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: 
And are tlie cities, that I got with wounds, 
Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? 
Mort Dieu! 

York. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, 
That dims the honour of this warlike isle! 
France should have torn and rent my very heart. 
Before I would have yielded to this league. 

1 never read but England's kings have had 
Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives ; 



And our King Henry gives away his own, 
To match with her that brings no vantages. 

(iliiii. A iiriiper jest, and never heard before. 
That Suffolk should demand a whole flfteenth 
For costs and charges in transporting her ! 
She should have stayed in France and starved in 
Before — [France, 

Car. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too 
It was the pleasure of my lord the king. [liot: 

Olou. My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind ; 
'T is not my speeches that you do mislike, 
But 't is my presence that doth trouble ye. 
Rancour will out : proud prelate, in thy face 
I see thy fur.y : if I longer stay, 
We shall begin our ancient bickerings. 
Lonlings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, 
I proplK'sieil France will be lost ere long. [Exit. 

(\u\ So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
'T is known to you he is mine enemy, 
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, 
And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
Consider, lords, he is the next of blood. 
And hi'ir apparent to the English crown: 
Hail Henry got an empire by his marriage. 
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, 
There 's reason he should be displeased at it. 
Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words 
Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. 
What though the common people favour him. 
Calling him • Humphrey, the good Duke of Glou- 
cester,' 
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, 
' .Tesu maintain your royal excellence ! ' 
With ' God preserve the good Duke Humphrey! ' 
I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss. 
He will be found a dangerous protector. 

Bui;k. Why should he, then, protect our sovereign. 
He being of age to govern of himself ? 
Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, 
And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, 
We '11 quickly lioise Duke Humphrey from his seat. 

Car. This weightv business will not brook delav; 
I '11 to the Duke of Suffolk presently. YExit. 

Sum. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's 
And greatness of his place be grief to us, [pride 
Yet let us watch the liaughty cardinal: 
His insoli'nce is more intoU'rable 
Than all the primes in the land beside: 
If Gloucester be displaced, he '11 be protector. 

Buck. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector, 
Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. 

[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset. 

Snl. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
While these do labour for their own preferment, 
Behoves it us to labour for the realm. 
I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester 
Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal. 
More like a soldier than a man o' the cluircli, 
As stout and proud as he were lord of all. 
Swear like a ruffian and demean himself 
Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. 
Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age. 
Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping, 
Hath won the" greatest favour of the commons, 
Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey: 
And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
In bringing them to civil discipline, 
Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, 
AV'hen thou wert regent for our sovereign. 
Have made thee fear'd and honour 'd of the people: 
Join we together, for the public good, 
In what we can, to bridle and suppress 
The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal. 
With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition ; 
And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds, 
'\Vhile they do lend the prolit of the land. 
411 



ACT T. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene it. 



War. So God help Warwick, as lie loves the land, 
And common profit of his countrj' ! 

York. [Aside] And so says York, for he hath 
greatest cause. 

Sal. Then let 's make haste away, and look unto 
the main. 

War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is lost ; 
That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, 
And would have kept so long as breath did last ! 
Main chance, father, you meant ; l)ut I meant Jlaine, 
Which I will win from France, or else he slain. 

[Ereunt Wanrirk und f^al Uburij . 

York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French ; 
Paris is lost; the state of Normandy 
Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: 
Suffolk concluded on the articles, 
The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased 
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.. 
I cannot blame them all : wliat is 't to them ? 
'T is thine they give away, and not their own. 
Pirates may make clieap pennyworths of their pillage 
And purchase friends and give to courtezans. 
Still revelling like lords till all be gone ; 
While as the silly owner of the goods 
Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands 
And-shakes liis head and treiiibling stands aloof, 
While all is shared and all is Ijorne away, 
Ready to starve and dare not toucli his own : 
So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue. 
While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. 
Metliinks the realms of England, France and Ireland 
Bear that jirnportidn to my llrsh :',nd blood 
As did the fatal brand Alth;ea burn'd 
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 
Anjou and Maine both given unto the French 1 
Cold news for me, for I had liope of France, 
Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
A day will come wlien York shall claim his o;\ni; 
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts 
And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, 
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown. 
For that 's the golden mark I seek to hit : 
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, 
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish flst. 
Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 
Whose cliurch-like humours tits not for a crown. 
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: 
Watch thou and wake when others be asleep. 
To pry into the secrets of the state ; 
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, [queen. 

With his new bride and England's dear-bought 
And Humplirey witli the peers be fall'n at jars : 
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, 
"With whose sweet smell tlie air shall be perfumed ; 
And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
To grapple with the lionse of Lancaster; 
And, force perforce, I '11 make him yield the crown, 
Whose bookish rule hath puU'd fair England down. 

[Exit. 

SCENE ll.~The Duke of Oloucefitcr's house. 

Enter Duke Humphrey and his wife Eleanor. 

Dtich. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn. 
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous loail V 
Why doth the great Duke llumphrt-y knit his brows. 
As frowning at the favours of tlie world ? 
Why are thine eyes lix'd to tlie sullen earth. 
Gazing on that which seems to dim tliy siglit? 
What seest tliou tliere ? King Henry's diadem. 
Enchased witli all tlic honours of the world V 
If so, gaze on, and gri>v('l on thy face. 
Until thy head be ciieled witli the same. 
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. 
What, is 't too short ? I '11 lengthen it with mine ; 
And, having both together heaved it up. 
We '11 both together lift our heads to heaven, 
412 



And never more abase our sight so low 

As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 

Glou. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord. 
Banish the canker of ambiiious thoughts. 
And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 
My troublous dream this niglit doth make me sad. 

Duch. What dreani'd my lord? tell me, and I '11 
requite it 
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 

Glou. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in 
court, 
Was broke in twain ; by whom I have forgot, 
But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; 
And on the i)ieces of the broken wand 
Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, 
And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. 
This was my dream : what it doth bode, God knows. 

Durh. Tut, this was nothing but an argument 
That he that bi)?aks a stick of Gloucester's grove 
Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke : 
^Methought I sat in seat of majesty 
In the cathedral church of Westminster, 
And in that chair where kings and queens are 

crown 'd; 
Where Henry and dame ISIargaret kneel'd to me 
And on my head did set the diadem. 

Glou. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright; 
Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, 
Art thou not second woman in the realm. 
And the protector's wife, beloved of him '? 
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command. 
Above the reach or compass of thy thought ? 
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, 
To tumble down thy husband and thyself 
From top of honour to disgrace's feet i* 
Away from me, and let me hear no more ! 

Duch. What, what, my lord ! are you so choleric 
AVith Eleanor, for telling but her dream ? 
Next time I '11 keep my dreams unto myself. 
And not be check 'd. 
Glou. Nay, be not angry ; I am pleased again. 

Enter Messeng-er. 

JIfess. Mylord protector, 'tishishighness'pleasure 
You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, 
Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. 

Glou. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? 

Duch. Yes, my good lord, I '11 follow presently. 
[Exeunt Gloucester and 2Iesscaycr. 
Follow I must ; I cannot go before, 
While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. 
Were I a nian, a duke, and next of blood, 
I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks 
And smooth my way upon their headless necks ; 
And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
To play my part in Fortune's pageant. 
AV'here are you there ? SirJohn! nay,fearnot,mau, 
AVe are alone ; here 's none but thee and I. 

Enter Hume. 

Hume. .Tesus preserve your royal majesty! 

Duvh. AVliat say "st 'thou? majesty! I am but grace. 

Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's 
Your grace'jS title shall be multiplied. [advice, 

Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet 
conferr'd 
AVith jNIargery .Tourdain, the cunning witch. 
With Roger Bolingliroke, the conjurer? 
And will tlicy uncU'rtake to do me good ? [liighness 

Hiiiiir. This they have promised, to shoW your 
A siiirit raised from dcjith of under-ground. 
That shall make answer to such (jnestions 
As by your grace shall lie ]iropiumiled him. 

Dilch. It is enough ; I '11 tliink upon the questions : 



ACT I. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene hi. 



When from Saint Alban's we do make return, 
We '11 see these things effected to the full. 
Here, Hume, take this reward ; make merry, man. 
With thy confederates in this weighty cause. [Exit. 
Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' 
gold; 
Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume ! 
Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: 
The business asketh silent secrecy. 
Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch : 
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
Yet have I gold flies from another coast ; 
I dare not say, from the rich cardinal 
And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, 
Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain, 
Tliey, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour. 
Have hired me to undfrniine the duchess 
And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
They say ' A crafty kna\e does need no broker; ' 
Yet am I Suffolk and the i-aidiiiars broker. 
Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 
Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last 
Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck. 
Anil her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: 
Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — The palace. 

Enter three or four Petitioners, Peter, the Armourer''s 
man, being one. 

First Petit. My masters, let 's stand close : my 
lord protector will come this way by and by, and 
then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. 

Sec. Petit. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he 's 
a good man ! Jesu bless him ! 

Enter Suffolk and Queen. 

Peter. Here a' comes, niethinks, and the queen 
with him. I '11 be the first, sure. 

Sec. Petit. Come back, fool ; this is the Duke of 
Suffolk, and not my lord protector. [meV 

Snf. How now, fellow! wouldst any thing with 

First Petit. I pray, my lord, pardon" me; I took 
ye for my lord protector. 

Queen. [Reading] ' To my Lord Protector ! ' Are 
your supplications to his " lordship V Let me see 
them : what is thine V 

■ First Petit. Mine is, an't please your grace, against 
John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping 
my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. 

Suf. Thy wife too! that's some wrong, indeed. 
What 's yours ? What 's here ! [i?far?.s] ' Against 
the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of 
Melford.' How now, sir knave ! 

iS'cc. Petit. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of 
our whole township. 

Peter. [Oiring his petition] Against my master, 
Thomas Horner, for saying tliat the Duke of York 
was rightful heir to the crown. 

Queen. What say'st thou ? did the Duke of York 
say he was rightful lieir to the crown V 

Peter. That my master was? no, forsooth: my 
master said that he was, and that the king was an 
usurjier. 

Suf. Who is there? [Enter ServarU.] Take this 
fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant 
presently : we '11 hear more of your matter before 
the king. [Exit Serront with Peter. 

Quten. And as for you, that love to be protected 
LTntler the wings of our protector's grace. 
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 

. [ Tears the sxippJications. 
Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. 

All. Come, let 's be gone. [Exeunt. 

Queen. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise. 
Is this the fashion in the court of England? 



Is this the government of Britain's isle. 

And this tlie myatty of Albion's king? 

What, shall King Henry be a pupil still 

Under the surly Gloucester's governance ? 

Am I a queen in title and in style. 

And must be made a subject to a duke ? 

I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours 

Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love 

And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, 

I thought King Henry had resembled thee 

In courage, courtship and proiiortion: 

But all his mind is bent to hiiliness. 

To number Ave-Maries on his beads; 

His champions are the iimiihets and apostles, 

His weapons holy saws of sacred writ. 

His study is his till-yard, and his loves 

x\re brazen images of canoni/.cd saints. 

I would the college of the cardinals 

Would choose him pope and carry him to Rome, 

And set the triple crown upon his head : 

That were a state fit for his holiness. 

Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause 
Your highness came to England, so will I 
In England work your grace's full content. 

Qiuen. Beside the haughty protector, have we 
Beaufort 
The imperious churchman, Somerset. Buckingham, 
And grumbling York ; and not the least of these 
But can do more in England than the king. 

Suf. And he of these that can do most of all 
Cannot do more in England llian the ;Xevils: . 
Salisbury and AVarwick are no sinqile peers. 

Queen. Kot all these lords do vex me half so much 
As that jiroud dame, tlie lord protector's wife. 
Shesweei>sit through the court with troops of ladies. 
More like an empress than Duke liumiihrey's wife : 
Strangers in court do take her for the queen: 
She bears a duke's revenues on her back. 
And in her heart she scorns our poverty: 
Shall I not live to be avenged on her? 
C(uitemiitui>us base-born callet as she is. 
She vaunteil "raongst her minions t'other day. 
The \ery train of her worst wearing gown 
Was better worth than all my father's lands. 
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 

Suf. Miuhan, myself have limed a bush for her, 
And' placed a quire of such enticing birds. 
That she will light to listen to the lays. 
And never mount to trouble you again. 
So, let her rest : and, madam, list to me; 
For I am bold to counsel you in tins. 
Although we fancy not the cardinal. 
Yet must we join with him and with the lords. 
Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
As for the Duke of York, this late complaint 
Will make but little for his benefit. 
So, one by one, we "11 weed them all at last. 
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 

Sound a sennet. Enter the King-, Duke Humphrey of 
Gloucester, Cardinal Beaufort, Buckingham, York, 
Somerset, Salisbury, Warwick, and the Duchess of 
Gloucester. 

King. For my part, noble lords, I care not which ; 
Or Somerset or York, all 's one to me. 

York. If Y'ork have ill demeau'd himself iu 
France, 
Then let him be denay'd the regentship. 

So))!. If Somerset be unworthy of the place. 
Let York be regent ; I will yield to him. 

War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no. 
Dispute not that : York is tlie wortliier. 

Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters s]ieak. 

War. The cardinal 's not my better in the field. 

Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, War- 
wick. 

War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 
413 



ACT I. 



SECOND PART OF KIXG HEXRY VI. scexe iv. 



Sal. Peace, soil! and si imv some reason, Bucking- 
Why Somerset should be preferred in this. [ham, 

Queen. Because the king, liirsooth,will have it so. 

Olou. Madam, the king is old enougli himself 
To give his censure : these are no women's matters. 

Qiiccn. If he be old enough, what needs your grace 
To be protector of his excellence ? 

Qlou. ^ladaiii, I am protector of the realm; 
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 

Sitf. liesigii it then and leave thine insolence. 
Since thou wert king — as who is king but thou? — 
The comiiionwealth liath daily run to wreck; 
The Dauphin hath pi'cvail'd bej'ond the .seas; 
And all the iiceis and nobles of the realm 
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 

Car. The commons hast thou rack'd ; the clergy's 
Are lank and lean with thy ixlortions. [bags 

Som. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's 
Have cost a mass of pulilic treasury. [attire 

Buck. Thy cruelty in execution 
Upon offenders hath exceeded law 
And left thee to the mercy of the law. 

Queen. Thy sale of offices and towns in France, 
If they were known, as the suspect is great, 
"Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. 

[Exit Gloucester. The Queen dropx her fan. 
Give me my fan : what, minion ! can ye not 'i 

[She (jiees the Duchess a box on the ear. 
I cry you mercy, madam ; was it you ? 

JJuch. Was 't 1 1 yea, I it was, proud French- 
woman : 
Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
I 'Id set my ten commandments in your face. 

Kinq. Sweet aunt, be quiet ; 't was against her will. 

Buck. Against her will ! good king, look to 't in 
time; 
She '11 hamper tliee, and dandle thee like a baby: 
Though in this place most master wear no breeches, 
She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged. 

[Exit. 

Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: 
She 's tickled now ; her fume needs no spurs. 
She '11 gallop far enough to her destruction. [Exit. 

Re-enter Gloucester. 

Glou. Now, lords, my clioler being over-blown 
With walking once about the quadrangle, 
I come to talk of conimonwcalth affairs. 
As for your spiteful false objections. 
Prove them, and I lie open to the law: 
But God in mercy so deal with my soul. 
As I in duty love my king and country! 
But, to the matter that we have in hand : 
I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
To be your regent in the realm of France. 

Suf. Before we make election, give me leave 
To show some reason, of no little force. 
That York is most uiunect of any man. 

York. I '11 tell thee, Snffolk, wiiy I am unmeet: 
First, for I cannot Hatter thee in pride; 
Next, if I be appointed for the place. 
My Lord of Sonjerset will keep me here, 
Without discharge, money, or furniture. 
Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: 
Last time, I danced attenilance on his will 
Till Paris was besieged, famisfi'd, and lost. 

War. That can I witness; and a fouler fact 
Did never traitor in the land commit. 

iS')(/. Peace, headstrong Warwick! 

^Yar. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? 

Enter Horner, the' Armourer, and his man Peter, 

guarded. 

Suf. Because here is a man accused of treason : 

Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! 

York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor ? 

414 



King. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ; tell me, what 
are these ? 

Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
That doth accuse his master of high treason: 
His words were these: that Richard Duke of York 
Was rightful heir unto the English crown 
And that your majesty was aniisurper. 

King. Say, man, were these thy words? 

Hor. An 't shall ijlease your majesty, I never said 
nor thought any such nuitter: God is'my witness, I 
am falsely accused by the villain. 

Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak 
them to me in the garret one iiiglit, as we were 
scouring my Lord of York's armour. 

York. Base dunghill villain and mechanical, 
I '11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. 
I do beseech j'our royal majesty. 
Let him have all the rigour of the law. 

Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
words. My accuser is my 'lu'entice; and when I 
did correct him for his fault the other day, he did 
vow upon his knees he would be even wi(h me : I 
have good witness of this; therefore I beseech your 
majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a vil- 
lain's accusation. 

King. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law'? 

Glou. This doom, my lord, if I may judge: 
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
Because in York this breeds suspicion: 
And let these have a day appointed them 
For single combat in coin cnient place. 
For he hath witness of Ids servant's malice: 
This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. 

Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 

Hor. And I accejit the combat willingly. 

Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight ; for God's sake, 
pity my case. The spite of man prevailetli against 
me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never 
be able to tight a blow. O Lord, my heart ! 

Glou. Sirrah, or you must light , or else be hang'd. 

King. Away Mith them to iirison; and the day 
of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, 
Somerset, we '11 see thee sent away. 

[Moiirish. Exeunt. 

SCENE I'V. — Gloucester''s garden. 

Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, SouthTsrell, 
and Bolingbroke. 

Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell 
you, expects performance of your promises. 

Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore provided: 
will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? 

Hume. Ay, what else? fear you not her courage. 

Boling. I have heard her rejiorted to be a woman 
of an invincible sjiirit : but it shall lie convenient. 
Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we 
be busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's 
name, "and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jour- 
ilain,be you prostrate and grovel on the earth ; John 
Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. 

Enter Duchess aloft, Hume following. 
Buch. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. 
To this gear the sooner the better. [times : 

Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know their 
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night. 
The time of night when Troy was set on fire; 
The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl 
And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, 
That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise, 
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 

[Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and 
make the circle; Bolingbroke or Southwell 
reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and 
lightens terribly ; then the Spirit riseth. 



ACT II. 



SECOXD PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene i. 



Sijir. Adsuni. 

31. Jourd. Asmath, 
By the eternal Go J, whose name and power 
Thou treniblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
For, till tlioii speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. 

Stiir. Ask what thou wilt. Tliat I had said and 
done ! 

Boliiuj. ' First of the king: what sli all of him be- 
come V ' [Beading out of a paper. 

Spir. The duke yet lives tliat Henry shall depose ; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death. 

[-1.S the S/iirit sjieaks, Southwell writes the ansicer. 

BoUny. ' What fates await the Duke of Suffolk ? ' 

Spir. By water sliall he die, and take his end. 

Boling. 'What sliatrDefall the Duke of Somerset i" 

Spir. Let him shim castles; 
Safer shall lie be upon the sandy i>Uiins 
Tlian where castles mounted stand. 
Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 

Boling. Descend to darkness and the burning lake ! 
False fiend, avoid ! 

[Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit. 

Enter the Duke of York arid the Duke of Buck- 
ingham witli their Guard and break in. 
York. Lay hands upon tliese traitors and their 
Beldam, I think we watch 'd you at an inch, [trash. 
What, madam, are you there V the king and com- 
monweal 
Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: 
My lord protector will, I doubt it iwit, 
See you well fjuenlon'd for these good deserts. 

Duch. Not half s(i bad as thine to England's king, 
Injurious duke, that threatest where 's no cause. 
Buek. True, madam, none at all : what call you 
this? 
Away with them ! let them be clapp'd up close, 



And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. 
Stafford, take her to thee. 

[Exeunt above Duchess and Hume, guarded. 
We '11 see your trinkets here all forthcoming. 
xVll, away I 

[Exeunt guard icith Jourdain. Southu-ell, dc. 

York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd 
her well : 
A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! 
Xow, pray, my lord, let 's see the devil's writ. 
\Vhat have we here ? [lieads. 

' Tlie duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ; 
But him outlive, and die a violent deatli.' 
Wliy, this is just 

' Aio te, iEacida, Komanos vincere posse.' 
Well, to the rest: 

' Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk ? ' 
By water shall lie die, and take his end. 
What shall betide the Duke of Somerset i* 
' Let liini shun castles; 
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains 
Than where castles mounted stand.' 
Come, come, my lords; 
These oracles are hardly attain'd, 
And hardly understood. , 

The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's, 
With him the husband of this lovely lady: 
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry 
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. [them : 

Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of 
To be the post, in liope of his reward. [York, 

Yo7-k. At your pleasure, my good lord. Who "s 
within there, ho ! 

Enter a Servingman. 
Invite my Lords of Salislmiy and Warwick 
Tosup with me to-morrow night. Away! [Exeunt. 



J^CT II. 



SCENE 1.— Saint AJhan's. 



Enter the King, Queen, Gloucester, Cardinal, 
and Suffolk, loith Falconers halloing. 

Queen. Believe me, lords, for tlying at the brook, 
I saw not better sport these seven years' day : 
Yet, by your leave, the wiml was very high; 
And, ten to one, old .Joan had not gone out. 

King. But what a point , my lord, your falcon made, 
And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! 
To see how God in all his creatures works! 
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. 

Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, 
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well ; 
They know their master loves to be aloft 
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 

Glou-. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 

Car. I thought as much ; he would be above the 
clouds. [that y 

Glou. Ay, my lord cardinal ? how think you by 
Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven ';' 

King. Thetreasury of everlasting joy. [thoughts 
. Car. Thy heaven is on earth : thine eyes and 
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart ; 
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer. 
That smooth 'st it so with king and commonweal ! 

Glou. Wliat, cardinal, is j'our priesthood grown 
Tanta'ne animis coelestibus irae V [peremptory ? 

Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide such malice ; 
With such holiness can you do it V 

Suf. No malice, su' ; no more than well becomes 
So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. 

Glou. As who, my lord 'r' 



Suf. Why, as j'ou, my lord, 

An 't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 

Glou. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine inso- 

(Jueen. And thy ambition, Gloucester. [lence. 

King. I prithee, peace, good queen. 
And whet not on these furious peers ; 
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 

Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, 
Against this proud protector, with my sword! 

Glou. [Aside to Car.] Faith, holy uncle, would 
't were come to that ! 

Car. [Aside to Glou.] ISIarry, when thou darest. 

Glou. [Aside to Car.] Make up no factious num- 
bers for the matter; 
In thine own person answer thy abuse. 

Car. [A.fide to Glou.] Ay, where thou darest not 
peep: an if thou darest. 
This evening, on the east side of the grove. 

King. How now, my lords ! 

Car. Believe me, cousin Gloucester, 

Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly. 
We had had more sport. [Aside to Glou.] Come with 
thy two-hand sword. 

Glou. True, uncle. 

Car. [Aside to Glou.] Are ye advised? the east 
side of the grove '? 

Glou. [Aside, to Car.] Cardinal, I am with you. 

King. Why, how now, imcle Gloucester! 

Ghnt. Talking of hiawking : nothing else, my lord. 
[Aside to Car.] Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll 

shave your crown for this, 
Or all my fence shall fail. 

Car. [Aside tn Glou.] Mediae, teipsum — 
Protector, see to 't well, protect yourself. 
415 



ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene i. 



King. The winds grow liigh ; so do your stomachs, 
Howirksome is this music to my heart! [lords. 
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony V 
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 

Miter a Townsman of Saint AIbc<n''s, crying 'A 
miracle 1 ' 

Glou. What means this noise ? 
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? 

Toimis. A miracle! a miracle! 

Suf. Come to the king and tell him what miracle. 

Towns. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's 
shrine, 
Witliin this half-hour, hath received his sight; 
A man that ne'er saw in his life liefore. 

King. Now, (ioil be praised, tliat to believing souls 
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 

Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bear- 
ing Simpcox, between two in a chair, Simpcox's Wife 
foUowing. 

Car. Here comes the townsmen on procession, 
To present your highness with the man. 

King. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale. 
Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 
• Glou. Stand by, my masters : bring 1dm near the 
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. [king; 

King. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, 
That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
What, hast thou been long blind and now restored ? 

Simp. Born blind, an 't please your grace. 

Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. 

Siif. What woman is this V 

Wife. His wife, an 't like your worship. 

Glou. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst 
have better told. 

King. Where wert thou born 'f [grace. 

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an 't like your 

King. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great 
to thee : 
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
But still remember what tlie Lord liatli done. 

Queen. Tell me, good fellow, earnest thou here by 
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? [chance. 

Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being call'd 
A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, 
By good Saint Alban; who said, ' .Simpcox, come. 
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will iiel|i tliee.' 

Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and oft 
Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 

Car. What, art thou lame '? 

Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 

Suf. How camest thou so '? 

Simp. A fall off of a tree. 

Wife. A plum-tree, master. 

Glou. How long hast thou been blind ? 

Simp. 0, born so, master. 

Glou. What, and wouldst climb a tree ? 

Sini2). But that in all my life, wlien I was a youth. 

Wife. Too true; and liouulit liiselinibing very dear. 

Glou. Mass, thou lovedst plums wells, that wouldst 
venture so. [thimsons. 

Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desired some 
And made me climb, with danger of my life. 

Glou. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not serve. 
Let me see thine eyes : wink now : now open them : 
In my opinion yet thou see'st not well. 

Simp. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and 
Saint Alban. [cloak of? 

Glou. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this 

Simp. Red, master; red as blood. [gowai of? 

Ghu. Why, that 's well said. What colour is my 

Simp. Black, forsooth : coal-black as jet. [is ofV 

King. Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet 

Sif. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 

Glou. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a 
many. 

41G 



Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 

Glou. Tell me, sirrah, what 's my name y 

Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 

Glou. What 's his name ? 

Simp. I know not. 

Glou. Nor his V 

Simp. No, indeed, master. 

Glou. Wluit 's tlnne own name? [ter. 

Simp. Sauuder Simpcox, an if it please you, mas- 

Glou. Then, Sauuder, sit there, the lying'est knave 
in ChrLstendom. If thou hadst been born blind, 
thou mightst as well have known all our names as 
thus to name the several colours we do wear. Siglit 
may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nomi- 
nate them all, it is impossible. My lords. Saint 
Alban here hath done a miracle ; and would ye not 
think his cunning to be great, that could restore 
this cripple to his legs again ? 

Siniii. O master, that you could! 

Glou. My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not 
beadles in your town, and things called whips ? 

May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 

Glou. Then send for one presently. ^ 

May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. 
[Exit an Attendant. 

Glou. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. 
Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from 
whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. 

Simjj. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone : 
You go about to torture me in vain. 

Enter a Beadle with whips. 

Glou. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. 
Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same 
stool. 

Bead. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with 
your doublet quickly. 

Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do ? I am not 
able to stand. 

[After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps 
over the stool and runs away; and they follow 
and cry, ' A miracle ! ' 

King. O Godj seest Thou this, and bearest so long ? 

Queen. It made me laugh to see the villain run. 

Glou. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away. 

Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 

Glou. Let them be whipped through every mar- 
ket-town, tUl they come to Berwick, from whence 
they came. [Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, &c. 

Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. 

/SW. True ; made the lame to leap and fly away. 

Glou. But you have done more nnracles than I; 
You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to lly. 

Enter Buckingham. 

King. What tidings with our cousin Bucking- 
ham ? 

Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to imfold. 
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, 
Under the countenanee and confederacy 
Of Lady Eleanor, tlie i>rotector's wife. 
The ringleader and head of all this rout. 
Have practised dangerously against your state, 
Dealing with witches and with conjurers: 
Whom we have aiipreheudeil in the fact; 
Raising up wicked spirits from under sroinid. 
Demanding of Kins Henry's life and death. 
And other of your liigliness' privy-council ; 
As more at large your grace shall understand. 

Car. [Aside to Glou.] And so, my lord protector, 
by this means 
Your lady is fortlicimiing yet at London. 
This news, I think,hathturn'd your weapon's edge; 
'T is like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 

Glou. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my 
heart : 
Sorrow and grief have vanquish 'd all my powers; 



ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene hi. 



And, vanquish 'd .as I am, I yield to tliee, 

Or to tlie meanest groom. [ones, 

King. O God, wliat miscliiefs worlv the wiclied 
Heaping confusion on tlieir own heads thereby! 

Queen. Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy 
nest. 
And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 

Ghu. iladam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, 
How I have loved my king and commonweal: 
And, for my wife, I know not how it stands ; 
Sorry I am to hear what I liave heard : 
Noble she is, but if she have forgot 
Honour and virtue and conversed with such 
As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
I banisli lier my bed and company 
And give her as a prey to law and sliame, 
Tliat hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name. 

King. Well, for tliis niglit we will repose us here : 
To-morrow toward London back ajiain. 
To look into this business thoroufilily 
And call these foul offenders to tlieir answers 
And poise the cause in justice' equal scales. 
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre- 
vails. [Fiouriah. Exeunt. 

SCENE U.— London. The Duke of York''s garden. 
Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick. 

York. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and 
AVarwick, 
Our simjile supper ended, give me leave 
In this close walk to satisfy myself. 
In craving your opinion of my title. 
Which is infallible, to England's crown. 

Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. 

War. Sweet York, begin: and if tliy claim be 
The Nevils are tliy subjects to command. [good, 

York. Then th lis: 
Edward the Third, my lords, liad seven sons: 
The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of 

Wales; 
The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, 
Lionel Duke of Clarence; next to wliom 
Was .John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; 
The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; 
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of 

Gloucester ; 
William of Windsor was the seventh and last. 
Edward the Black Prince died before his fatlier 
And left beliind him Richard, his only son, [Ifing; 
Who after Edward the Tliird's deatli reign'd as 
Till Ilein y Boliiigbroke, Duke of Lancaster, 
The eldest son and lieir of .John of Gaunt, 
Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king. 
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she 

came, 
And him t» Pomfret; where, as all yon know, 
Harmless Kicliard was niunlfr'd traitorously. 

War. Fatlier, tlie duke liatli told tlie trutii ; 
Tims got tlie house of Lancaster the crown. 

York. Which now they hold by force and not by 
right; 
For Ricliard,The first son's lieir, being dead. 
The issue of the next sou should have reign'd. 

Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. 

York. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from 
whose line 
I c]ai» the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter, 
■\Vho marricil Edmund aMdrtiiner. Kar] of March: 
Edmund had issue, I!n,i;cr I'.url of March; 
Roger had issue, Ivlnnnid, Anne and Eleanor. 

Sal. This Edmund, in tlie reign of Bolingbroke, 
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown : 
And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
Who kept him in captivity till he died. 
But to the rest. 
27 



York. His eldest sister, Anne, 

My mother, being heir unto the crown. 
Married liichard Earl of Cambridge ; who was son 
To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fiftli son. 
By lier I claim the kingdom: she was heir 
To lioger Earl of ]\Iarch, who was the son 
Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, 
Sole daugjiter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence: 
So, if the issue of tlie elder son 
Succeed before the younger, I am king. [this? 

War. Wliat plain proceeding is more plain than 
Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, 
The fourtli son ; York claims it from the third. 
Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee 
And in thy sons, fair sliiis of such a stock. 
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; 
And in this private plot be we the first 
That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
With lionour of his birthright to the crown. 

Loth. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's 
king! [king 

York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your 
Till I be crown'd and that my sword be staiu'd 
With heart -blood of the house of Lancaster; 
And that 's not suddenly to be perform 'd, 
But with advice and silent secrecy. 
Do you as I do in these dangerous days : 
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence. 
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, 
At Buckingham and all the crew of them, 
Till they have snared the shepherd of the fiock. 
That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey: 
'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking tliat 
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 

Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind 
at full. [wick 

War. My heart assures me that the Earl of War- 
Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. 

York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself: 
Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick 
The greatest man in England but the king. 

lE.teunt. 
SCENE III. — ^ hall of justice. 

Sound fnimprts. Enter thr King, tlir Queen, Glouces- 
ter, York, Suffolk, oni! S»i:lisbury; Hw Duchess of 
Gloucester. Margery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, 
and Bolingbroke, under (juard. 

King. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Coijham, Glou- 
cester's wife: 
In si,ght of God and us, your guilt is great: 
Receive the sentence of the \aw for sins 
Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. 
You four, from hence to ]ir;S'jri back again; 
From thence unto the place of execution : 
The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, 
And you three sliall be strangled on the gallow'S. 
You, madam, for you are more noltly born, 
Despoiled of your honour in your life, 
.Shall, after three days' open penance done, 
Live in your country here in banishment, 
With Sir .Tohn Stanley, in the Isle of Man. 
Dudi. Welcome is banishment ; welcome were my 
death. [thee: 

Glou. Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged 
I cannot justify whom the law condemns. 

[Exeunt Duchess and other prisoners, e/narded. 
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age 
Will bring thy heail with sorrow to the ground! 
I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ; 
Sorrow would solace and mine age wouUl ease. 
King. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere 
thou go. 
Give up tliy staff: Henry will to himself 
Protector be; and God shall be my hope, 
417 



ACT II. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VL scene iv. i 



My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet : 
And go in peace. Ilumplirey, no less beloved 
Than" when tliou wert protector to thy king. 

Queen. I see no reason why a king of years 
Should be to be protected like a child. 
God and King Henry govern England's realm. 
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 

Glou. My staff y here, nolik- Henry, is my staff: 
As willingly do I the same resign 
As e'er thy fatlier Ilciiry made it mine; 
And even as willingly at tliy feet I leave it 
As others would ambitiously receive it. 
Farewell, good king : when I am dead and gone, 
May honourable peace attend thy tlirone ! [Exit. 

Queen. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret 
queen ; 
And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself. 
That bears so shrewd a maim ; two pulls at once; 
His lady banish 'd, and a limb lo)ip'd off. 
This staff of honour raught, tlierf let it stand 
Where it best fits to be, iu Henry's hand, [sprays ; 

Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his 
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 

York. Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty, 
This is the day appointed for the comliat ; 
And ready are the appellant and (lefcndant. 
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, 
So please your highness to behold the fight. 

Queen. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore 
Lett I the court, to see this quarrel tried. [fit : 

King. O' God's name, see the lists and all things 
Here let them end it ; and God defend the right ! 

Yorlc. I never saw a fellow worse bested. 
Or more afraid to fight, than is tlie appellant, 
The servant of this armourer, my lords. 

Enter at one door, Homer, the Armourer, and his Neigh- 
bours, drinking to him so much that heis drunk; and he 
enters icith a drum before him and his staff loith a sand-bag 
fastened to it ; and. at the other door Peter, his man, with 
a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him. 

First Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to 
you in a cup of sack : and fear not, neighbour, you 
shall do well enough. [charneco. 

Sec. Neigji. And here, neighbour, here 's a cup of 

Third Neigh. And here 's a pot of good double 
beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. 

Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I '11 pledge you all ; 
and a fig for Peter ! [not afraid. 

First Tren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee : and be 

Sec. Tren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy 
master: flght for credit of the 'prentices. 

Peter. I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I 
pray you ; for I think I have taken my last draught 
in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee 
my api"on: and. Will, thou shalt have my hammer : 
and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O 
Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able 
to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much 
fence already. 

Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. 
Sirrah, what 's thy name ? 

Peter. Peter, forsooth. 

Sal. Peter ! what more ? 

Peter. Tluunp. [well. 

Sal. Thump! then see thou thump thy master 

Hot. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon 
my man's instigation, to jn'ove him a knave and 
myself an honest man: and touching the Duke of 
York,! will take my death. 1 never meant liim any 
ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and tlierelore, I'eter, 
have at thee with a downriglit blow ! [double. 

York. Dispatch : this knave's tongue begins to 
Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! 
\_Alarum. Theg fight, and Peter strikes him doum. 

Hor. Hold, Peter, liold! I confess, I confess 
treason. [Dies. 

418 



York. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank 
God, and the good wine in thy master's way. 

Peter. O God, have I overcome mine enemy in 
this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right! 

King. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; 
For l)y his death we do perceive his guilt: 
And God in justice hath reveal'd to us 
The truth and innocence of tliis poor fellow, 
Which he had thought to have nuirder'd wrongfully. 
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. 

[Sound a flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A street. 

Enter Gloucester and his Servingmen, in mourn- 
ing cloaks. 

Glou. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a 
And after summer evermore succeeds [cloud ; 

Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
So cares and joys abound, as seasons Meet. 
Sirs, what 's o'clock ? 

Serv. Ten, my lord. 

Glou. Ten is the hour that was appointed me 
To watch the coming of my punish "d duchess: 
Uneath may slie endiu'e the Hinty streets. 
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
The abject people gazing on thy face, 
AVith envious looks, laughing at thy shame. 
That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels 
When thou didst ride in t riunijih through the streets. 
But, soft! I think she comes: and I '11 prepare 
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 

Enter the Duchess of Gloucester in a white sheet, and a 
taper hurninq in her hand; with Sir John Stanley, the 
Sheriff, oHrf'OfHcers. 

Serv. So please your grace, we '11 take her from 
the sheriff. 

Glou. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her pass by. 

Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame ':' 
Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze ! 
See how the giddy multitude do point, 
And nod their heails, and tlirow their eyes on thee ! 
Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, 
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame. 
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! 

Glou. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. 

Pwh. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! 
For whilst I think I am thy married wife 
And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
Metliinks I should not tluis be led along, 
Mail'd ui) in shame, witli papers on my back, 
And loilow'd ^\ith a rabble that rejoice 
To S( t my tears and liear my deep-fet groans. 
The ruthless ilint doth cut my tender feet. 
And when I start, the envious people laugh 
And bid me be advised how I tread. 
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke ? 
Trow'st thou that e'er I '11 look upon the world, 
Or count them happy tlial enjoy the sun';' 
No; dark shall be my light and' night my day; 
To think upon my pomp sliall be my hell. 
Sometime I '11 say, I am Duke Humi)hrey's wife, 
And lie a prince and ruler of the land: 
Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was 
As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 
Was made a wonder and a puinting-stock 
To every idle rascal follower. 
But be thou mild and blush not at my shame. 
Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death 
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shorllv will; 
For Suffolk, he that can do all in all 
With her that liateth thee and hates us all. 
And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, 
Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings. 
And, fly thou how thou canst, they '11 tangle thee: 



ACT III. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene i. 



But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, 
JsoT never seek prevention "of thy foes. 

Ghu. Ah, Xell, forbear! thou aimest all a'OTy; 
I must ofEen<I before I be attainted; 
And liud I twenty times so many foes. 
And eacli of tliem had twenty times their power, 
All these could not procure me any scathe, 
So Ions as I am loyal, true and crimeless. 
"VS'ouIdst have me rescue thee from this reproach ? 
"VV'iiy. yet tliy scandal were not wiped away, 
Hut I in danger for the breacli of law. 
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Kell: 
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; 
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 

Enter a Herald. 
Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's parlia- 
ment, 
Ilolden at Bury the first of this next month. 

Glou. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! 
This is close dealing. WeU, I will be there. 

[Exit Herald. 
My Nell, I take my leave : and, master sheriff. 
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 
Slier. An't please your grace, here my commission 
And Sir John Stanley is appointed now [stays, 
To take her with him to the Isle of Man. 

Glou. Must you. Sir .John, protect my lady here V 
Stan. So am I given in charge, may 't please your 

grace. 
Glou. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray 



You use her well : the world may laugh again ; 

And I may live to do you kindness if 

You do it Iier: and so. Sir Jolni, farewell ! [well ! 

Buck. What, gone, my lord, and l)id me not fare- 

Glou. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 
[Exeunt Gloucester and Servinymen. 

Diich. Art thou gone tooV all comfort go with thee! 
For none abides with me : my joy is death ; 
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, 
Because I wisli'd this world's eternity. 
Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence ; 
I care not whither, for I beg no favour, 
Only convey me where thou art commanded. 

Stan. Wliy, madam, that is to the Isle of Man ; 
There to be used according to your state. 

Durh. That "s bad enouirh. for I am tiut reproach: 
And shall I then be used reproai'hfnlly V 

Stan. Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's 
lady ; 
According to that state you shall be used. 

Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, 
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. 

Sher. It is my offtce; and, madam, pardon me. 

Duch. Ay, ay, farewell; tliy office is discharged. 
Come, Stanley, shall we go? 

Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this 
And go we to attire you for our journey. [sheet, 

Duch. My sliame will not be shifted with my sheet: 
No, it will hang upon my richest rolies 
And show itself, attire me how I can. 
Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison. [Exeunt. 



-A.CT III. 



SCENE I. — The Ahley at Bury St. Edmund's. 

Sound a sennet. Enter the King, the Queen, Cardinal 
Beaufort, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, Salisbury 
and Warwick, to the Parliament. 

King. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come : 
'Tis not his wont "to be the hindmost man, 
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 

Queen. Can you not see V or will ye not observe 
Tlie strangeness of liis alter'd countenance? 
Witli wluit a majesty he bears himself, 
How insolent of late he is become, 
How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? 
We know the time since he was mild and affable. 
And if we did but glance a far-off look, 
Hnmediately he was upon his knee. 
That all the court admired him for submission: 
But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, 
^Vhen every one will give the time of day, 
He knits liis brow and shows an angry eye 
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 
Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
/ Small curs are not regarded when they grin; 
But great men tremble when the lion roars; 
And ilumiilirey is no little man in England. 
First note that he is near you in descent. 
And should you fall, he as the next will mount. 
Me seemeth then it is no policy, 
Kesjjecting what a rancorous mind he bears 
And his advantage following your decease. 
That he should come about your royal person 
Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
By tiattery hath he won the commons' hearts, 
And when lie please to make commotion, 
'T is to be fear'd they all will follow him. 
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; 
Suffer them now, and they 'U o'ergrow the garden 
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
The reverent care I bear unto my lord 
Made me collect these dangers in the duke. 



If it be fond, call it a woman's fear ; 
Which fear if better reasons can supplant, 
I will subscribe and say I wrong"d the duke. 
]\Iy Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, 
Reprove my allegation, if you can; 
Or else conclude my words effectual. 

Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke ; 
And, had I first been put to speak my mind, 
I think I should have told your grace's tale. 
The duchess by his subornation. 
Upon my life, began her devilish practices: 
Or, if he were not privy to those faults, 
Yet, by reputing of his high descent. 
As next the king he was successive lieir, 
And such high vaunts of his nobility. 
Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess 
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
-Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; — 
And in his simple show he harbours treason. 
The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. 
No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man 
Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. 

Oar. Did "he not, contrary to form of law. 
Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? 

York. And did he not, in his protectorship. 
Levy great sums of money through the realm 
Forsoldiers' pay in France, and never sent it ? 
By means whereof the towns each day rexdlled. 

7>)(('A-. Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown. 
Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke 
Humphrey. 

King. My lords, at once: the care you have of 
us. 
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot. 
Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience, 
Our kins"man Gloucester is as innocent 
From meaning treason to our royal person 
As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove : 
The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given 
1 To dream on evil or to work my downfall. 
41 1* 



ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene i. 



Queen. Ah, what 's more dangerous than this 
fond affiance ! 
Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but borrow'd, 
For lie 's disposed as the liatfful raven : 
Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him, 
For he 's inclined as is tlie ravenous wolf. 
Who cannot steal a shape tliat means deceit? 
Take heed, my hml ; the welfare of us all 
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 

-Enter Somerset. 
Sum. All health unto my gracious sovereign ! 
King. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news 

from France ? 
Som. That all your interest in those territories 
Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
Kinrj. Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will 
be done ! [of France 

York. [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope 
As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud 
And caterpillars eat my leaves away; 
But I will remedy this gear ere long, 
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. 

Enter Gloucester. 

Glou. All happiness imto my lord the king! 
Pardon, my liege, tliat I have'stay'd so long, [soon, 

Suf. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too 
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: 
I do arrest thee of liigh treason here. 

Olou. Well, SulTiill<, thou shalt not see me blush 
Nor change my countenance for this arrest : 
A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
The purest spring is not so free from mud 
As I am clear from treason to my sovereign : 
Who can accuse me ? wherein am I guilty V 

York. 'T is thought, my lord, that you took 
bribes of France, 
And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay; 
By means whereof his highness hath lost France. 

Olou. Is it but thought so y What are they that 
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, [think it V 
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
So help me God, as I have wateh'd the night, 
Ay, night by night, in studying good for England, 
That doit that e'er I wrested from the king. 
Or any groat I hoarded to my use. 
Be brought against nie at my trial-day! 
No; many a pound of mine own proper store, 
Because I would not tax the needy commons. 
Have I dispursed to the garrisons. 
And never ask'd for restitution. 

Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. 

Olou. I say no more than truth, so lielp me God! 

York. In your prolectiirshi]i you did devise 
Strange tortures for olt'enders never lieard of. 
That England was del'anied by tyranny. [lector, 

Glou. Why, 't is well known "that, whiles I was pro- 
Pity was all the fault tluit was in me; 
For I should melt at an offender's tears. 
And lowly words were ransuni for their fault. 
Unless it were a blimdy niunlerer, 
Or foul felonious thief tliat ileeced poor passengers, 
I never gave tlieni condign luniishment: 
Murder indceil, that liloody sin, I tortured 
Above the fehm or what trespass else. [swered : 

Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly an- 
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, 
AVhereof you cannot easily ]iurge yourself. 
I do arrest you in his liighness' name; 
And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
To keep, until your furtiiev time of trial. 

Kitiij. My lonl of Gloucester, 't is my special hope 
That you will clear yourself from all suspect: 
My conscience tells me you are innocent. 

Olou. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous : 
420 



Virtue is choked with foul ambition 

And charity chased hence by rancom''s hand ; 

Foul suliornation is predominant 

And equity exiled your highness' laud. 

I know their coniplot is to have my life. 

And if my deatli might make this island happy 

And prove the period of their tyranny, 

I would expend it with all willingness: 

But mine is made tlie prologue to their play : 

For thousands more, that yet snsjieet no peril, 

Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 

Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, 

And Snifolk's cloudy luow liis stormy hate; 

Sharp Buckingham unl)urtliens with his tongue 

The envious load that lies upon his heart; 

And dogged York, that readies at the moon, 

Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, 

By false accuse doth level at my life: 

And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, 

Causeless have laid disgraces on my head 

And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up 

My liefest liege to be mine enemy: 

Ay, all of you have laid your heads together — 

Mysell' had notice of your conventicles — 

And all to make away my guiltless life. 

I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 

Nor store of treasons to augment mv guilt; 

The ancient proverb will lie well elfected: 

'A stall' is (luickly found to beat a, dog.' 

C((r. ]My liege, "his lailing is intolerable: 
If tliose I hat caie to keep your royal person 
From (reason's secret kniie and traitors' rage 
Be thus ni>biaideil, chid and rated at, 
And the ollender granted scojie of speech, 
'Twill make tliein cool in zeal unto your grace. 

Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here 
Witfi ignominious words, though clerkly couch 'd, 
As if siie had suborned some to"" swear 
False allegations to o'erthiow his state? 

Queen. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 

Glou. Far truer spoke than meant : I lose, indeed ; 
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false I 
And well such losers may have leave to sjieak. 

Buck. He '11 wrest the sense and hold us here 
all day : 
Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. [sure. 

Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him 

Glou. All ! thus King Henry throws away his 
Before his legs be firm to bear his body. [crutch 
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side 
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. 
Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! 
For, good King Henry, thy decay I tear. 

[Exit, guarded. 

King. My lords, what to j'our wisdoms seemeth 
best. 
Do or undo, as if ourself were here. [ment ? 

Queen. What, will your highness leave the parlia- 

King. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown 'd with 
grief". 
Whose tlood begins to flow within mine eyes. 
My liody nnind engirt with misery, 
For wliat 's more miserable than discontent ? 
Ah, uncle Iluni|ilirey ! in thy face I see 
The map of honour, truth and loyalty : 
And yet, good llniiiphrey, is the hour to come 
Tliat e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith. 
AVliat louring star now envies thy estate, 
Tliat these great lords and Margaret our queen 
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ? 
Thou never didst them wrong nor no man wrong; 
And as the butcher takes away the calf 
And hinds the wretch and lieats it when it strays, 
Bearing it to the liloody slaaghter-house, 
Even so remorseless have they borne him hence ; 
And as the dam runs lowing up and down. 
Looking the way her harmless young one went,' 



ACT III. SECOND PART OF KIXG HENRY VI. scene i. 



And can rto noucrht but wail her darling's loss, 

Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case 

With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes 

Look after him and cannot do him good, 

So mighty are liis vowed enemies. 

His fortunes I will weep and 'twixt each groan 

Say 'Who's a traitor '/ Gloucester he is ihhm-.' 

[Exeunt all hut Queen, Cdrdiwi! ]!,<infnrt, 
Stiff'nlk, and York; iSomersct rriuniim tijuirt. 

Queen. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's 
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, [hot beams. 
Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show 
Beguiles liim as the mournful crocodile 
AVith sorrow snares relenting passengers, 
Or as the snake roll'd in a (lowering bank, 
With shining checker "d slough, dotfh sting a child 
That for tlie beauty thinks it excellent. 
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I — 
And yet herein I judge mine own wit go id — 
This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world, 
To rid us from the fear we have of liini. 

Car. That he should die. is worthy policy; 
But yet we want a colour for his death : 
'T is meet he be condemn'd by course of ]aw. 

Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy: 
The king will labour still to save Ids life, 
The connnons liaply rise, to save his life ; 
And yet we have l)ut trivial argument. 
More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. 

York. So tliat. l)y tills, j'ou would not have him die. 

Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I ! 

York. 'T is York that hath more reason for his 
death. 
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk, 
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, 
"Were 't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
To guard the cliieken from a hungry kite. 
As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector V 

Queen . So the poor chicken should be sure of death. 

Suf. Madam, 't is true ; and were 't not madness, 
To ihake the fox surveyor of the fold y [then, 

AVho being accused a crafty murderer. 
His guilt should be but idly posted over, 
Because his purpose is not executed. 
No ; let him die, in that he is a fox. 
By nature proved an enemy to the flock, 
Before liis cliaps be stain'd with crimson blood. 
As Humi)hrey, proved by reasons, to my liege, 
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him: 
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety. 
Sleeping or waking, 't is no matter how, 
So he be dead ; for tliat is good deceit 
AVhich mates him Hrst that first intends deceit. 

(^ueen. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 't is resolutely spoke. 

Suft Not resolute, except so much were done; 
For tilings are often spoke and seldom meant : 
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue, 
Seeing the deed is meritorious. 
And to preserve my sovereign from his foe. 
Say but tlie word, and I will be his priest. 

Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord of 
Ere you can take due orders for a priest :" [Suffolk, 
Say you consent and censure well the deed, 
And I '11 provide his executioner, 
I tender so the safety of my liege. 

Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. 

Queen. And so say L 

York. And I : and now we three have spoke it. 
It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. 

Enter a Post. 
Pout. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain. 
To signify tliat rebels there are up 
And put the Englishmen unto the sword : 
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime. 
Before the wound do grow uncurable ; 
For, being green, there is great hope of help. 



Car. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop ! 
What counsel give you in this weighty cause? 

York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither: 
'T is meet that lucky ruler be employ'd ; 
Witness the fortune he Iiath had in France. 

Slim. If York, with all his far-fet policy. 
Had been the regent there instead of me. 
He never would have stay'd in France so long. 

York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done: 
I rather would have lost my life betimes 
Than bring a burtlien of dishonour home 
By staying there so long till all were lost. 
Show me one scar character'd on thy skin : 
Men's flesh preserved so wliole do seldom win. 

Queen. Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging 
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : [tire. 
No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still: 
Thy fortune, York, liadst thou been regent there, 
Might happily have proved far worse than his. 

Tork. What, worse than nought V nay, then, a 
shame take all ! 

Som. And, in the number, thee that wishest shame! 

Car. ily Lord of York, try what your fortune is. 
The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms 
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen: 
To Ireland will you lead a band of men. 
Collected choicely, from each county some, 
And try your hap against the Irislimen ? 

York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. 

Suf. Why, our authority is his consent. 
And what we do establish he confirms : 
Tlien, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 

York. I am content : provide me soUliers, lords. 
Whiles I take order for mine owii affairs. 

Suf. A charge. Lord York, that I will see per- 
form 'd. 
But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey. 

Car. No more of him : for I will deal with him 
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. 
And so break off; the dav is almost spent : 
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of tliat event. 

York. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days 
At Bristol'l expect my soldiers; 
For there I '11 ship them all for Ireland. 

Suf. 1 11 see it truly done, my Lord of York._^ 

[Exeunt all but York. 

York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful 
And change misdoubt to resolution : [thoughts, 
Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art 
Resign to death ; it is not worth the enjoying: 
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man, 
And And no harbour in a royal heart. [thought. 
Faster tiian spring-time showers conies thought ou 
And not a thouglit but thinks on dignity. 
My brain more busy than the labouring spider 
"Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
Well, nobles, well, 't is politicly done, 
To send me packing with an host of men : 
I fear me you but warm the starved snake, 
Who, cher'ish'd in vour breasts. will sting your hearts. 
'T was men I lack'd and yon will give them me : 
I take it kindly ; yet be well assured 
You put sharp" weapons in a madman's hands. 
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
I will stir up in England some black storm 
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell ; 
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
Until the golden circuit on my head. 
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, 
Do calm the fury of tliis mad-bred flaw. 
And, for a minister of my intent, 
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman, 
.Tohn Cade of Ashford, 
To make commotion, as full well he can. 
Under the title of John Mortimer. 
In Ireland have 1 seen this stubborn Cade 
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, 
421 



ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene ii- 



And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts 
"Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine ; 
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen 
Ilim caper njiright like u wild ^lorisco, 

Shaliiiig the M ly darts as lie his bells. 

Full often, like a sliag-hair'd cratty kern, 

Hath lie eomersi-d witli the enemy, 

And niidiscover'd ronie to me again 

And given nie notice of their villanies. 

Tliis devil lieie shall lie uiy substitute; 

For that John Alorlinier, wliich now is dead. 

In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble: 

By tliis I shall ijciceive tlie commons' mind. 

How they all'i'ct the house and claim of York. 

Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured, 

I know no pain tliey can indict upon him 

Will make him say I moved him to those arms. 

Say that he thrive, as 't is great like he will. 

Why, then from Ireland co'me I with my strength 

And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd; 

For Iluinphrey being dead, as he shall be, 

And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Bury St. Edmund''s. A room of state. 
Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 
Firat Mar. Hun to my Lord of Suffolk ; let him 
know 
We have dispatch 'd the duke, as he commanded. 

Sac. Mur. O that it were to do! What have we 
Didst ever hear a man so penitent i* [done ? 

Enter Suffolk. 
First Mur. Here comes my lord. 
Snf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch 'd this thing ? 
' First Mur. Ay, my good lord, he 's dead. 

Suf. Why, that 's well said. Go, get you to my 
house; 
I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
The king and all the peers are here at hand. 
Have y('U laitl fair the bed V Is all things well, 
According as I gave directions ? 
First 3iur. 'T is, my good lord. 
Suf, Away ! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. 

Sound trumpets. Enter the King, tlie Queen, Car- 
dinal Beaufort, Somerset, loith Attendants. 

King. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight ; 
Say we intend to try his grace to-day. 
If he be guilty, as 't is published. 

Suf. I '11 call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. 

King. Lords, take youi- places; and. Tpray you all. 
Proceed no straiter "gainst mir uncle (Jlnucester 
Than from true evidence of good esteem 
He be approviMl in prai'tice culpable. 

Queni. (iod forbid any malice sliould prevail, 
That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion ! [much. 

King. I thank thee, Meg ; these words conteiit me 

Re-enter Suffolk. 
How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest 

thou ? 
Where is our uncle ? what 's the matter, Suffolk ? 
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloucester is dead. 
Queen. Marry, God forfend ! 
Car. God's secret judgment : I did dream to-night 
The duke was dumb and could not speak a word. 

[Tlie King swnons. 
Qtieen. How fares my lord? Help, lords! the 

king is dead. 
Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the nose. 
Queen. Run, go, help, help ! O Henry, ope thine 

eyes! 
Suf. He doth revive again : madam , be patient. 
King. O heavenly God! 

Queen. How fares my gracious lord ? 

422 



Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, 

comfort ! 

King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? 
Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 
Whose dismal time bereft my vital powers; 
And thinks he tliat the chirping of a wren, 
By crying comfort from a hollow bre.ast, 
Can cliase away the first-conceived soimd ? 
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words; 
Lay not thy hands on me ; forbeiir, I say ; 
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting. 
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight I 
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding: 
Yet do not go away: come, basilisk. 
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight; 
For in the shade of death I shall find joy; 
In life but double death, now Gloucester 's dead. 

Queen. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus ? 
Although the duke was enemy to him. 
Yet he most Christian-like laments his death: 
And for myself, foe as he was to me. 
Might licpiid tears or heart -offending groans 
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
I Would be blind witli Weeping, sick with groans, 
Look iiale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, 
And all to have the noble duke alive. 
What know I how the world may deem of me? 
For it is known we were but hollow friends: 
It may be judged I made the duke away; 
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, 
And princes' courts lie till'd with my reproach. 
Tliis get I by his death : ay me, unhappy! 
To be a queen, and crown 'd with infamy ! [man I 

King. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched 

Queen. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. 
What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face? 
I am no loathsome leper: look on me. 
AV'hat ! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf ? 
Be iioisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen. 
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb? 
Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy. 
Erect: his statua and woishi)) it. 
And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea 
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank 
Drove back again unto my native clime? 
What boded this, but well forewarning wind 
Did seem to say ' Seek not a scorpion's nest, 
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ' ? 
What did I then, liut cursed the gentle gusts 
And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves; 
And bid them blow towards England's blessed 
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? i[shore. 
Yet j^Eolus would not be a murderer. 
But left that hateful office unto thee: 
The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me. 
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown 'd on 

shore. 
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness: 
The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands 
And would not dash me with their ragged sides. 
Because thy fiinty heart, more hard than they, 
Might in tliy iiahice perish Margaret. 
As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs. 
When from thy shore the tempest beat us hack, 
I stood upon the hatches in the storm, 
And when tlie dusky sky began to rob 
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 
I took a costly jewel from my neck, 
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds. 
And threw it towards thy land : the sea leceived it. 
And so I wish'd thy body might my heart : 
And even with this I lost fair England's view 
And bid mine eyes be packing witli my heart 
And caU'd theni blind and dusky spectacles, 



ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene ii. 



For losing ken of Albion's wLshe I const. 

IIovv- often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue, 

The agent of thy foul inconstancy, 

To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did 

"When he to madding Dido would unfold 

His father's acts commenced in burning Troy I 

Am I not witch'd like her y or thou not false like 

Ay nie. I can no more! die, Margaret ! [tiim ':' 

For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. 

Noise within. Enter War-wick, Salisbury, and 
many Commons. 

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, 
That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder 'd 
By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means. 
The commons, like an angry hive of bees 
That want their leader, scatter up and down 
And care not wlio they sting in his revenge. 
My.self have calm'd their spleenful mutiny. 
Until tliey hear the order of his death. [true ; 

King. Tliat he is dead, good Warwick, 't is too 
But how he died God knows, not Henry : 
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, 
And comment then upon his sudden death. 

War. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury, 
With the rude multitude tiU I return. [Exit. 

King. O Tliou that judgest all things, stay my 
thoughts. 
My tliouglits, that labour to persuade my soul 
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's lifel 
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God, 
For judgment only doth belong to thee. 
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
With twenty thousand kisses and to drain 
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears. 
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk 
And with my tuigers feel his hand unfeeling : 
But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; 
And to survey his dead and earthy image, 
"What were it but to make my sorrow greater ? 

Ec-enttr "Warwick and others, bearing Glou- 
cester's body on a bed. 

War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this 
body. 

King. That is to see how deep my grave is made ; 
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, 
For seeing him I see my life in death. 

War. As sm-ely as my soul intends to live 
AVith that dread King tliat took our state upon him 
To free us from his father's wrathful curse, 
I do believe that violent hands were laid 
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 

Siif. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue ! 
What iiLstance gives Lord Warwick for his vow 'f 

War. See how the blood is settled in his face. 
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, 
Of asjiy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless, 
Being all descended to the labouring heart ; 
Who^in the conflict that it holds with death. 
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; 
Which with t lie heart there cools and ne'er returneth 
To blush and lieautity the cheek again. 
But see, his face is black and full of blood. 
His eye-balls further out than when he lived. 
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man ; [gling ; 
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with strug- 
His liauds abroad dLsplay'd, as one that grasji'd 
And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued : 
Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking ; 
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, 
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged. 
It cannot be but he was murder'd here ; 
The least of all these signs were probable, [death '? 

Snf. Wliy, Warwick, who should do the duke to 
ilyself and Beaufort had him in protection ; 
Aiid we, I hope, sir, are no miu'derers. 



TTar. But both of you were vow'd Duke Humph- 
rey's foes. 
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : 
'T is like you would not feast him like a friend ; 
And 't is well seen he found an enemy. 

Qiijin. Then you. belike, suspect tiiese noblemen 
As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. 

Wa r. Who finds the heifer dead and 1 ileeding fresh 
Ami sees fast by a liutcher with an axe, 
]5ut will suspect 't was he that iiiaile the slaughter? 
Whi) finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, 
But may imagine how the bird was dead. 
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ? 
Even so suspicious is this tragedy. [your knife ? 

Queen. Are you the butcher, Suffolk 'r* AVhere 's 
Is Beaufort term'd a kite '? Where are his talons ? 

Hiif. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men; 
But here 's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, 
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart 
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge. 
Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwickshire, 
That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. 

[ExeiuH Cardinal, ISotnerset, and others. 

War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk 
dare him '? 

Queen. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit 
!Nor cease to be an arrogant controller. 
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. 

iror. Madam, be still : with reverence may I say ; 
For every word you speak in his belialf 
Is slander to your royal dignity. 

6'«f. Blunt-wittedlord, ignoble in demeanoiu'! 
If ever lady WTong'd her lord so much. 
Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
Some stern mitutor'd churl, and noble stock 
AVas graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou art 
AikI never of the Nevils' noble race. 

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee 
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee. 
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
I would, false miu'derous coward, on thy knee 
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed sjjeech 
And say it was thy mother tliat thou meant 'st, 
That thou thyself wast liorn in bastardy ; 
And after allthis fearful homage done. 
Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell, 
Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men ! 

Suf. Thou shall be waking while I shed thy blood, 
If from this presence thou darest go with me. 

War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence: 
Unworthy though thou art, I '11 cope with thee 
And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ^host. 
[Exeunt Suffolk and ^] aricick. 

King. What stronger breastplate than a heart un- 
tainted ! 
Thrice is lie armed that hath his quarrel just, 
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 

[A noise within. 

Qtteen. What noise is this ? 

Ee-eiiter Suffolk and "Warwick, with their 

weapoiis drawn. 
King. Why, how now, lords! your wrathful 
weapons drawn 
Here in our presence ! dare you be so bold ? 
"Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? 

Suf. The traitorous AVarwiek v.-ith the men of 
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. [Bury 

Sal. [To the Commons, entering] Sirs, stand apart; 
the king shall know yourmind. 
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me. 
Unless Lord Suifolk straight be done to death, 
Or banished fair England's territories. 
They will by violence tear him from your palace 
And torture him with grievous Itugeriug death. 
423 



ACT III. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VL scene it. 



They say, by him tlie good Duke Humphrey died; 
They say, in him tliey fear j'our liij^liness' death; 
And mere instinct of love and loyalty, 
Free from a stubborn opposite intent, 
As being thought to contradict your liking, 
Makes them thus forward in liis banishment. 
They say, in care of your most royal person. 
That if your highness should intend to sleep 
And charge that no man should disturb your rest 
In pain of your dislike or pain of death. 
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
"Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 
That slily glided towards your majesty, 
It were but necessary you were waked. 
Lest, being suffered in that harmful slumber, 
Tiie mortal worm might make the sleep eternal; 
And therefore do they cry, though yon forbid, 
Tliat they will guard you, wliether you will or no. 
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is, 
With whose envenomed and fatal sting. 
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 

Commons. [ Wiihin'] An answer from the king, my 
Lord of Salisliury ! 

Snf. 'T is like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds. 
Could send such message to their sovereign : 
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
To show how quaint an orator you are: 
But all the honour Salisbury hath won 
Is, that he was the lord ambassador 
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 

Commons. [Within] An answer from the king, or 
we will all break in ! 

Kiiuj. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, 
I thank thcni fm- their tender loving care; 
And liad I not been cited so by them, 
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; 
For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means : 
And therefore, by His majesty I swear. 
Whose far unworthy deputy I am. 
He shall not breathe infection in this air 
But three days longer, on the pain of death. 

[Exit SaMshury. 

Queen. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk ! 

KiiKj. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk ! 
No more, I say: if thou dost plead for liim. 
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
Had I but said, I would have kept my word. 
But when I swear, it is irrevocable. 
If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found 
On any ground that I am ruler of. 
The world shall not be ransom for thy life. 
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me ; 
I have great matters to impart to thee. 

[Exeunt all hut Queen and Suffolk. 

Queen. Mischance and sorrow go along with you! 
Heart's discontent and sour affliction 
Be playfellows to keep you conqiany ! 
There 's two of you ; the devil make a tliird I 
And threefold vengeance tend upon yoiu- steps ! 

Snf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations 
And" let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave, [wretch ! 

Queen. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted 
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy V 

Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore shoidd I 
curse them ? 
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
I would invent as bitter-searching terms, 
As curst, as luirsli and horrible to hear, 
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
With full as many signs of deadly hate. 
As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave: 
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; 
Mine eyes should siiarkle like the beaten flint ; 
Mine hair be hx'd on end, as one distract; 
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban : 
424 



And even now my burthen'd heart would break, 
Should I not curse tliem. Poison be their drink! , 

Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! | 
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! 
Their chiefest prospect mmdering basilisks! 
Their softest toucli as smart as lizards' stings! ! 

Tlieir music frightful as tlie seriient's hiss, j 

And boding screecli-owls make tlie concert full! 
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — 

Queen. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou tonnent'st ! 
thyself ; 
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass, ', 
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, | 

And turn the force of them upon thyself. 

Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave ? 
Xovv, by the gTOund that I am banisli'd from, , 

Well could I curse away a winter's night, 
Tliough standing naked on a mountain top, ; 

Where biting cold would never let grass grow, 
And think it but a minute spent in sport. \ 

Queen. O, let me entreat tliee cease. Give me thy | 
That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; [liand. 
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 
To wash away my woful monuments. ] 

O, coulil this kiss lie printed in thy hand, | 

Tliat tlimi niiglitst think uiion these by tlie seal, : 

Tlirough wliom a thousand sighs are breathed for 

thee ! ; 

So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; | 

'T is but surmised whiles thou art standing by, i 

As one tliat surfeits thinking on a want. 
I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, ' 

Adventure to be banished myself: 
And banished I am, if but from thee. 
Go ; speak not to me ; even now be gone. 
O, go not yet ! Even thus two friends condemn'd | 
Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves, 
Leather a liundrcd times to part than die. 
Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee! i 

Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banislied; i 

Once by the king, and three times tlirice by thee. j 
'T is not the land I care for, wert thou thence ; 
A wilderness is populous enough, 
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : 
For where thou art, there is the world itself, ' 

Witli every several pleasure in the world, ] 

And where thou art not, desolation. i 

I can no more: live thou to joy thy life; j 

ilyself no joy in nought but that thou livest. 

Enter "Vaux. 

Queen. Whither goes "Vaux so fast ? what news, I | 

Vau.t. To signify unto his majesty [prithee 'i* i 

That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death ; ; 

For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, ; 

Tliat makes him gasp and stare and catch the air. 
Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth. \ 

Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's gliost ; 

Were by his side ; sometime he calls the king 
And whispers to his pillow as to him ; 

The secrets of his overcharged soul : 
And I am sent to tell his majesty , 

That even now he cries aloud for him. ' 

Queen. Go tell this heavy message to the king. j 

[Exit Vaux. ! 
Ay me ! what is this world ! what news are these ! 
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, ] 

Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ? i 

Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, ' 

And with tlie southern clouds contend in tears, ; 

Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my Siirrows ? 
Now get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is 

coming ; i 

If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 

Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live ; 
And in thy sight to die, what were it else 
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? 



ACT IV. 



SECOND PART OF KING' HENRY VI. scene i. 



Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
As milil and gentle as the cradle-babe 
OyinjT with mother's dug between its lips: 
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad 
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes. 
To have thee with thy lips to stop my UKuUh ; 
So shouldst thou either turn my tiyiiig soul. 
Or I should breathe it so into thy bod>'. 
And then it lived in sweet Elysium. 
To die by thee were but to die in jest ; 
From thee to die were torture more tlian death: 
0, let me stay, befall what may befall I 

Queen. Away! though parting be a fretful corro- 
sive. 
It is applied to a deathful wound. 
To France, sweet Suffolk : let me hear from thee ; 
For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe, 
I '11 have an Iris that shaU find thee out. 

Suf. I go. 

Queen. And take my heart with thee. 

Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the wofuU'st cask 
That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we: 
This way fall I to death. 

Queen. This way for me. 

l£xeunt severally. 

SCENE III.— A Jmldiamher. 

Enter the King, Salisbuiry, 'WarTvick, to the 

Cardinal in bed. 
King. How fares my lord V speak, Beaufort, to 
thy sovereign. 



Car. If thou be'st deatli, I '11 give thee England's 
Enough to purchase such another island, [treasure, 
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 

Kiuij. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
Wliere death's approach is seen so terrible! 

War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 

Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
Died he not in his bed ? wh.ere should he die V 
Can I make men live, whether they wiU or no ? 
O. torture me no more! I will confess. 
Alive again V then show me where he is : 
I '11 give a thousand pound to look upon him. 
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. 
Comb down his hair: look, look ! it stands upright, 
Like lime-twigs set to eatcli my winged souV. 
Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary 
Bring the strong poison that I bouglit of him. 

King. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens. 
Look with a gentle eye upon tins wretch! 
O, beat away tlie busy meddling fiend 
That lays strong siege inito this wTetch's soul 
And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 

War. See, liow the paugs of death do make him 
grin ! 

Srd. Disturb him not : let him pass peaceably. 

King. Pcact^ to bis soul, if God's good pleasiu'e be ! 
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. 
He dies, and makes uo sign. O Godj forgive him! 

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 

King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners aU. 
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; 
And let us all to meditation. \Exeunt. 



.ACT I^^. 



SCENE I.— The coast nf Kent. 

Alarum. Fight nt sea. Ordnance goes nff. Enter a Cap- 
tain, a Master, a Master's Mate, Walter Whltmore, 
ami ulhers; with than Suffolk, and utiicrs, prisorurs. 

Cap. The gaudy, blabViing and remorseful day 
Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
That drag the tragic melancholy night ; 
"Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings, 
Clip dead men's graves and from their misty jaws 
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize; 
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, 
Here .shall they make their ransom on the sand. 
Or with their blood stain this di.scolour'd shore. 
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; 
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this; 
The other, "Walter Whitmore, is thy share, [know. 

First Gent. What is my ransom, master "j* let me 

Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 
head. [yours. 

Mate. And so much shall you give, or otf goes 

Cap. AVhat, think you much to pay two thousand 
crowns. 
And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? 
Cut both the villains' tliroats; for die you shall: 
The lives of those which we have lost in fight 
Be counterpoised with such a petty sum ! 

First Gent. I'U give it, sir; and therefore spare 
my life. [straight. 

Sec. Gent. And SO will I and write home for it 

Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard. 
And therefore to revenge it,shaltthou die ; [To Suf. 
And so should these, if I might have my will. 

Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransom, let him live. 

Suf. Ijook on my George ; I am a gentleman : 
Bate me at what thou wUt, thou shalt be paid. 



fVhit. And so am I; my name is Walter Wliitmore. 

How now! whv start 'st thou':' what, doth death 

affright'/" [death. 

Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is 
A cunning man did calculate my Idrth 
And told me that by water I shoulil die: 
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded; 
Thy name is (faultier, being rightly sounded. 

Whit. Gaultier or Walter" which it is, I care not: 
Never yet did base dishonour blur our name. 
But with our sword we wiped away the blot; 
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, 
Broke be my swonl, my arms torn and defaced, 
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! 

Suf. Stay, Whitmore: for thv prisoner is a prince. 
The "Duke of Su ffolk, William de la Pole. 

Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags! 

Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke: 
Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I '/ 

Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. 

&''(/. Obscure and lowly swain. King Henry "s blood. 
The "honourable blood of Lancaster, 
Must not be shed by sucli a jaded groom. 
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup? 
Bare-headed jilodded by" my foot-cloth mule 
And thought thee happy when I shook my head'? 
How often hast thou waited at my cup, 
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board. 
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret ';:' 
Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n, 
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride; 
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood 
And duly waited for my coming forth V 
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf 
Ami therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 

Whit. Sjpcak, captain, shall I staiitheforlom swain? 

Cap. First let my words stab him. as he hath me. 

Suf. Base slaYe,thy words are blunt and so art thou. 
425 



ACT IV. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene ii. 



Cap. Convey him heuce and on our long-boat's side 
Strike off liis "head. 

Suf. Tliou darest not, for thy own. 

Cap. Yes, Pole. 

Suf. Pole! 

Cap. Pool ! Sir Pool ! lord ! 

Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt 
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. 
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth 
For swallowing the treasure of the realm : 
Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the 
ground ; [death 

And tliou tliat sniiledst at good Duke Humphrey's 
Against tlic senseless winds shalt grin in vain, 
AVho in contempt sliall hiss at thee again: 
And wediled be thou to the hags of liell, 
For daring to affy a mighty lord 
Unto the ilaugliter of a worthless king, 
Having neitlier subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
By devilish poliey art thou grown great 
And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged 
With gobbets of tliy mother's bleeding heart. 
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, 
The false revolting Normans thorough thee 
Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy 
Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts 
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
The princely AVarwick, and the Nevils all. 
Whose dreaiH'ul swords were never drawn in vain. 
As hating thee, are rising up in arms: 
And now the house of York, thrust from the crown 
By shameful nuu'der of a guiltless king 
And lofty proud encroaching tyraimy. 
Burns with revenging lire; whose hopeful colours 
Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine. 
Under the which is writ ' Invitis nubibus.' 
The commons here in Kent are up in arms : 
And, to conclude, reproach and beggary 
Is crept into the palace of our king, 
And all by thee. Away! convey him hence. 

Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder 
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! 
Small things make base men proud: this villain 
Being eaptuin of a pinnace, threatens more [here. 
Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 
Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob bee-hives : 
It is impossible that I should die 
By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
Thy words move rage and not remorse in me: 
I go of message from tlie queen to France ; 
I charge thee\vaft me safely cross the Channel. 

0(/,. Walter— [death. 

Wliii. <'iiiiie, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy 

Suf. (ielidus timoroccupat artus;itisthee I fear. 

Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I 
leave thee. 
What, are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop ? 

First Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak 
him fair. 

Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rougli. 
Used to command, untaught to plead for favour. 
Far be it we should honour such as these 
AVith humble suit : no, rather let my head 
Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any 
Save to the God of heaven and to my king; 
And sooner dance u]ion a bloody pole 
Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. 
True nobility is exempt from fear: 
More can I bear than you dare execute. 

Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 

Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can. 
That this my death may never be forgot ! 
Great men oft die by vile bezonians: 
A Roman sworder and banditto slave 
Murder 'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand 
Stabb'd Julius Ca>sar; savage islanders 
Pompey the Creat ; and Suffolk dies by pirates. 

[Kiiuat \i kitmore and others with Suffolk. 
426 



Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, 
It is our pleasure one of them depart : 
Therefore come you with us and let him go. 

[Exeunt all but the First Gentleman. 

Re-enter "WTiitmore with Suffolk's body. 

Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie. 

Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. 

First Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! 
His body will I bear unto the king: 
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; 
So will the queen, that living held him dear. 

[Exit with the body. 

SCENE II.— Blackheath. 

Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 

Bevis. Come, and get thee a sword, though made 
of a lath : they have been up these two days. 

Holl. They have the more need to sleep now, then. 

Bcris. I tell thee. Jack Cade the clothier means 
to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a 
new nap upon it. 

Holl. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, 
I say it was never merry world in England since 
gentlemen came up. 

Beris. O miserable age! virtue is not regarded 
in handicrafts-men. [aprons. 

Holl. Tlie nobility think scorn to go in leather 

Bevis. Nay, more, the king's council are no good 
workmen. 

Hull. True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vo- 
cation ; which is as much to .say as, let the magis- 
trates be laljouring men; and therefore sliould we 
be magistrates. 

Beris. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better 
sign of a brave mind than a hard hand. 

"Holl. I see them! I see them! There's Best's 
son, the tanner of Wingham,— 

Bevis. He shall have the skin of our enemies, to 
make dog's-leatlier of. 

Holl. And Dick the Butcher,— 

Bevis. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and 
iniquity's throat cut like a calf. 

Holl. And Smith the weaver, — 

Bevis. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 

Holl. Come, come, let 's fall in with them. 

Drum. Enter Cade, Dick Butcher, Smith the 
Weaver, and a Satoyer, with infinite numbers. 

Cade. AVe John Cade, so termed of our supposed 
father,— [herrings. 

Jiick. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of 

Citdr. For our enemies shall fall before us, in- 
spired with the spirit of putting down kings and 
princes, — ( 'onnnand silence. 

Dirk. Silence! 

( '((d( . AIv father was a IMortimer, — 

Jiirk. [Asidr] He was an honest man, and a good 

Cudc. Mv niothera Plantagenet,— [bricklayer. 

Dii-k. [.1n/(/<] I knew her well; she was a midwife. 

Codi . Mv wife descended of the Lacies, — 

Dirk. [,l>/(/< ] She was, indeed, a pedler's daughter, 
and sold manv laces. 

Sniiih. [Asidf] But now of late, not able to travel 
with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. 

< 'iiilr. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 

Dirk. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, tlie lield is hon- 
ounil)le; and there was he born, under a hedge, for 
his father had never a house but the cage. 

Ciidr. Valiant I am. [valiant. 

Smith. [Asidr] A' must needs; for beggary is 

Ciidc. I am able to Ciidnre much. 

Dirk. [Asidr] No question of that; for I have 
seen him whipped three market-days together. 

Ciide. I fear neither sword nor fire. 

Smith. [Aside] He need not fear the sword; for 
his coat is of proof. 



ACT IT. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene hi. 



Diet. [Aside] But methinks he should stand in 
fear of fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of 
sheep. 

Cade. Be brave, then ; for your captain is brave, 
and vows reformation. There sliall be in England 
seven liaUpenny loaves sold for a penny: the tliree- 
hooped pot sliall liave ten hoops; and I will make 
it felony to drink small beer: all the realm shall be 
in common ; and in Clieapside shall my palfry go to 
grass: and wlieu I am king, as king I will be, — 

All. God save your majesty ! 

Cailc. I thank you, good people: there shall be 
no money ; all sliall eat and drink on my score ; and 
I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may 
agree like brothers and worship me tlieir lord. 

Dick. The first thing we do, let 's kOl all the law- 
yers. 

Cade. Xay, that I mean to do. Is not this a la- 
mentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb 
should be made parchment ? that parclunent, being 
scribbled o"er, sliould undo a man ? Some say the 
bee stings : but I say, "t is the bee's wax ; for I did 
but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own 
man since. How now 1 who 's there V 

Enter some, bringing forward the Clerk of Chatham. 

Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write and 
read and cast accompt. 

Cade. O monstrous ! 

Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 

Cade. Here 's a villain ! 

Smith. Has a book in his pocket w'ith red letters 

Cade. Nay, then, he is a conjurer. [in 't. 

Lick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
court-liand. 

Cade. I am sorry for 't : the man is a proper man, 
of mine honour ; unless I find him guilty, he sliall 
not die. Come liither, sirrah, I must examine thee : 
what is thy name ? 

Clerk. Emmanuel. 

JJirk. They use to write it on the top of letters: 
'twill go hard with you. 

Cade. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy 
name V or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an hon- 
est plain-dealing man ? 

Clerk. Sir, 1 thank God, I have been so well 
brouglit up that I can write my name. 

AIL He hath confessed: away with him ! he 's a 
villain and a traitor. 

Cade. Away with him, I say ! hang him with his 
pen and iuk-liom about his neck. 

• [Exit one icith the Clerk. 

Enter Michael. 

3Iich. Where 's our general ? 

Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 

Ulirh. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and 
his brother are hard by, with tlie king's forces. 

Caile. Stand, villain, stand, or I '11 fell thee down. 
He shall be encountered with a man as good as 
himself: he is but a knight, is a' ':* 

2Iich. No. 

Cade. To equal liim, I will make myself a knight 
presently. [KneeU] Rise up Sir John Mortimer. 
[ii('sc*] Now have at him ! 

Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford a?ifZ his Brother, 
with drum and soldiers. 

Staf. Eebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down ; 
Home to your cottages, forsake this groom : 
The king is merciful, if you revolt. 

Bro. But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood, 
If you go forward ; therefore yield, or die. 

Cade. As for tiiese silken-coated slaves, I pass not : 
It is to you, good people, that I speak. 
Over whom, in time to come, I liope to reign ; 
For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 



Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; 
And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not ? 

Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 

Bro. And what of that ? [March, 

Cade. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of 
Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he 

Staf. Ay, sir. [not ? 

Cade. By her he had two children at one birth. 

Bro. That 's false. 

Cade. Ay, there's the question; but I say, 'tis 
The elder of them, being put to nurse, [true : 

Was by a beggar-woman stolen away; 
And, ignorant of his birth and parentage. 
Became a bricklayer wlien he came to age : 
His son am I; deny it, if you can. 

Dick. Nay, 't is too true ;"tlierefore he shall be king. 

Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my fallier's 
house, and the bricks are alive at tliis day to testify 
it ; therefore deny it not. 

Staf. And will you credit tliis base drudge's words. 
That speaks he knows not what 'if 

All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone. 

Bro. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught 
you this. 

Cade. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself. 
Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for liis 
father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in wliose time boys 
went to span-counter for French crowns, I am con- 
tent he sliall reign ; but I '11 be protector over him. 

Dick. And furthermore, we '11 have the Lord 
Say's head for selling tlie dukedom of Maine. 

CacZe. And good reason ; for thereby is England 
mained, and fain to go with a staff, but that my 
puissance holds it up. Fellow kings. I tell you that 
that Lord Say hath gelded the coiumouwi-allli,and 
made it an eunuch: and more than that, he can 
speak French ; and therefore he is a traitor. 

Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance I 
Cade. Nay, answer, if you can : the Frenchmen 
are our enemies ; go to, then, I ask but this : can he 
that speaks with tlie tongue of an enemy be a good 
counsellor, or no V 

All. No, no ; and therefore we '11 have his head. 
Bro. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, 
Assail them with the army of the king. 

Staf. Herald, away; and tlirougliout e^'ery town 
ProL-iaim them traitors that are up with Cade; 
That those wliicli Hy before the battle ends 
May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
Be hang'd up for example at their dnors: 
And you that be the king's friends, follow me. 

[Exeunt the two Staffords, and .'soldiers. 
Cade. And you that love the commons, follow me. 
Now show yourselves men ; 't is for liberty. 
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon ; 
For they are thrifty honest men and such 
As would, but that they dare not, take our parts. 
Dick. They are all in order and march toward us. 
Cade. But then are we in order when we are most 
out of order. Come, marcli forward. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another part of Blackheath. 

Alarums to the fght, wherein both the Staffords are 
slain. Enter Cade and the rest. 

Cade. Where 's Dick, the butcher of Ashford ? 

Dick. Here, sir. 

Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in 
tliiue own slaugliter-liouse: therefore thus will I 
reward thee, the Lent shall be as long again as it is ; 
and thou shalt liave a license to kill for a hundred 

Dick. I desire no more. [lacking one. 

Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. 

This monument of tlie victory will I bear [jMittinrf 

on Sir Hwiiphreifs hritjandine]; and tlie bodies .shall 

be dragged at uiy horse heels tiU I do come to Lon- 

427 



ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene vit. 



don, wliere we will have the mayor's sword borne 
before us. 

Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break 
open the gaols and let out the prisoners. 

Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let 's 
march towards London. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — London. The palace. 

Enter the King with a siipplieation, and the Queen with 
Suffolk's head, the Duke of Buckingham and the 
Lord Say. 

Queen. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind 
And makes it fearf\il and degenerate ; 
Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. 
But who can cease to weep and look on this? 
Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: 
But where 's the body that I should embrace? 

Buck. What answer makes your grace to the 
rebels' supplication? 

Khif/. I "11 send some holy bishop to entreat; 
For Gdd forbid so many simple siuds 
.Should pirish by tlie sword I And I myself, 
Bather than bloody war shall cut them short, 
"Will parley with Jack Cade their general: 
But stay, I '11 read it over once again. 

Queen. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely 
Rided, like a wandering planet, over me, [face 

And could it not enforce them to relent. 
That were unworthy to lieliold the same? 

King. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have 
tliy head. 

Sa;/. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his. 

Ki'nej. How now, madam ! 
StiJl lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death? 
I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, 
Tliou wouldest not liave mourn'd so much for me. 

Queen. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die 
for thee. 

Enter a Messenger. 

King. How now! what news? why comest thou 
in such haste ? 

ilfe.ss. The reliels are in Sonthwark; fly, my lord! 
Jack Cade iiroclaims Iiimself Lord Mortimer, 
Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house. 
And calls your grace usiuper openly 
And vows to crown hiuiself in Westminster. 
His army is a ragged multitude 
Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless: 
Sir Hunii'hrcy Stafford and his brother's death 
Hath given tiiem heart and courage to proceed: 
All scliolars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen. 
They call false caterpillars and intend their death. 

King. O graceless men ! they know not what they 
do. 

Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth, 
Until a power be raised to put them down. 

Qvcen. Ah, were the Duke of Sulfolk now alive, 
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased! 

King. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee; 
Therefore away with us to Killingworth. 

)S«.'/. So might your grace's person be in danger. 
The sight of me is odious in their eyes; 
And therefore in this city will I stay 
And live alone as secret as I may. 

Enter another Messenger. 
Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge: 
The citizens fly and forsake their houses: 
The rascal jieople, thirsting after prey. 
Join with tiie traitor, and they jointly swear 
To spoil the city and your royal court. 
Buck. Then linger not, my lord; away, take 
horse. [cour us. 

King. Come, Margaret ; God, onr hope, will snc- 
Queen. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased. 
King. Farewell, my lord: trust not the Kentish 
rebels. 

428 



Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. 
Saij. The trust I have is in mine innocence, 
And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Kceunt. 

SCENE v.— London. The Tower. 

Enter Lord Scales upon the Tower, walking. Then 
enter two or three Citizens below. 

Scales. How now! is Jack Cade slain ? 

First Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for 
they have won the bridge, killing all those that witli- 
stand them: the lord mayor craves aid of your 
honour from the Tower to defend the city from 
the rebels. 

Scales. Such aid as I can spare you shall command ; 
But I am troubled here with them myself; 
The rebels have assay "d to win the Tower. 
But get you to SmithfieUl and gather head. 
And thither I will send you ]\ratthew Golfe; 
Fight for your king, your country and your lives; 
And so, farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — iyiicZoii. Cannon Street. 

Enter Jack Cade and the rest, and strikes his staff 
on London-stone. 
Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And 
here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com- 
mand that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit 
run nothing but claret wine this first year of our 
reign. And now henceforward it sliall be treason 
for any that calls me other than Lord Mortimer. 

Enter a Soldier, running. 

Sold. Jack Cade! .Jack Cade! 

Cade. Knock him down there. [Theij kill him. 

SinHli. If this fellow be wise, he '11 never call ye 
Jack Cade more : I think he hath a very fair warning. 

Dick. ^ly \on\, there 's an army gathered together 
in Smithlield. 

Cade. Come, then, let 's go fight with them : but 
first, go and set London bridge on fire; and, if you 
can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let 's away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— London. Smithjield. 

Alarums. Matthe-w Goffe is slain, and all the rest. 
Then enter Jack Cade, with his company. 

Cade. So, sirs: now go some and pull down the 
Savoy ; others to the inns of court ; down with them 

Bick. 1 have a suit unto your lordship. tail. 

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that 
word. 

Dick. Only that the laws of England may come 
out of your mouth. 

IIoll. [Aside] Mass, 'twill bedsore law, then: for 
he was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 't is 
not whole yet. 

Smith. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking law; 
for his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. 

Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. 
Away, burn all the records of the realm: my mouth 
shall be the parliament of England. 

JMl. [Aside] Then we are' like to have biting 
statutes, mdess his teeth be pulled out. [coiumon. 

Ciule. And henceforward all things shall be in 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here 's the Lord 
Say, wliich sold the towns in France; he that made 
us pay one and twenty fifteens, and one shilling to 
the pound, the last subsidy. 

Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say. 
Cade. Well, lie shall be beheaded for it ten times. 
Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! 
now art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction 



-^ 




-* 



ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene viit. 



resal. What canst thou answer to my majesty for 
giving up of Xormandy unto Mounsieur Basiniecu, 
tlie dauphin of France ? Be it known unto thee 
by these presence, even the presence of Lord Morti- 
rner, that I am the besom that must sweep the 
court clean of such tilth as thou art. Thou hast 
most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm 
in erecting a grammar school : and whereas, before, 
our forefathers liad no other books but the score 
and the tally, thou hast caused printint; to be used, 
and, contrary to the king, his crown and dignity, 
thou hast biiilt a paper-mill. It will be proved to 
thy face that thou hast men aljout thee that usually 
talk of a noun and a verb, and such abominable 
words as no Christian ear can endure to lu-ar. 
Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor 
men before tliem about matters they were not able 
to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison ; 
and because they could not read, thou hast hanged 
them ; when, indeed, only for that cause they have 
been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a 
foot-cloth, dost tliou not 'i 

San. AVhatof that? 

Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse 
wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in 
their liose and doublets. 

Dick. And work in their shirt too; as myself, 
for example, that am a butcher. 

Sail- You men of Kent. — 

Lick. What say you of Kent ? [gens.' 

Swj. Nothing but this; 'tis 'bona terra, mala 

Cade. Away with him, away with him ! he speaks 
Latin. [will. 

Saij. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you 
Kent, in tlie Commentaries Ctesar writ. 
Is term'd tlie eivirst place of all this isle: 
Sweet is the country, because full of riches; 
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy : 
AVhich makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy, 
Yet, to recover tliem, would lose my life. 
Justice with favour have I always done; 
Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never. 
When have I aught exacted at your hands. 
But to maintain the king, the realm and you ? 
Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, 
Because my book preferr'd roe to the king, 
And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, 
Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, 
Y'ou calmot but forbear to murder me : 
This tongue hath parley 'd unto foreign kings ^ 
For your behoof, — [field ? 

Cade. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the 

Say. Great men have reaching hands: oft have I 
struck 
Those that I never saw and struck them dead. 

Geo. O monstrous coward! what, to come behind 
folks ? [good. 

Sn>j. These cheeks are pale for watching for your 

Cc^de. Give him a box o' the ear and that will 
make 'em red again. 

Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes 
Ilath made me full of sickness and diseases. 

Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then and 
»the help of hatchet. 

Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ? 

Saij. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me. 

Code. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, I '11 
be even with you : I '11 see if his head will stand 
steadier on a pole, or no. Take him away, and be- 
head liim. 

Say. Tell me wherein have I offended most ? 
Have I affected wealtli or honour? speak. 
Are my chests lill'd up with extorted gold? 
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ? 
Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death ? _ 
These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding, 



This breast from barbouringfoul deceitful thoughts. 
O, let me live! 

Cade. [Adde'] I feel remorse in myself with his 
words; but I'll bridle it: he shall die, an it be 
but for pleading so well for his life. Away with 
him! he has a familiar under his tongue ; bespeaks 
not o' God's name. Go, take him away. I say, and 
strike off his head presently; and then break into 
his son-in-law's house. Sir James Cromer, and 
strike off his head, and bring them both upon two 
poles hither. 

.1?;. It shall be done. [prayers. 

Sail. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your 
God .should be so obdurate as yourselves, 
IIow would it fare with your departed souls? 
And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 

Cade. Away with him ! and do as I command ye. 
[Exeunt some tcith Lord Say. 
The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a 
head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; 
there shall not a maid be married, but slie shall 
pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it: men 
sliiill hold of me in capite; and we charge and com- 
mand that their wives be as f»ee as heart can wisii 
or tongue can tell. 

Dirk. ]\Iy lord, when shall we gO to Cheapside 
and take up commodities upon our bills? 

Cadr. Marry, presently. 

All O, brave ! 

Re-enter one with the heads. 
Cade. But is not this braver? Let them kiss 
one another, for they loved well when they were 
alive. Now part them again, lest they consult 
about the giving up of some more towns in France. 
Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night : for 
with these borne before us, instead of maces, will 
we ride through the streets and at every corner 
have them kiss. Away! [EMunt. 

SCENE Vm.— Southwark. 

Alarum and retreat. Enter Cade and all his rab- 
Ulement. 
Cade. Up Fish Street ! down Saint Magnus' Cor- 
ner ! kill and knock down ! throw them into Thames ! 
[Sound a parley.'] What noise is this I hear ? Dare 
any be so bold to sound retreat or parley, when I 
command them kill ! 

Enter Buckingham and old Clifford, attended. 

Duck. Ay, here they be that dare and will dis- 
turb thee: 
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 
Unto the commons whom thou hast mi.sled; 
And here pronounce free pardon to them all 
That will forsake thee and go home in peace. 

CUf. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye relent. 
And yield to mercy whilst 't is offer'd you; 
Or let a rebel lead "you to your deaths? 
AVho loves the king and will embrace his pardon. 
Fling up his cap, and say ' God save his majesty ! ' 
AVho hateth Iiim and honours not his fatlier, 
Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake. 
Shake he his weapon at us and iiass by. ' 

^1?;. God save the king! God save the king! 

Cade. AV'hat, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye 
so brave? And you, base peasants, do ye believe 
him? will you needs be hanged with your pardons 
about your necks ? Hath my sword therefore laoke 
through London gates, that you should leave me 
at the AVhite Hart in Southwark ? I thought ye 
would never have given out these arms till you had 
recovered your ancient freedom : but you are all 
recreants and dastards, and deliglit to live in 
slavery to the nobility. Let them l>reak your backs 
witli burtliens, take 5'our houses over your heads, 
ravish your wives and daughters before your faces: 
420 



ACT IV. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene x. 



for me, I will make shift for one; and so, God's 
curse light mion you all ! 

All. ^Ve '11 tollow Cade, we '11 follow Cade ! 

Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, 
That thus you do exclaim you '11 go with him ? 
Will he conduct you through the heart of France, 
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes V 
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; 
Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil, 
Unless by robbing of your friends and us. 
Were 't not a shame, that whilst ycm live at jar. 
The fearful French, whom you late vanciuished. 
Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you ? 
Methinks already in this civil broil 
I see them lording it in London streets, 
Crying ' Villiago! ' unto all they meet. 
Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry 
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchma)i's mercy. 
To France, to France, and get what you have lost ; 
Spare England, for it is your native coast : 
Ilenry hath money, yon are strong and manly ; 
God on onr side, doubt not of victory. 

All. A Clifford ! a Clifford ! we 'U follow the king 
and Clifford. 

Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and 
fro as this multitude ? The name of llenry the Fifth 
hales them to an hundred mischiefs and makes them 
leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads to- 
getlier to surprise me. My sword make way for me, 
tor here is no staying. In despite of the devils and 
helI,havethroughthe verymiddcstof you! and heav- 
ens and honour be witness that no want of resolution 
in me, but only my followers' base and ignominious 
treasons, makes me betake me to my lieels. [Exit. 

Buck. What, is he tied V Go some, and follow him ; 
And he that brings his head unto tlie king 
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. 

[Exeunt some of them. 
Follow me, soldiers : we '11 devise a mean 
To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IX.—Kenilworth Castle. 

Sound trumpets. Enter King, Queen, and Som- 
erset, on the terrace. 
King. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne, 
And could command no more content than I ? 
No sooner was I crept out of my cradle 
But I was made a king, at nine months old. 
Was never subject long'd to be a king 
As I do long and wish to be a subject. 

Enter Buckingham and old Clifford. 
Buck. Health and glad tidings to your majesty! 
King. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade sur- 
Or is he but retired to make him strong ? [prised ? 

JEnter, belov), multitudes, with halters about their necks. 

Clif. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do 
yield ; 
And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, 
E.xpect your highness' doom, of life or death. 

King. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, 
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise! 
Soldiers, this day have you redeem 'd your lives 
And show'd how well you love your prince and 

country : 
Continue still in this so good a mind. 
And Henry, though he be infortunate, 
Assure yourselves, will never be unkind : 
And so, with thanl<s ami panhm to you all, 
I do dismiss you to your several countries. 

All. God save the king! God save tlie king! 

JSnter a Messenger. 
Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised 
The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland, 
And with a puissant and a mighty power 
430 



Of gallowglasses and stout kerns 

Is marching hitherward in proud array, 

And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, 

His arms are only to remove from thee 

The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 

King. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and 
i'orkdistressM; 
Like to a sliip tljat. having 'scaped a tempest. 
Is straightway cahnM and boarded with a pirate: 
But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed; 
And now is York in arms to second him. 
I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him. 
And ask him what 's the reason of these arms. 
Tell him I '11 send Duke Edmund to tlie Tower; 
And, Somerset, we will commit thee hither, 
Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 

Som. My lord, 
I '11 yield myself to prison willingly. 
Or unto death, to do my country good. 

King. In any case, be not too rough in terms; 
For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language. 

Buck. I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal 
As all things shall redound unto your good. 

King. Come, wife, let 's m, and learn to govern 
better ; 
For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE K.— Kcnt. Men's' garden. 
Enter Cade. 
Cade. Fie on ambition! fie on mj'self, that have 
a sword, and yet am ready to famish ! These five 
days have I hid me in these woods and durst not 
peep out, for all the country is laid for me ; but now 
am I so hungry that if I might have a lease of my 
life for a thousand years I could stay no longer. 
Wherefore, on a brick wall have I climbed into this 
garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet 
another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's 
stomach this hot weather. And I think this word 
' sallet ' was born to do me good : for many a time, 
but for a sallet. my brain-pan had been cleft with a 
brown bill : and many a time, when I have been dry 
and bravely marcliing, it hath served me instead of 
a quart pot to drink in ; and now the word ' sallet ' 
must serve me to feed on. 

Enter Iden. 

7f7e)i. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court. 
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? 
This small inheritance my father left me 
Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. 
I seek not to wax great by others' waning, 
Or gather wealth, I care not, Avith what envy: 
Surti<'eth that I have maintains my state 
And sends tlie po(n' well pleased from my gate. 

Cade. Here 's the lord of tlie soil come to seize me 
for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. 
Ah, villain, thou wilt lietray me, and get a thousand 
crowns of the king by carrying my head to him : but 
I "11 make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow 
my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. 

Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, 
I know thee not ; why, then, should I betray thee Y 
Is 't not enough to break into my garden, 
And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds. 
Climbing my walls in sjiite of me the owner. 
But thou wilt brave me with these .saucy terms? 

Cade. Brave thee I ay, by the best blood that 
ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on 
me well : I have eat no meat these five days ; yet, 
come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave 
you all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may 
never eat grass more. [stands, 

Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England 
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, 
Took odds to combat a poor famish 'd man. 



ACT V. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene i. 



Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, 

See if thou canst outface nie with thy looks: 

Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ; 

Tliy hand is but a finger to my fist, 

Thy leg a stick compared witli this truncheon; 

Jly foot shall fight with all tlie strength thou hast ; 

And if mine arm be heaved in the air, 

Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. 

As tor words, whose greatness answ'ers words, 

Let tliis my sword report what speech forbears. 

Cade. By my valour, the most complete cham- 
pion that ever I heard! Steel, if thou turn the 
edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown in 
chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I be- 
seech God on my knees thou mayst be turned to 
hobnails.- {Here theyjight. Cade falls. 

O, 1 am slain ! famine and rio other hath slain 
me : let ten thousand devils come against me, and 
give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I 'Id 
defy them all. Wither, garden ; and be henceforth 
a burying-place to all that do dwell in this house, 
because the unconciuered soul of Cade is fled. 



Iden. Is 't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous 
traitor V 
Sword, 1 will hallow thee for this thy deed, 
And hang tliee o'er my tomb when I am dead: 
K'e'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point; 
But thou Shalt wear it as a herald's coat. 
To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 

C<(dc. Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. 
Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and 
exhort all the world to be cowards ; for I, that 
never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by 
valour. [Dies. 

Iden. How much thou WTong'st me, heaven be 
my judge. 
Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee; 
And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
So wish 1, I miglit tlirust thy soul to hell. 
Hence will I drag thee headlong by tlie heels 
Unto a dunghill whicli sliall be thy grave. 
And there cut off thy most ungracious head ; 
Which I will bear in triumph to the king, 
Leaving thy truuli for crows to feed upon. [Exit. 



.ACT V. 



SCENE 1. — Fields between Dartford and Blacks 
heath. 

Enter York, and his army of Irish, with drum and 
colours. 
York. From Ireland thus comes York to claim 
his right. 
And pluck the crowni from feeble Henry's head : 
Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, 
To entertain great England's lawful king. 
Ah ! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear? 
Let them obey that know not how to rule ; 
This hand was made to handle nought but gold. 
I cannot give due action to my words, 
Except a sword or sceptre balance it : 
A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul. 
On which I '11 toss the tlower-de-luce of France. 

Enter Buckingham. 
Whom have we here ? Buckingham, to disturb me ? 
The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. 

Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee 
well. [greeting. 

York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ? 

Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege. 
To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
Or why thou, being a subject as I am, 
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
Sliould raise so great a power without his leave, 
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 

York. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so 
O , I could hew up rocks and fight with ftint , [great : 
I am so angry at these abject terms ; 
And now, like Ajax Telamonius, 
On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. 
I am far better born than is the king, 
More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts: 
But I must make fair weather yet awhile, 
Till Henry be more weak and I more strong. — 
Buckingliam, I prithee, pardon me, 
That I liave given no answer all this while; 
My mind was troul>k'il with deep melancholy. 
The cause why I liave ludunlit this army hither 
Is to remove proud Somerset from the king. 
Seditious to his grace and to the state. 

Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part : 
But if thy arms be to no other end. 
The king hath yielded unto thy demand : 
The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 



York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner ? 

Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 

York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. 
Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; 
Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's tield. 
You shall have pay and every thing you wish. 
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, 
As pledges of my fealty and love ; 
I '11 send them all as willing as I live : 
Lands, goods, horse, armoiir, any thmg I have, 
Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 

Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: 
We twain will go into his highness' tent. 

Enter King and Attendants. 

King. Buckingham, dotli York intend no harm to 
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm V [us, 

I'orA-. In all submission and humility 
York doth present himself unto your highness. 

King. Tlien what intends these forces thou dost 
bring y 

York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence. 
And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, 
Who since 1 heard to be discomfited. 

Enter Iden, iciih Cade's head. 

Iden. If one so rude and of so mean condition 
!May pass into the presence of a king, 
Ia),"I present your grace a traitor's head, 
Tiie head of Cade, wliom I in combat slew. 

King. The head of Cade! Great God, how just 
O, let me view his visage, being dead, [art Thou! 
That living wrouglit me such exceeding trouble. 
Tell me, niy friend, art tliou the man that slew him ? 

Iden. 1 was, an 't like your majesty. 

King. How art thou call'd ? and wiiat is thy de- 

Idcn. Alexander Iden, that 's my name; [gree';" 
A poor esquire of Kent, tliat loves his king. 

Buck. So please it you, my lord, 't were not amiss 
He were created knight for his good service. 

7v7/i!/. Iden. kneel down. [He kneils.] Else up a 
We give thee for reward a thousand marks, [knight. 
Ami will that tliou lienceforth attend on us. 

Iden. yiiiy Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
And never live but true unto his liege ! [Bises. 

Enter Queen and Somerset. 
King. See, Buckingliam, Somerset comes with the 
Go , bid her hide him quickly from the duke, [queen : 
431 



•ACT V. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene it. 



Queen. For thousand Yorks be shall not hide his 
But boldly stand and front him to bis face, [head, 

York, ilow now ! is Somerset at liberty Y 
Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd "thoughts, 
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. 
Sliall I endure the sight of Somerset ? 
False king ! why liast thou broken faith with me, 
Knowing bow hardly I can brook abuse ? 
King did I call tlieeV no, thou art not king. 
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, 
Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 
That head of thine doth not become a crown; 
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, 
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 
That gold must round engirt tliese brows of mine. 
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 
Is able with the change to kill and cure. 
Here is a hand to bold a sceptre up 
And with the same to act controlling laws. 
Give place : by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 
O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. 

Som. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York, 
Of capital treasoji 'gainst the king and crown : 
Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for grace. 

York. Wouldst liave me kneel ? first let me ask 
If they can brook I bow a knee to man. [of these. 
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail : 

[Exit Attendant. 
I know, ere they will have me go to ward. 
They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. 

Queen. Call hitber Clifford ; bid him come amain. 
To say if that the bastard boys of York 
Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 

' [Exit Buckingham. 

York. O blood-besotted Neapolitan, 
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! 
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth. 
Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those 
That for my surety will refuse the boys ! 

Enter Ed'ward and Richard. 
See where they come : I '11 warrant they '11 make it 
good. 

Enter old Clifford and his Son. 

Queen. And here conies Clilford to deny their bail. 

Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord tlie king ! 

[Kneels. 

York. I thank thee, Clifford : say, what news with 
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look : [thee ? 
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ; 
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 

Ulif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake; 
But thou niistakest me nmch to think I do : 
To Bedlam with him ! is the man grown mad ? 

King. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious 
humour • 

Makes him oppose himself -against his king. 

Clif. He is a traitor; let him to tlie Tower, 
And chop away tliat factious pate of his. 

Queen. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
His sons, he says, shall give their words lor him. 

York. Will you not, sons ? 

Edio. Ay, noble father, if our words will seire. 

Jiich. And if words will not, then our weapons 
shall. 

Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here ! 

York. Look in a glass, and call tliy image so: 
I am thy king, and tbou a false-heart traitor. 
Call liitlier to the stake my two brave bears. 
That with the very shaking of their chains 
Tliey may astonish .these fell-lurking curs: 
Bid Salisbury and 'iV'arwick come to me. 

Enter the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury. 
Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears 
to death, 

432 



And manacle the bear-ward in their chains. 
If thou darest bring them to the liaiting place. 

liich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur 
Run back and bite, because he was wilhireld, 
WIio, Ijcing suffer "d with the bear's fell paw, 
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried: 
And such a piece of service will you do. 
If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick. 

Clif. Hence, lieap of wrath, foul indigested lump. 
As crooked in thy n;anners us thy shape ! 

YocA'. Nay, we shall heat you thdroughly anon. 

Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn your- 
selves. [l)ow y 

Kinfj. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to 
Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair. 
Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! 
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian. 
And seek for sorrow with thy spect;icles y 
O, where is faith V O, where is loyalty ? 
If it be banisb'd from the frosty bead. 
Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ? 
Wilt tbou go dig a grave to find out war. 
And shame thine honourable age with blood ? 
Why art thou old, and want'st experience y 
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it V 
For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me 
That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 

)Sai. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
The title of this most renowned duke; 
And in my conscience do repute his grace 
The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 

Kinf/. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me ? 

Sal. I have. [an oath '? 

King. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such 

Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a siu, 
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. 
Who can be bound by any solenui vow 
To do a munlerdus deeiKto rob a man. 
To force a spotle>s viri^in's eliastity, 
To reave the orphan ot his patrimony. 
To wring the widow from her eustoiird right, 
And have no other reason for this wrong 
But that he was bound by a solemn oath Y 

Queen. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 

Kina. Call Buckingham, and bid bim arm himself. 

York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou 
I am resolved for death or dignity. [bast, 

Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. 

War. You were best to go to bed and dream again. 
To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 

Clif. I am resolved to bear a greater storm 
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; 
And that I '11 write upon thy burgonet. 
Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 

IP a;-. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, 
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff. 
This day I '11 wear aloft my burgonet. 
As on a mountain top the cedar shows 
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm. 
Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 

Clif. And from thy burgonet I '11 rend thy bear 
And tread it under foot with all contempt. 
Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. 

Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, 
To quell the rebels an<l their complices. 

Hick. Fie ! charity, for shame I speak not in spite. 
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. 

Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that 's more than thou 
canst tell. 

Kich. If not in heaven, you '11 surely sup in hell. 
[Exeunt severally. 

SCENE II. — Saint Alhan's. 
Alarums to the battle. Enter "Warwick. 
irar. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls: 
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, 



ACT V. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. scejte hi. 



Xow, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum 
And dead men's cries do till the empty air, 
Clifford, I say, come forth and lisht with me: 
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 

Enter York. 
How now, my noble lord I wliat, all afoot ? 

York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed, 
But match to match I have encounter'd him 
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 
Even of the bonny beast he loved so well. 

E)xter old Cliflford. 
War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other 
chase. 
For I myself must hunt this deer to death. 
War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou 
fight'st. 
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, 
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. {E.cit. 
CUf. What seest thou in me, York":* why dost 

" tho\i pause ? 
York. A\'ith thy brave bearing should I be in love. 
But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 

Clif. Kor should thy prowess want praise and 
esteem. 
But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason. 

York. So let it helpine now against thy sword 
As I in justice and true right express it. 
Clif. My soul and liody on the action both ! 
York. A dreadful lay ! Address thee instantly. 

[Tliei/fght, and Clifford falls. 

Clif. Lafincouronne les iBuvres. [Dies. 

York. Thus war liatli given thee peace, for thou 

art still. 

Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! [Exit. 

Enter younij Clifford. 
Y. Clif. Shame and confusion I all is on the rout; 
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, 
Wliom angry heavens do make their minister, 
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
Hot coals of vengeance ! Let no soldier tly. 
He that is truly dedicate to war 
Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself 
Hath not essentially but by circumstance 
The name of valour. [Seeing his dead father. 

O, let the vile world end. 
And the premised llames of the last day 
Knit earth and heaven together! 
Now let the general trumiiet blow his blast, 
Particularities and petty .sounds 
To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, 
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
The silver livery of advised age, 
And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus 
To die in ruffian battle ? Even at this sight 
My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine, 
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ; 
Ko more will I their babes: tears virginal 
vS'iall be to me even as the dew to fire, 
And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims 
Shall to my llamiiig wrath be oil and llax. 
Ifencet'orth I will not have to do with pity: 
!Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
Into as many gobbets will I cut it 
As wild Meilea young Absyrtus did : 
In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house: 
As did jEneas old Anchises liear. 
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; 
But then ^Bneas bare a living load, 
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. 

[Exit, bearing off his father. 
28 



Enter Richard and Somerset to fight. Somerset 
is killed. 

Rich. So, lie tliOu there; 
For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
Hath made the wizard famous in his death. 
Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still : 
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. 

Fight: excursions. Enter King, Queen, and others. 

Queen. Awdy, my lord I you are slow ; for shame, 
away ! 

King. Can we outrun the heavens? good Mar- 
garet, stay. 

Qxieen. What are you made of':' you'll nor tight 
Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence, [nor tly : 
To give the enemy way, and to secure us 
By what we can, which can no more but fly. 

[Alarum afar off. 
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
Of all our fortunes; but if we haply .scape. 
As well we may, if not through your neglect, 
AVe shall to London get, where yon are loved 
And where this breach now in our fortunes made 
May readily be stopp'd. 

Re-enter young Clifford. 
Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief 
I would'speak blasphemy ere bid you tly : [set. 

But fly you must ; uncurable discomfit 
Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 
Away, for your relief! and we will live 
To see their day and them our fortune give : 
Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE in.— Fields near St. Alhan's'. 

Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard, "War- 
wick, and Soldiers, icith drum and colours. 

York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, 
That winter lion, who in rage forgets 
Aged contusions and all brush of time. 
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth. 
Repairs him with occasion ':' This happy day 
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, 
If Salisbury be lost. 

Rich. My noble father. 

Three times to-day I holp him to his horse. 
Three times bestrid him ; thrice I led him off, 
Persuaded him from any further act : 
But still, where danger was, still there I met him ; 
And like rich hangings in a homely house. 
So was his will in his old feeble body. 
But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Snl. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought 
to-day ; 
By the mass, so did w^e all. I thank you, Richard : 
God knows how long it is I have to live; 
And it hat!: pleased him that three times to-day 
You have defended me from imminent death. 
Well, lord:}, we have not got that which we have : 
'T is not enough our foes are this lime lied. 
Being opposites of such repairing nature. 

York. I know our safety is to follow them ; 
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
To call a present court of parliament. 
Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth. 
What says Lord Warwick '? shall we after them? 

War. After them ! nay, before them, if we can. 
Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day: 
Saint Alban's liattle won by famous York 
Shall be eternized in all age to come. 
Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all : 
And more such days as these to us befall ! [ E-eunt. 
433 




THE THIRD PART OF 

KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 



DBAMATIS PERSON jE. 



King Henry tlie Sixth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, bis sou. 

Lewis XI. King of France. 

Dulse of Somerset. 

Duke of Exeter. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Earl of Northumberland, 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

Lord Clifford. 

Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, 

Edward, Earl of March, afterwards 
King Eilward IV., 

Edmund, Earl of Rutland, 

George, afterwards Duke of Clarence, 

Richard, afterwards Duke of Glou- 
cester, 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Mtfrquess of Montague. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Earl of Pembroke. 

[For an Analys 



■ uncles to the Duke of York. 



of the Plot of th 



J^CT I. 



Lord Hastings. 

Lord Stafford. 

Sir John Mortimer, 

Sir Hugh Mortimer, 

Henry, Earl of Richmond, a yoHth. 

Lord Rivers, brother to Lady Grey. 

Sir William Stanley. 

Sir John Montgomery. 

Sir John Somerville. 

Tutor to Rutland. Mayor of York. 

Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman. 

Two Keepers. A Huntsman. 

A Son that has killed his father. 

A Father that has killed his son. 

Queen Margaret. 

Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward IV. 

Bona, sister to the French Queen. 

Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, &c. 

SCENE — England and France. 

is Play, see Page LVII.] 



SCHNB I. — London. The Parlkoncnt-housc. 

Alarum. Enter the Duke of York, Edward, Richard, 
Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. 

War. I wonder bow the kinij e.sc;x|)ed our hands. 
Y(}rk. Wliile we pursued the horsemen of the 
He silly stole away and left his men : [north, 

Whereat the great Lord of Nortliumlierland, 
AVliose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
Cheer 'd up the drooping army; and himself, 
Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast. 
Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in 
Were by the swnrds of common soldiers slain. 

mw. Lord .^talTdrd's father, Duke of Bucking- 
Is either .slain ur woimded dangerously ; [liam, 
I cleft his bi;i\iT with a downright Vilbw: 
That this is true, fatlier, behohl his blood, [blood, 
Mont. And, brother, here 's tlie Earl of Wiltshire's 
Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 
Bicli. Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. 
[Tliroiriiui doiim the Duke nf Som<irseVs head. 
York. Richarfl hath best deserved of all my sons. 
But is your grace deail, my Lord of Somerset V 
JVbr/'. Such hope haveallthelineof.Iohnof Gaunt ! 
Rich. Thus do I hope to sliaki' King Henry's head. 
War. And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, 
Before I see thee seated in that throne 
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. 
This is the palace of the fearful king. 
And this the regal seat : ixissess it, York ; 
For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'. 

York. Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will ; 
For hither we have broken in by force. 
434 



Norf. We '11 all assist you; he that flies shall die. 

York. Thanks, gentle" Norfolk: stay by me. my 
lords ; 
And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. 

[Thei/ (JO up. 

War. And when the king comes, olfer him no 
violence. 
Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce, [tnent, 

I'orA-. The queen this day here holds her parlia- 
Ihit little thiidis we shall be of her council: 
By words or blows here let us win our right. 

yi'/V/i. Arm'dasweare.let "s stay within this house. 

Wnr. The bloody pailiamcnt .shall this be call'd, 
Unless Phtntageue't, Duke of York, be king. 
And bashful Henry deijosed, whose cowardice 
Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 

I'orA-. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; 
I mean to take jiossession of my right. 

]\'i(r. Xcitlu'r theki:ig,norlietliat loves him best, 
The proudest lie that holds up Lancaster, 
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his U'lls. 
I '11 plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: 
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. 

Flourish. Eoler King Henry, Clifford, Northumber- 
land, Westmoreland, Exeter, and the rest. 

K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sils, 
Even in the chair of .state : belike lie means, 
Back'd by the power of "Warwick, tluit false peer, 
To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. 
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. 
And thine. Lord Clifford ; and you both have vow'd 

revenge 
On him, his sons, his favourites and Lis friends. 



ACT I. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI 



SCEXF. T. 



Horth. If I be not, heavens be revenged on me I 

Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in 
steel. [down : 

West. What, shall we suffer this V let 's pluck him 
My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. 

K. lien. ]5e patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. 

Clif. Patience is for poltroons, such as he: 
He durst not sit there, had your father lived. 
My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
Let us assail the family of York. 

North. Well liast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. 

K. Hen. All, know you not the city favours them, 
And they have troops of soldiers at "their beck V 

Exe. But when the duke is slain, they '11 quickly 
fly. " [heart, 

K. Hen. Far be the thought of tins from Henry's 
To make a sliambles of the parliament-house! 
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats 
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. 
Tliou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, 
And kneel fen- grace and mercy at my feet ; 
1 am thy sovereign. 

York. I am thine. [of York. 

Exe. For shame, comedown: he made tliee Duke 

York. 'T was my inlieritance, as t he earldom was. 

Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 

War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the cro\\Ti 
In following this usurping Henry. 

(Jlif. Whom sliould he follow but his natural king y 

War. True, Clitford; and that's Richard Duke 
of York. [throne? 

K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my 

York. It must and sliall be so: content thyself. 

War. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him lie king. 

We-it. He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; 
And that the Lonl of Westmoreland shall maintain. 

War. And AVarwick shall disprove it. You forget 
That we are those whicli chased you from the held 
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread 
March'd tlu-ougli the city to the palace gates. 

North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief ; 
Anil, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 

West. Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, 
Tliy kinsmen and thy friends, I '11 have more lives 
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 

Clif. Urge it no more ; lest that, instead of words, 
I send tliee, Warwick, such a messenger 
As shall revenge his death before 1 stir, [threats I 

War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless 

York. Will you we show our title to the crown V 
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 

ii. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the 
crown ? 
Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York ; 
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March : 
I aln the son of Henry the Fifth, 
AVIio m;ide the Dauphin and the French to stoop 
And seized upon their towns and provinces. 

War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. 

K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I: 
When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. 

Jiii-h. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, 
you lose. 
Fatlier, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 

Edic. Sweet father, do so; set it on yinn- head. 

Mont. Good brother, as tliou lovest and honour- 
est arms, 
Let 's figlit it out and not stand cavilling thus. 

Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king 

York. Sons, peace ! [will fly. 

K. Hen. Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave 
to speak. [lords; 

War. Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him. 
And be you silent and attentive too, 
For he that iuterruiits him shall not live, [throne, 

A'. Hen. Think'st thou that 1 will leave my kingly 
Wherein my graudsire and my father sat 'i 



Xo : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
Ay, and their colours, often borne iji France, 
And now in England to our heart's great sorrow-. 
Sliall be my winding-sheet. Why taint you, lords ? 
My title 's good, ancl better far than his. 

Weir. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king; 

K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the 
crown. 

York. 'T was by rebellion against his king. 

K. Hen. [Aside] I know not what to say; my 
title 's weak. — 
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir ? 

York. What then ? 

K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king; 
For Richard, in the view of many lords. 
Resign 'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, 
Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 

York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, 
And made him to resign his crow-n' perforce. 

War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, 
Think you 't were prejudicial to his crow-n? 

Exe. Js'o; for he could not so resign his crown 
But that the next heir should succeed and reign. 

K. Hen. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeier? 

Exe. His is the right, and tlierefore pardon me. 

York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer 
not? 

E.ce. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. 

K. Hen. [Aside] AU will revolt from me, and turn 
to him. 

North. Plantagenet, for all the claim tliou lay 'st, 
Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. 

War. Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. 

North. Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern 
power. 
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, 
Which makes thee thus iiresiimptuous and pfoud. 
Can set the duke up in despite of me. 

Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or w-rong. 
Lord" Clifford vows to fight in thy defence : 
May that grimnd gape and swallow me alive, 
AVhere I shall kneel to him that slew my father! 

K. Hen. O Clifford, how thy words revive my 
heart ! 

York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crow-n. 
What mutter' you, or what conspire you, lords ? 

War. Do right unto this princely Duke of York, 
Or I will fill tiie house with armed men, 
And aver the chair of state, w-here now he sits, 
Write up his title with usurping blood. 

[He stamps tcith his foot, and the Soldiers 
show themselves. 

K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one 
Let me for this my life-time reign as king, [word : 

York. Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, 
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. 

Kinij. I am content : Richard Plantagenet, 
Enjoy tlie kingdom after my decease. 

Cl'if. What wriiiii;- is this unto the prince vour son! 

W<ir. AVliat good is this to England and"himselt ! 

W<st. Base, fearful and despairing Henry! 

Clif. IIiiw liast thou injured both thyself and us! 

Wsi. I raiuiot stay to hear these articles. 

North. Xor I. 

Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these 
new-s. [king, 

West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate 
In wliose cold lilood no spark of honour bides. 

North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
And die in bands for this unmanly deed! 

Clif. In dreadful w-ar niayst thou be overcome, 
Or live in peace abandon "d and despised ! 

[Exeunt Nrrth., Cliff., and West. 

War. Turn this w-ay , Henry, and regard them not. 

Exe. Thev seek revenge and therefore will not 

A'. Hen. Ah, Exeter! [yield. 

War. Why should you sigh, my lord? 

435 



ACT I. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene ii. 



K. Hen. Xot for myself, Lord Warwick, but my 
Whom I unnaturany shall disinherit. [son, 

But be it as it may:" I here entail 
The crown to tliee and to thine heirs for ever; 
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, 
To honour me as thy king and sovereign, 
And neither by treason nor hostility 
To seek to put me down and reign thyself. 

York. This oatli I willingly take and will perform. 
War. Long live King lienry! Plantagenet, em- 
brace liim. [ward sons! 
Jv. Hen. And long live thou and llicse lliy for- 
York. Now Ycnk :uid Lanraslcr :iii- n'coiicilcd. 
Exe. Accursed be he that seeks to make them toes! 
[Sennet. Here tliey come iloirn. 
York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I '11 to my 

castle. 
War. And I '11 keep London with my soldiers. 
i/'orf. And I to Norfolk witli my followers. 
Mont. And I unto the sea from wlience I came. 
[Exeunl York and lug Song^V.'anrlrk. Xnrfolk, 
Montaijae, their .SV)/(?/o-.s, ,i,iJ All, mf.i'.itg. 
K.Hen. And I," with grief and sorrow, tot iie court. 

Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of "Wales. 

Exc. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray 
I '11 steal away. [her anger : 

Jv. Hen. Exeter, so will I. 

Q. Mar. Kay, go not from me; I will follow thee. 

K. Hen. Be patient, gentle ([ueen, and I will stay. 

Q. Mar. AVlio can be iiatii^iit in sui-h extremes y 
Ah, wretched man! would I liad died a maid. 
And never seen thee, never borne tlicc son, 
Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father! 
Hath he deserved to lose his liirtliriglit thus Y 
lladst tliou but loved him Ijalf so well as I, 
Or felt tliai iiain which I did for him once, 
Or nourisird him as I did witli my blood, [there. 
Thou wcnldst liave left thy dearest heart-blood 
Kather tliau liave made that savage duke thine heir 
And disinherited thine only son. 

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me: 
If you be king, wliy sliouhl not I succeed V [son : 

K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret; panlon me, sweet 
The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. 

Q. 3Iar. Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt 
be forced V 
I shame to hear thee speak. All, timorous wretch ! 
Thou hast undone tliyself, thy son and me; 
And given unto the house of York such liead 
As thou slialt reign but by their sufferance. 
To entail him and his heirs uiito the crown, 
What is it, but to make thy sepulchre 
And creep into it far before tliy time ? 
AVarwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; 
Stern Falconliridge commands tlie narrow seas; 
The duke is made protector of the realm; 
And yet slialt thou be safe? such safety finds 
The tremliling lamb envii'oned with wolves. 
Had 1 been there, which am a silly woman, 
Tlie soldiers shoidd have toss'd me on their pikes 
Before I would have granted to that act. 
lUit thou pi-eferr'st thy life before thine honour: 
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself 
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, 
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd 
Whereby my son is disinherited. 
The nortliern lords that have forsworn thy colours 
- Will follovv- mine, if once they see them spread; 
And sprea<l tliey sh.all be, to thy foul disgrace 
And utter ruin of the house of York. 
Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let 's away ; 
Our army is ready; come, we '11 after them. 

A". Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. 

Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much ah'eady : get 
thee goue. 

436 



K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with 

me V 
Q. Mar. Ay, to be mnrder'd by his enemies. 
Prince. When I return with victory from the field 
I '11 see your grace : till then I '11 follow her. 

Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not linger thus. 
\Exeunt Queen Murijitrit and tlie Priiirr. 
K. Hen. Poor (pieen ! how li ive to me and to lier son 
Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
Kevenged may she be on tliat hateful duke. 
Whose haughty s])irit, winged with desire. 
Will cost my crown, and like an emjity eagle 
Tire on the llesh of me and iif my son ! 
The loss of those tliree lords torments my heart : 
I '11 write unto lliem and entreat tliem fair. 
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 

[Exeimt. 
SCENE II. — Sandal Castle. 

Enter Richard, Edward, etnd Montague. 
Pieh. Brollier, though I be youngest, give me leave. 
Edir. No, I can better play the orator. 
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 

Enter the Duke of York. 

York. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a 
What is your quarrel? how began it flrstV [strife? 

Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 

Y(rrk. About what? [us; 

ii'/<7i. About that wliich concerns your grace and 
The crown of I-higland, father, which is yotns. 

York. ]Miiie, lioy ? not till King Henry be dead. 

Pirh. Your rigid depends not on his life or death. 

Edn:. Now you are heir, tlierefore enjoy it now: 
By giving tliehouse of Lancaster leave to breathe, 
It will oidrun you, father, in the end. 

Yirrk. I took an oath t hat he should quietly reign. 

Edir. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: 
I would lireak a thousand oaths to reign one year. 

Pidi. No; God forbid your grace should be for- 

York. I shall be, if I claim by open Wiir. [sworn. 

liich. I'll prove the contrary, if .you '11 hear me 
speak. 

York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. 

Pich. An oath is of no moment, being not took 
Before a true and lawful magistrate. 
That hath authority over liim that swears: 
Henry had none, but did usiu'p the place; 
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 
Yovu' oath, my lurd, is vain and frivolous. 
Therefore, to arms! And, lather, do but think 
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; 
Witlnn whose circuit is Elysium 
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
Why <lo we linger thus? I cannot rest 
Until the white rose that I wear be dyed 
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 

York, llicliard. eiiougli ; I will be king, or die. 
Brother, thou shaft to London presently. 
Anil whet on Warwick to this enteriirise. 
Thou, Richard, shall to the Duke of Norfolk, 
And tell him privily of our intent. 
You, Edward, shall unto my I^ord Cobham. 
With whom the Keutishinen will willingly rise: 
In them I trust; for they are soldiers. 
Witty, courteous, lilieral, full of spirit. 
While you are thus emiiloy'd, what resleth more, 
But thiit I seek occasion how to rise. 
And yet tlie king not )irivy to my drift, 
Nor any of the house of Lancaster ? 

Elder ii Messenger. 
But, stay : what news ? Why comest thou in such 
post ? [lords 

G<d)r. The queen with all the northern earls and 
Intend here to besiege you in your castle : 



ACT I. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scexe ix. 



S!ie is hard by with twenty thousand men ; 
And tlierefore fortify your hold, my lord. 

York. Ay, with my sword. What I tliink'st thou 
that we fear tliem V 
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; 
My brother Montague shall post to London: 
I,et noble Warwick, Coljham, and the rest, 
Whom we have left protectors of the king, 
With powerful policy strengthen themselves, 
And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. 

Mont. Brother, I go; I '11 win them, fear it not: 
And thus most humtily I do take my leave. [Exit. 

Enter Sir John MortimerfouZ Sir HughMortimer. 
York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine 
uncles, 
Yon are come to Sandal in a happy hour; 
The army of the queen mean to besiege us. [field. 
Sir John. She shall not need ; we '11 meet her in the 
York. What, with live tliousand men V 
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need : 
A woman 's general ; what should we fear V 

[A march afar off. 
Edw. I hear their drums : let 's set our ineu in 
order. 
And issue forth and bid them battle straight. 

York. Five men to twenty ! though the odds be 
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. [great, 

jNIany a battle have I won in France, 
When as tiie enemy hath been ten to one : 
Why should I not iiow have the like success? 

[Alarum. Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Field of bottle betwixt Sandal Castle 
and Wakefield. 

Alarum.',. Enter Rutland and his Tutor. 
But. Ah, whither shall I Hy to 'scape their hands ? 
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! 

Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 

Clif. Chaplain, away I thy priesthood saves thy 
As for the brat of this accur.sed duke, [life. 

Whose father slew my father, he shall die. 

Titt. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 

Ciif. Soldiers, away with him I 

Tiit. Ah,Clitford, murder not this innocent child. 
Lest thou be hated both of God and man I 

[Exit, (lraii;iP(l off hi/ Soldiers. 

Clif. How now! is he dead already';' or is it fear 
That makes him close his eyes y I "H open them. 

But. So loolis the jient-up lion o'er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring i)aws; 
And so he walks, insulting o'er his iirey. 
And so he comes, to rend his lindjs asunder. 
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me witli thy sword. 
And not with such a cruel threatening look. 
Sweet Clifford, hear me si)eak before I die. 
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath : 
Be thou revenged on men, and let me live, [blood 

Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; iny father's 
Ilatl'i stopp'd the passage where thy words should 
enter. 

But. Tlien let my father's blood open it again : 
lie is a man, and, Clifford, cope witli him. [thine 

Clif. Had I tliy brethren here, their lives and 
'Were not revenge sufflcient for me; 
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves 
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my lieart. 
The sight of any of the house of York 
Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
And till I root out their accursed line 
And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
Tlierefore — [Liftinq his hand. 

Rut. O. let me pray before I take niy death ! 
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! 



Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 

But. I never did thee harm : why wilt thou slay 
me':' 

CVif. Thy father hath. 

But. But 't was ere I v.'as born. 

Thou hast one son ; for his sake pity me, 
Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 
He be as miserably slain as I. 
Ah, let me live in prison all my days; 
And when I give occasion of offence. 
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 

Cbf. No cause! 
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. 

[Stabs Mm. 

But. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tu;e ! [Dies. 

Cbf. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenel ! 
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my lilade 
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy bhiod, 
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. 

[Exit. 
SCENE IV.— Another 2Xi.rt ofthefidd. 

Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York. 
York. The army of the queen hath got the field: 
My luicles both are slain in rescuing me; 
And all my followei's to the eager foe 
Turn back and fly, like .ships before the wind 
Cr landis iiursued by hunger-starved wolves. 
My sons, God knows what hath lierhaiifed them: 
But tliis I know, they have demeauM themselves 
Like men born to renown by life or death. 
Three times did Richard make a lane to me. 
And thrice cried ' Courage, fatiier ! fight it out ! ' 
And full as oft came Edward to my side. 
With purple falchion, painted to the hilt 
In lilood of those that liad encounter'd him: 
And when tlie hardiest warriors did retire, 
R ichard cried ' Charge ! and give no foot of ground I' 
And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! 
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre! ' 
With this, we charged again : but, out, alas! 
We bodged again; as I have seen a swan 
With bootless labour swim against the tide 
And spend her strength with over-matcliing waves. 
[A short (ihiruia iisithin. 
Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do jiursue ; 
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: 
And were I strong, I would imt shun tlieir fury: 
The sands are number'd that make up my life; 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 

Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumber- 
land, the i/ounij Prince, and Soldiers. 
Come, bloody Clifford, rough Xorthumbcrland, 
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: 
I am your butt, and I abide your sliot. 

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 

Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm. 
With downright payment, show'd unto my father. 
Now Phaetlion hath tiuidjled from his car. 
And made an evening at the noontide prick. 

York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth 
A bird that will revenge upon you all : 
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven. 
Scorning whate'er you can afBict-me with. 
Why come you not"? what! multitudes, and fear':* 

Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly no fur- 
ther; 
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; 
So des]ierate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
Breathe out invectives "gainst the officers. 

York. O CliflVird, but bethink thee once again. 
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; 
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face. 
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow- 
ardice 
AVhose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! 
437 



ACT I. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene iv. 



Clif. I will not baiifly with thee word for word, 
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. 

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Cliftord ! tor a thousand 
causes 
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. 
AVrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumber- 
land. 

Narih. Hold, Clifford! donothonourhimsomuch 
To prick thy flnger, thouy;h to wound his heart : 
AVIiat valour were it, when a cur ddtli ,srin. 
For one to thrust his hand between his teetli, 
Wlien he might sjiurn him witli liis foot away? 
It is war's prize to take all vantages ; 
And ten to one is no impeaili of valour. 

[Tlieij laij hands on Yoi'k, who struggles. 

Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. 

North. So doth the cony struggle in the net. 

York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd 
booty ; 
So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. 

North. What would your grace have done unto 
liim now ? 

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum- 
berland, 
Come, make liini stand upon this molehill here, 
Tliat raught at moinitains with outstretched arms, 
Yet parted but the shadow with his liand. 
What! was it you that would be Eiiglanil's king? 
AVas 't you that revell'd in our iiarliiiment. 
And made a preachment of your liigli descent? 
Wlieve are your mess of sons to back you now ? 
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? 
And where 's that valiant crnok-back prodigy, 
Dicky yoTu- boy, that witli his grumbling voice 
Was "wont to clieer liis dad in mutinies ? 
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? 
Look, York: I stain'd thi.s napkin with the blood 
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, 
Made issue from the bosom of tlie boy ; 
And if thine eyes can water for his death, 
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly, 
I siiould lament tliy miserable state. 
I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. 
AVniat,hath tliy tiery heart so parch 'd thine entrails 
Tliat not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ? 
Why art thou patient, man ? thou slioiildst be mad ; 
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
Siamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. 
Tliou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport : 
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. 
A crown for York ! and, lords, bow low to him : 
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. 

[Putting a paper crown on his head. 
Ay, marry, sir, now looks lie like a king ! 
Ay, this is he that took King Henry's cliair. 
And this is he wa.s Ids adopted heir. 
But liow is it that great Plautageuet 
Is crown "d so .soon, and broke liis solemn oath ? 
As I bethink me, you should not be king 
Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. 
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, 
And rob liis temples of the diadem. 
Now in his life, against your holy oath ? 
O, "tis a fault too too unpardonable! 
Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his head ; 
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. 

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 

Q.'Mar. Nay, stay; let's hea'r tlie orisons he 
makes. 

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves 
of France, 
Whose tongue more jioisons than the adder's tooth ! 
How ill-bcsei'iiiing is it in thy sex 
To triiunph, like an Amazonian trull. 
Upon their woes wJiom fortune captivates! 
438 



But that thy face is, visard-like, imchanging, 
Made impudent witli use of evil deeds, 
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee lilush. 
To tell thee wlience thou earnest, of whom (lerived, 
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 

shameless. 
Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, 
Of both the Sicils and .Jerusalem, 
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult ? 
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, 
Unless the adage must be verified, 
That beggars niouiited run their horse to death. 
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; 
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 
'T is virtue that doth make them most admired; 
The contrary doth make lliee wonder'd at : 
'Tis government that makes them seem divine; 
The want thereof makes thee abominable: 
Thou art as oiiposite to every good 
As the Antipodes are unto us. 
Or as the south to the septentrion. 

tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's bide! 

How couldst thou drain the life-lilood of the child. 
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal. 
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face ? 
W^omen are soft, mild, pitiful and llexible; 
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
Bid'st thou me rage ? why, now thou hast thy wish : 
AVouldst have me weep ? why, now thou hast thy 

will: 
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
And w'hen the rage allays, the rain begins. 
These tears are my sweet Hutlaud's obsequies: 
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,- 
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French- 
woman. 

North. Beslirew me, but his passion moves me so 
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 

York. Tiiat face of his the liungry cannibals 
Would not have toueh'd, would not have stain'd 

with blood : 
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, , 
O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. 
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: 
This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, 
And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this : 
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right. 
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; 
Yea even my foes will shed fast -falling tears. 
And say ' Alas, it was a piteous deed ! ' 
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my 

curse ; 
And in thy need such comfort come to thee 
As now I reap at thy too cruel liand ! 
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the. world: 
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! 

'North. Had he beeii slaughter-man to all my kin, 

1 should not f(u- my lifelmt weep with him, 
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 

Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northum- 
berland ? 
Tliink but upon the wrong he did us all, 
And that will (luickly dry thy melting tears. 

Clif. Here 's for my oath, here 's for my father's 
death. [Sialibing him. 

Q. Mar. And liere 's to right our gentle-hi-arted 
king. [stabbing him. 

York. Oi)en Thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! 
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out 
Tliee. ' [Dies. 

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York 
gates ; 
So York may overlook the town of York. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



ACT IT. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene i. 



A^CT II. 



SCENE I.- 



A plain near 3Ioytimer''s Cross in 
Herefordshire. 



A march. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power. 

Edw. I wonder how our iirincely father 'scaped, 
Or whether he be 'scaped awa.v or no 
From Clifford's and Xorthumbeilaiurs pursuit: 
JIad he been ta'en, we should liave heard the news ; 
Had lie been slain, we should have heard the news; 
Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard 
The liappy tidings of his good escape. 
How fares nij' brother ? why is he so sad ? 

Rich. I canniit joy, until I be resolved 
AVhere our riijht valiant father is become. 
I saw him in the battle range about; 
And watch'd him how lie singled Clifford forth. 
Methought he Ijore him in the thickest troop 
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ; 
Or as a bear, encompassM nuuid with dogs, 
Who havi]ig pinchVl a few and nuule theiu cry, 
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
So fared our father with his enemies ; 
So fled his enemies my warlike father: 
Metliinks, 't is prize enough to be his son. 
See how the morning opes her golden gates, 
And takes her farewell of the glorious suu 1 
How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
Trimm'd like a younker prancing to' his love! 

Edio. Dazzle mme eyes, or do I see three suns? 

J?ic7i. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect suu ; 
Not separated with the racking clouds, 
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 
See," see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, 
As if they vow'd some league inviolable: 
Kow are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
In this the heaven figures some event. [heard of. 

Ed(v. 'T is wondrous strange, the like yet never 
I think it cites us, brother, tothe field. 
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
Each one akeady blazing by our meeds, 
-Should notwithstanding joiji our lights together 
And over-shine the earth as tliis the world. 
AVhate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
Upon my target three fair-shining suns. 

Rich. Xay, bear three daughters : by your leave 
I speak it, 
You love the breeder better than the male. 

Enter a Messenger. 
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue 'f 

Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker-ou 
"When as the noble Duke of York was slain, 
Your princely father and my loving lord ! 

Edw. O, speak no more, for I havclieard too much. 

liich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 

Mess. Environed he was with many foes. 
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy 
Against the Greeks that would have enter"d Troy. 
But Hercules himself must yield to odds; 
And many strokes, though with a little axe. 
Hew down and fell the liardest-tindier'd oak. 
By many hands your father was subdued; 
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
Oi uureienting Clifford and the queen, 
■NViio crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, 
I^uigh'd in his face ; and when with grief he wept. 
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks 
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clitt'ord slain: 
And after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
They took his head, and on the gales of York 
They set the same ; and there it dnth remain, 
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view"d. 



Edir. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, 
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. 
O Clilford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain 
The Hower of Europe for his chivalry; 
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, 
For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. 
Kow my soul's palace is become a prison: 
Ah, would she break from lieuce, that this my body 
Miglit in the ground be closed up in rest 1 
For never henceforth shall I joy again, 
Never, O never, shall I see more joy ! 

liich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture 
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart : 
Norcau my tongue unload my heart "s great burthen ; 
For selfsame wind that I sluiuld speak wiiha! 
Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, [quench. 
And burns me up with flames that tears would 
To weep is to make less the depth of grief : 
Tears then for babes ; blows and revenge for me ! 
Richard, 1 bear thy name; I '11 venge thy death. 
Or die renowned by attempting it. [lliee: 

Edic. His name that valiant duke hath lefc with 
His dukedom ami his chair with me is left. 

liich. Xay, if thou be tliat princely eagle's bird. 
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sua : 
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; 
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 

March. Enter "Warwick, Marquess of Mon- 
tague, and their armij. 
War. How now, fair lords! What fare? what 
news abroad ":' [count 

liich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should re- 
Our baleful news, and at each word's deli\'erance 
Stab iMiiiiards in our lit-sli till all were told, 
Thewords would add more iinguish than the wounds. 

valiant lord, the Duke of York is shiin ! 
Edjr. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, 

Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption. 
Is by the stern Lonl ( 'lilford done to death. 

War. Ten days ago I drowii'd these news in tears; 
And now, to add more measure to your woes, 

1 come to tell vou things silli then hefall'n. 
After the bloody fray at ^Vakelield fouglit, 
Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp. 
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run. 
Were broU',;lit me of your loss anil his depart. 
I, then in London, keeper of the king, 
iluster'd my soldiers, gather'd (locks of friends, 
And very well appointed, as I thought, [queen, 
jMarch'd toward Saint Allian's to intercept the 
Bearing the king in my behalf along; 
For by my scouts I was advertised 
That she was coming with a full intent 
To dash our late decree in parliament 
Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. 
Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met. 
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fouglit: 
But whether 't was the coldness of the king, 
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen. 
That robb'd my soldiers of their Iieated spleen ; 
Or whether 't was rejiort of her success ; 

J Or UKU-e than eouuuon fear of Clifford's rigour, 
■^ ^\■llo thunders to his captives blood and death, 
I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth. 
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ; 
Our soldiers "T like tlie uiglit-owl's lazy flight. 
Or like an idle thresher with a Hail, 
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause. 
With i)ronuse of high pay and great rewards: 
But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight. 
And we in them no hope to win the thiy ; 
So that we fled ; the king unto the queen ; 
439 



ACT II. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene it. 



Lord Georjje your brother, Norfolk and myself, 
In haste, post-haste, are come to join witli you ; 
For in the marclies here we heard you were, 
Making another head to fight again. [wick ? 

Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle War- 
And when came George from Burgundy to England V 

Wai-. Some six miles off the duke is with the sol- 
diers ; 
And for your brother, he was lately sent 
From your kind aunt. Duchess of Burgundy, 
With aid of soldiers to this needful war. [fled : 

Ekh. 'T was odds, l)elike, when valiant Warwick 
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, 
But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. [liear ; 

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou 
For thou Shalt know this strong right hand of mine 
Can pluck the diadem from faint llenry's head, 
And wring the awful sceptre from liis fist, 
Were he as famous and as bold in war 
As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. 

Itich. I know it well. Lord Warwick ; blame me 
'T is love I bear thy glories makes me speak, [not : 
But in this troublous time wliat 's to be done 'i 
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, 
Numbering our Ave-JIaries with our beads ? 
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
Tell our devotion witli revengeful arms? 
If for the last, say ay, and to it . lonls. [out ; 

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you 
And therefore comes my brotiier ^Montague. 
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen. 
With Clifford and the haught Novtluuubcrhind, 
And of tlieir leather many moe proud birds. 
Have wrought the easy-rnelting king like wax. 
He swore consent to your succession. 
His oath enrolled in the jxirliament; 
And now to London all tlie crew are gone. 
To frustrate both his oath and what beside 
May make against the house of Lancaster. 
Their power," I think, is thirty tlmusand strong: 
Now, if the help of Norfolk and uivself, 
AVith all the friends that thou, lirave Earl of March, 
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, 
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, 
Why, Via ! to London will we march amain, 
And once again bestride our foaming steeds. 
And once again cry ' Charge upon our foes ! ' 
But never once again turn back and fly. [speak : 

Rich. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick 
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day. 
That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid 1dm stay. 

Edm. Lord Warwick, on thy slmulder will'I lean ; 
And when thou fail'st — as God Icirliid the hour! — 
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! 

IFttr. No longer Earl (if Marcli, but Duke of York: 
The next degree is England's royal throne; 
For King of England slialt thou be proclaim'd 
In every borough as we pass along ; 
And he that throws not up his cap for joy 
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, 
Stay we no longer, clreaming of renown. 
But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 

liidi. Tlien, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as 
As thou hast shown it llinty by thy deeds, [steel, 
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. * 

EdiD. Then strike up drums: God and Saint 
George for us ! 

Enter a Messenger. 
War. How now ! what news ? 
Mess. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me. 
The queen is coming with a puissant host; 
And craves your company for speedy counsel. 
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let 's 
away. \^Exeunt. 

440 



SCENE 11.— Before York. 

Flniirish. Entrr King Henry, Queen Marg-aret, I'le 
Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, 

with drum and trumpets. 

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town 
Yonder 's the Iiead of that arch-enemy [of York. 
That souglit to be encom|iassM with your crown: 
Doth not the object cheer your lieart, my lord ? 

K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer tlieiii that fear 
their wreck : 
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. 
Witlihold revenge, dear God I 't is not my faujt, 
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. 

Clif. My gracious liege, tliis too much lenity 
And harmful pity must be laid aside. 
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? 
Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
Whose liand is that the fcirest bear doth lick? 
Not his that spoils her young betore her face. 
Who 'scapes the lurking serpi'ut's mortal sting? 
Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on. 
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. 
Ambitious York did level at thy crown. 
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: 
He, but a duke, would have his sou a king, 
And raise his issue, like a loving sire; 
Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son. 
Didst yield consent to disinherit him. 
Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
Unreasonable creatures feed their young; 
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, 
Yet, in protection of their tender ones. 
Who hath not seen them, even with tljose wings 
Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, 
Make war witli him that climb'd unto their nest. 
Offering their own lives in their young's defence ? 
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent ! 
Were it not pity that this goodly boy 
Should lose his birthright by Ins father's fault, 
And long hereafter say unto his child, 
' What my great-grandfather and grandsire got 
My careless father fondly gave away ' ? 
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; 
And let his manly face, whicli promiseth 
Successful I'lirtiuie, steel thy melting heart 
To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. 

A'. Hen. Full well hath ClilTord play'd the orator, 
Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear 
Th:it things ill-got had ever liad success? 
And liap|iv alwavs was it for tliat son 
Whose father for his hoanling went to hell? 
I "11 leave my S(in my virtumis deeds behind; 
And wovdd my father had left me no more! 
For all the rest is held at such a rate 
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep 
Tlian in possession any jot of pleasure. 
Ah, cousin York ! would thy licst friends did know 
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! 

Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes 
are nigh. 
And this soft courage makes your followers faint. 
You promised knighthood to our forward son: 
Unsheathe ycmr swnrd, and dub him presently. 
Edwaril, kneel ddwn. 

A'. Hen. Edwanl Plantagenet, arise a knight : 
And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. 

Prince. ^ly gracious father, by your kingly leave, 
I'll draw it as ajipareut to the crown. 
And in that quarrel use it to the dealih. 

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: 
For with a band of thirty thousand men 



ACT IT. 



THIRD PART OF KING IIEXRY VI scene in. 



Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York ; 
And in the towns, as they do march along, 
Proclaims liim king, and many Hy to him : 
Darraign your battle, for they are at luuul. 

Clif. I would your highness would depart the field : 
The queen hath best success wlien you are absent. 

<^. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our 
fortune. [I '11 stay. 

K. Men. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore 

Kofth. Be it with resolution tlien to tight. 

Prini-e. My royal father, cheer these noble lords 
And hearten" those that light in your defence : 
Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint 
George ! ' 

March. E^iter Edward, George, Richard, War- 
■wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. 

Eda\ Xow, perjured Henry ! wilt thou kneel for 
And set thy diadem upon my head; [grace. 

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? 

Q. M(ir. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting 
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms [boy ! 

Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king ? 

JSdw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; 
I was adopted heir by his consent: 
Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear. 
You, that are king, though he do v.'ear tlie crown, 
Have caused him, by new act of parliament, 
To blot out me, and put his own son in. 

CJif. And reason too : 
Who should succeed the father but the son V 

liich. Are you tliere, butcher ? O, I cannot speak ! 

Clif. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer tliee. 
Or any he the proudest of thy sort. [it not y 

Bicli. 'T was you that kill'd young Rutland, was 

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 

Ivich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. 

War. What say 'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield 
the crown V 

Q. Mar. Why, Iiow now, long-tongued Warwick I 
dare you speak ? 
When you and 1 met at Saint Alban's last, 
Your legs did better service tluin your hands. 

War. Then 't was my t urn to tly , and now 't is thine. 

Clif. Y'ou said so much before, and yet you lied. 

War. 'T was not your valour, Clifford, drove me 
thence. [you stay. 

North. Xo, nor your manhood that durst make 

Rich, Xorthuuiberland, I hold thee reverently. 
Break off the pai-ley ; for scarce I can refrain 
The execution of my big-swoln heart 
Upon tliat Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 

Clif. 1 slew thy father, calTst thou him a child? 

Rich. Ay. like a dastard and a treaciierous coward, 
As thou didst kill our tender brother Uutland; 
But ere sunset 1 '11 make thee curse the deed. 

K. Hea. Have done with words, my lords, and 
hear me speak. [lips. 

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close tliy 

A'. Hen. I prithee, give no limits to my tongue : 
I am a king, and privileged to speak. [here 

Clif. i[y liege, tlie wound tliat bred this meeting 
Caniiot be cured by words; tlierefore be still. 

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword; 
By liim tliat made us all, 1 am resolved 
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
" Edir. Say, Henry, siiall I have my rigid, or no? 
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, 
Tliat ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crovv'n. 

War. If thou deny, their lilood upon thy head ; 
For York in justice puts his armour on. [right. 

Prince. If that be right which Warwick says is 
There is no wrong, but everything is right. 

Rich. Whoever got tliec there thy iimtherstands; 
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. • 

Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire nor 
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, [dam; 



Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided. 

As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 

Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, 
Whose father bears the title of a king, — 
As if a channel shouki be call'd the sea,— 
Shamest thou not, knowuig whence thou art ex- 

traught. 
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? 

Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand 
crowns. 
To make this shameless callet know herself. 
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou. 
Although thy husband may lu' Menelaus; 
And ne'er was Aganieiuiion's brother wrong'd 
By that false wciuian. as tliis king by thee. 
His father revell'd in the heart of France, 
And tamed tlie king, and made the dauphin stoop; 
And had he match'd according to his state, 
lie might have kept that glory to this day; 
But when he took a beggar to his bed, 
AikI graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day. 
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower tor him. 
That wash'd his lather's fortunes forth of France, 
And lieap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
For what hath broacli'd this tumult but thy pride ? 
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; 
And we, in pity of the gentle king. 
Had slipii'd our claim until another age. [spring, 

Geo. But wlirii we saw our sunshine made thy 
And that thy summer bred us no increase, 
We set the axe to thy usurping root; 
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, 
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
AVe '11 never leave till we have hewn thee down. 
Or bathed thy growing with our lieated bloods. 

Edtc. And,' in this resolution, I defy thee; 
Not willing any longer conference. 
Since tliou denlest the gentle king to speak. 
Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! 
And either victory, or else a grave. 

Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 

Eda\ No, wrangling woman, we '11 no longer stay : 
These words wiU cost ten thousand lives tliis day. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A fckl of battle between Toicton and 
Haxton, in Yorkshire. 

Alarum. Exairsions. Enter "War-wick. 
War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, 
I lay me dovvn a little while to breathe ; 
For strokes received, and many blows repaid. 
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 
And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. 

Enter Edward, running. 
Edn\ Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle 
death ! 
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 
War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope 
of good ? „ ^ 

Enter George. 

Oco. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: 
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly ? 

Edic. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings ; 
And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. 

Enter Richard. 
Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn 
thyself? 
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk. 
Broach 'd with the steely point of Clifford's lauce;. 
And in the very pangs of deatli he cried. 
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, 
' Warwick, revenge ! lirotlier, revenge my deatli ! ' 
So, uuderueatli tiie belly of their ateeds, 
441 



ACT II. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene v. 



Tliat stain\l their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. [blood : 

War. Then let tlie earth be dninken with oui- 
I '11 kill my horse, because I will not lly. 
Wliy stand we like soft-liearted women liere. 
Wailing our losses, whiles tlie foe doth rage; 
And look upon, as if the tragedy 
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? 
Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
1 11 never jianse attain, never stand still. 
Till either death liath closed these eyes uf mine 
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. • 

Edu-\ O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; 
And in this vow do chain m'>- soul to thine ! 
And, ere my knee rise from tlie earth's cold face, 
I throw my hands, nnne eyes, my heart to thee, 
Thou setter uj) and plucker down of kings, 
Beseeching thee, if with tiiy will it stands 
That to my foes this body must be prey. 
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! 
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. [Warwick, 

liich. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle 
Let me endjrace thee in my weary arms: 
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe 
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 

War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lords, 
farewell. 

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, 
And give them leave to dy that will not stay ; 
And call them pilhu's thai A\ill stand to us; 
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
As victors wear at the Olympian games : 
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; 
For yet is hope of life and victory. 
Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt. 

SCENE TV .—Another x>an of the field. 
Excursions. Enter Richard and ClifTord. 

Sich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: 
Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, 
And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
W^ert thou environ 'd with a brazen wall. 

Clif. Now, Uichard, I am with thee here alone: 
This'is the hand that stalib'd thv father York; 
And this the hand that sh-w thy brother Rutland; 
And here 's the heart that triiimplis in their death 
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother 
To execute the like uiion thyself; 
And so, have at thee ! 

[Thei/jifiht. Waricick comes :, Clifford flies. 

Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other cliase ; 
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [E.ceuul. 

SCENE v.— Another part of the field. 
Alarum. Enter Kins' Heni-y alone. 
King. This battle fares like to the morning's war, 
AVhen dying clouds contend with growing light, 
What time th<" shepherd, bluwiMg of his nails. 
Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 
Now swavs it this wav, like a miLjhIv sea 
Forced by the tide to coiidiat witli tlie wind; 
Now sways it tliat way, like the selfsame sea 
Forced to retire bv fury of the wind : 
Sometime the llnod prevails, and then the wind; 
Now one the better, then another best ; 
Both tugging t(i be victors, breast to breast, 
Yet neitlier comincror nor con([uered : 
So is the equal iioisc of this fell war. 
Here on this midehill will I sit me down. 
To wluini (iod will, there be the victory! 
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too. 
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both 
They prosper best of.till when I am tUeuce. 
44& 



Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; 

For what is in this world but grief and woe ':" 

O tied ! nietliinks it were a happy life, 

To be no better than a homely swain; 

To sit iqion a hill, as 1 do now. 

To carve out dials iiuaintly, point by point, 

Thereby to see the minutes how they run, 

How many make the Imur full complete; 

How many hours bring about the day; 

How many days will linish up the year; 

How many years a mortal man may live. 

When this is known, then to divide the times: 

So many hours must I tend my Hock ; 

So many hours must I take my rest ; 

So many hours must I contemplate; 

So many hours must I sport my.self ; 

So many days my ewes have been with young; 

So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean; 

So many years ere I shall shear the Heece : 

So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 

Pass'd over to the end they were created, 

Would bring white hairs mito a quiet grave. 

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet ! how lovely! 

Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade 

To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 

Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 

To kings that fear their subjects' treachery V 

O, yes, it doth; a thousaiid-bdd it doth. 

And to conclucle, the sla'pherd's homely curds. 

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. 

His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 

Is far beyond a jirince's delicates. 

His viands sparkling in a golden cup. 

His body couched in a curious bed. 

When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. 

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, drugging 
in the dead body. 

Sun. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. 
This man, wlmni liaml to hand I slew in tight, 
May be possessed with some store of crowns ; 
Anil I, that haply take them from him now. 
May yet ere night yield both my life and tliern 
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. 
AVho'sthis? OGod! it is my father's face, 
Whom in this conllict I im wares have kill'd. 
O lieavy times, begetting such events! 
From London by the king was I i)ress'd forth; 
My father, being tlie Earl of Warwick's man. 
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; 
And I, who at his hands received my life. 
Have by my hands of life bereaved him. 
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I ditl! 
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! 
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; 
And no more words till they have tiow'd their fill. 

K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times ! 
Whiles lions war ami liattle for their dens, 
Poor harmless landis abide their enmity. 
Weep, wretched man, I '11 aid thee tear for tear; 
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, [grief. 
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with 

Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body. 

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, 
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 
For I have bought it witli an hundred blows. 
But let me see: is this our foenian's facey 
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! 
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, 
Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, 
Blown with the w'indy tempest of my heart. 
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart I 
O, pity, God, this miserable age! 
AVhat stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, 



ACT IT. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene vi. 



This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! 
O boy, thy father gave tliee life tuo soon. 
And'hath bereft thee of thy life too late! [srief ! 
A', liiiii. Woe above woe ! grief more than couunon 

that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! 
O, pity, pity, gentle he;iveu, pity I 

The red rose and the white are on his face, 
The fatal coloiii's of our striving houses : 
The one his purple l)lood right well resembles; 
The other his pale clieeks, niethiuks, presenteth: 
"Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ■, 
If you couteu<l. a thousand lives must wither. 

ii'in. How will my mother for a father's death 
Take ou with me and ne'er be satistied ! 

Filth. How will my wife f<n- slaughter of my son 
Shed seas of tears and ne'er lie satislied ! [chances 

K. Hen. How will the country for these woful 
Misthink the king and not be satistied ! 

bon. Was ever son so rued a father's death '^ 

Fnth. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son y 

K.Hin. Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? 
Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so nuich. 

Sun. I'll bear thee hence, where I mav weep my 
till. [K.iit icUh the Ijoih/. 

Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding- 
My heart, sweet boy, shall be tliy sepulchre, [sheet ; 
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go ; 
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; 
And so obsequious will thy father be. 
Even for the loss of thee, liaving no more, 
As Priam was for ail his valiant sons. 

1 "11 liear thee hence; and let them tight that will, 
For I have murdered where 1 should not kill. 

[Exit a-ith the bod;/. 

K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with 

Here sits a king more woful than you are. [care. 

Alarums: excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, the 
Prince, and Exeter. 

Prince. Fly , father, fly ! for all your friends are fled, 
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
Away! for death'doth hold us in pursuit. 

Q.Mnr. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick 
post amain: 
Edward and Iticliard. like a brace of greyhounds 
Having the feartul tlying hare in sight, 
AVith tiery eyes sparkling for very wrath. 
And bloody steel grasp'd in tlieir ireful hands. 
Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 

Kcc. Awayl for vengeance i-oniesalong withthem: 
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; 
Or else come after : I '11 avvay before. [ter: 

K. Hen. Xay, take me with thee, good sweet Exe- 
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away ! 

[Exeimt. 

SCENE VI. — Another piirt of the field. 

A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 
Clif. Here burns my candle out ; ay, here it dies, 
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. 
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow 
More than my body's parting with my soul! 
jSIy love and fear glued many friends to thee ; 
And, now I fall, thy tongh commixture melts. 
Impairing Henry, strengthening niisprouil York, 
The rdnniiiin jieople swarm like summit flies; 
And whitlier fly the gnats but to the sun ? 
And who shines now Ijiit Henry's enemies '^ 
O Phi.ebus, liadst thou never given consent 
That Piiacflion should cliei-k thy flery steeds. 
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth ! 
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do. 
Or as thy father and his father did. 
Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
They never then had sprung like summer flies ; 



I and ten thousand in this luckless realm 
Had left no mourning widows for our death ; 
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. 
For what doth cherisli weeds but gentle air'^ 
And what makes robbers liold but loo much lenity ? 
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; 
Ko way to fly, nor strength to liold out flight : 
The foe is merciless, aud will not inty ; 
For at their hands I have deserved no pity. 
The air hath got into my deadly wounds, 
xVnd much effuse of blood doth make me faint. 
Come, York and Kichard, AV^arwick and the rest ; 
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 

{.He Jaints. 

Alarum and retreat. Enter Ed-ward, George, Rich- 
ard, Montague, "Warwick, and Soldiers. 

Edw. Xow bretithe we, lords : good fortune bids 
us pause. 
And smooth the frowns of war with jieaceful looks. 
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, 
That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
As dotli a sail, till'd With a fretting gust. 
Command an aryosv to stem tlie waves. 
But think you. lords, that < 'litford fled with them"? 

War. No, 't is impossible he should escape; 
For, though before his face I speak the words, 
Y'our brother Kichard mark'd liim for the grave: 
And vvheresoe'er he is, he 's smely dead. 

[Clijj'ord groans, and dies. 

Edw. AVhose soul is that which takes her heavy 
leave y [ing. 

JJich. A deadly groan, like life and death's depart- 

Edic. See who it is : and, now the battle 's ended. 
If friend or foe, let him be gently used. [ford ; 

Hich. Revoke that doom" of mercy, for 't is Clif- 
AVlio not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth. 
But set his nuirdering knife imto the root 
From whence that teniler spray did sweetly spring, 
I mean our princely fatlier, Duke of Y''ork. [head. 

War. From off tlie gates of York fetch down the 
Y'"our fatlier "s head, which Clifford placed there; 
Instead wliereof let this supi)ly the room: 
Measure for measure must be answered. [house, 

Edic. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our 
That nothing sung but death to us and ours: 
Now death sliall stop his dismal threatening sound. 
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 

War. I think his understanding is bereft. 
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? 
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, 
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. 

Eich. O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 
'T is but his policy to counterfeit. 
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
AVhich in the time of death he gave our father. 

Geo. If sot liou think 'st, vex him with eager words. 

liich. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. 

Ediv. Cliffonl. repent in bootless penitence. 

War. Clifford, devise excuses for tky faults. 

Geo. AVhile we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 

Eich. Thou didst love Ytu-k, and I am son to York. 

Edit). Tliou pitied 'st Rutland; I will pity thee. 

Geo. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you 
now y [wast w^ont. 

War. They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou 

Rich. What, not an oath ? nay, then the world 
goes hard 
AYhen Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. 
I know by that he 's dead; and, by my soul. 
If this right hand would buy two hours' life. 
That I in all despite might rail at him, [blood 

This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing 
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst 
Y'ork and young Rutland could not satisfy, [head. 

War. Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's 
443 



ACT III. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene i. 



And rear it in the place your fatlier's stands. 

And now to London with triumphant march, 

There to be crowned Ensland's royal king: 

From whence .shall Warwick cut the sea to France, 

And ask the Laily linna tor thy queen: 

80 Shalt thou sinew both these lands together; 

And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread 

The scattered foe tliat hopes to rise again ; 

For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt. 

Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. 

First will 1 see the coronation; 

And tlien to Brittany I '11 cross the sea, 

To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 



Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be ; 
For in thy shoulder do 1 build my seat, 
And never will I undertake tlie tiling 
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. 
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, 
A:id George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, 
Shall do and luido as him pleaseth best. 

liidi. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of 
Gloucester; 
For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. 

War. Tut, that 's a foolish observation : 
Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, 
To see these honours in possession. \^Exeimt, 



ACT III. 



SCENE 1. — A forest in the north 0/ Eiujlaml. 
filler two Keepers, -uuth crogs-boias in their hands. 
First Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we 11 
shroud ourselves ; 
For through this laund anon the deer will come ; 
And in this covert will we make our stand, 
Culling the principal of all the deer. 
6'ec. Keep. I '11 stay above the hill, so both may 
shoot. [cross-bow 

First Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy 
AVill scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : 
And, for tlie time shall not seem tedious, 
I '11 tell thee what lictVl me on a day 
In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 
See. Keejj. Here comes a man ; let 's stay till he 
be past. 

Enter King Henry, disguised, with a prayer-hook. 

K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure 
love. 
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; 
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 
Tiiy balm wash'd off wherewit li thou wast anointeil : 
No bending kiier will call tliee Coesar now. 
No liunilile suitors press to speak for right, 
No, not a man conies for redress of thee; 
For how can I help them, and not myself ? 

First Keep. Ay, here 's a deer whose skin 's a 
keeper's fee : 
This is tlie quondam king; let 's seize upon him. 

A'. Jh)i. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity. 
For wise men say it is the wisest course. [liim. 

Sec. Keep. Why linger we V let us lay hands niion 

First Keep. Forbear awhile ; we '11 hear a little 
more. [for aid ; 

K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to France 
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
To wife for Edward : if this news be true. 
Poor (lueen and son, your labour is but lost ; 
For Warwick is a subtle orator. 
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. 
By this account then Margaret may win him ; 
For she 's a woman to be pitied much : 
Her siglis will make a battery in his lireast; 
Tier tears will.iiieri-e into a liiarlile heart; 
The tiger will lie mild whiles slie doth mourn; 
And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. 
Ay, but she 's come to beg, AVarwick, to give; 
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, 
He, on liis rigid, asking a wife for Edward. 
She weejis, and says her Henry is deposed; 
He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; 
That she, poor wretch, tor grief can speak no more ; 
444 



Whiles AVarwick tells his title, smooths the ■\\Tong, 

Inferreth arguments of mighty strength. 

And in conclusion wins the king from her, 

With promise of his sister, and wliat else, 

To strengthen iuid support King Edward's place. 

O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, 

Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! 

Sec. Keep. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings 
and queens? [born to: 

K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was 
A man at least, for less I should not be; 
And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 

Sec. Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a 
king. 

K. Hen. Wliy,soIam,inniind: and that 'senough. 

Sec. Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy 
crown y 

K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head ; 
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, 
Nor to be seen : my crown is called content : 
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. [content. 

Sec. Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with 
Your crown content and you must be contented 
To go along with us; for, as we think, 
You are the king King Edward hath deposed; 
And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance 
AVill apprehend you as his enemy. 

K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an 
oath y [now. 

Sec. Keep. No, never such an oath; nor will not 

K. Hen. Where did you dwell when I was King 
of England 'f [remain. 

Sec. Keep. Here in this country, where we now 

K. Hen. 1 was anointed king at nine months old ; 
My father and my grandfather were kings. 
And you were sworn true subjects imto me: 
And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths':' 

First Keep. No ; 
For we were subjects but while you were king. 

K. Hen. AVliy,am Idead':* dolnotbreatheamanj' 
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear ! 
Look, as I blow tliis feather from niyface. 
And as the air blows it to me again, 
Obeying with my wind when 1 do blow. 
And yielding to another when it blows. 
Commanded always by the greater gust; 
Such is tlie lightness of you common men. 
But do not lireak your oaths; for of tliat sin 
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
Go where you will, the king shall be coimnauded ; 
And be you kings, command, and I '11 obey. 

First Keep. We are true subjects to the king. 
King Edward. 

K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, 
If he were seated as King Edward is. [the king's. 

First Keep. We charge you, in God's name, anil 
To a;o with us imto theoffieers. [be obey'd : 

K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's name 



ACT III. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene it. 



Anil what God will, that let yoiir king perform ; 
Aiid what he will, 1 humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. 

SCENE U. — London. The palace. 

Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, and 
Lady Grey. 
K. Edw. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's 
field 
This lady's luisliand. Sir Richard Grey, was slain. 
His lands tlien seized on by the conqueror: 
Her suit is now to repossess those lauds; 
Whicli we in justice cannot well deny, 
Because in (piarrel of the house of York 
The wortliv gentleman did lose his life. 

Glou. Your highness shall do well to grant her 

It were dishonour to deny it her. [suit ; 

A'. Edir. It were no less ; but yet 1 11 make a 

Ghu. {Atiidf to Clnr.] Yea, is it so? [pause. 

I see the lady liatli a thing to grant, 

Before the king will grant her humble suit. 

Clar. {Addcto Gloii.] He knows the game: how 

true he keeps the wind! 
Gloti. [Aside to Clar.] Silence! 
K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; 
And come some otlier time to know our mind. 

L. Grei/. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: 
Jlay it please your liiglmess to resolve me now ; 
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 

Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Ay, widow V then I '11 war- 
rant you all your lauds, 
An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. 
Figiit closer, or, good faith, you '11 catch a blow. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] I fear her not, unless she 

chance to fall. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] God forbid that ! for he '11 

take vantages. 
K. Edip. How many children hast thou, widow? 

tell me. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] I think he means to beg a 

child of her. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Nay, whip me then: he'll 

rather give her two. 
X. Geo'/. Tlu'ee, my most gracious lord. 
Glou. [Aside to Cinr.] You shall have foiu", if 

you "11 be ruled by him. 
K. Edw. 'T were pity they should lose their fa- 
ther's lands. 
L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. 
A". Edw. Lords, give us leave : I 'U try this wid- 
ow's wit. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Ay, good leave have you; 
for you will have leave. 
Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. 
[Glou. and Clar. retire. 
K. Edw. Now tell me, madame, do you love your 

children ? 
L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
K. Edw. And would you not do much to do them 
good ? [Iiarm. 

L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some 
K. Edw. Tlien get your husband's lauds, to do 

them good. 

L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 

A'. Edw. I '11 tell you how these lauds are to be 

got. [service. 

'L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' 

A'. Edw. What service wilt thou do lue, if I give 

them V [to do. 

i. Grey. What j'ou command, that rests in me 

K. Edw. But you will take exceptions t(i my lioon. 

L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I eannut do it. 

K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to 

ask. [commands. 

L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace 

Glou. [Aside to Clar.] He plies her hard; and 

much rain wears the marble. 



Clar. [Aside to Glou.] As red as fire! nay, then 
her wax must melt. [my task ? 

L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear 
A'. Edw. An easy task ; 't is but to love a king. 
L. Grey. Tliat 's soon perform 'd, because I am a 
subject. LRive thee. 

K. Edw. Why, then, thy husband's lands 1 freely 
L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand 

thanks. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The match is made; she 
seals it with a curtsy. [mean. 

K. Edw. But stay thee, 't is the fruits of love I 
L. Greij. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. 
K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in anotlier sense. 
What love, think'st thou, I sue so nuich to get ? 
L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, 
my prayers ; 
That love wliieli virtue begs and virtue grants. 
A'. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such 
love. [you did. 

L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought 
A'. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my 
mind. [ceive 

L. Grey. My mind will never grant what 1 per- 
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 
A'. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. 
L. Greij. To teU you plain, I had rather lie in 
prison. Psand's lands. 

K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not hav6.thy hns- 
L. Greif. Wliy, then mine honesty -sliall be my 
For by tliat loss I will not purchase them, [dower ; 
A'. Edii\ Therein thou wrong'st thy children 
mightily. [and me. 

L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them 
But, mighty lord, tins merry inclination 
Accords not witli the sadness of my suit : 
Please you dismiss me, either with ' ay ' or ' no.' 

A'. Edir. Ay, if thou wilt say ' ay ' to my request ; 
No, if thou dost say ' no ' to my demand. 
L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The widow likes him not, 

she knits her brows. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] He is the bluntest wooer in 
Christendom. [with modesty; 

K. Edw. [Aside] Her looks do argue her replete 
Her words do show her wit incomparable; 
All her perfections cliallenge sovereignty : 
One way or other, slie is for a king ; 
And she sliall be my love, or else my queen. — 
Say that King Edward take thee for his (pieen ? 

L. Grey. 'T is better said than done, my gracious 
I am a subject tit to jest withal, [lord : 

But far unfit to be a sovereign. [thee 

K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to 
I speak no more than what my soul intends; 
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. 

L. Greij. And that is more than I will yield unto: 
I know i am too mean to be your queen. 
And vet too good to be your concubine. [queen. 
K.'Edw. Y'ou cavil, widow: I did mean, my 
L. Grei/. 'T will grieve your grace my sons sliould 
call you father. [thee mot her. 

K. Edw. No more than when my daughters call 
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; 
And, by God's mother, I, being but a baclielor. 
Have other ,some : why, 't is a happy thing 
To be the father unto many sons. 
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The ghostly father now 

hath done his shrift. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] When he was made a 

shriver, 't was for shift. 
K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two 
have had. [sad. 

Glou. The widow likes it not, for .she looks very 
A". Edw. You'll tliink it strange if I sliould 
Clar. To whom, my lord ? [marry her. 

445 



ACT III. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scexe hi. 



K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. 

Olou. That would be ten days' wonder at the 

least. 
Clar. That 's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
Glou. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you 
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands, [both 

Enter a Nobleman. 

JVoh. My grai^ious lord, Henry your foe is taken. 
And briiu'^lit ymir prisoner to your palace gate. 

A'. Edw. See tliiit he be convey'd nnto the Tower: 
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, 
To question of liis apprehension. 
Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honomably. 
[Exinnt all hut Gloucester. 

Glou. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. 
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all. 
That from his loins no hoiief iil branch may spring, 
To cross me from the golden tiiDC I look for! 
And yet, between my soul's desire and me — 
The lustful Edward's title buried — 
Is Clarence, Henry, and liis son young Edward, 
And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, 
To take their rooms, ere 1 can place myself: 
A cold premeditation for my purpose! 
AVhy, then, I do birt dream on sovereignty; 
Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
And spi«s a far-off shore wliere lie would treail, 
AVishing his foot were equal with his eye. 
And chides tlie sea that sunders him from thence. 
Saying, he '11 lade it dry to have his way : 
So do I wish the crown, being so far off ; 
And so I chide the means that keejis me from it ; 
And so I say, I '11 cut the causes off, 
1 Flattering me with impossibilities. 
My eye 's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, 
Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; 
What other pleasure can the world afford y 
I '11 make my heaven in a lady's lap. 
And deck my Imdy in gay ornaments, 
And witch sweet ladies witli my words and looks. 
O miserable thought ! and more unlikely 
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! 
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: 
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws. 
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe. 
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; 
To make an envious mountain on my back, 
Where sits deformity to mock my body; 
To shape my legs of an imequal size ; 
To disproportion me in every ijart, 
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp 
That carries no impression like the dam. 
And am I then a man to be beloved V 

monstrous fault, to harVionr such a thought! 
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me. 
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
As are of better person than myself, 

1 '11 make my heaven to dream upon the crown. 
And, whiles I live, to accomit this world but hell, 
Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this hea<l 
Be round impaled with a glori(uis crown. 

And yet I know not how to get the crown. 
For many lives stand between me and home: 
And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood. 
That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns. 
Seeking a way and straying fixtm the v/ay ; 
Not knowing how to find the open air. 
But toiling desperately to find it out, — 
Torment myself to catch the P^nglish crown: 
And from that torment I will free myself, 
Or hew my way out witli a bloody axe. 
Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile. 
And cry ' Content ' to that which grieves my heart. 
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, 
44G 



And frame my face to all occasions. 

I 'II drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; 

I '11 slay more gazers than tlie basilisk ; 

I '11 play the orator as well as Nestor, 

Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, 

And, like a Sinun, take another Troy. 

I can add colours to the chameleon, 

Change sliajH's w itii I^roteus for advantages, 

And set the munlerons Machiavel to school. 

Can I do this, and cannot get a crowai f 

Tut, were it farther off, I '11 pluck it down. [Exit. 

SCENE m.— France. The King's palace. 

Flourish. Enter Lewis t/ir French King, his sister Bona, 
liis AJmiriil, called Bourbon: Prince Edward, Queen 
Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis sits, and 
riseth up again. 

K. Leir. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret, 
Sit down with us : it ill befits thy state 
And birth, that thou shouldst stand while Lewis 
doth .sit. [garet 

Q. Mar. No, mighty King of France: now Mar- 
Must strike her sail and leani awhile to serve 
Wliere kings command. I was, I must confess, 
Great Albion's queen in former golden days: 
But now mischance Iiath trod my title down, 
And with dislioiionr laid me on the groimd; 
Wliere I must take liUe seat unto my fortune, 
And to my liumble seat conform myself. 

A'. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs 
tlds deep desiiairV 

Q.Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with 

tears [cares. 

And stops my tongue, while heart is drown "d in 

K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, 
And sit thee by our side: [i>>at.s her by him] yield 

not thy neck 
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
Be plain. Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; 
It shall be eased, if France can yield relief, [thoughts 

Q. Meir. Those gracious words revive my drooping 
And give my timgue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
Now, therefore, be it kno^^^l to noble Lew'is, 
Tliat Henry, sole iiossessor of my love, 
Is of a king brconir a banish 'd man. 
And forced to live iu Scotland a forlorn; 
AVliile proud ambitious Edward Duke of York 
Usurps the regal title and the seat 
Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
This is the cau.se that I, poor Margaret, 
With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, 
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ; 
And if thou fail us, all our liope is done: 
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; 
Our people and our peers are botli misled. 
Our treasure seized, our .soldiers put to flight, 
And, as thou seest, ourselves in Ilea vy plight, [storm, 

A'. Leio. Renowned queen, witli patience, calm the 
While we bethink a means to break it off. [foe. 

Q. Mar. The more we stay , the stronger grows our 

K.Lem. The more I stay, the more I 'II succour thee. 

Q. Mar. O, but impatience waitetli on true sorrow. 
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow! 

Entei- "Warwick. 

A'. Lew. What 's he approacheth boldly to our 

presence V " [friend. 

Q. Mar. Our Earl of War-nick, Edward's greatest 

A. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What brings 

thee to France y [He elesce^ids. She tm.ieth.. 

Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; 

For this is he that moves both wind and tide. 

W<tr. From worthy Edward, King of Albion, 
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
I come, iu kindness and unfeigned love. 



ACT ITT. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene ttt, 



First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
And then to crave a leagneof amity; 
And lastly, to confirm tliat .amity 
With nuptial luiot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, 
To Enaland's king in lawful marriage. 

Q. Mar. [Aside\ If that go forward, Henry's hope 
is done. [liing's behalf. 

War. {To Bona] And, gracious madam, in our 
I am commanded, with your leave and favour. 
Humbly to kiss your hand and with my tongue 
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart; 
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, 
Hath placed thy beauty's image and thy virtue. 

Q. Mar. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me 
Before you answer AV'arwick. His demand [si)eak, 
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, 
But from deceit bred by necessity; 
For liow can tyrants safely govern home, 
Uidess abroad they purcliase great alliance ? 
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, 
That Henry liveth still ; but were he dead. 
Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son. 
Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and mar- 
Thou draw not on thy danger and disho"nour ; [riage 
For though usurpers sway t!ie rule awhile, 
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth WTOngs. 

War. Injurious Margaret ! 

Prince. And wiiy not queen ? 

War. Because thy father Henry did'usurp ; 
And thou no more art prince than she is queen. 

Ojf. Then Warwick d isannuls great Johnof Gaunt, 
Whicli ilid subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
AVhose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; 
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
Who by his prowess conquered all France : 
From these our Henry lineally descends, [course. 

War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth dis- 
You told not how Henry the Sixth hatli lost 
All that wliich Henry the Fiftli had gotten ? 
Methinks these peers of France sliould smile at that. 
But for the rest, you tell a pedigree 
Of threescore and two years ; asilly time 
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. O'^ge, 

Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy 
Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years. 
And not bewray thy treason with a blush ? 

War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, 
iS'ow buckler falsehood with a pedigree y 
For shame ' leave Henry, and call Edward king. 

Oxf. Cixll him my king by whose injurious doom 
My elder brotlier, the Lord Aubrey Vere, 
AVas done to death ? and more than so, my father, 
Even in tlie downfall of liis mellow'd years, 
AVheu nature brought liim to the door of death ? 
Xo, AVarwick, no ; wliile life upholds this arm, 
Tliis arm upliolds the house of Lancaster. 

War. And I the house of York. [Oxford, 

A'. L(ir. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and 
A'ouclisafe, at our request, to stand aside. 
While I use further conference wdth AA'arwick. 

[They stand aloof. 

Q. Mar. Heavens grant that Warwick's words 
bewitch him not I [conscience, 

K. Lew. Now, AVarwick, tell me, even u|)ou thy 
Is" Edward your true king V for I were loath 
To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 

War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. 

K. Len\ But is he gracious in the people's eye V 

War. The more that Henry was unfortunate. 

K. Lew. Then further, all dissembling set aside, 
Tell me for truth tlie measure of his love 
Unto our sister Bona. 

War. Such it seems 

As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
Myself have often heard him say and swear 



That this his love was an eternal plant, 
AVhereof tlie root was fix'd in virtue's ground. 
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun. 
Exempt from envy, but not from ciisdain. 
Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. 

K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. 

Fiona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be nune : 
[To War.] Yet I confess that often ere this day. 
When I have heard your king's desert recounted. 
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 

K. Lew. Then, AVarwick, thus: our sister shall 
be Edward's; 
And now forthwith shall articles be drawTi 
Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
AA''hich with her dowry shall be couuteriioised. 
Draw near. Queen Margaret, and be a witness 
That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 

Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. 

Q. Mar. Deceitful AVarwick ! it was tiiy device 
By this alliance to make void my suit : 
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend. 

A'. Lew. And still is friend to liim and Margaret : 
But if your title to the crown be weak, 
As may appear by Edward's good success, 
Then 't is but reason that I be released 
From giving aid which late I promised. 
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand 
That your estate requires and mine can yield. 

War. Henry now lives in Seotlaud at his ease, 
AVhere having nothing, nothing can he lose. 
And as for you yourself, our (juondam queen, 
You liave a father able to maintain you ; 
And better 't were you troul)led him than France. 

Q. 2Iar. Peace, impudent and shameless AA''ar- 
wick, peace. 
Proud setter up and puller down of kings ! 
I will not lience, till, with my talk and tears. 
Both full of truth, I make King Lewis beliold 
Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love; 
For both of you are birds of selfsame feather. 

[Post blows a Jwrn within. 

K. Lew. AA'arwick, this is some post to us or thee. 

Enter a Post. 

Post. [To War.] My lord ambassador, these let- 
ters are for you, 
Sent from your brother. Marquess ^lontague : 
[To ieiCi's] These from our king unto your majesty : 
[To Margaret] And, madam, these for you; from 
whom I know not. 

[I'liei/ all read their letters. 

Oxf. I like it well that our fair (lueen and mistress 
Smiles at her news, while AVarwick ll•o\^^ls at his. 

Prince. Nay, mark hov.' Lewis stamps, as he were 
I hope all 's for the best. [nettled : 

K. Lew. AVarwick, what are thy news '? and yours, 
fair queen ? [joys. 

Q. Mar. INIine, such as fill my heart with unhoped 

War. Mine, full of sorrow aiid heart's discontent. 

K. Lew. AVliat ! has your king married the Lady 
And now, to soothe your forgery and hLs, _ [Grey "^ 
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ? 
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France ? 
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner V 

Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before: 
This proveth Edward'slove and AVarwick's honesty. 

War. King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of 
And by tlie hope I have of heavenly bli.ss, [heaven. 
That 1 am clear from this misdeed of Edward's, 
No more my king, for he dishonours me. 
But most himself, if he could see his shame. 
Did I forget that by the house of York 
My fatlier came untimely to his death"? 
Did I let jiass the abuse done to my niece? 
Did I impale him with tlie regal crown ? 
Did I put Henry from his native right ':' 
And am I guerdon'd at tlie last with shame? 
447 



ACT IV. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene i. 



Sliame on liimse'.f ! for my desert is honour: 
And to repair nij' honour lost for him, 
I here renounce liini and return to Henry. 
My noble queen, let former ;;rud,ncs i)ass, 
And henceforth I am thy true servitor: 
I will revensp his wrong to Lady Bona 
And reiilaiit Henry in his former state. 

Q. Miir. Warwick, these words have turn'd my 
hate to love : 
And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 
And joy that thou becomest King Henry's fi'iend. 

\yar. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, 
That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
"With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
I '11 undertake to land them on our coast 
And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
'T is not his new-made bride shall succour him: 
And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me. 
He 's very likely now to fall from him. 
For matching more for wanton lust than honour, 
Or than for strength and safety of our country. 

Bona. Dear brother, how sliall Bona be revenged 
But by thy help to this distressed (|ui'en V [live, 

Q. liar. Kenowne<l iirince, liow sliall poor Henry 
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair y 

Bona. Myquarrehind this luiglisliqueen'sareone. 

War. And mine, fair I>ady Bona, joins with yours. 

K. Lew. And mine witli hers, and thine, and Mar- 
Therefore at last 1 firmly am resolved [garet's. 
You shall have aid. 

i^ Mar. Let me givehumlile thanks for all at once. 

A. Lew. Then, EnL;land's messenger, return in 
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, [post. 
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers 
To revel it with him and his new bride: 
Thou seest what 's past, go fear thy king withal. 

Bona. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower 
I '11 wear the willow garland for his sake, [shortly, 

Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid 
And I am ready to put armour on. [aside. 



War. Tell him from me that he hath done me 
wrong. 
And therefore I '11 uncrown him ere 't be long. 
There 's thy reward : be gone. [E.cii Post. 

K. Lew. But, Warwick, 

Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, 
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle; 
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
And prince shall follow with a fresh sui>i)ly. 
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one iloubt, 
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty V 

War. Tliis shall assure my constant loyalty, 
That if our ((ueen and tiiis young jiriuce agree, 
I '11 jom mine eldest daughter and my joy 
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 

Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your 
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, [motion. 
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to AVarwick; 
And, with thy haml, thy faith irrevocable. 
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine, [it; 

Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves 
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 

[He (jives his hand to ]Varicick. 

K. Lew. Why stay we liow ";* These soldiers shall 
be levied. 
And thou. Lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 
Siialt waft them over with our royal fleet. 
I long till Edward fall by war's mischance, 
For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 

[Exeunt all hut Warwick. 

War. I came from Edward as ambassador, 
But I return his sworu and mortal foe: 
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
But dreadful war sliall answer his demand. 
Had he none else to make a stale but me ? 
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
I was the chief that raised him to the crown, 
And I '11 be chief to bring liim down again: 
Not that I pity Henry's misery. 
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit. 



^VCT IV^. 



SCENE 1.— London. The palace. 

Enter Gloucester, Clarence, Somerset, and 
Montague. 

Glou. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think 
Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey V [you 
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? 

Clar. Alas, you know, 't is far iCrom hence to 
France ; 
How could he stay till Warwick made return V 

Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes the 

Olou. And Ids well-chosen bride. [king. 

Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. 

Flourish. Entir King Edward, altendnl ; Lady Grey, 
as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings, and others. 

K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you 
our choice. 
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? 

Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of 
Warwick, 
"Which are so weak of courage and in judgment 
That they '11 take no offence at our abuse, [cause, 

K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without a 
They are but Lewis and Warwick : I am Edward, 
Your king and Warwick's, and mu-st liave my will. 

Glou. And sliall ha\t' your will, because our king: 
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 

K. Edw. Yea, brother Ilicliard, are you offended 

Olou. Not I : [too ? 

No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd 
448 



Whom God hath joined together; ay, and 'twere 
To sunder them that yoke so well together. [pity 

K. Edw. Setting your scorns and your mislike 
Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey [aside, 
Should not become my wife and England's queen. 
And you too, Somerset and Montague, 
Speak freely what you think. 

Clar. Then this is mine opinion : that King Lewis 
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 
About the marriage of the Lady iBona. 

Olou. And Warwick, doing" what you gave in 
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage, [charge, 

A'. Edw. AVhat if both Lewis and AVarwick be 
By such invention as I can devise ? [appeased 

Mont. Yet, to have joiu'd with France in such 
alliance 
AVould more have strengthen 'd this our common- 
wealth [riage. 
'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred niar- 

Hasl. AVhy, knows not Montague that of itself 
England is safe, if true within itself? 

Mont. But the safer when 't is backed with France. 

Hast. 'T is better using France than trusting 
France : 
Let us be back'd with God and with the seas 
AVhich He hath given for fence impregnable, 
And with their helps only defend ourselves; 
In tliem and in ourselves our safety lies. 

Clar. For this one speech Lord Hastings well de- 
serves 
To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. 



ACT IV. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene ii. 



K. Edw. Ay, what of that V it was my will and 
grant ; 
And for this once my will shall stand for law. 

Olou. And yet methiuks your grace hath not done 
To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales [well, 
Unto the brother of your loving bride; 
She better would liave fitted nie or Chirence : 
But in your bride you bury l>riitherhood. [heir 

Clar. Or else you would not have bestow 'd the 
Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son. 
And leave your brotliers to go speed elsewhere. 

A'. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife 
Tliat thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee. 

Ciar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your 
judgment, 
Which being shallow, you Shall give me leave 
To play the broker in mine own behalf ; 
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. 

K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, 
And not be tied unto his brother's will. 

Q. Eliza. My lords, before it pleased his majesty 
To raise my state to title of a queen, 
Do me but right, and you must all confess 
That I was not ignoble of descent ; 
And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
But as this title honours me and mine. 
So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing. 
Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. 

K. Ed(L\ My love, forbear to fawn upon their 
tro\^Tis : 
What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, 
So long as Edward is thy constant friend. 
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? 
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands ; 
AVhich if they do, yet will I keep thee safe. 
And they shalMeel the vengeance of my wrath. 

Glou. I hear, yet say not much, but think the 
more. [Aside. 

Enter a Post. 

K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters or what 
From France ? [news 

Post. My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words. 
But such as I, without your special pardon, 
Dare not relate. 

K. Edic. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, in brief. 
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. 
What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters y 

Post. At my depart, these were his very words: 
'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king. 
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers 
To revel it with him and his new bride.' [Henry. 

K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave y belike he thinks me 
But what said Lady Bona to my marriage? 

Post. These were her words, utterd'with mild 
disdain : 
' Tell him, in hope he '11 prove a widower shortly, 
I 'IMvear the willow garland for his sake.' 

K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less ; 
She had the wrong. But what said Henry "s queen ? 
For I have heard that she was there in jilace. 

Post. ' Tell him,' quoth she, ' my mourning weeds 
And 1 am ready to put armour on.' [are done, 

K. Edw. Belike she minds to play the Amazon. 
But what said Warwick to tliese injuries? 

Post. He, more incensed against your majesty 
Than all the rest, discharged me with these words: 
' Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong. 
And therefore I '11 uncrown liim ere 't be long.' 

K. Edw. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so 
proud words ? 
Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : 
They sliall have wars and pay for their presinnption. 
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret y 

Post. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd 
in friendship, [daughter. 

That young Pruice Edward marries Warwick's 
29 



Clar. Belike the elder; Clarence wUl have the 
younger. 
Now, "brother king, farewell, and sit you fast. 
For I will lience to Warwick's other daughter; 
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
I may not prove inferior to yourself. 
You that love me and Warwick, follow me. 

[Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows. 

Glou. [Aside.] Not I : 
My thoughts aim at a further matter; I 
Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown. 

Ji. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to 
Warwick ! 
Yet am I arni'd against the worst can happen ; 
And haste is needful in this desperate case. 
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf 
Go levy men, and make prepare for war; 
They are already, or quickly will be landed : 
Myself in person will straight follow you. 

[Exiiiiit r< inhroke and Stafford. 
But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague, 
Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance : 
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me ? 
If it be so, "then both depart to him; 
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends: 
But if you mind to hold your true obedience, 
Give me assurance with some friendly vow, 
That I may never have you in suspect. 

Mont. So God help Montague as he proves true! 

Hast. And Hastings ashefavoursEdward's cause! 

K. Edw. Now, brother Eichard, will you stand 
by us ? [you. 

Olou. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand 

K. Edw. Why, so ! then am I sure of victory. 
Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, 
TiU we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 

[E.ceunt. 

SCENE II. — A plain in Warwicl'sliire. 
Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French soldiers. 
War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; 
The common people by immbers swarm to us. 

J^iiter Clarence and Somerset. 
But see where Somerset and Clarence comes ! 
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends ? 
Clar. Fear not that, my lord. 
War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War- 
wick; 
And welcome, Somerset : I hold it cowardice 
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; 
Else might I think tliat Ckireuce, Edward's brother, 
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings: 
But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shaU 

be thine. 
And now what rests but, in night's coverture, 
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd. 
His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
And but attended by a simple guard, 
We may surprise and take liini at our pleasure? 
Our scouts have fdund the adventure very easy: 
That as Ulysses and stout Dionifde 
With sleight and mMnlinod stole to Rhesus' tents. 
And brought from tlience the Thracian fatal steeds, 
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, 
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard 
And seize liimself ; I say not, slaughter him, 
For I intend but only to surjirise him. 
You that will follow nie to this attempt. 
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. 

[Thei/ all cry, ' Henry ! ' 
Why, then, let 's on our way in silent sort: 
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint 
George I {Exeunt. 

449 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene v. 



SCENE III. — EdwmxVs camp, near Warwick. 

Enter three "Watchmen, to guard the King's tent. 

First Watch. Come on, my masters, each man 
take liis stand : 
The king by this is set him down to sleep. 

Secfinil Watch. What, will he not to bed? [vow 

First Watch. Why, no ; for he hath made a solemn 
Never to lie and take liis natural rest 
Till Warwick or Iiiniself he quite supjiressM. [day, 

Srcond Watch. To-morrow then belike shall betlie 
If Warwick be so near as men report. [is that 

Third Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman 
That with the king here resteth in his tent V 

First Watch. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's 
chiefest friend. [king 

Third Watch. O, is it so ? But why commands the 
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him. 
While he himself keeps in the cold held Y 

Second Watch. 'T is the more honour, because 
more dangerous. [quietness ; 

Third Watch. Ay, but give me worship and 
I like it better than a dangerous honour. 
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
'T is to lie doubted he would waken him. [passage. 

First Watcli. Unless our halberds did shut up his 

Second Watch. Ay, wherefore else guard we his 
royal tent. 
But to defend his person from niglit-foes? 

Enter War-wick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, 

and French Soldie^rs, silent all. 
War. This is his tent ; and see where stand his 
guard. 
Courage, my masters! honour now or never! 
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 
First Watch. Who goes tliere V 
/Second Watch. Stay, or thou diest I 

[Warwick and the rest cry all, 'AVarwick! 
AVarwick!' and set upon the Guard, who 
fly, crt/iny, '■ Avm\ arm!' Warwick and the 
rest following them. 

The drum plai/ing and trumpet sounding, re-enter 'War- 
wick, Somerset, and the rest, hrinrjUici the King nut 
in his gown, sitting in a chair. RichaTd and Hastings 
fly over the stage. 

Som. What are they that fly there ? 

War. Richard and Hastings: let them go; here is 
The duke. [parted, 

K. Edw. The duke! "Why, Warwick, when we 
Tliou cairdst me king. 

War. Ay, but the case is alter'd : 

When you disgraced me iii my emliassade. 
Then I degraded you from being king. 
And come now to create you Duke of Vork. 
Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom, 
Tliat know not how to use ambassadors, 
Nor how to be contented with one wife, 
Nor liow to use your brothers brotherly, 
Nor how to study for tlie iieople's welfare, 
Nor how to shrnud yourself from enemies '? [too ? 

K. Edw. Yea, lirnlher of Clarence, art thou here 
Nay, then I see ttuit I'vdward needs must down. 
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance. 
Of tliee thyself and all thy complices, 
Edward will always bear'himself as king : 
Though i'ortune's "malice overtlu-ow my state. 
My mind exceeds tlie compass of her wheel. 

War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's 
king : [ Tiil(s off h is crown. 

But Henry now shall wear the English crown. 
And be true Icing indeed, thou but the shadow. 
My Lord of Somerset, at my reciuest. 
See that forthwith Duke Edward lie convey'd 
Unto my brother, Arehbishoji of York. 
When I have fought with I'embroke and his fellows, 
450 



I '11 follow you, and tell what answer 

Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. 

Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York. 

[They had him (nd forcibly. 

K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs 

It boots not to resist both wind and tide, [abide ; 

[Exit, guarded. 

Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do 
But "march to London with our soldiers V [do ; 

War. Ay, that 's the first thing that we have to 
To free King Henry from imprisonment 
And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. Tlie palace. 

Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 

Itiv. Madam, what makes you in tliis sudden 
change ? 

Q. Eli::. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn 
Wliat late misfortune is befaH'n King Edward V 

liic. Wliat! loss of some pitch "d battle against 
AVarwick V 

Q. E'.iz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. 

liic. Then is my sovereign slain y 

Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner, 
Either betray'd by falseliood of his guard 
Or by his foe surprised at unawares: 
And, as I further have to imderstand, 
Is new coniniitted to the Bisliop of York, 
Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe. 

Bir. These news I must confess are full of grief; 
Yet, gracious madame, bear it as you may: 
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 

Q. Eliz. Till then fair liope must hinder life's 
And I the rather wean me from despair [decay. 
For love of Edvi'ard's offspring in my womb: 
This is it that makes me ) iridic passion 
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; 
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear 
And stop the rising of liloud-snrking sighs. 
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown 
King Edward's fruit,true lieir to the English crown. 

Jiiv. But, madame, where is Warwick then be- 
come y [London, 

Q. Eliz. I am inform'd that he comes towards 
To set the crown once more on Henry's head: 
Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends must 
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence, — [down, 
For trust not him that hath once broken faith, — 
I '11 hence fort li with unto the sanctuary, 
To save at least the heir of Edward's right: 
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. 
Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly: 
If Warwick take us we are sure to die. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V. — A x>ark near Middlcham Castle in 
Yorkshire. 

Enter Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and Sir 
William Stanley. 

Glou. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William 
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, [Stanley, 
Into this chiefest thicket of the park. [brother, 
Thus stands the case: you know our king, my 
Is prisoner to the bislioii liere, at whose hands 
He hath good usage and great; liberty. 
And, often lint attended with weak guard, 
Comes limiting this way to disport himself. 
I have advertised him by secret means 
That it' alioiit this hour lie make this way 
Under the colnur of liis usual game. 
He shall liere llnd his frieuils with horse and men 
To set him free from Ids captivity. 

Enter King Edward and a Huntsman ^vith him. 
Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies the 
game. 



ACT IV. 



TRIED PART OF KING HENRY VI scene vii. 



A'. Edte. Nay, this way, man: see where the hunts- 
nieii stand. [rest, 

Now, brother of Gtoncester, Lord Hastings, awl the 
Island you tlius close, to steal the bislioii's deer? 

(j'lou. Brother, ttie time and case requiveth haste : 
Your horse stands ready at the park-corner. 

A. Edw. But whither shall we then t* 

JJnst. To Lynn, my lord. 

And slii]! from thence to Flanders. [meaning. 

(j'liii. Well sviess'd, believe me; for that was my 

A'. Eihr. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. 

Glou. But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to 
talk. [go along ? 

K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou ? wilt thou 

Hunt. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. 

G7o((. Come then, away; let 's ha' no more ado. 

A'. E:h{\ Bishop, farewell ; shield thee from War- 
wick's frown ; 
And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Eicexmt. 

SCENE VT.—Lrmdon. The Tower. 

Juoiiri.'ih. Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, 
Somerset, ijniniti Richmond, Oxford, Montague, and 
Lieutenant of the Tower. 

K. Hen. blaster Ueutenant, now that God and. 
Have sliaken Edward from the regal seat, [friends 
And turn'd my captive .state to liberty, 
]SIy fear to hope, my sorrows unto .joys. 
At our enlargement what are thy due fees ? 

Lieu. Subjects may challenge nothing of their 
sovereigns ; 
But if an humble prayer may prevail, 
I then crave pardon of your majesty. 

K. Hen. For what, lieutenant ? for well using me? 
Nay, be thou sure I '11 well requite thy kindness, 
For tliat it made my imprisonment a pleasure; 
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
Conceive when after many moody thoughts 
At last liy notes of household harmony 
Tliey quite forget their loss of liberty. 
But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, 
And chielly therefore I thank God and thee; 
He was the autlior, thou the instrument. 
Therefore, tliat I may conquer fortune's spite 
By living low, wlicre fortune cannot liurt me, 
And that the people of tliis blessed land 
J.fay not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, 
Warwick, althougli my liead still wear the crown, 
I here resign my government to thee. 
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 

Weir. Your grace hath still been famed for vir- 
And now may seem as wise as virtuous, [tuous ; 
By spying and avoiding fortune's malice. 
For few men rightly temper with the stars: 
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, 
I''or choosing me when Clarence is in place. 

Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, 
To whom the heavens in thy nativity 
Adjudged an olive branch and laurel cro'rni, 
As likely to be blest in peace and war; 
And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 

War. And I clioose Clarence only for protector. 

K. Hen. Warwick and Clarence, give me both 
your hands: Piearts, 

New join your hands, and with your hands your 
That no dissension hinder government : 
I make you both protectors of this land, 
While I myself will lead a private life 
And in devotion spend my latter days. 
To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise. 

War. AVhat answers Clarence to his sovereign's 
will? [sent; 

Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield con- 
For on thy fortune I repose myself. [content: 

Weir. Why, then, though loath, yet must I be 
We '11 yoke together, like a double shadow 



To Henry's body, and supply his place; 
I mean, in bearing weight of government. 
While he enjoys the honour and his ease. 
And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful 
Forthwith that Edward lie pronounced a traitor. 
And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 

C'leir. What else? and that succession be de- 
termined, [part. 

War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his 

A'. Hen. But, with the tirst of all your chief affairs, 
Let me entreat, for I command no more, 
That Margaret your queen and my son Edward 
Be sent for, to return from France with speed ; 
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
jSIy joy of liberty is half eclipsed. [speed. 

Chi'r. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all 

K. Hen. My Lord of .Somerset, what youth is that. 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? 

Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich- 
mond. 

K.Hen. Come hither, England's hope. [Leiyshis 
Jianel on his heeu}.] If secret powers 
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts. 
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 
His looks are full of peaceful majesty. 
His liead by nature framed to wear a crown, 
His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself 
Likely in time to bless a regal throne. 
Make much of him, my lords, for this is he 
Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 

Enter a Post. 

War. What news, my friend ? 

Post. That Edward is escaped from your brother. 
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 

Weir. Unsavoury news ! but how 'made he escape ? 

Post. He was convey 'd by Richard Duke of tJlou- 
And the Lord Hastings, who attended him [cester 
In secret amliush on the forest side 
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; 
For hunting was his daily exercise. 

War. My brother was too careless of his charge. 
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
A salve for any sore that may betide. 

[Exeunl eill but Somerset, Piehmond.nnel Oxforel. 

Sejiii. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's ; 
For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help. 
And we shall have more wars before 't be long. 
As Henry's late presaging prophecy [mond, 

Did glad my heart with hope of this young Rich- 
iSo doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
What may befall him, to his harm and ours: 
Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, 
Forthwith we '11 send him hence to Brittany, 
Till storms be past of civil enmity. 

0.rf. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 
'T is like that Richmond with the rest shall down. 

Sorn. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. 
Come, therefore, let 's about it speedily. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — Bifore York. 

Flourish. Enter King Ed-wrard, Gloucester, 
Hastings, aijfZ Soldiers. 

K. Eehi\ Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, 
and the rest. 
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends. 
And says that once more I shall interchange 
l\Iy waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas 
And brought desired helj) from Burgundy: 
What then remains, we being thus arrived 
From Ravcnspurgh haven before the gates of York, 
But that we enter, as into our dukedom? [this; 

OIou. The gates made fast ! Brother, I like not 
For many men that stumble at the threshold 
Are well foretold that danger lurks within. 
461 



ACT IV. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI sceiie viri. 



K. Edw. Tush, man, abodements must not now 
affright us : 
By fair or foul means we must enter in, 
For hitlier will our friends repair to us. [tliem. 

Hust. My liege, I '11 knock once more to summon 

Enter, on the walls, the Mayor of York, and his Brethren. 
Ma;/. My lords, we were forewarned of your 
coming. 
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; 
Por now we owe allegiance unto Henry. [king, 
K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your 
Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. 
Maij. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less. 
K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my 
As being well content with that alone, [dukedom, 
Glou. [Aside] But when the fox hath once got 
in his nose. 
He '11 soon find means to make the body follow. 
Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a 
doubt? 
Open the gates ; we are King Henry's friends. 
2Ia)j. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be 
open'd. [Then descend. 

Glou. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded ! 
Hast. The good old man would fain that all were 
well. 
So 't were not 'long of him ; but being enter'd, 
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
Both him and all his brothers unto reason. 

Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below. 
K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must not 
But in the night or in the time of war. [be shut 
"What ! tear not, man, but yield me up the keys; 

[Takes his keys. 
For Edward will defend the town and thee. 
And all those friends that deign to follow me. 

March. Enter Montg'omery, with drum and soldiers. 

Glou. Brother, this is Sir .John Montgomery, 
Our trusty friend, unless I Ije deceived, [in arms? 

K. Ediv. WelcdUio, Sir Jolm ! But why come you 

ifont. To help King Edward in his time of storm. 
As every loyal suliject ought to do. [forget 

K. Edir. Thanks, gooil Montgomery; but we now 
Our title to tlip crown and only claim 
Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. 

Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again: 
I came to serve a king and not a duke. 
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 

[The drum begins to march. 

K. Edw. Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and we '11 
debate 
By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. 

Mont. What talk you of debating? in few words, 
If you '11 not here proclaim yourself our king, 
I '11 leave you to your fortune and be gone 
To keep them back that come to succour you : 
Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title ? 

Glou. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice 
points ? [our claim : 

K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we '11 make 
Till tlien, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. 

Hast. Away with scrupulous wit ! now arms must 
rule. 

Glou. And fearless minds climb soonest unto 
crowns. 
Brother, we will proclaim yon out of hand ; 
The bruit thereof will Itrin'g you many friends. 

A'. Edw. Then be it as y(m will; for'tismy right. 
And Henry but usurps tlie diadem. [self; 

Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like liim- 
And now will I be Edward's champion, [claim'd : 

Hast. Sound tnmipet ; Edward sliall be here pro- 
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 

[Flourish. 
452 



Sold. Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, 
king of England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c. 

Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's 

By this I challenge him to single fight. [right, 

[Throws rioM'ii his gauntlet. 

All. Long live Edward the Fourth ! 

K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomeiy ; and thanks 
unto you all : 
If fortune serve me, I '11 requite this kindness. 
Now, for this night, let 's harbour liere in York; 
And when the morning sun shidl raise his car 
Above the border of this horizon. 
We '11 forward towards Warwick and his mates ; 
For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. 
Ah, froward Clarence I how evil it beseems thee, 
To flatter Henry and forsake tliy brother! 
Yet, as we may, we '11 meet bolii thee and Wanvick. 
Come on, brave soldiers : doubt not of the day, 
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII. — Londoi\. The ixdace. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, "Warwick, Mon- 
tague, Clarence, Exeter, and Oxford. 

Wa.r. What counsel, lords ? Edward from Belgia, 
With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, 
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow .seas. 
And witli his troops doth niarcli amain to London ; 
And many giddy people Hock to him. 

K. Hen. Let 's levy men, and beat him back again. 

Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ; 
Which, being suffer 'd, rivers cannot quench. 

Wiir. In Warwicksliirc 1 have true-hearted friends. 
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; 
Tho.se will I nuuster up: and thou, .son Clarence, 
Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk and in Kent, 
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee : 
Tliou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
Nortlianiiiton and in Leicestershire, shall find 
Men well inclined to hear what tliou command'st : 
And thou, lirave Oxford, wondrous well beloved, 
In Oxfordsliire shalt muster up thy friends. 
My sovereign, with the lo\ ing citizens, 
Like to bis island girt in with the ocean, 
Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs. 
Shall rest in London till we come to him. 
Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. 
Farewell, my sovereign. 

A". Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true 
hope. 

Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand. 

K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortu- 
nate! 

Mont. Comfort, my lord ; and so I take my leave. 

Oa-f. And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu. 

Ji." Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, 
And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 

War. Farewell, sweet lords: let 's meet at Coven- 
try. [Exeunt all but Kimj Hcnnj and Exeter. 

K. Hen. Ilere at the palace will I rest awhile. 
Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? 
Methinks. the power tliat Edward liatli in field 
Should not be able to encounter mine. 

Exc. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest. 

A'. Hen. That'sjiot my fear; my meed bath got 
me fame : 
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, 
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; 
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, 
My mildness hatli allay 'd their swelling griefs, 
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears; 
I have not been desirous of their wealth. 
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies. 
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd : 
Then why shoidd they love Edward more than me ? 
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace : 



ACT V. 



THIRD PART OF KING HEXRY VI 



SCENE I. 



And wlien the lion fawns upon tlie lanil), 
The lamb will never cease to follow him. 

[Slwut within, 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster! ' 
Exe. Hark, hark, luy lord! what shouts are these! 

Enter Bang Edward, Gloucester, and Soldiers. 
A'. Edn>. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear 
him hence ; 
And once again proclaim us king of England. 
Yiiu are the fount that makes small brooks to flow: 
Kow stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry, 



And swell so much the higher by their ebb. 
Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speajc. 
[Ej:cHnt so?»f trith King tlcnrt/. 
And, lords, towards ( 'oveiitry bend we our course, 
Where peremptory Warwick now remains: 
The Sim shines hot ; and, if we use delay. 
Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay. 

Glou. Away betimes, before his forces join, 
And take the great-grown traitor unawares: 
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 

[Exeunt. 



J^CT V. 



SCENE 1.— Coventry. 



Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, ttco 

Messengers, and others upon the icalls. 
War. Where is the post that came from valiant 
Oxford ? 
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow ? 
First Mess. By this at Dmismore, marching 

hitherward. 
War. How far off is our brother Montague ? 
Where is the post that came from ^Montague ? 
Second Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant 
troop. 

Enter Sir John Somerville. 
War. Say, Somerville, what sa3's my loving son ? 
And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? 

Som. AtSoutham I did leave him with his forces, 
And do expect him here some two hours hence. 

[Dnmi heard. 
War. Then Clarence is at hand ; I hear his drum. 
Som. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam lies : 
The drum your honor hears marcheth from War- 
wick, [friends. 
War. Wlio should that be ? belike, unlook'd-for 
Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly 
know. 

March : flourish. Enter King Edward, Glou- 
cester, and Soldiers. 

K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a 
parle. 

Glou. See how the surly AVarwick mans the wall ! 

War. O unbid spite ! is sportful Edward come V 
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced, 
That we could hear no news of his repair ? [gates, 

A'. Edic. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city 
Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee, 
Call Edward king ami at his hands beg mercy V 
And he shall parilon tliee these outrages. 

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, 
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down. 
Call Warwick patron and be penitent ? 
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. 

Glou. I thouglit, at least, he would have said the 
Or did he make the jest against his will ? [king ; 

War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift ? 

Ghu. Ay. by my faith, for a poor earl to give : 
I '11 do thee service for so good a gift. 

War. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy 
brother. [wick's gift. 

K. Edii\ Why then 'tis mine, if but by War- 
War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight: 
And, weakling, Warwick takes liis gift again; 
And Henry is mv king, Warwick liis subject. 

A'. Edu}. But Warwick's king is Edward's pris- 
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this : [oner : 
What is the body when the head is off? 

Glou. Alas, that AVarwick had no more forecast, 
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 



The king was slily finger'd from the deck ! 
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace. 
And, ten to one, you '11 meet him in the Tower. 

K. Edw. 'T is even so ; yet you are Warwick still. 

Glou. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel 
down, kneel down : 
Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools. 

War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, 
And with the other fling it at thy face,_ 
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 

K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide 
thy friend. 
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-lilack hair, 
Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, 
Write in the dust this sentence witli tliy blood, 
' Wind-changing "Warwick now can change no more.' 

Enter Oxford, with drum and colours. 

War. O cheerful colours ! see where O.xford comes ! 

0.(/. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! 

[He and his forces enter the city. 

Glou. The gates are open, let us enter too. 

A'. Edir. So other foes may set upon our backs. 
Stand we in good array; for they no doubt 
Will issue out again and bid us battle : 
If not, the city being but of small defence, 
We '11 quickly rousethe traitors in the same. 

War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. 

Enter Montague, xuith drum and colours. 
Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! 

[He euid his forces enter the city. 
Glou. Thou and thy bi-other both shall buy th'is 
treason 
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 
• K. Edn-. The harder matcli'd, the greater victory : 
My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. 

Enter Somerset, with drum and colours. 
Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! 

[He einej his forces enter the city. 
G^ou. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, 
Have sold their lives unto the house of Y'ork ; 
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 

Enter Clarence, with drum and colours. 

War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; [along. 
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails 
More than the nature of a brother's love ! 
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call. 

Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this 
means V [Taking his red. rose end of Ids hat. 
Look here, I throw my infamy at thee : 
1 will not ruinate my father's house. 
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together. 
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, 
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, 
To bend the fatal instruments of war 
Against his brother and his la\\d'ul king? 
453 



ACT V. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene it. 



Perhaps thoii wilt object my lioly oath : 

To kw[> that iiaUi were more impiety 

Than JepUthah's, when he sacrificed his daughter. 

I am so sorry for aiy trespass made 

Tliat, to deserve well at my brother's liands, 

I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe, 

With resolution, wliinesoe'er I meet thee — 

As 1 will iiiiM't thee, it tliou stir abroad — 

To plan'ue thee for thy foul misleading me. 

And so, pidud-hcarteil Warwick, I defy thee, 

And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. 

Pardon me, Edward, 1 will make amends: 

And, Ricliard, do not Crown uptin my faults. 

For I will hfuccforth bi' no more unccnstant. 

K. Eihr. Xow welcome more, and ten limes more 
beloved. 
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. 

Glo. AVelcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like. 

War. O passing traitor, perjured and unjust ! 

K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the 
town and light ? 
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ? 

War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence! 
I will away towards Uarnet presently. 
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest. 

A'. Edtc. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads 
the way. 
Lords, to the field ; Saint George and victory ! 

\_Exeunt Kinq Edirard and his coiiijjnn.;/. 
March. Warwick and liis company JvUow. 

SCENE U.— Afield of battle near Barnct. 

Alarum and exairsions. Enter King Ed'ward, 
hrinijiwj forth Warwick wounded. 

K. Ed'v. So, lie thou there : die tliou, and die our 
For Warwick was a bug tliat fear'd us all. [fear ; 
Kow, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee, 
Tliat Warwick's bones may keep thine company. 

[Exit. 

War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me. friend or foe. 
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ? 
Why ask I that V my mangled body shows, 
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows. 
That I must yield my body to the earth 
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, 
AVliose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle. 
Under wliose shade the rani])iiig lion slept, 
AVhose top-biauch overpecr'd .love's spieailing tree 
And kept low shrubs troin winter's iJuwerrul wind. 
These eyes, that now are dinim'd with death's black 

veil, 
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun. 
To search the secret treasons of the world : 
The wrinkles in my brows, now till'd with blood. 
Were likeu'd oft to kingly sepulchres; 
For who lived king, but I could dig Iiis grave? 
And who durst smile v,lien Warwick bent liis brew ? 
Lo, now my glory sniear'd in dust and blond! 
My parks, my walks, my manors that 1 had, 
Even now forsake me, and of all my lands 
Is nothing left me but my body's length. 
AV'hy, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust ? 
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 

Enter Oxford and Somerset. 
Som. Ah, AVarwick, Warwick! wert thou as we 
We might recover all our loss again : [are. 

The queen from France hath brought a puissant 

power : 
Even now we heard the news : ah, couldst thou fly ! 
Trnr. Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague, 
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,' 
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile! 
Thou lovest me not ; for, brother, if tliou didst. 
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood 
4.54 



That glues my lips and will not let me speak. 
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead, [his last ; 

Som. All, Warwick! Montague hath breathed 
And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick 
And said ' Commend me to my valiant brother.' 
And more he would have said, and more he spoke, 
Whii-h sounded like a clamour in a vault. 
That iiiought not be distinguish 'd ; but at last 
I well might hear, deliver'd witli a groan, 
' O, farewell, Warwick ! ' [youi-selves ; 

War. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save 

For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in 

heaven. [Dies. 

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great 

power ! [Here theij hear away his hodij. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE TLL—Another part of the field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph; with 
Gloucester, Clarence, and the rest. 

K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward 
course. 
And we are graced with wreatlis of victory. 
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, 
I s])y a black, suspicious, threatening clmid, 
That will encounter with our glorious sun. 
Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen 
Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast 
And, as we hear, march on to light with us. 

Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud 
And blow it to the source from whence it came: 
The very beams will dry those vapours up, 
For every cloud engenders not a storm. 

Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand strong. 
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her: 
If she have time to breathe, be well assured 
Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 

A". Edw. We are advertised by our loving friends 
That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury ; 
We, having now the best at Barnet field. 
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; 
And, as we march, our strength will be augmented 
In every county as we go along. 
Strike up the drum ; cry ' Courage ! ' and away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE I"V.— Plains near Tewlshury. 

March . Enter Queen Margaret , Prince Ed-ward, 
Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. 
Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail 
their loss. 
But chcerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What thouyli the mast be now blown overboard. 
The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost. 
And halt our sailors swallow'd in the flood ? 
Yet lives our jiilot still. Is 't meet that he 
Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea [much, 

And give more strength to that which hath too 
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock. 
Which iiidu.stry and courage might have saved ? 
Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this ! 
Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that ? 
And Montague our topmast ; what of him ? 
OurslaughtcrM friends the tackles ; what of these? 
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? 
Anil Sdiiieiset another goodly mast? 
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? 
And, tlKUigh unskilful, why not !Ned and I 
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? 
AVe will not from the helm to sit and weep, 
But keep our course, though the rough wind say no. 
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with 
wreck. 



ACT V. 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. scene v. 



As good to cliide the waves as speak them fair. 
And wliat is Edward but a ruthless sea ? 
AVhat Chirence but a quicksand of deceit? 
And Ricliard but a ragged fatal rock '? 
All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
Say you can swim ; alas, 't is but a while ! 
Tread on the sand; wliy, there you quickly sink: 
Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, 
Or else you famish; that 's a threcfnld deatli. 
This speak I, lords, to let you understand, 
If case some one of you would tly fruui us. 
That there 's no hoped-for mercy witli the brothers 
More than with ruthless waves,with sands and rocks. 
AVhy, courage then! what cannot be avoided 
'T were childish weakness to lament or fear. 

Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit 
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
Infuse Ills lireast with magnanimity 
And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. 
I speak not this as douljting any here ; 
For did I but suspect a fearful man. 
He should have leave to go away betimes, 
Lest in our need he might infect another 
And make him of like spirit to himself. 
If any such be here — as God forbid ! — 
Let him depart before we need his help. 

Oxf. Women and childi'en of so high a courage. 
And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame. 

brave young prince! thy famous grandfather 
Doth live again in thee : long mayst thou live 
To bear his image and renew his glories I 

Som. And he that will not fight for such a hope, 
Go home to bed, and like the owl by day, 
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 

Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, 
thanks. [else. 

Prince. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing 

Enter a Messengrer. 
Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, 
Heady to fight ; therefore be resolute. 

0.cf. I thought no less : it is his policy 
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 
Som. But he 's deceived ; we are in readiness. 
Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your for- 
wardness, [budge. 
Oxf. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not 

Flourish and inarch. Enter King Edward, Glou- 
cester, Clarence, and Soldiers. 
K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the 
thorny wood, 
"Which , by the heavens'' assistance and your strength, 
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere niglit. 

1 need not add more fuel to your fire, 
For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out ; 
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords! 

Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I 
should say 
My tears gamsay ; for every word I speak, 
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 
Therefore, no more but this : Henry," your sovereign. 
Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp 'd. 
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, 
His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent ; 
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. 
You hglit in justice: then, in God's name, lords, 
Be valiant and give signal to the fight. 

[Alarum: Itelreat: Excursions. Exeunt. 

SCENE "V.—AnotlieriMrt of the field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, 
and Soldiers; icilh Queen Margaret, Oxford, and 
Somerset, pri'ionfvs. 

K. Edw. Now here a period of tumultuous broils. 
Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight : 



For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 

Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them speak. 

0.xf. For my part, I '11 not trouble thee with words. 

So7n. NorI,butstooi) with pa tienre to my fortune. 
[Exeunt Oxford and .Siniicn'd, guarded. 

Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous wcu-ld, 
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. [Edward 

K. Edw. Is proclamation made, that who finds 
Shall have a high reward, and he his life? 

Olou. It is: and lo, where youthful Edward conies! 

Enter Soldiers, loith Prince Edward. 
A'. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear liim 
What! can so young a thorn begin to prick ? [speak. 
Edward, what satisfaotiou canst thou make 
For bearing arms, for stirring up my sulijects. 
And all the trouble tliuu hast turn'd me to? 
Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious 
York ! 
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth ; 
Kesign thy cliair, and where I stand kneel thou. 
Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee, 
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. 
Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolved ! 
Glou. That you might still liave worn the petticoat. 
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 

Prince. Let ^sop fable in a winter's night; 
His currish riddles sort not witli this place. 

Glou. By heaven, brat, I '11 plague ye for that 
word. [men. 

Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to 
Glou. For God's sake, take away this captivescold. 
Prince. Xay, take away this scolding crookback 
rather. [tongue. 

K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your 
Clar. Untutor'd lad, thoii art too malapert. 
Prince. I know my duty; you are all undutiful: 
Lascivious Edward, and tliou perjured George, 
And tliou mis-shapen Dick, 1 tell ye all 
I am your better, traitors as ye are: 
And thou usurp"st my father's right and mine. 
K. Edw. Take that, thou likeness of this railer 
here. [Stabs him. 

Olou. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end tliy 
agony. [Stabs him. 

Cla. And there 's for twitting me witli perjury. 

[Stabs him. 
Q. Mar. O, kill me too! 

Glou. Marry, and shall. [Offers to Mil her. 

K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done 
too much. [words ? 

Glou. Why should she live, to fill the world with 
A". Edw. What, doth she swoon ? use means for 

her recovery. 
Glou. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother ; 
I '11 hence to London on a serious matter : 
Ere ye come there, be siu^e to hear some news. 
Clar. AVhat? what? 

Glou. The Tower, the Tower. [Exit. 

Q. Mar. O Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother, 
boy! 
Canst thou not speak ? O traitors! murderers! 
They that stabb'd Csesar shed no blood at all, 
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, 
If this foul deed were by to equal it : 
He was a man ; this, in respect, a child : 
And men ne'er s|iend their fury on a child. 
Wliat 's worse than murderer, that I may name it ? 
No, no, my heart will Ijurst, an if I sjieak : 
And 1 will si)eak, tliat so my lieart may burst. 
Butchers and villains! bloody caiiiiiljais! 
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! 
You have no children, butchers! if you had. 
The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse : 
But if you ever chance to have a child. 
Look in his youth to have him so cut off 
As,deathsmeu, you have rid this sweet young prince': 
405 



ACT V. 



THIRD PART OF KING HEXRY VI scEr^E vii. 



K. Edw. Away with lier; go, bear her hence per- 
force, [here ; 

Q. Mm-. jS'ay, never bear me hence, dispatch me 
Here slieiithe thy sword, I '11 pardon thee my death : 
"NVliat, wilt tliun not ? tlien, Clarence, do it thou. 

Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. 

Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do 
I thou do it. [do it ? 

(Jlar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not 

Q. Mar. Ay, but tliou usest to forswear thyself: 
'T was sin before, but now 'tis charity. 
What, wilt thou not y Where is that devil's butcher, 
Hard-favour'd Richard i* Richard, where art thou ? 
Tliou art not here : murder is thy alms-deed ; 
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 

K. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear her hence. 

Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to this 
prince! [Exit, led oid forcibly. 

K. Edw. Where 's Richard gone ? 

Clar. To London, all in post ; and, as I guess, 
To make a bloody siijiper in tlie Tower. 

K. Edw. He "ssudilen, if athingcomesinhishead. 
Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
With pay and thanks, and let "s away to London 
And see our gentle queen how well she fares: 
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — London. The Toioer. 

Enter King Henry and Gloucester, with the 
Lieutenant, on lite walls. 

Gloii. Good day, my lord. "\Vhat, at your book 
so hard ? 

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord: — my lord, I should 
say rather ; 
'T is sin to flatter; ' good ' was little better: 
' Good Gloucester ' and ' good devil ' were alike. 
And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.' 

Glou. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves : we must con- 
fer. [Exit Lieutenant. 

K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the 
wolf ; 
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece 
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. 
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ? 

Glou. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; 
The thief doth fear each busli an officer. 

K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a bush. 
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush; 
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
Have now the fatal object in my eye [kill'd. 

Where my poor young was limed, was caught and 

Glou. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, 
That taught his son tlie office of a fowl ! 
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was droi^ni'd. 

K. Hen. I, Da'dalns; my poor boy, Icarus; 
Tliy father, IMiiios. tliat denied our course : 
Tlie sun tliat srarM the wings of my sweet boy 
Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea 
Wliose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
Ah, kill me with thy wea|ion, not witli words! 
My breast can better brook tliy dagger's point 
Tlian can my ears that tragic history. 
But wlierefore do.st thou come V is 't for my life ? 

Glou. Think'st thou I am an executioner? 

K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: 
If murdering innocents be executing. 
Why, tlien thou art an executioner. 

Glou. Thy son 1 kill'd for his presumption. 

K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou 
didst presume, 
Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine. 
And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, 
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, 
And many an okl man's sigh and many a widow's, 
And many an orphan's water-standing eye — 
Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, 
456 



And orphans for their parents' timeless death — 
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
The owl shriek 'd at tliy birth, — an evil sign; 
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; 
Dogs howl'd, and liideous tempest shook down trees; 
The raven rook'd lier on the chimney's top, 
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, 
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, 
To wit, an indigesti-il and deformed lump. 
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
Teeth hadst thou in thy head wlien thou wast bom, 
To signify thou camest to bite the world: 
And, if the rest be true which I have heard, 
Thou camest — 

Glou. I'll hear no more: die, prophet, in thy 

speech : [Stabs him. 

ror_^this, amongst the rest, was I ordain 'd. [this. 

A'. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after 
O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! [Vies. 

Glou. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have 

mounted. 
See how my sword weejis for tlie poor king's death ! 

0, may such purple tears be alway .shed 

From those that wish the downfall of our house! 
If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
Down; dowm to hell; and say I sent thee thither: 
[Stabs him again. 

1, that have neither i>ity, love, nor fear. 
Indeed, 'tis true that liciiry told me of; 
For I have often heard niy mother say 

I came into the world witli my legs forward: 

Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste. 

And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right ? 

The midwife wonder'd and the women cried 

' O, Jesus bless us, he is Ikuii witli teeth ! ' 

And so I was; which pUiinly signified 

That I should snarl and bite and play the dog. 

Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so, 

Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 

I have no brother, I am like no brother ; 

And this word ' love,' which greybeards call divine. 

Be resident in men like one another 

And not in me : I am myself alone. 

Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the light : 

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ; 

For I will buz abroad such propliecies 

That Edward shall be IVarful of liis life. 

And then, to purge his tear, I '11 be thy death. 

King Henry and the i>rince liis son are gone: 

Clarence, thy turn is next, ami tlien the rest. 

Counting myself but bad till I be best. 

I '11 throw thy body in anotlier room 

And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. 

[Exit, icith the body. 

SCENE Vn.— London. The palace. 

Floiirish. Enter King Edward, Queen Elizabeth, 
Clarence, Gloucester, Hastings, a Nurse with, the 
young Prince, and Attendants. 

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal 
Re-purchased witli the blood of enemies, [throne, 
What valiant foenien, like to autumn's corn, 
Have we mow'd dciwii in tojis of all their pride! 
Three Dukes of Sdinerset, thivetold renown 'd 
For hardy and undnubted chaniiiions; 
Two Cliffords, as the fattier and tlie son. 
And two X(n-tlunnberlaii(ls ; two liravcr men 
Ne'er spurr'd tlieir coursers at the trumpet's sound ; 
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and 

Montague, 
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion 
And made the forest tremble when thej' roar'd. 
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat 
And made our footstool of security. 



ACT V 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI scene vii. 



Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. 
Young Ned, for thee, tliine uncles and myself 
Have in our armours wateh'd tlie-vviuler's night, 
Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, 
That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace ; 
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. 

Glou. [.l.s(Wr] I '11 blast his harvest, if your head 
were laid ; 
For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
This shoulder was ordain 'd so thick to lieave : 
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back : 
"Work thou the way, — and thou shalt execute. 

K. Edw. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely 
queen ; 
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 

Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty 
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 

(^. Eliz. Thanks, noble Clarence ; worthy brother, 
thanks. 



Glou. And, that I love the tree from whence 
thou sprang 'st, 
Witness the Icving kiss I give the fruit. 
[vl,sj(?t] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master, 
And cried 'all hail ! ' when as he meaut all harm. 
A'. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights. 
Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. 
Clar. What will your grace have done with 
Margaret '^ 
Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
Hatli pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
And hither have they sent it for her ransom. 
K. Edu\ Away with her, and wait her hence to 
France. 
And now what rests but that we spend the time 
With stately triuiiii)hs, mirthful comic shows, 
Such as betits tiie pleasure of the court? 
Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy! 
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. lExeunt. 




"< '■■ -*a> ^?es*stef«'t:# »*■' 



JJicAarrf.— Now. Clifford, I have .singled thee alone: 
Suppose this arm is lor the Duke of York. 
And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 

Clifford.— Now; Richard. I am with thee here alone: 
This is the hand that stabh'd thy father York ; 
And thi.s the hand that slew thy brother Rutland ; 
And here's the heart that triumphs in their death 
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother 
To execute the like upon thyself; 
And so, have at thee !— Act II., Scene iv. 



457 



THE TRAGEDY OF 

KING EICHARD THE THIRD. 



DBAMATIS PER SON. T:. 



sons to the 
Kill" 



King Edward the Fourth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, afterwards 
King Kdward V.. 

Richard, Duke of York, 

George, Dulse of Clarence, "j , ji . * 

Eichard, Duke of Gloucester, afterwards V .. . ,-■ 
King Richard III., J '^ =' 

A young son of Clarence. 

Henry, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King Henry VII. 

Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterhuiy. 

Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York. 

John Morton, Bishop of Ely. 

Dxike of Buckingham. 

Ditke of Norfolk. 

Earl of Surrey, his son. 

Earl Rivers, l>rother to Elizabeth. 

Marquis of Dorset and Lord Grey, sons to Eliza- 
beth. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Lord Hastings. 

Lord Stanley, called also Earl of Derby. 

Lord Lovel. 

Sir Thomas Vaughan. 



Sir Richard Ratoliff. 

Sir William Catesby. 

Sir James Tyrrel. 

Sir James Blount. 

Sir Walter Herbert. 

Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower. 

Christopher Urswick, a priest. Another 'Priest. 

Tressel and Berkeley, gentlemen attending on the 

Lady Anne. 
Lord Mayor of London. Sheriif of Wiltshire. 
Elizabeth, queen to King Edward IV. 
Margaret, widow of King Henry VI. 
Duchess of York, mother to King Edward IV. 
Lady Anne, widow of Edward Prince of Wales, sou 

to King Henry VI. ; afterwards married to Richard. 
A young Daughter of Clarence (Margaret Plan- 

tagenetj. 

Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III., Lords and 
other Attendants ; a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, 
Murderers, Messengers, Soldiers, &c. 



[Fo 



SCENE I. — London. A street. 



of the Plot of ttiis Play, 

^CT I. 



SCENE — En rjland. 
e Lvii.] 



Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, solus. 
GIou. Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made jilorions summer by this sun of York; 
Anil all the clouds tluit lour'd upon our house 
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
Now are our lirows boinid with vietcu'lous wreaths ; 
Our bruised arms huiii;' up for monuments; 
Our stern alarums clianfj;ed to merry meetings, 
Our dreadful marches to deliyiitful measui-es. 
Grim-vi.sanvd war hat If smooth 'd las wriidded front; 
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds 
To frigid the souls of fearful adversaries, 
lie capers nimbly in a lady's chamber 
To tlie lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
But I, that am not sliapcil tVir sjiortive tricks, 
Nor made to court an amorous hioking-glass ; 
I, that am rudidy stamp'd,and want love's majesty 
To strut before a wanton andiliny- nvmph; 
I, that am ciulail'd of this fair proportion, 
Cheated of feature by di.ssembliug nature, 
Deform'd, untinish'd, sent befon- mv time 
Into this breatliing world, scarce half made up, 
And that so lamely and uid'ashiouable 
That dogs bark at me as 1 bait by them: 
Why, I, in this weak piping- time of peace. 
Have no delight to pass away the time, 
Unless to spy my sliadow in the sun 
And descant on mine own deformity: 
Aud therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
4o8 



To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 
f I am determined to prove a villain 
And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
Plots have 1 laiil. inductions dan.gerous. 
By druidvcn prophecies, libels and dreams. 
To set n.y brother Clarence and the king 
In dcaiUy hate the one against the other: 
And it King Edward be as true and just 
As I am subtle, false and treacherous, 
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up. 
About a prophecy which says that G 
Of Edward's heirs the nmrderer shall be. [comes. 
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul : here Clarence 

Enter Clarence, gwirded, and Brakenbury. 
Brother, good day : what means this armed guard 
That waits upon "your grace V 

Clar. His majesty, 

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
Tliis conduct to convey me to the Tower. 

Qlou. Upon what cause V 

Clur. Becatise my name is George. 

Ghyu. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; 
He should, for that, commit yoin- godfathers: 
O, belike his luajesty hath some intent , 
That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. 
But what 's the matter, Clarence ? may I know ? 

Clnr. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest 
As yet I do not : but, as I can learn. 
He hearkens after prophecies and 'ireams: 
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 




* 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCEXE TT. 



And says a wizard told him that by G 
His issue disinherited should be ; 
And, for my name of George begins with G, 
It follows in his thought that I am he. 
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these 
Have moved his highness to commit me now. 

Glou. Why, this it is, when men are ruled by 
women : 
'T is not the king that sends j'ou to the Tower; 
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 't is she 
That tempers him to this extremity. 
AVas it not she and that good man of worship, 
Anthony Woodville, her brother there, 
That made him send l^ord Hastings to the Tower, 
From whence this present day he is delivered ? 
We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. 

Clar. By heaven, I think there 's no man is secure 
But the queen's kindred ami night-walking heralds 
That trudge betwixt tlie king ami Mistress Shore. 
Heard ye not what an humble suppliant 
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery i* 

Glou. Humbly cnmplaining to herdeity 
Got my lord cliamberlain his'liberty. 
1 "11 tell you what ; I think it is our way. 
If we will keep in favour with the king. 
To be her men and wear her livery : 
The jealous o"erworn widow and herself. 
Since that our brother dubb'd them geutlewomen, 
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. 

Brak. I "beseech your graces boUi to pardon me; 
His majesty hath straitly given in charge 
Tliat no man shall Injve private confereiice, 
Of what degree soever, with his brother. 

Glou. Even so ; an 't please your worship, Brak- 
You may partake of any thing we say : [enbury, 
We speak no treason, man: we say the king 
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen 
"Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous ; 
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue ; 
And that the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks : 
How say you, sir':* can you deny all this? 

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have notight 
to do. [thee, fellow, 

Glou. Xaught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell 
He that doth naught with her, excepting one, 
AVere best he do it secretly, alone. 

Brak. What one, my lord'? 

Glou. Her husband, knave : wouldst thou betray 
me ■? [witluil 

Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me, and 
Forbearyour conference with the noble duke. [obey. 

Clar. Weknowthy charge, Brakenbury, and will 

Glou. We are the (jueen's abjects, and must obey. 
Brother, farewell : I will unto the king; 
And whatsoever you will employ me in. 
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, 
I will v>erform it to enfranchise you. 
Meantime, this dee)) disgrace in brotherhood 
Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 

Clar. I know it pleasetli neitlier of us well. 

Glon. Well, your imprisonment sluiUnot be long; 
I will deliver you, or else lie for you : 
Meantime, have patience. 

Clar. I must perforce. Farewell. 

[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenburij, and Guard. 

Glou. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er re- 
Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, [turn. 
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven. 
If heaven will take the present at our Iiands. 
But who comes here '? the new-deliver'd Hastings '? 

Enter Lord Hastings. 

Ilast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord ! 

Glou. As much unto my good lord chamberlain! 
Well are you welcome to the o]ien air. 
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment ? 



-Has^ With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must : 
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks 
That were the cause of my imprisonment. 

Glou. Xo doubt, no doubt ; and so shall Clarence 
For they that were your enemies are his, [too; 

And have prevail'd as much on him as you. 

lJit.<l. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd. 
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 

Glou. What news abroad '? 

Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home ; 
The king is sickly, weak and melancholy. 
And his physicians fear him mightily. 

Glou. Xow, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. 
O, he hath kept an evil diet long, 
And overmuch consumed his royal person: 
'T is very grievous to be thought upon. 
What, is he in his bed'? 

Hast. He is. 

Glou. Go you before, and I will follow you. 

[Exit Hastings. 
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die 
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. 
I "11 in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; 
And, if I fail not in my deeji intent, 
Clarence hath not another day to live: 
AVhich done, God take King Edward to his mercy, 
And leave the world for me to bustle in! 
For then I'll marry AVarwick's youngest daughter. 
AVhat though I kill'd her litisband and her father? 
The readiest way to make the weneli amends 
Is to become her husband and her father: 
The which will I; not all so much for love 
As for another secret close intent. 
By marrying her which I must reach unto. 
But yet I run before my horse to market : 
Clarence still breathes; Ed ward still lives and reigns: 
AVhen they are gone, then must 1 count my gains. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — The same. Another street. 

Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, Gentlemen 
with halberds to guard it ; Lady Anne hcinrj the mourner. 

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load. 
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse. 
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament 
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. 
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! 
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost. 
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 
AVife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 
Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these 

wounds! 
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, 
I pour the helpless 'balm of my jioor eyes. 
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! 
Cursed be the heart that liad the heart to do it! 
Cursed the blood that let this blcjod from hence! 
!More direful haji betide that hated wretch, 
That makes us wretclied liy the death of thee, 
Than I can wish to adders, sjiiders, toads, 
Or any creeping venom 'd thing that lives! 
If ever he have child, abortive be it. 
Prodigious and imtimely tirought to light, 
AA'hose tigly and lumatural asi)ect 
May fright the hopetul mother at the view; 
And that be heir to hisunhappiness! 
If ever he have wife, let her be made 
As miserable by the death of him 
As I am made by my ]ioor lord and thee! 
Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, 
Taken from Paul's to be interred there; 
And still, as you are weary of the weight. 
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. 
459 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD II L 



SCENE II. 



Enter Gloucester. 

Olou. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it 
down. 

Anne. Wliat black magician conjures up this fiend, 
To stop devoted charitable deeds ? 

Glou. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint 
I '11 make a corse of him that disobeys. [Paul, 

Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coflfln pass. 

Glou. Unmaimer'd dog ! stand thou, when I com- 
mand: 
Advances thy hallierd hiu-lipr than my lireast, 
Or, by Saint I'aul, I '11 strike thee to my foot. 
And simrn U)ion thee, be,u!;ar, for thy bolchiess. 

Anne. Wliat, do you tremble y are you all afraid ? 
Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal. 
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. 
Avaunt, thou dreadfvd minister of hell ! 
Thou hadst Ijiit power over his mortal body, 
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone. 

Glou. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and 
trouble us not ; 
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
Fiird it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. 
If thou deli.u'ht to view thy heinous deeds. 
Behold tliis pattern of thy butcheries. 
O, gentlemen, sec, see! dead Henry's wounds 
Open thrir congeard mouths and bleed afresh I 
Blush, Ijlnsli, thou hnupof foul deformity; 
For 't is tliy iirrsciH-r tlml exhales this blood 
From cold and <'niiity vchis, where no blood dwells; 
Thy deed, inliuniau and unnatural, 
Provokes this (li-hiL;c most unnatural. 
O God, whirl 1 1 Ills jilood nuidest, revenge his death! 
O earth, whirl 1 tli is Idooddrink'st, revenge his death! 
Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer 
Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, [dead, 
As thou dost swallow uji this good king's blood. 
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered ! 

Gluu. Lady, you know no rules of charity, 
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 

Anne. Villain, thou kuow'st no law of God nor 
man : 
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.- 

Glou. But I know none, and thinv to re am no l)c;ist. 

Amic. O wonderful, when devils tell the trufli! 

Glou. More W(jnderful, when angels are so angry. 
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, 
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, 
By circumstance, biit to acquit myself. 

Anne. Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, 
For these known evils, but to give me leave, 
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 

Glou. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me 
Some patient leisure to excuse myself. [have 

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst 
No excuse current, hut to hang tliysclf. [make 

Glou. By surli desi)air, [ should accuse niysolf. 

.^Iniif. And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand 
excu.sed ; 
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself. 
Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 

Gluu. Say that I slew them not ? 

Anne. Why, then they are not dead : 

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. 

Glou. I did not kill your husband. 

Anne. Why, then he is alive. 

Glou. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's 
hand. [garet saw 

Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest : Queen Mar- 
Thy murderous falchion smoking in iiis blood; 
The wliich thou once didst l>end against her breast. 
But that tliy brothers licat aside tlie point. 

Glou. I was provoked by lier slanderous tongue, 
Wliich laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody miud, 
460 



Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries : 
Didst thou not kill this king 't 

Glou. I grant ye. 

Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog V then, God. 
grant me too 
Thou mayst be danmed for that wicked deed ! 
O, he w'as gentle, mild, and virtuous ! 

Glou. The titter for the Khig of heaven, that 
hath him. [come. 

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never 

Glou,. Let him thank me, that holp to send him 
For he was titter for that place than earth, [thither ; 

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. 

Glou. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me 

Anne. Some dmigeon. [name it. 

Glou. Your bed-chamber. 

Aniie. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liestl 

Glou. So will it, madame, till I lie with you. 

Anne. 1 hope so. 

Glou. I know so. ' But, gentle Lady Anne, 

To leave this keen encounter of our wits. 
And f;ill somcwliat into a slower method, 
Is not tiie causer of the timeless deaths 
Of these riantagenets, Henry and Edward, 
As blameful as the executioner V [effect. 

Anne. Thou art the cause, and most accur.sed 

Ghia. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; 
Your beaut \, wliich did liaunt me in my sleep 
To undertake tlie death of all the world. 
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. 

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, honucide, 
These nails should rend that beauty from my 
cheeks. [wreck ; 

Glou. These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's 
You should not blemish it, if I stood by: 
As all the world is cheered by the sun. 
So I by that; it is my day, my life. 

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death 
thy life ! [both. 

Glou. Curse not thyself, fair creature ; thou art 

Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on thee. 

Glou. It is a quarrel most unnatural. 
To be revenged on him that loveth you. 

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, 
To be revenged on him that slew my husband. 

Ghm. He "that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, 
Did it to help thee to a better husband. 

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. 

Glou. He lives that loves thee better than he could. 

Anne. Name him. 

Glou. Plantagenet. 

Anne. Why, that was he. 

Glou. The selfsame name, but one of better nature. 

Anne. Where is he i* 

Glou. Here. [She spittethat Mm.] 

Why dost thou spit at me y 

Anne. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! 

Glou. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. 

Glou. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. 

Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee 
dead ! 

Glou. I would they w'ere, that I might die at once ; 
For now they kill nie with a living death. 
Those eyesof tliine from minehave drawn salt tears, 
"Shamed their aspect with store of chililish drops: 
These eves, wliicli never slied icniorsefnl tear. 
No, wlien my father York and Kclward vvejit. 
To liear tlie iiiteous moan that Ivutland made 
Wlien black-faced Clifford sliook his swiird at him; 
Nor wlien tliv warlike fatlier, like a cliild. 
Told the sad 'story of my fallier's death. 
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, 
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks. 
Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time 
My manly eyes did scorn au humble tear ; 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE III. 



And what these sorrows coultl not thence exhale, 
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weep- 
I never sued to friend nor enemy ; [ing. 

JSIy tongue could never learn sweet smoothing 
But, now thy beauty is proposed my fee, [words; 
My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to 
speak. [S/ie looks scnrnfullij at liim. 

Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were' made 
For kissing, lady, not for sucli contempt. 
If thy revengeful heart cuuiiut forgive, 
Lo, here I lend tliee this sharji-poiuted sword; 
Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom, 
And let the soul forth tliat adoreth thee, 
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke. 
And humbly be^ the death upon my knee. 

[-He lays his breast open : she offers at it 
with his sword. 
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, 
But 't was thy beauty that provokeil nie. [Edward, 
Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young 
But 't was thy heavenly face that set me on. 

[Here she lets fall the sword. 
Take up the sword again, or take up me. 

Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, 
I will not be the executioner. 

Glcnc. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 

Anne. I have already. 

Olou. Tush, that was in thy rage: 

Speak it again, and, even with the word, 
That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, 
Shall, for thy love, kill a tar truer love ; 
To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. 

Anne. I would I knew thy heart. 

Glou. 'T is figured in my tongue. 

Anne. I fear me both are false. 

Olou. Then never man was true. 

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 

Glou. Say, then, my peace is made. 

Anne. That shall you know hereafter. 

Glou. But shall I live in hope ? 

Anne. All men, I hope, live so. 

Olou. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 

Anne. To take is not to give. 

Glou. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger. 
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ; 
Wear both of them, for both of 'them are thine. 
And if thy poor devoted suppHant may 
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, 
Tliou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 

.Anne. What is it V [designs 

Glou. Tiiat it would please thee leave these sad 
To him that hath more cause to be a moiu'ner, 
And presently repair to Crosby Place ; 
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd 
At Chertsey monastery this noble king. 
And wet his grave with my repentant tears, 
I will with all expedient duty see you : 
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, 
Grant me this boon. 

Anne. With all my heart ; and much it joys me too. 
To see you are become so penitent. 
Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. 

Glou. Bid me farewell. 

Anne. 'T is more than you deserve ; 

But since you teach me liow to Hatter "you. 
Imagine I have said farewell already. 

[Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkeley. 

Olou. Sirs, take up the corse. 

Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord ? 

Glou. No, to White-Friars; there attend my 
coming. [Exeunt all but Gloucester. 

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? 
Was ever woman in this humour won ? 
I '11 have her ; but I will not keep her long. 
What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, 
-To take her in her heart's extremest hate. 
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 



The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; [me. 

Having God, her conscience, and these bars against 

And I nothing to back my suit at all. 

But the plain devil and dissembling looks. 

And yet to win her, aU the world to nothing ! 

Ha ! 

Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 

Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, 

Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury y 

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman. 

Framed in the prodigality of nature. 

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doulit, right royal. 

The spacious world cannot again afford : 

And will she yet debase her eyes on me. 

That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, 

And made her widow to a woful bed 'f 

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? 

On me, that halt and am unshapen thus V 

My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 

I do mistake my person all this while: 

Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot. 

Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 

I '11 be at charges for a looking-glass. 

And entertain some score or two of tailors, 

To study fashions to adorn my body : 

Since I am crept in favour with myself, 

I will maintain it with some little cost. 

But first I '11 turn yon fellow in his grave ; 

And then return lamenting to my love. 

Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass. 

That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. 

SCENE in.— The iKilace. 

Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and Lord 
Grey. 

Bill. Have patience, madam: there's no doubt 
his majesty 
Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it niakt-s Iiim worse : 
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort. 
And clieer his grace with quick and merry words. 

Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of 

liiv. No other harm but loss of such a lord, [me ? 

Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harm. 

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly 
To be your comforter wlien he is gone. [son, 

Q. Eliz. Oh, he is young, and liis minority 
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, 
A man that loves not me, nor none of you. 

Eiv. Is it concluded he shall be protector ? 

Q. Eliz. It is determined, not concluded yet: 
But so it must be, if the kmg miscarry. 

.Elite)- Buckingham and Derby. 
Grev. Here come the lords of Buckingham and 

Derby. 
Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace ! 
Der. God make your majesty joyful as you have 
been ! [of Derby, 

Q. Eliz. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord 
To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. 
Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she 's your ^^ ife. 
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured 
I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 

Der. I do beseech you, eithe.r not believe. 
The envious slanders of her false accusers ; 
Or, if she be accused in true report. 
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. 
Riv. Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby '? 
Ber. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I 
Are come from visiting his majesty. 

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords? 
Buck. ISIadam, good hope ; his grace speaks cheer- 
fully, [with him ? 
Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! Did you confer 
461 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE ITT. 



Buck. Madam, we did : he desires to make atone- 
ment 
Betwixt tlie Duke of Gloucester and your hrotliers, 
And betwixt them and my lord fhauilierhiin; 
And sent to warn tliem to his royal presence. Pie: 

y. Eliz. Would all were well 1 but that will never 
I fear our happiness is at the higliest. 

Enter Gloucester, Hastings, and Dorset. 

Glou. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it : 
Who are they that complain unto tlie king. 
That I, forsooth, am stern and love them notV 
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly 
That fill his ears with such dissent ious rumours. 
Because I cannot flatter and speak fair. 
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog. 
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
I must be helil a rancorous enemy. 
Cannot a plain man live and tliink no harm, 
But thus liis simple trutli nntst be abused 
By silken, sly, insinuating .hieksy [grace? 

Riv. To wIhuu in all this presence speaks your 

Glou. To tliee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. 
When have I injured thee y wlien done thee wrong ? 
Or tliee > or thee V or any of your faction y 
A plague upon you all ! His royal person, — 
AVhoni God preserve better than you would wish ! — 
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing- while. 
But you must trouble liim witli lewd complaints. 

Q. Eiiz. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the 
The king, of his own royal disposition, [matter. 
And not provoked by any suitor else ; 
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred. 
Which in your outward actions shows itself 
Against my kindred, l.irothers, and myself. 
Makes lum to send; that thereby he may gather 
Tiie ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. 

Glou. I cannot tell: tiie world is grown so bad. 
That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch : 
Since every .Jack became a gentleman. 
There 's many a gentle person made a Jack. 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, 
brotlier Gloucester ; 
You envy my advancement and my friends': 
God grant we never may liave need of you ! [you : 

Glou. Meantime, Gud grants that we have need of 
Our brothi'r is imprisdu'd by your means, 
Myself disgraced, and the nobility 
Held in coutempi:; wliilst many fair promotions 
Are daily given to ennoble tliose [noble. 

That scarce, some two days since, were worth a 

Q. Eliz. By Him that raised me to this careful 
heiglit 
From tliat contented hap which I ehjoy'd, 
I never did incense his majesty 
Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been 
An earnest adxocate to plead for liini. 
My lord, you do me shameful injury. 
Falsely to draw me in tliese vile suspects. 

Glou. You may deny that you were not the cause 
Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 

Riv. She may, my lord, for — [not so ? 

Ghm. She may, Ijord Rivers ! why, who knows 
She may do more, sir, than denying that: 
Slie may help you to many fair "preferments. 
And tlien deny her aiding hand therein. 
And lay tlmse himours oil your high deserts. 
AV'liat may >lie not? She may, yea, marry, may she, — 

Rii\ What, marry, may she? 

Glou. What, marry, may slie !■ marry with a king, 
A bachelor, a handsome stripling too : 
I wis your grandam had a worser match. [borne 

Q. Eliz. My L(u-(l of Gloucester, I have too long 
Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: 
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty 
With those gross taunts I often have endured. 
I had rather be a country servant-maid 
462 



Than a great queen, with this condition. 
To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at : 

Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 
Small joy have I in being England's queen, [theel 

ij. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech 
Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. [king? 

Glou. What ! threat you me with telling of the 
Tell him, and spare not : look, what I have said 
I will aviiuch in presence of the king: 
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
'T is time to si)eak ; my pains are quite forgot. 

V- Mar. Out, devil ! I remember them too well: 
TliDU slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, 
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. [king, 

Glou. Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband 
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; 
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, 
A liberal rewarder nf his friends: 
To royalise his blood 1 siiilt mine owm. [thine. 

Q. Mar. Yea, and much Vietter blood than his or 

Glou. In all which time you and your husband 
Were factious for the house of Lancaster ; [( Jrey 
And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband 
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain ? 
Let me put in your minds, if yon forget, 
What you have been ere now, and what you are; 
Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 

Q. Mar. A murderous villain, and so still thou art. 

Glou. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, War- 
wick ; 
Yea, and forswore himself, — whicli Jesu pardon ! — 

Q. Mar. AVhich God revenge ! 

Ghu. To fight on Edward's party for the crown; 
And for his meed, poor lord, he is iiiew'd up. 
I would to God my heart were Hint, like Edward's; 
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine: 
I am too childish-foolish for this world. [world, 

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the 
Thou cacodemon ! there thy kingdom is. 

Riv. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days 
Which here you urge to prt)ve us enemies. 
We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: 
So should we you, if you should be our king. 

Glou. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: 
Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! 

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 
You should enjoy, were yon this country's king, 
As little joy may you supjwise in me, 
That I enjoy, being the ipieen thereof. 

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; 
For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
I can no longer hold me patient. [Admncing. 

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
In sharing that which you have iiiir<I from me I 
Which of you trembles not that looks on me ? 
If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects. 
Yet tliat, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? 
O gentle villain, do not turn away! [my sight ? 

Glou. Foul wrinkled witch, what makest tliou iu 

(^. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd ; 
That will I make before I let tliee go. 

Glou. Wert thou not banished on pain of death ? 

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in ban- 
ishment 
Than death can yield me here by my abode. 
A hnsbauil and a son thou owest to me; 
And th(ui a kingdom; all of you allegiance: 
The sorrow that I have, by riglit is yours. 
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. 

Glou. The ciu-se my" noble father laid on thee, 
AVlien thou didst crown his warlike brows with 

paper 
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, 
And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout 
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland, — 
His curses, then from bitterness of soul 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE III, 



Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; 
And God, not we, hath plagued thy blooily deed. 

(^. Eliz. So just is God, to right tlif innocent. 

Hast. O, 't was tlie foulest deed to slay that babe, 
And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! 

liiv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re- 
ported. 

Dor. Xo man but prophesied revenge for it. 

Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to 
see it. [came, 

Q. Mar. What were you snarling all before I 
Ready to catch each other by the throat. 
And turn you all your hatred now on me? 
Did York's dread curse prevail s. i much with heaven 
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death. 
Their kingdom's loss, my woful l.ianishment. 
Could all but answer for that jieevish brat? 
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven ? 
Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick 
If not by war, by surfeit die your king, [curses ! 
As ours by murder, to make him a king! 
Eilward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, 
For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, 
Die in his youth by like untimely violence ! 
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen. 
Outlive tliy glory, like my wi'etched self! 
Long mayst thoii live to wail thy children's loss; 
And see anotlier, as I see thee now, 
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou are stall'd in mine! 
Long die thy happy days before thy death; 
And, after many lengthen 'd hours of grief. 
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! 
llivers and Dorset, you were st;inders by. 
And so vi'ast thou. Lord Hastings, when my son 
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers : God, I pray him. 
That none of you may live your natural age. 
But by some unlook'd accident cut off! [liag ! 

Glou. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd 

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou 
slialt hear me. 
If heaven have any grievous plague in store 
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 
O, let them keep it tOl thy sins l.)e ripe. 
And then hurl down their indignation 
On thee, the troubler of llie poor world's peace! 
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul ! 
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, 
And take deep traitors for tliy dearest friends! 
No sleep close up that deailly eye of thine. 
Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream 
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! 
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
The slave of nature and the son of hell ! 
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb ! 
Tliou loathed issue of thy father's loins! 
Thou rag of honom- ! thou detested — 

Olou. Margaret. 

Q. Mar. Eichard ! 

[ Glou. Ila! 

Q. Mar. I call thee not. 

Glou. I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought 
Tliat thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. 

V. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. 
O, let me make the period to my curse! 

GUiu. 'T is done by me, and ends in ' Margaret.' 

'Q. Eliz. Thus have you breathed your curse 
against yourself. [fortune ! 

(^. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my 
Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider. 
Whose deadly well ensnareth thee about ? 
Fool, fool! thou wliet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
The time will come when thou shalt wish for me 
To help thee curse that poisonous bunch-back'd 
toad. 

Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, 
Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. 



Q. Mar. Foul shame upon yoi;! you have all 
moved mine. [your duty, 

Biv. Were you well served, you woidd'be taught 

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
duty. 
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects : 
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves tliat duty! 

Dor. Dispute not with her ; she is lunatic, [pert : 

Q.Mar. Peace, master marquess, you are mala- 
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. 
O, that your young nobility could judge 
What 't were to lose it, and be miserable ! • 
They tliat stand high have many blasts to shake 

them ; 
And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. 

Glou. Good counsel, marry : learn it, lea'rn it, 
marquess. 

Dor. It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. 

Glou. Yea, and much more : but I was born so high, 
Our aery Imildeth in the cedar's top, 
And dallies witli the wind and scorns the sun. 

(j. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! 
Witness my son, now in the shade of death; 
Whose bright out-shining lieanis thy cloudy wrath 
Hath in eternal darkness f<i!deil up. 
Your aerv buildeth in our aerv's nest. 
O God, that seest it, do not suffer it; 
As it was won with blood, lost be it so! 

BurJx. Have done! for shame, if not for charity. 

Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me : 
Uncharitably with me have you dealt. 
And shanielidly by you my hopes are lautcher'd. 
My eliarity is outrage, life my shame; 
And in tliat shame still live my sorrow's rage! 

Buck. Have done, have done. [hftnd, 

Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy 
In sign of league and amity with thee: 
Now fan- befal thee and thy noble house! 
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood. 
Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 

Buck. Ncu' no one here; for curses never pass 
The lii)s of those that breathe them in the air. 

Q. Mar. I '11 not believe but they ascend the sky, 
And tliere awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 

Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! 

Look, wlien he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, 
His venom tooth will rankle to the death : 
Have not to do with liini, beware of him; 
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him. 
And all their ministers attend on him. [ingham ? 

Glou. What doth she say, my Lord of Buck- 

Bwk. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 

Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn uie for my gentle 
counsel ? 
And soothe the devil that I warn thee fi-om? 
O, but remember this another day. 
When he sliall split thy very heart with sorrow, 
And say poor Margaret was a jirophetess! 
I>ive each of you the subjects to his hate. 
And he to yours, and all of you to God's! [Exit. 

Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her 
curses. [erty. 

J? jr. And so doth mine : I muse why she 's at lib- 

Glou. I cannot blame her; by God's holy mother. 
She hath had too much wrong; and I repent 
M\ part thereof that I have done to her. 

'Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 

Glou. But you have all the vantage of her wrong. 

1 was too hot to do somebody good. 
That is too cold in thinking'of it now. 
IMarry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
He is'frank'd up to fatting for his pains: 
God pardon them that are the causi' of it! 

Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, 
To pray for them that have done seatlie to ns. 

Glou. So do I ever: [Asidf] being well advised. 
For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. 
4G3 



ACT I. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCEJiTE IV. 



Enter Catesby. 

Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you: 
And for your grace ; and you, my noble lords, [us ? 

Q.Miz. Catesby, we come. Lords,willyougowith 

Jtiv. Madam, we will attend your grace. 

[Exeunt all hut Gloucester. 

Glou. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach 
I lay unto the grievous charge of oUiers. 
Clarence, wliom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, 
I do beweep to many simple gulls ; 
Namely, to Hasting's, Derby, Buclvingham ; 
And say it is the queen and lier allies 
That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
Now, they believe it; and witlial wliet me 
To be revenged on Rivers, Vauglian, Grey : 
But then I sigli; and, with a piece of scripture, 
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: 
And thus I clothe my naked villany 
With old odd ends stolen out of lioly writ ; 
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 

Enter two Murderers. 
But, soft ! here come my executioners. 
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! 
Are yon now going to dispatch this deed ■' 

First Murd. We are, my lord ; and come to have 
the warrant, 
That we may lie admitted where he is. 

Glou. Well thought upon ; I have it here about 
me. [Gives the warrant. 

When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. 
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution. 
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; 
For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps 
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 

First Murd. Tush ! 
Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate ; 
Talkers are no good doers : be assured 
We come to use our hands and not our tongues. 

Glou. Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes 
drop tears : 
I like you, lads; about your business straight; 
Go, go, despatch. 

First Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. The Tower. 
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury. 

Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? 

Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams. 
That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night, 
Thougli 'twere to buy a world of happy days. 
So full of dismal terror was the time ! 

Brak. What was your dream? I long to hear 
you tell it. [Tower, 

Clar. Methoughts that I had broken from the 
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; 
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk [land. 
Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward Eng- 
And cited up a thousand fearf id times. 
During the wars of York and Lancaster 
That had befaH'n iis. As we paced along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, [ing, 

Methought that Gloucester stiuiiMi-d : and, in fail- 
Struck me, that thought to stay him. overboard. 
Into tlie tumliliiig billows of the m.-iiu. 
]>or(l. Lord! methought, wliat jiain il was to drown! 
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! 
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! 
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 
Ten thousand men that fishes guaw'cl upon ; 
Wedges of gold, great ancliors, heaps of pearl, 
404 



Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels. 

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea : 

Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes 

Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, 

As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems. 

Winch woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death 
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ? 

Clar. Methougiit I had ; and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood 
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To seek the empty, vast and wandering air ; 
But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 
Which almost burst to belch it in tlie sea. 

Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony? 

Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; 
O, then began the tempest to my soul, 
Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood. 
With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
Unto the kingdom of iuMpetual night. 
The first that there did greet my slranger soul, 
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; 
Who cried alnud, ' What scourge for perjury 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? ' 
And so he vanish 'd: then came wandering by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright Iiair 
Dabbled in blood; and he sfjneak'd out aloud, 
' Clarence is come; false, (leeting, perjured Clarence, 
That stabb'd me in the held by Tewksbury; 
Seize on him. Furies, take him to your torments! ' 
With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends 
Environ 'd me about, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise 
I trembling waked, and for a season after 
Could nut Ijclieve but that I was in hell, 
Such terrible impression made the dream. [you ; 

Brak. No marvel, my lord, thougli it affrighted 
I promise you, I am afraid to hear you tell it. 

Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done those things, 
AVhich now bear evidence lagainst my soul, 
For Edward's sake; and see how he retinites me! 

God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds. 
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, 

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! 

1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; 
My soul is heavy, and 1 fain would sleep. 

Brak. 1 will, my lord: God give your grace good 
rest! [Clarence sleeps. 

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours. 
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. 
Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
An outward honour for an inward toil; 
And, for unfell imagination. 
They often fei'l a world of restless cares: 
So tliat, betwixt their titles and low names, 
There 's nothing differs but the outward fame. 

Enter the ttco Murderers. 

First Murd. Ho ! who 's here ? [you hither ? 

Brak. In God's name what are you, and how came 

First Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I 
came hither on my legs. 

Brak. Yea, are you so brief ? 

Sec. Murd. O sir, it is better to be brief than te- 
dious. Shew him our commission ; talk no moi-e. 
[Brakenhurji reads it. 

Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
The noble Duke of Clarence to your Iiands : 
I will not reas(jn what is meant liereViy, 
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
Here iire the keys, there sits the duke asleep: 
I '11 to the king ; and signify to him 
That thus I have resign 'd my charge to you. 

First Murd. Do so, it is a point of wisdom : fare 
you well. [Exit B rakcnbury. 



ACT I. 



riNG RICHARD III. 



SCENE IV. 



Sec. Murd. What, sliall we stab him as he sleeps ? 

Mrst Murd. A'o ; then he will say 't was doue cow- 
ardly, when he wakes. 

Sec. Murd. "Wlien he wakes! why, fool, he shall 
never wake till the judgment-day. [sleeping. 

First Murd. Why, then he will say we stabbed him 

Sec. Murd. The urging of that word 'judgment' 
hath bred a kind of remorse in me. 

First Murd. What, art thou afraid? 

Sec. Murd. Xot to kill him, having a warrant for 
it; but to be damned for killing him, from which 
no warrant can defend us. 

First Murd. I thouglit thou hadst been resolute. 

Sec. Murd. So I am, to let him live. [hiai so. 

First Murd. Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell 

Sec. Murd. I pray thee, stay a while : I hope my 
lioly humour will cliange ; 't was wont to hold me 
but while one would tell twentyv 

First Murd. How dost tliou feel thyself now ? 

Sec. Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of con- 
science are yet within me. 

First Murd. Eemember our reward, when the 
deed is doue. [ward. 

(Sec. Muni. 'Zounds, he dies : I had forgot the re- 

First Murd. Where is thy conscience now? 

Sec. Murd. In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. 

First Murd. So when he opens his purse to give 
us our reward, thy conscience flies out. 

Sec. Murd. Let it go ; there 's few or none will 
entertain it. 

First Murd. How if it come to thee again? 

Sec. Murd. I '11 not meddle with it : it is a dan- 
gerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man 
cannot steal, but it accu.seth him; he cannot swear, 
but it checks him ; he cannot lie with his neigh- 
bour's wife, but it detects him : 't is a blushing 
shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom ; 
it fills one full of obstacles : it made me once re- 
store a purse of gold that I found ; it beggars any 
man that keeps it : it is turned out of all towns and 
cities for a dangerous thing ; and every man that 
means to live well endeavours to trust to liimself 
and to live without it. 

First Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, 
persuading me not to kill the duke. 

Sec. Murel. Take the devil in tliy mind, and be- 
lieve him not : he would insinuate with thee but to 
make tliee sigh. 

First Murd. Tut. I am strong-framed, he cannot 
prevail with me, I warrant thee. 

Sec. Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow that respects 
his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear ? 

First Murd. Take him over the costard with the 
hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop hira in 
the malmsey-butt in the next room. 

Sec. Murel. O excellent device ! make a sop of him. 

First Murd. Hark ! he stirs : shall I strike ? 

Sec. Murel. No, first let 's reason with him. [wine. 

Vlar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of 

Sec. Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, 

Clar. In God's name, what art thou ? [anon. 

Sec. Murd. A man, as you are. 

Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 

Sec. Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal, [humble. 

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but' thy looks are 

Sec. Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks 
mine own. 

CleiT. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! 
Your eyes do menace me : why look you pale ? 
Who sent you hither ? Wherefore do you come ? 

Both. To, to, to — 

Clar. To murder me ? 

Jioth. Ay, ay. 

Ctar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, 
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? [liing. 

First Murd. Offended us you have not, but the 
30 



Clar. I shall be reconciled to him again. [die. 

Sec. Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare to 

Clar. Ai'e you call'd forth from out a world of men 
To slay the innocent ? What is my offence ? 
Where are the evidence that do accuse me ? 
What lawful (luest have given their verdict up 
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced 
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ? 
Before I be convict by course of law. 
To threaten me with deatli is most unlawful. 
I charge you, as you hope to have redempticm 
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins. 
That you deiiart and lay no hands on me : 
The deed you undertake is damnable. 

First Murd. What we will do, we do upon com- 
mand, [king. 

Sec. Murel. And he that hath commanded is the 

Clar. Erroneous vassal I the greiit King of kuigs 
Hath in the tables of his law coumianded 
That thou shalt do no murder : and wilt thou, theu, 
Spurn at his edict and f ultil a man's ? 
Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hands. 
To hurl upon tlieir heads that break his lav/. 

Sec. Murd. And that same vengeance doth he 
hurl on thee. 
For false forswearing and for murder too : 
Thou didst receive the holy sacrament. 
To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 

First Murd. And,likea traitorto theuameof God, 
Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous 

blade 
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 

Sec. Murd. Whom thou wert sworn to cherish 
and defend. [law to us. 

First 3Iurd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful 
When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? 

Cleir. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed ? 
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : 
Why, sirs. 

He sends ye not to murder me for this; 
For in this sin he is as deep as I. 
If God will be revenged for this deed, 
O, know you yet, he doth it publicly: 
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; 
He needs no indirect nor lawless course 
To cut off those tliat have offended him. [ister,^ 

First Muni. AVho made thee, then, a bloody min-* 
When galhiut-springing brave Plantagenet, 
That princely uovice, was struck dead by thee ? 

Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 

First Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and tiiy 
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. [fault, 

Clar. Oil, if you love my brother, hate not me; 
I am his brother, and I love hiin well. 
If you be hired for meed, go back again, 
And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, 
Who shall re\\ ard you tetter for my life 
Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 

Sec. Murd. You are deceived, your brother Glou- 
cester hates you. 

Clar. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: 
Go you to him from me. 

Both. Ay, so we will. [York 

Cleir. Tell him, when tliat our princely father 
Bless'd his tiiree sons with his victorious arm, 
And charged us from his soul to love each other. 
He little tliouglit of this divided friendship: 
Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. 

First Murd. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to 
weep. 

Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 

First Murd. Right, 
As snow iu harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 
'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. 

Clar. It cannot be; for when I parted with him, 
He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, 
That he would labour my delivery. 

4iM 



ACT II. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE I. 



Sec. Murd. Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee 
From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 

First Muni. Alake peace with God, for you must 
die, my lord. 

Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, 
To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind. 
That thou wilt war with God by murdering meV 
All, sirs, consider, he that set you on 
To do this deed will hate you for the deed. 

Sec. Murd. What shall we do y 

Ciar. Relent, and save your souls. 

First Murd. Relent ! 't is cowardly and womanish. 

Clar. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. 
Which of you, if you were a prince's son. 
Being pent from liberty, as I am now, 
If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, 
Would not entreat for life? 
My friend, I spy some jiity in thy looks'; 
O, if thine eye be not a llatterer. 
Come thou on my side, aud entreat for me. 
As you would beg, were you in my distress : 
A begging prince what beggar pities not ? 



Sec. Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 
First Murd. Take that, aud that: if all this will 
not do, [Stabs him. 

I '11 drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 

[Exit, with the body. 
Sec. Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately dis- 
patch 'd I 
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 
Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! 

He-enter First Murderer. 
First Murd. How now ! what mean'st thou, that 
thou help'st me not V 
By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art ! 
Sec. Murd. I would he knew that I had saved his 
brother ! 
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; 
For I repent me tkat the duke is slain. [Kvit. 

First Mnrd. So do not I : go, coward as thou art. 
Now must I hide his body in some hole. 
Until the duke take order for his burial : 
And wlien I have my meed, I must away; 
For this will out, aud here I must not stay. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I. — London. The palace. 

Flourish. £«/(■!■ King- Edward s/<7.-, Queen Elizabeth, 
Dorset, Elvers, Hastings, Buckingham, Grey, and 
others. 

K. Edu>. Why, so : now have I done a good day's 
You peers, continue this united league : [work : 
1 every day expect an embassage 
From my Redeemer to redeem me hence ; 
And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, 
Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. 
Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; 
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love, [hate ; 

Biv. By heaven, my heart is purged from grudgiug 
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 

Ha.ft. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! 

K. Fdw. Take lieed you dally not lielore your 
Lest he that is the suprenie King of kinii's [king; 
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
Either of you to be the other's end. 

Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! 

Biv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart I 

K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in this. 
Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; 
You "have been factious one against the other. 
Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; 
And what you do, do it unfeignedly. " [member 

Q. Eliz. Here, Hastings; I will never more re- 
Our former liatred, so thrive I aud mine ! 

K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love 
lord marquess. 

Dor. This interciiauge of love, I here protest. 
Upon my part sliall be unviolable. 

Hast. And so swear I, my lord. [Tliei/ embrace. 

K.Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou 
this league 
With thy embracements to my wife's allies. 
And make me luii>iiy in your unity. 

Buck-. Whenever iiuckiuj^liani doth turn his hate 
On you in- yours [/« ihc- (^Iikch]. lint with all duteous 
Doth cherisli you and yours, God punish me [love 
With hate in those where I expect most love! 
When 1 have most need to employ a friend. 
And most assiu'ed that he is a friend. 
Deep, hollow, treaclierous, and full of guile, 
Be he unto me ! this do I beg of God, 
When I am cold in zeal to you or yours. 

[lliey embrace. 
466 



K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, 
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. 
There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, 
To make the perfect period of this peace. [duke. 

Buck. And, m good time, here comes the uoble 

Enter Gloucester. 

Glou. Good morrow to my sovereign king and 
And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! [queen ; 

A'. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. 
Brother, we have done deeds of charity ; 
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate. 
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 

Glou. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: 
Amongst this princely lieap, if any here. 
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, 
Hold me a foe ; 

If I unwittingly, or in my rage, 
Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
By any in this presence, I desire 
To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 
'T is death to me to be at enmity ; 
I hate it, and desire all good men's love. 
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, 
Which I will purchase willi my duteous service; 
Of j'ou, my noble cousin Buckingham, 
If ever any grudge were lodged between us ; 
Of J'OU, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; 
That all without desert have frown 'd on me ; 
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. 
I do not know that Englishman alive 
With whom my soul is any jot at odds 
More than the infant that is born to-night : 
I tliank mv God for my humility. 

Q. Eliz.' A holy dav shall this be kept hereafter: 
I would to God all strifes were well eonipounded. 
My sovereign liege, I do besei'i-h your majesty 
To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 

Olou. Why, madam, have I otter'd love for this, 
To be so flouted in this royal presence 'f 
Wlio knows not that the uoble duke is dead? 

[llwy all start. 
You do him injury to scorn his corse. 

Biv. Who knows not he is dead 1 who knows he is ? 

Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! 

Back. Look I so i'>ale. Lord Dorset, as the rest ? 

l)or. Ay, my good lord ; aud no one in this presence 
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. 



ACT IT. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE II. 



K. Etlw. Is Clarence dead ? the order was re- 
versed. 

Glou. But he, poor soul, by your first order died , 
And that a winged Jlereury did bear ; 
Some tardy crii>iile bore the countermand, 
Tliat came too laj? to see him buried. 
God srrant that some, less noble and less loyal, 
KcariT in bloody thoughts, but not in Ijlood, 
Dosfrve not worse tluin wretched Clarence did. 
And yet go current from suspicion ! 

Enter Derby. 

Dcr. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done ! 

K. Edw. I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of 
sorrow. 

Df r. I will not rise, unless your highness grant. 

K. Edw. Then speak at once what is it thou de- 
mand'st. 

Bcr. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; 
Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman 
Lately attendant on tlie Duke of Norfolk, [death, 

K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's 
And shall the same give "pardon to a slave? 
Jly brother slew no man ; his fault was thought, 
And yet his punishment was cruel death. 
Who sued to me for him ? who, in my rage, 
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be adviseil ? 
Who spake oi' lirotherhood ? who spake of love ? 
AVlio told me how the poor soul did forsake 
The miglity Warwick, and did liglit for me ? 
AVlio told me, in the held by Tewksbury, 
AVhen Oxford had me down, he rescued me. 
And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king ' ? 
"Who told me, when we both lay in the Held 
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
Even in his own garments, and gave himself. 
All tliin and naked, to the numb cold night y 
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you 
Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
But when your carters or your waiting-vassals 
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced 
Tlie precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
You straiglit are on your knees for pardon, pardon ; 
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you : 
But for my brother not a man would speak. 
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself 
For him, poor so\d. The proudest of you all 
Have been beholding to him in his life; 
Yet none of you would once plead for his life. 

God, I fear thy justice will take hold 

On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! 
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh^ poor 
Clarence ! [Exeunt mme with Kinq rind Quern. 

Glnu. This is the fruit of rashness! "Mark 'd you 
How tliat the guilty kindred of the queen [not 

Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death ? 
O, they did urge it still unto the king! 
God will revenge it. But come, let iis in, 
To comfort Edward with our company. 

Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. 

SCENE U.— Thei)alacf. 

Enter the Duchess of York, with the two children 
of Clarence. 

Bo;/. Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead ? 

Duch. No, boy. [breast, 

Bo)/. Why do you lATing your hands, and beat your 
And cry ' O Clarence, my unhappy son ! ' [liead. 

Girl. Why do you look on us, and shake your 
And call us wretches, orphans, castaways, 
If that our iKiMc f.itlicr be alive? 

Dwh. My ]>[(tt\' cnusins, you mistake me much; 

1 do lament the sickness of the king. 

As loath to lose him, not your father's death ; 
It were lost sorrow to wail one that 's lost. 



Boy. Then , grandam , you conclude that he is dead. 
The king my uncle is to blame for this: 
God will revenge it ; whom I will importune 
With daily prayers all to that effect. 

Girl. And so will I. [you well: 

Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love 
Incapable and shallow innocents. 
You cannot guess who caused your father's death. 

Boy. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Glou- 
Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, [cester 
Devised impeachments to imprison him: 
And when my uncle told me so, he wept, [cheek; 
And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my 
Bade me rely on him as on my father. 
And he would love me dearly as his child. 

Buck. Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle 
sliapes. 
And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile ! 
He is my son; yea, and therein my slianie; 
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 

A'o«. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam y 

Buck. Ay, boy. 

San. I cannot think it. Hark ! what noise is this V 

Enter Queen Elizabeth, with her hair about her 
ears ; Rivers and Dorset after her. 

Q. Eliz. Oh , who shall hinder me to wail and weep, 
To chide my fortune, and torment myself? 
I "11 join witii black despair against niy soul, 
And to myself become an enemy. 

Budi. What means this scene of rude impatience ? 

Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence: 
Edward, my lord, }'our son, our king, is dead. 
Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd ? 
Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone ? 
If you will live, lament; if die, be brief. 
That our swift -winged souls may catch the king's ; 
Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. 

Burh. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow 
As I had title in thy noble husband ! 
I have bewept a worthy husband's death, 
And lived by looking on his images : 
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance 
Are crack 'd in pieces by malignant death. 
And I for comfort have but one false glass. 
Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. 
Thou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother. 
And hast the comfort of thy children left thee : 
But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine 

arms. 
And pluck 'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, 
Edward and Clarence. O, what cau.se have I, 
Thine being but a moiety of my grief. 
To overgo thy plaints and drciwii thy cries ! [death ; 

Boy. "Good aunt, you wept not for our father's 
How can we aid you with mw kindred tears? 

Girl. Our fatliVrless ilistrcss was left unmoan"d; 
Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept ! 

Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation ; 
I am not banen to bring furth complaints: 
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, 
Tliat I, lieing govern "d by the watery moon. 
May send furth jilenteous tears to drown the world ! 
Oh fur my husband, for my dear lord Edward ! 

Cli il. Oil for our father, for our dear lord Clarence ! 

Buch. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and 
Clarence ! [gone. 

Q. Eliz. What stay had I but Edward ? and he 's 

Vhil. What stay had we but Clarence ? and he 's 
gone. [gone. 

Bnrh. What stays had T but they ? and they are 

(J. Eliz. AVas never widow had so dear a loss I 

Chil. Were never orjihans liad sd dear a loss! 

Burh. Was never mother luid so dear a loss ! 
Alas, I am the mother of these moans! 
Their woes are pareeU'd. mine are general. 
4ti7 



ACT II. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE IV, i 



She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; 

I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she : 

These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I ; 

I for an Edward weep, so do not they : 

Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd. 

Pour all your tears ! I am your sorrow's nurse, 

And I will pamper it with lamentations, [pleased 

Dor. Comfort, dear mother: God is much dis- 
That you take with uuthankfulness his doing: 
In common worldly thinics, 'tis call'd ungrateful, 
With dull unwilliiiL;}irss to repay a debt 
Which with a bduiilrous liaud was kindly lent; 
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven. 
For it requires the myul del it it lent you. 

liir. Madam, bethiiik you, like a careful mother, 
Of the young prince your son : send straight for him ; 
Let him be crown 'd ; in him your comfort lives : 
Drown des|)erate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, 
And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 

Enter Gloucester, Buckingham, Derby, 
Hastings, and Batcliff. 

Glou. Madam, have comfort : all of us have cause 
To wail the dimming of our shining star; 
But none can cure their harms by wailing them. 
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy ; 
I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee 
I crave your blessing. [mind, 

Duah. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy 
Love, charity, ol)edienpe, and true duty ! [man ! 

Glou. [Asiih] Allien; Mild make me die agood old 
That is the biill-cinl el a iiiotlier's blessing: 
1 marvel why her grai-i- did leave it out. [peers, 

Buck, Y(u\ eliiudy princes and heart-sorrowing 
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, 
Now cheer each other in each other's love: 
Though we have spent our harvest of this king. 
We are to reap tlie harvest of his son. 
The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts. 
But lately splhiter'd, knit, and join'd together. 
Must gently lie preserved, cherish 'd, and kept : 
Me seemeth good, that, witli some little train, 
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd 
Hither to London, to be crown 'd our king. 

lth\ Why with some little train, my Lord of 
Buckingham '{ 

Bud;. jNIarry, my lord, lest, by a multitude. 
The new-lieal'd wound of malice should break out; 
Which would be sn iniieli the nioie dangerous. 
By howmucli the est ate is green ami yet ungovern'd: 
AVliere every linrse bears iiis eiiuimanding rein, 
And may direct his course as please himself. 
As well "the fear of harm, as harm apparent, 
In my opinion, ouglit to be prevented. 

Ohm. I hope the king mad&'peace with all of us; 
And the compact is linn and true in me. 
' Eiv. And so in me ; and so, I think, in all : 
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
To no apparent likelilinDil of breach. 
Which haply by much company might be urged: 
Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, 
That it is meet so iew should fetch the prince. 

Hast. And so say I. 

Glou. Then be it so ; and go we to determine 
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. 
!Madam, and you, my mother, will you go 
To give your censures in this- weighty business i* 

%'udu^' } ^^'^'^ ^^^ °"'^' ''earts. 

[Exrunt (til but. Biu-kintihnm anil GlnnrrHtrr. 
Buck. My Lord, wlioever journeys to the prince. 
For God's .sake, let not us two be behind ; 
For, by the way, I '11 sort occasion. 
As index to the story we late talk 'cL of. 
To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. 

Gloit. My other self, my counsel's consistory. 
My oracle, my propliet ! My dear cousin, 
468 



I, like a child, will go by thy direction. 
Towards Ludlow then, for we 'U not stay behind. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. —London. A street. 
Enter two Citizens, meeting. 
First Cit. Neighbotu', well met : whither away so 

fast v 
Sec. at. I promise yon, I scarcely know myself: 
Hear you the news abroad ? 
First Cit. Ay, that the king is dead. 

/Sec. Cit. Bad news, by 'rlady ; seldom comes the 
better : 
I fear, I fear 't will prove a troublous world. 

Enter another Citizen. 

Third Cit. Neighbours, God speed ! 

First Cit. ^ Give you good morrow, sir. 

Third Cit. Doth this news hold of good King Ed- 
ward's death? [while! 

Sec. ('(■(. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the 

lliird Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous 
world. [shall reign. 

First Cit. No, no; by God's good grace his son 

Third Cit. Woe to that land that "s govern'd by 
a child ! 

Sec. Cit. In him there is a liope of government. 
That in his nonage council under him. 
And in his full and ripen 'd years himself. 
No doubt, shall then and till then yoverii well. 

First Cit. So st<iiid the state wlu'ii Henry the Sixth 
Was crown 'd in Paris but at nine months old. 

Third Cit. Stood the state soV No, no, good 
friends, God wot; 
For then this land was famously enrich'd 
With politic grave counsel; then the king 
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 

First Cit. Why, so hath this, both by the father 
and mother. [father, 

Third Cit. Better it were they all came by the 
Or by the father there were none at all; 
For emulation no*v, who shall be nearest. 
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 
O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester! 
And t he queen's sons and brothers ha ugh t and proud: 
And were they to be ruled, ami nut to rule. 
This sickly land might solace as before. 

First Cit. Come, "come, we fear the worst ; all 
shall be well. [their cloaks ; 

Third Cit. M'hen clouds appear, wise men put on 
When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand; 
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? 
LTntimely storms make men expect a dearth. 
All may be well; but, if God sort it so, 
'T is more than we deserve, or I expect. 

Sec. ( 'it. Truly, the souls of men are full of dread : 
Ye cannot reason almost with a man 
That looks not heavily and full of fear. 

Third Cit. Before the times of change, still is it 
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust [so: 
Ensuing dangers; as, by proof, we see 
The waters swell before a boisterous storm. 
But leave it all to God. Whither away V 

Sec. Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 

Third Cit. And so was I : I '11 bear you company. 

[E.i:eunt. 

SCENE IV. — London. The palace. 

Enter the Archbishop of York, the yonnr/ Duke of York, 
Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess of Yorli. 

ArrJi. I>ast niiAht, I hear, they lay at Northamp- 
At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night : [ton ; 
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 

Durh. I long with all my heart to see the prince : 
I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. 



ACT III. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE I. 



Q. Elh. But I Iienr, no ; tbey s;n" my son of York 
Hath almost overtif en him in liis i;i'0\vtli. 

York. Ay, mother ; but I woultl not liave it so. 

JDuch. Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow. 

York. Grandam, one niglit, as we did sit at supper, 
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow [cester, 
More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Cilou- 
' Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:' 
And since, metliinks, I would not grow so fast. 
Because sweet flowers are slowaudweedsmakehaste. 

JJudi. Goo<l faith, good faith, the saying did not 
In him that did object tlie same to thee: [hold 

He was the wretclied'st thing wlien he was young. 
So long a-growing and so leisurely. 
That, if tliis rule were true, he should be gracious. 

Arch. Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is. 

Duch. I liope he is; but yet let mothers doubt. 

York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd, 
I could have given my uncle's grace a tlout. 
To touch his growth nearer than he toucli'd mine. 

Duck. How, my pretty York 'r* I pray thee, let 
me hear it. 

York. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast 
Tliat he could gnaw a crust at two hours old: 
'T was full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. 

Duch. I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this ? 

York. Grandam, his nurse. [born. 

Ditch. His nurse ! why, she was dead ere thou wert 

York. If 't were not she, I cannot tell wlio told me. 

Q. Eliz. A jiarlous boy : go to, you are too shrewd. 

Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child. 

Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Arch. Here comes a messenger. What news ? 
Mess. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold. 
Q. Eliz. How fares the prince V 



Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 

Duch. Wliat is thy news then 'f [Poinfret, 

Mess. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to 
With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 

Duch. Who hath committed them V 

Mess. The mighty dukes 

Gloucester and Buckingham. 

(j. Eliz. For what offence V 

Mess. The sum of all I can, 1 have disclosed ; 
"Why or for what these nobles were committed ■ 
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. 

Q. Eliz. Ay me, I see the downfall of our houSe! 
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind; 
Insulting tyranny begins to jet 
Upon the innocent and aweless throne: 
Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre! 
I see, as in a map, the end of all. 

Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, 
How many of you have mine eyes belield ! 
My husband lost his life to get the crown; 
And often up and down my sons were toss'd. 
For me to joy and weep their gain and loss: 
And being seated, and domestic broils 
Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors. 
Make war upon themselves; blood against blood, 
Self against self: O, preposterous 
And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen ; 
Or let me die, to look on death no more ! 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, myboy; we will to sanctuary. 
Madam, farewell. 

Duch. I '11 go along with you. 

Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 

Arch. My gracious lady, go ; 

And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
For my part, I '11 resign unto your grace 
The seal I keep : and so betide to me 
As well I tender you and all of yours ! 
Come, I '11 conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I. — London. A street. 

The Irnntprl.i xound. Enter the j/ounrf Prtnce, t/ie Dukes 
of Gloucester and Buckingham, Cardinal Bour- 
chier, Catesby, and others. 

, Duck. AVelcome, sweet prince, to London, to your 
chamber. [ereign : 

Glou. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sov- 
The weary way hath made you melancholy. 

Prince. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way 
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy: 
I want more uncles here to welcome me. [years 

Olou. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your 
Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit: 
Nor more can you distinguish of a man 
Than of his outward sliow; which, God he knows, 
Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. 
Those uncles wliich you want were dangerous; 
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, 
But look'd not on the poison of their heai'ts : 
God keep you from them , and from such false friends! 

Prince. God keep me from false friends ! but they 
were none. [greet you. 

Glou. My lord, the mayor of London^comes to 

Enter the Lord Mayor and his train. 
May. God bless your grace with health and happy 
days! [yon all'. 

Prince. I thank you, good my lord ; and thank 
I thought my mother, and my brother York, 
Would long ere this have met us on the way: 
Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not 
To tell as whether they will come or no ! 



Enter Lord Hastings. 

Buck. And, in good time, here comes the sweat- 
ing lord. [come V 

Prince. AV^elcome, my lord : what, will our mother 

Bast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, 
The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince 
Would fain have come witli me to meet your grace. 
But by his mother was perforce withheld. 

Buck. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course 
Is this of hers ! Lord cardinal, will your grace 
Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York 
Unto his princely brother presently ? 
If she deny. Lord Hastings, go with him. 
And fromher jealous arms pluck liim perforce. 

Cnrd. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak ora- 
Can from his mother win the I)uke of York, [tory 
Anon expect liim here; but if she be obdurate 
To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 
AVe should infringe the holy privilege 
Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this laud 
Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. 

Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, 
Too ceremonious and traditional : 
Weigh it but with the grossness of this age. 
You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
The benefit thereof is always graiited 
To those whose dealings have deserved the place, _ 
And those who have the wit to claim the place : ^ 
This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it; 
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it: 
Then, taking him from thence that is not there, 
4G'J 



ACT III. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE I. 



You break no privilege nor charter there. 

Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ; 

But sanctuary cliiidren ne'er till now. [once. 

Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind tor 
Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with mey 

Hast. I go, my lord. 

Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you 
may. [Exeunt Cardinal and Hastings. 

Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come. 
Where shall we sojourn till oui- coronation y 

Glou. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
If I may counsel you, some day or two 
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower : [fit 
Then where you please, and shall be thought most 
For your best healtli and recreation. 

Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any i)lace. 
Did Julius Cfesar build tluit place, my lord V 

Buck. He did, my gracious lord, begin tliat place ; 
Which, since, succeeding ages have re-editted. 

Prince. Is it upon record,' or else r'^ported 
Successively from age to age, he built it ? 

Buck. Upon recoril, my gracious lord. 

Prince. But say, my loril, it were not rcgister'd, 
Methinks the trutli slioulil live from age to age, 
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, 
Even to the general all-ending diiy. [live Icng. 

Glou. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do nevv.r 

Prince. What say you, uncle '•* 

Olou. I say, without characters, fame lives long. 
[Aside] Thus, like the formal vice. Iniquity, 
I moralize two meanings in one word. 

Prince. Tliat .Julius ('lesar was a famous man; 
With what his valour did enrich his wit. 
His wit set down to make his valour live: 
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; 
For now he lives in fame, though not in life. 
I '11 tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, — 

Buck. What, my gracious lord? 

Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
I '11 win our ancient right in France again. 
Or die a soldier, as I lived a king. [ward spring. 

Qlou. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a for- 

Enter youny York, Hastings, and the Cardinal. 

Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke 
of York. [brother? 

Prince. Ricliard of York ! how fares our loving 

York. Well, my dread lord: so nmst I call you now. 

Prince. Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours: 
Too late he died tliat might have kcjit tliat title. 
Which by his death hath Inst mucli majesty. 

Glrpii. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York ? 

York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, ■ 
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
Tlie prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 

Glou. He hath, rhy lord. 

York. And therefore is he idle V 

Glou. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 

York. Then is he more beholding to you than I. 

Glou. He may command me as my sovereign ; 
But you have power in me as in a kinsman. 

York. I pray you, imcle, give me this dagger. 

Glou. My dagger, little cousin ? with all my heart. 

Prince. A beggar, brother ? 

York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give ; 
And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 

Glou. A greater gift than that I '11 give my cousin. 

York. A greater gift ! O, that 's the sword to it. 

Glou. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 

York. O, then, I see, you will part but with light 
In weightier things you '11 .say a beggar nay. [gifts; 

Glou. It is too iieavy for your grace to wear, 
f York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier, [lord V 

Glou. What, would you have my weapon, little 

York. I would, that I miglit thank you as you 

Glou. How ? [call me. 

York. Little. 

470 



Prince. My Lord of York svill still be cross in talk : 
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with hhu. 

York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me: 
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; 
Because that I am little, like an ape, [ders. 

He thinks that you should bear me on your shoul- 

Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons I 
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
So cumiing and so young is %\onderful. 

Glou. My lord, will't please you pass along? 
Myself and my good cousin Buckingham 
Will to your mother, to entreat of her 
To meet you at the Tower and welcome you. 

York. What , will you go unto t lie Tower, my lord ? 

Prince. My lur<l jirdtector needs will have it so. 

York. I sliall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 

Glou. Why, wliat should you tear? 

Yoi-k. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost: 
My grandam told me he was murder'd there. 

Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 

Glou. Kor none that live, I hope. 

Prince. An if they live, I hope I need not fear. 
But come, my lord ; and with a heavy heart, 
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 

[A Sen-net. Exeunt <ill but Gloucester, 
Buckinijliam and Catesbi/. 

Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating 
Was not incensed by his subtle mother [York 

To taunt and scorn you thus opprobrionsly ? 

Glou. Ko doubt, no doubt : O, 't is a jiarious boy ; 
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable: 
He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. 

Buck. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby. 
Thou art sworn as deeply to effect wliat we intend 
As closely to conceal what we inqiart : 
Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way; 
What think'st thou ? is it not an easy matter 
To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, 
For the instalnieiit of tiiis noble duke 
In the seat royal of this famous isle? 

C<itc. He for his father's sake so loves the prince, 
That he will not be won to aught against him. 

Buck. What think'st thou, then, of Stanley ? what 
will he ? 

Catr. He will do all in all as Hastings doth, [by, 

7j 111/,. Well, then.no more but this: go,gpntleCates- 
Aiid, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings, 
How he doth stand affected to our purpose; 
And summon him io-niorrow to the Tower, 
To sit about the cnronation. 
If thou dost lind him tractable to us. 
Encourage him, and show him all our reasons: 
If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling. 
Be thou so too; and so break off your talk, 
And give us notice of his inclination : 
For we to-morrow h<dd divided councils. 
Wherein thyself Shalt highly be enijiloy'd. [Catesby, 

Glou. Colunienil me to J.nnl William: tell him, 
His ancient knot of dangcnuis adversaries 
To-morrow are let blood at Tom fret-castle; 
And bid my friend, for joy of this good nevi's, 
Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 

Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this busine.ss 
soundly. [may. 

Cate. My good lords both, with all the heed I 

Glou. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we 

Cute. You shall, my lord. [sleep? 

Glou. At Crosby Place, there shall you find us 
both. [Exit Catishi/. 

Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we i)er- 
ceive 
Lord Hastings will not yield to our eomplots? 

Glcii. CIiop off jiis head, man; somewliat we will 
And, look, wlicii I inn kiim, claim tlion of me [do: 
Tlie earhJom of Hereford, and tlie moveable.s 
Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd. 



ACT III. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE II. 



Buck. I '11 claim that promise at your grace's hands. 

Glou. And look to have it yielded with all willing- 
Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards [ness. 
We may digest our complots in some form. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Before Lord Hastings' house. 
Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. "What, ho ! my lord ! 
Hast. { Within] Who knocks at the door ? 
Mess. A messenger from the Lord Stanley., 

Enter Lord Hastings. 

Hnst. AVhat is 't o'clock ? 

Mess. Upon the stroke of four. [nights? 

Hast. Cannot thy master sleep these tedious 

Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say. 
First, he commends him to your noble lordship. 

Hast. And then ? 

Mess. And then he sends, you word 
He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm : 
Besides, he says there are two councils held; 
And that may be determined at the one 
AVhicli may make you and him to rue at the other. 
Tlierefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure, 
If presently you will take horse with him. 
And with all speed post with him toward the north, 
To shun the danger that his soul divines. 

Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; 
Bid him not fear the separated councils: 
His honour and myself are at the one. 
And at the other is my servant Catesby; 
Where nothiuij can proceed that touclieth us 
Whereof I shall not have intelligence. » 

Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance: 
And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond 
To trust the niQckery of unquiet sKinibers : 
To fly the boar before tlie boar pursues, 
Were to incense the boar to follow us 
And make ])ursuit v/here he did mean no chase. 
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 
And we will both together to the Tower, 
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. 

Mess. My gracious lord, I '11 tell him what you 
say. „ ^ ^ , [Exit. 

Enter Catesby. 

Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord! 

Hast.. Good morrow, Catesby ; you are early stir- 
ring : 
What news, what news, in this our tottering state ? 

Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; 
And I believe 'twill never stand upright 
Till llichard wear the garland of the realm, [crown y 

Hasl. How! wear the garland! dost thou mean tlie 

Cate. Ay, my good lord. [slioidders 

Hast. I '11 have this crown of mine cut from my 
Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced. 
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it V 

Vale. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you for- 
Upon his party for the gain thereof: [ward 

And thereupon he sends you this good news. 
That this same very day your enemies. 
The kmdred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 

Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
Because they have been still mine enemies: 
B.ut, that I '11 give my voice on Richard's side, 
To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
God knows I will not do it, to the death. [mind! 

Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious 

Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month 
hence. 
That they who brought me in my master's hate, 
I live to iooli upon their tragedy. 
I tell thee, Catesliv.— 

Cate. What, my lord "? 

Hast. Ere a fortnight make me elder, 
I '11 send some packing that yet think not on it. 



Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord. 
When men are unprepared and look not for it. 

Hast. O mon.strous, monstrous ! and so falls it out 
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do 
With some men else, wdio think themselves as safe 
As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
To princely Richard and to Huckingham. 

Cate. Tlie princes botli make liigh account of you ; 
[^ls/t?c] For they account his head upon the bridge. 

Hast. I know they do ; and I have well deserved it. 

Enter Lord Stanley. 
Come on, come on ; where is your boar-spear, manV 
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided ? 

Stan. My lord, good morrow; good morrow. 
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, [Catesby : 
I do not like these several councils, I. 

Hast. My lord, 
I hold my life as dear as you do j'ours ; 
And never in my life, I do protest, 
AVas it more precious to me than 't is now: 
Think you, but that I know our state secure, 
I would be so triumphant as I am ? [London, 

Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they roile from 
Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure. 
And they indeed had no cause to mistrust ; 
But yet, you see, how^ soon the day o'ereast. 
This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt : 
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward! 
What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent. 

Hast. Come, come, have with you. Wot you 
what, my lord V 
To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded, [lieads 

Stan. They, for their truth . misht better wear their 
Than some that have accused tiiem wear their hats. 
But come, my lord, let us away. 

Enter a Pursuivant. 

Hast. Go on before ; I '11 talk with this good fel- 
low. [E.reiint Stiinh'ii O'vl Catesby/. 
How now, sirrah! how i;oes the world witli thee':' 

Purs. The better that vour lordship please to ask. 

Hast. I tell thee, man, 't is better with me now 
Than when I met thee last where now we meet : 
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
By the suggestion of the queen's allies ; 
But now,"l tell thee— keep it to thyself — 
This day those enemies are put to death. 
And I in better state than e'er I was. 

Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good content ! 

Hast. Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for 
me. " [Tlirows him Ids purse. 

Purs. God save your lordship ! [Exit. 

Enter a Priest. 
Priest. Well met, my lord ; I am glad to see your 
honour. [heart. 

Hast. I thank thee, good Sir .John, with all my 
I am in your debt for your last exercise ; 
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 

[He whispers in his ear. 

Enter Bucking-ham. 
Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord chamber- 
Iain '? 
Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the ])riest ; 
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. 

Hast. Good faith, and when I met this holy man, 
Those men you talk of came into my muid. 
What, go vou toward the Tower 'i* 

liurk: I "do, my lord; but long I shall not stay: 
I shall return before your lordship tlience. 
Hast. 'T is like enough, for I stay dinner tliere. 
Buck. [Aside] And supper too, although thou 
know'st it not. 
Come, will you go ? 
Hast. I '11 wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 

471 



ACT III. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE IT. 



SCEHE III. —Pomfret Castle. 

Enter Sir Richard Heitoliffiivith halberds^ carrying 
Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan to death. 

Hat. Co^ll^ liriiin' forth the prisoners. 

Bh. Sir Hichnrd I^atclitT, let me tell thee this: 
To-tlay shult them liehnUl a subject die 
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. [you ! 

Ore>i. (Jod keep the prince from all the pack of 
A knot you are of damned hlood-suekers. [after. 

VaiKj. You live that shall cry woe for this here- 

Jlat. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out. 

liiv. O Pomfret, Pomfret ! O thou bloody prison, 
ratal and ominous to noble peers! 
Within the guilty closure of thy walls 
Ricliard the second here was hack'd to death; 
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, 
"We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. 

Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our 
heads, 
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 

liiv. Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she 
Buckingliam, 
Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God, 
To hear her prayers for them, as now for usl 
And for my sister and her princely sons, 
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, 
Which, as tliou know'st, unjustly must be spilt. 

Bat. Make haste ; the hour of death is expiate. 

Biv. Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all em- 
brace : 
And take our leave, until we meet in heaven. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Totcer of London. 

Enter Bucklng-hatn, Derby, Hastings, the Bishop of 
Ely, Ratcliff, Lovel, wilh others, and take their seats at 
a table. 

Hast. My lords, at once : the cause why we are 
Is, to determine of the coronation. [met 

In God's name, speak : when is the royal day ? 

Buck. Are all thinijs fitting for that royal time ? 

Bcr. It is, and wants but nomination. 

Ely. To-morrow, tlien, I judge a happy day. 

Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind 
herein ? 
Wlio is most inward with the royal duke ? 

Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know 
his mind. [faces. 

Buck. Who, I, my lord ! we know each other's 
But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, 
Than I of yours ; 

Kor I no more of his, than you of mine. 
Lord Hastings, you and lie are near in love. 

Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well; 
But, for his purjiose in the coronation, 
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
But you, my noljle lords." may name the time; 
And in the duke"s behalf I '11 give my voice, 
Which, I presume, he '11 take in gentle part. 

Enter Gloucester. 
Ely. Now in good time, here comes the duke him- 
self, [row. 
Glou. My noble lords and cousins all, good mor- 
I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope. 
My absence doth neglect no great designs, 
Which by my presence might have been concluded. 
Buck. Had not you come upon your cue, my lord, 
AVilliam Lord Hastings had pronounced your part, — 
I mean, your voice, — for crowning of the king. 
Glou. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be 
bolder ; 
His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. 
Hast. I thank your grace. 
472 



Glou. My lord of Ely! 

Ely. My lord '? 

Glou. When I was last in Hollxim, 
I saw good strawberries in your garden there : 
I do beseech you send for some of them. 

Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. 

[Exit. 

Glou. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 
[Drawing him aside. 
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business. 
And fjuds the testy gentleman so hot. 
As he will lose his head ere give consent 
His master's son, as worshipful he terms it, 
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. [you. 

Buck. Withdraw you hence, my lord, I '11 follow 
[Exit Gloucester, Bvckinghnrn folhnrinij. 

Dec We have not yet set downitliisda>- of triumph. 
To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden; 
For I myself am not so well provided 
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. 

Be-enter Bishop of Ely. 

Ely. Where is my lord protector i" I have sent for 
tliese strawberries. 

Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to- 
There 's some conceit or other likes him well, [day ; 
When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit. 
I think there's never a man in Cliristendom 
That can less hide his love or hate than he; 
For by his face straight shall j'ou know his heart. 

Der. What of his lieart iierceive you in his face 
By any likelihodd lie show'd to-day V 

Hast. Marry , that with no man here he is offended ; 
For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. 

I)er. I pray God he be not, I say. 

Be-enter Gloucester and Buckingham. 

Glou. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve 
That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail 'd 
Upon my body with their hellish charms? 

Hast. The tender love I liear your grace, my lord, 
Makes me most forward in this noble presence 
To doom the oli'eiulers, whatsoever they be: 
I say, mj' lord, they have deserved death. 

Glou. Then be your eyes the witness of this ill: 
See how I am bewiteh'd; behold mine arm 
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither 'd up: 
And this is Edward's wife, tliat monstrous witch, 
Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, 
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 

Hast. If they have done this thing, my gracious 
lord,— [pet, 

Glou. If! thou protector of this damned strum- 
Tellest thou me of ' it's ' V Thou art a traitor : 
Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear, 
I will not dine until I see the same. 
Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done : 
The rest, that love me, rise and follow me. 

[Exeunt all but JlasUiiifs, h'atcliff, and Lovel. 

Hast. Woe, woe for England ! not a whit forme; 
For I, too fond, miglit have prevented this. 
Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm; 
But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to tly: 
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, 
And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, 
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. 
O, now I want the priest that spake to me: 
I now repent I told the pursuivant. 
As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies, 
How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd. 
And I myself secure in grace and favour. 
O IMargaret, JNIargaret, now thy heavy curse 
Is lighted on i>oor Hastings' wietelied head! [ner; 

Bat. Dispatch, my lord ; the duke would be at din- 
Make a short shrift ; he longs to see your head. 

Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men, 



ACT III. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE VI. 



■\\'Iiich we more hunt for than the grace of God 1 
Who builds his hopes in air of your good loolis, 
Lives lilve a drunlien sailor on a mast, 
Heady, with every nod, to tumbie down 
Into the fatal bowels of the deep. [claim. 

Lov. Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to ex- 
Hast. O bloody Kichard! miserable England! 
I prophesy the fearfulFst time to thee 
Tiiat ever wretched age hath look'd upon. 
Come, lead me to the block ; bear him my head : 
They smile at me that shortly shall be dead. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 'V.— The Tmwr-waUs. 

Enter Gloucester and Buckingham, in rotten 
armour, marvellous ill-favoured. 

Glou. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and 
change thy colour. 
Murder thy breath in the middle of a word. 
And tlien begin again, and stop again, 
As if thou wert distraught anil mad with terror? 
/fBuek. Tut, I can i-ouiiteri'eit the deep tragedian ; 
Speak and look back, and ]iry on every side, 
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, 
Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks 
Are at my service, like enforced smiles; 
And botli are ready in their offices, ^^ 
At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
But what, is Catesby gone ? 

Glou. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along. 

Enter the Mayor and Catesby. 
Burlc. Lord mayor, — 
Glou. Look to the drawbridge there ! 
Buck. Hark ! a drum. 
Glou. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. 
Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent — 
Glou. Ijook back, defend thee, here are enemies. 
Buck. God and our iunocency defend and guard 
us I [tovel. 

Glou. Ije patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and 

Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, with Hastings' head, 

Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, 
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 

Glou. So dear I loved the man, that I must weep. 
I took him for the plainest harmless creature 
That breathed upon this earth a Christian ; 
JIade him my book, wherein my soul rect)rded 
The history of all her secret thoughts : 
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue. 
That, his apparent open guilt omitted, 
I mean, his conversation with .Shore's wife, 
lie lived from all attainder of suspect. [traitor 

Bixk. Well, well, he was the covert 'st shelter'd 
That ever lived. 

Would you imagine, or almost believe. 
Were 't not that, by great preservation, 
We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor 
Tliis day had plotted, in the council-house 
To murdm- me and my good Lord of Gloucester? 

J/(//. What, had he so? 

Glou. AVhat, think you we are Turks or infidels? 
Or that we would, against the form of law, 
Proceed thus rashly "to the villain's death, 
Bpt that the extreme peril of the case. 
The peace of England and our persons' safety, 
Enforced us to this execution ? 

3/a.'/. Now, fair befall you ! he deserved his death ; 
And you my good lords, both have well proceeded, 
To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
I never look'd for better ;t.t his hands. 
After he once fell in with Mistress Shore. 

Glou. Yet had not we determined he should die. 
Until your lordship came to see his death ; 
W^hich now the loving haste of these our friends, 
Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented: 



Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 

The traitor speak, and timorously confess 

The manner and the purpose of his treason; 

Tliat you might well have signified the same 

Unto Uie citizens, who haply may 

Misconstrue us in him and wail his death, [serve. 

Ma;/. But, my good lord, your grace's word shall 
As well as I had seen and lieard him speak : 
And doubt you not, right noble princes both, 
But I 'II acquaint our duteous citizens 
With all your just proceedings in this cause, [liere, 

Glou. And to tliat end we wish'd your lordship 
To avoid the carping censures of the world. 

Burk. But since you come too late of our intents. 
Yet Witney what you hear we did intend: 
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid" farewell. 

[EjU Mayor. 

Glou. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
The mayor towards Guildliall hies him in all post: 
There, at your meet'st advantage of the time, 
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, 
Only for saying he would make his son 
Heir to the crown ; meaning indeed his house, 
Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so. 
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury. 
And bestial appetite in change of lust; 
Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives, 
Even where his lustful eye or savage heart, 
Without control, listed to make his prey. 
Xay, for a need, thus far come near my person : 
T<'11 them, when that my mother went with child 
Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York 
My princely father then had wars in France; 
And, by just computation of the time. 
Found Unit tlic issue was not his begot; 
Which well ai>i)eared in his lineaments. 
Being nothing like the noble duke my father: 
But touch tilts sparingly, as 'twere far off; 
Because you know, my lord, my mother lives. 

Buck. Fear not, my lord, I '11 play the orator 
As if the golden fee for which I plead 
Were for myself : and so, my lord, adieu. [Castle; 

Glou. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's 
Where you shall find me well accompanied 
With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops. 

BuA. I go; and towards three or four o'clock 
Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. 

[Exit. 

Glou. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw; 
[To Gate.] Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both 
Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle. 

[Exeunt all hut Gloucester. 
Now "will I in, to take somewprivy order. 
To draw the brats of ('larence out of sight ; 
And to give notice, tliat no manner of person 
At any time have recourse unto the princes. [Exit. 

SCENE VI.— The same. A street. 
Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand. 
Scrir. This is the indictment of the good Lord 
Hastings; 
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd. 
That it may be tliis day read over in Paul's. 
And mark how well tlie sequel hangs together: 
Eleven hours I spent to write it over. 
For yesternight liy Catesby was it brought me; 
The "precedent was full as long a-doing : 
And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings, 
Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. 
Here 's a good world tlie while ! Why who 's so gross, 
That sceth not this palpable device? 
Yet who 's so blind, but says he sees it not ? 
Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought. 
When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. 

[Exit. 
473 



ACT III. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE TIT, 



SCENE VII. — 2)'«?/i)fmZ's Castle. 

Enter Gloucester and Buckingham, at several 
doors. 

Gloxi. How now, my lord, what say tlie citizens'? 

Buck. Now, by the holy mother of our Lord, 
The citizens are mum and speak not a word. 

Glou. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's 
children ? 

Jjuc.k. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy, 
And his contract by deputy in France; 
The insatiate greediness of his desires. 
And his enforcement of the city wives; 
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, 
As beins g'ot, your father then in Francp, 
And his resemblance, beins not like the duke: 
Withal I did infer your lineampiits, 
Beinj; the ri'^ht idea of your father, 
Jjotli in your form and nobleness of mind; 
Laid ciiK'u all your victories in Scotland, 
Your disciiiline in war, wisdom in peace, 
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; 
Indeed, left notliing fitting for the purpose 
LTntouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse: 
And wlien mine <n'atory grew to an end, 
I bid tlu'iii tliat (lid love their country's good 
Cry 'God save Uichard, England's royal king! ' 

Glou. Ah ! and did they so V 

Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a word ; 
But, like dumb statuas or breatiiing stones. 
Gazed eaoli on other, and lonk'd deadly pale. 
Which when I saw, I reprehended them: 
And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence : 
His answer was, the people were not wont 
To be spoke to but by the recorder. 
Tlien he was urged to tell my taie again, 
'Thus saitli tlie duke, thus hath the <luke inferr'd; ' 
But nothing spake in warrant trdni liimself. 
When he liad done, some IoIIdwits iit mine own. 
At the lower end of the hall, liurrd up their caps. 
And some ten voices cried' God save King Richard!' 
And thus I took the vantage of lliose few, 
' Tlianks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I ; 
' This general applause and loving shout 
Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard : ' 
And even here brake off, aiid came away. 

Glou. Wluit tongueless blocks were tliey! would 
they not speak '■' 

Buck. No, by my troth, my lord. [come ? 

Glou. Will not the mayor then and his brethren 

Bxtck. The mayor is here at hand : intend some 
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit : [fear ; 
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand. 
And staiul betwixt two churchmen, good my lord ; 
For on that ground I 'II build a holy descant : 
And be not easily won to our riMpiest : 
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 

Glou. I go ; and if you plead as well for them 
As I can say nay to thee for myself. 
No doubt we '11 bring it to a hai)py issue. 

Buck. Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor 
knocks. [Exit Gloucester. 

Enter the Mayor and Citizens. 
Welcome, my lord: I dance attendance l)ere; 
I think the duke will not be spoke withal. 

Enter Catesby. 
Here comes his servant : how now, Catesby, 
What says he? 

(Jute. My lord, he doth entreat your grace 
To visit him to-morrow or next day : 
He is witliin, with two right reverend fathers, 
Divinely bent to meditation ; 
And in no v/orldly suit would he be moved, 
To draw him from his holy exercise. 

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again ; 
474 



Tell him, myself, the mavor and citizens. 

In deep designs and matters of great moment, 

No less importing tliau our general good, 

Ai"e come to have siiiuie conference with his grace. 

Gate. I '11 tell liim wliat you say, my lord. [Edit. 

Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Ed- 
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, [ward ! 
But on his knees at meditation ; 
Not dallying with a brai-i' of courtezans, 
But meditating witli two <leei) divines ; 
Not sleeping, to engross !us idle liody. 
Bat praying, to enrich his watcliful'soul : 
Happy were England, would this graci(Uts prince 
Take on himself llic soveieignty tliereof : 
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. 

Man. Marry, God forbid his grace should say ns 

-BucA;. I fear lie will. [nay! 

He-enter Catesby. 
How now, Catesby, what says your lord ? 

Gate. ^My lord, 

He wonders to what end you have assembled 
Such troops of citizens to speak with him, 
His grace not being warn'd thereof before : 
My lord, he fears you mean no good to him. 

Buck. Sorry 1 am my noble cousin should 
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : 
By lieaven, I come in perfect love to him ; 
And so once more return and tell his grace. 

[Exit Catesby. 
When holy and devout religious men 
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence, 
So sweet is zealous contemplation. 

Enter Gloucester oJoft, hctireen two Bishops. 
Catesby returns. 

May. See, where he stands between tvi^o clergy- 
men ! . 

Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, 
To stay him from the fall of vanity : 
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand. 
True ornaments to know a holy man. 
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 
Lend favourable ears to our request; 
And pardon us the interruption 
Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. 

Glou. My lord, there needs no such apology: 
I rather do beseech you pardon me. 
Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
Neglect the visitation of my friends. 
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure ? 

Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God 
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. [above, 

Glou. I do suspect I have done some offence 
That seems disgracious in the city's ej'es, 
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 

Buck. You have, my lord : would it miglit please 
your grace. 
At our entreaties, to amend that fault ! [land '? 

Glou. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian 

Buck. Then know, it is your fault tliat you resign 
The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 
The scepter'd oflice of ymir aiicest<u-s, 
Your state of fortune and your due of birth. 
The lineal glory of your royal house. 
To the corruption of a blemish 'd stock: 
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 
Which here we waken to our country's good, 
This noble isle doth want her i>roper limbs; 
Her face defaced with seiirs of infamy, 
Her royal stock graft with ignoble jilants, 
And almost shoulder'd in I lie swallowing gulf 
Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion. 
AVhich to recure, we heartily solicit 
Your gracious self to take on you the charge 
And kingly government of this your land; 
Not as protector, stevi'ard, substitute, 



ACT IV. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE T. 



Or lowly factor for auother's gain ; 

But as successively from blood to blood, 

Your right of birth, your empery, your own. 

For this, corisorted with the citizens. 

Your very worshipful and loving friends, 

And by tiieir vehement instigation, 

In this just suit come I to move your grace. 

GUiu. 1 know not whether to depart in silence, 
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof, 
liest htlelli my degree or your condition: 
If not to ■nisw'er, you might haply tliink 
Tongue-tii-d ambition, not replying, yielded 
To bear tlie golden yoke of sovereignty, 
AVhich fondly you would here impose c/n me ; 
If to reprove you for this suit of yours, 
So season'd with your faithful love to me. 
Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. 
Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first, 
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, 
Defmitively thus I answer you. 
Your love ileserves my thanks; but my desert 
Unmeritable shuns your high request. 
First, if all obstacles were cut away. 
And that my path were even to the crown, 
As my ripe revenue and due by birth ; 
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, 
So mighty and so many my defects, 
As I had ratlier hide me from my greatness, 
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea. 
Than in my greatness covet to be hid. 
And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. 
But, God V)e thanked, there 's no need of me, 
And much I need to help you, if need were; 
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
Wliich, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time. 
Will well become the seat of majesty. 
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
On him I lay what you would lay on.me. 
The right and fortune of his happy stars; 
AVhich God defend tliat I should wring from him ! 

Buck. ^ly lord, this argues conscience iu your 
grace ; 
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, 
All circumstances well considered. 
You say that Edward is your brother's son : 
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife ; 
For first he was contract to Lady Lucy — 
Your motlier lives a witness to that vow — 
And afterward by substitute betroth'd 
To Bona, sister to tlie King of France. 
These both put by, a poor petitioner, 
A care-crazed mother of a many children, 
A beauty-waning and distressed widow. 
Even in the afternoon of her best days, 
Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye, 
Seduced the pitch and height of all liis thoughts 
To base declension and loathed bigamy : 
By Iier, in his unlawful bed, he got 
This Edward, whom our manners term the prince. 
More bitterly could I expostulate, 



Save that, for reverence to some alive, 

I give a sparing limit to my tongue. 

Tlien, good my lord, take to your royal'self , 

This protter'dbenetit of dignity ; 

If not to bless us and the land withal. 

Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry * 

From the corruption of abusing times, 

Unto a lineal true-derived course. 

May. Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you. 

Biiick. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love. 

Gate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful .suit ! 

Glou. Alas, why would ytm heap these cares on me? 
I am unfit for state and majesty : 
I do beseech you, take it not amiss; 
I cannot nor I will not yield to you. 

Buck. If you refuse it. — as, in love and zeal, 
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son; 
As well we know your tenderness of heart 
And gentle, kind, effeminate reuiorse, 
AVhich we have noted in you to your kin, 
And egally indeed to all estates, — 
Yet whether you accept our suit or no, 
Your brotlier's son shall never reign our king; 
But we will plant some other in the throne. 
To the disgrace and downfall of your house : 
And iu this resolution here we leave you. — 
Come, citizens : 'zounds ! I '11 entreat no more. 

Glou. O, do not sw'ear, my lord of Buckingliara. 
\^Exil Buckingham wilh the Citizens. 

Cate. Call them again, my lord, and accept their 
suit. [rue it. 

Another. Do, good my lord, lest all the land do 

Glou. AVould you enforce me to a world of care ? 
AVell, call them again. I am not made of stone, 
But penetrable to your kind entreats. 
Albeit against my conscience and my soul. 

Re-enter Buckingham and the rest.' 
Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men, 
Since you will buckle fortune on my back, 
To bear her burthen, whether I will or no, 
I must have patience to endure the hiad: 
But if black scandal or i'oul-faced reproach 
Attend the sequel of your imposition. 
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
From all the impure biots and stains thereof; 
For God he knows, and you may partly see, 
How far I am from the desire thereof. [it. 

ilay. God bless your gr^ce ! we see it, and will say 

Glou. In saying so, you sliall but say the truth. 

Buck. Then I salute you with this kingly title: 
Long live Richard, England's royal king! 

Mill/, and Cit. Amen. 

Buck. To-morrow will it please you to be crown 'd ? 

Gfou. Even when you please, since you willhave it so. 

Buck. To-morrow, then, wi- will attend your grace : 
And so most joyfully we take our leave. 

Glou. Come, let us to our holy task again. 
Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends. 

[Exeunt. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Before the Tower. 

Enter, on nnr siilr, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess of York, 
(I »i/ Marquess of Dorset ; otitheolher. Anne, Dachess 
of Gloucester, leaJinr/ Lady Margaret Plantagenet, 
Clarence's i/uung Daughter. 

I)uch. AVho meets us here? my niece Plantage- 
net 
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester V 
Now, for my life, she 's wandering to the Tower, 
On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes. 
Daughter, well met. 



,1 line. God give your graces both 

A liapiiv and a joyful time of day ! [away ? 

Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! AVliither 

Anne. Ko farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, 
Upon the like devotion as yourselves, 
To gratulate the gentle princes there. [gether. 

<4. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks: we '11 enter all to- 

Enter Brakenbury. 
And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. 
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave. 
How doth the prince, arid my young son of York ? 
475 



ACT TV. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE II. 



Brak. Bight well, dear maflam. By your pa- 
I may not sufer you to visit them ; [tieuce, 

Tlie king liath straitly charged tlie contrary. 

q. Eliz. The king! why, who 's that y 

Brak. I cry you mercy : I mean tlie lord protector. 

Q. J^iz. Tlie Lord protect him from that kingly 
Ilath he set bounds betwixt their love and mei* [title! 
I am tlieir motlier; who should keep me from themV 

Durli. I am their father's mother; I will see them. 

An nc. Tlieir aunt I am in law, in love their mother: 
Then bring me to their sights ; I '11 bear thy blame 
And take thy offlce from thee, on my peril. 

Brak. No, madam, no ; I may not leave it so : 
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit. 

Miter Lord Stanley. 

Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence. 
And I '11 salute your grace of York as motlier, 
And reverend looker < >i i ,i >f t Vv'o fa ir queens", [uiinster, 
[To Anne] Come, madam, you must straight to AVest- 
There to be crowned llirluird's ro.yal (jueen. [heart 

Q. Eiiz. O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent 
Jlay have some scope to beat, or else I swoon 
With this dead-killing news! 

Anne. Despiteful tidings ! O uhpleasing news ! 

Dor. Be of good cheer : mother, how fares your 
grace ? [hence ! 

Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee 
Death and destruction dog tliee at the heels ; 
Thy mother's name is ominous to children. 
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas. 
And live with Riclimoinl, from the reach of liell: 
Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, 
Lest tliou increase tlie numijer of the dead; 
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, 
Xor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 

<S(«)i..rull of wise care is this your counsel,iuadam. 
Take all the swift advantage of the hours; 
You shall have letters from me to my son 
To meet you on tlie way, and w'elcome you. 
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. 

Dnc!i. O ill-dispersing wind of misery! 

my accursed womb, the bed of death ! 

A cockatrice hast thoti hatch'd to the world. 
Whose unavoided eye is murderous. [sent. 

Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was 
Anne. And I in all unwillingness will go. 

1 would to God that the inclusive verge 
Of golden metal that must round my lirow 
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain! 
Anointed let me be with deadly venom. 

And die, ere men can say, God save the queen ! 

Q. EHz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; 
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm, [now 

Anne. No! whyy When he that is my husband 
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse, [hands 
Wlien scarce the blood was well wash'd from his 
AViiicli issued from my other angel husband 
And tliat dead saint which then I weeping follow'd ; 
O, when, I say, I look'd on Uichard's lace. 
This was my wish : ' Be thou,' quoth I, ' accursed, 
TPor making me, so young, so old a widow ! 
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrovv' haunt thy bed; 
And be thy wife — if any be so mad — 
As miserable by the life of thee 
As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death ! ' 
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again. 
Even in so sliort a space, my woman's heart 
Grossly grew captive to liis honey words 
And proved the subject of my own soul's curse. 
Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest; 
Eor never yet one hour in his bed 
Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep. 
But have been waked by liis timorous dreams. 
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; 
And will, no doubt, sluntly be rid of me. [ing. 

Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu ! I pity thy complain- 
476 



Anne. No more than from my soul I mourn for 

yours. 

Q. Eliz. Farewell, thou wof ul welcomer of glory ! 

Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of il ! 

iJuch. [ To Borget] Go thou to Eichmoud, and good 

fortune guide thee ! 

[To Anne] Go thou to Richard, and good angels 

guard thee ! 
[To Queen Eliz.] Go thou to sanctuary, and good 

thoughts possess thee ! 
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! 
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, 
And each hour's joy wreck 'd with a week of teen. 
Q. Eliz. 'Stay, yet look back with me unto the 
Tower. 
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes 
Wliom envy hath immured within your walls! 
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! 
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow 
For tender princes, use my babies well I 
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [EMunt. 

SCENE 11.— London. The palace. 

Sennet. Enter Richard, in pomp, crowned; Buck- 
ingham, Catesby, a Page, and others. 

K. Bich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham ! 

Buck. My gracious sovereign ':' 

K. Bkh.' Give me thy hand. [Here he ascendeth 
his throne.] Thus high, by thy advice 
And thy assistance, is King Richard seated : 
But shall we wear these honours for a day ^ 
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? 

Buck. Still live they and for ever may they last! 

A'. Bich. O Buckingham, now do I play the touch, 
To try if thou be current gold indeed : 
Y'^oung Edward lives : think now what I would say. 

Buck. Say on, my loving lord. [king. 

K. Bich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be 

Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege. 

K. Bich. Ha! am I king'? 'tis so: but Edward 

Buclc. True, noble prince. [lives. 

It. Bich. O bitter consequence. 

That Edward still should live! ' True, noble prince!* 
Cousin, tlion wert not wont to be so dull : 
Shall I be plain 'i I wish (he bastards dead; 
And I would have it suddenly pcrtorm'd. 
What sayest thou '? speak suddenly ; be brief. 

Buck. Your grace may do your jdeasure. 

K. Bich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness 
freezeth : ' 

Say, have I thy consent that they shall die ? 

Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, my 
Before I jiositively siieak herein : [lord, 

I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit. 

Catc. [Aside to a stunder by] The king is angry: 
see, he bites the lip. 

K. Bich. I will converse with iron-witted fools 
And unrespective boys: none are for me 
That look into me with considerate eyes: 
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
Bov ! 

Baqe. INIy lord '? [sold 

K. Bich. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting 
AVould tempt unto a chise e.xploit of death ? 

Bagc. My lord, I know a discontented gentleman, 
AVhose humble means match not his haughty miud : 
Gold were as good as twentv orators, 
And w-ill, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 

A'. Bich. What is his name"? 

Bage. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. 

if. J?i'c7i. I partly know the man: go, call him 
hither. [Exit Bage. 

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham 
No more sliall be the neighbour to my counsel: 
Hath he so long held out with me untired, 
And stops he now for breath 'i 



ACT IV. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE ITI. 



Enter Stanley. 

How now I what news witli you ? 

Stnn. My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset 's lied 
To Richmond, in those parts beyond tlie sea 
Where he abides. \_titands apart. 

K. Rirh. Catesby! 

Calc. My lord V 

K. Rich. Rumour it abroad 
That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die: 
I will take order for her keeping close. 
Imjuire me out some mean-born gentleman. 
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter: 
The boy is foolish, and 1 fear not him. 
Look, how thou dream 'st I I say again, give out 
That Anne my wife is sick and like to die : 
About it; for it stands me much upon. 
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. 

[Exit Catesby. 
I must be married to my brother's daughter, 
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. 
Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! 
Uncertain way of gain ! But I am in 
So far in blood that sin will j)luek ou sin: 
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. 

Ee-enter Page, with Tyrrel. 
Is thy name Tyrrel ? [ject. 

Tn'r. James "Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub- 

Jv. Rich. Axt thou, indeed? 

Tyr. Prove me, my gracious sovereign. 

Jv. Rich. Barest thou resolve to kill a friend of 

Till-. Ay, my lord ; [mine ? 

But 1 had rather kill two enemies. [enemies, 

K. Rich. Why, there thou hast it: two deep 
Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers 
Are they that I would have thee deal upon : 
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards m the Tower. 

Ti/r. Let me have open means to come to them. 
And soon I '11 rid you from the fear of them. 

A'. Rich. Thou s'ing'st sweet music. Hark, come 
hither, Tyrrel : 
Go, by this token : rise, and lend thine ear : 

[ TF/w'sjjcrs. 
There is no more but so : say it is done. 
And I will love thee, and prefer tliee too. 

l\/r. 'T is done, my gracious lord. [sleep ? 

K. Rich. Shall we "hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we 

Tyr. Ye shall, my lord. [Exit. 

Re-enter Buckingham. 
UdcJ-. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind 
The late demand that you did sound me in. 
A". Uirlc. AVell, let that pass. Dorset is fled to 
Ruck. I hear that news, my lord. [Richmond. 
K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : well, 
look to it. [promise. 

Buck. JSIy lord, I claim your gift, my due by 
For which "your honour and your faith is pawn'd ; 
The earldom of Hereford and tlie moveables 
The which you promised I should possess. [vey 
K. Rich. Stanley, look to yoiu- wife : if she con- 
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. [maud ? 
Eu<-k. What says yoiu- highness to my just de- 
K. Rich. As I remember, Henry the Sixth 
Did i>r(>phesy that Richmoud should be king. 
When Richmond was a little peevisli boy. 
A king, perhaps, perhaps, — 
Ihirk. Myhn-iU ■ [that time 

A'. i^(c/t."How chance the prophet could not at 
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? 
Buck. My lord, your promise for the earliloni, — 
A". iSic/i. "Richmond I When last I was at Exe- 
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, [ter, 
And call'd it Rougemont : at which name I started. 
Because a bard of Ireland told me once, 
I should not live long after 1 saw Richmond. 



Buck. My lord 1 

K. Rich. Ay, what 's o'clock ? 

Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in mind 
Of what you promised me. 

K. Rich. Well, but what 's o'clock ? 

Buck. Upon the stroke of ten. 

A'. Rich. Well, let it strike. 

Buck. Why let it strike ? [the stroke 

A'. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st 
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
I am not in the giving vein to-day. [or no. 

Bwk. Why, tlien resolve me whether you will 

A'. Rich. Tut, tut, 
Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein. 

[Exeunt all but Buckingham. 

Buck. Is it even so ? rewards he my true service 
With such deep contempt? made I liim king lor 
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone [this? 
To Brecknock, while my feariul head is on! [E.nt. 

SCENE III.— The same. 

Enter Tyrrel. 
Tijr. The tyrannous and bloody deed is done, 
The most arcli act of piteous massacre 
That ever yet this hind was guilty of. 
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
TimIo this ruthless piece of butchery, 
AltliMugli they were lleshM villains, bloody dogs, 
Melting with tenderness and kind compassion 
Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories. 
'Lo,thus,'quotli Diglitdu, ' lay those tender babes:' 
'Thus, thus,' quoth Fnrrest, 'girdling one another 
Within their innocent alabaster arms : 
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, 
Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. 
A book of prayers on their pillow lay; . [mind; 
AVhich once,' quoth Forrest, ' almost changed my 
But O ! the devil ' — there the villain stopp'd ; 
Wliilst Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered 
The most replenished sweet work of nature, 
Tliat from the prime creation e'er she framed.' 
Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse; 
They could not .speak; and So I left them both, 
To I'iriug this tidings to the bloody king. 
And here he conies. 

Enter King Richard. 

All hail, my sovereign liege! 

K. Rich. Kind T^'rrel, am I happy in thy news? 

Ti/r. If to have done the thing you gave in charge 
Beget your happiness, be happy then. 
For it "is done, my lord. 

A'. Rich. " But didst thou see them dead ? 

l\r. I did, my lord. 

A*. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? 

Ti/r. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them ; 
But how or in what place I do not know. 

A'. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, 
And thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good. 
And be inheritor of thy desire. 
Farewell till soon. ' [Exit Tyrrel. 

The son of Clarence have I pent up close; 
His daughter meanly have I niatcliM in marriage; 
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. 
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. 
Jfow, for I know the Breton Richmond aims 
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
Aud, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown. 
To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer. 

Enter Catesby. 

Catc. My lord ! 

K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou comest in 
so bluntly? [mond; 

Cate. Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Rich- 
477 



ACT IV. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCEXE IV. 



And Buckingham, back'tl witli thehardyWelshmen, 
Is in tlie field, and still his power increaseth. [near 
K. ]}irli. Ely with Hichniond troubles nie more 
Than Biii'kini;luim and his rash-levied army. 
Come, I liave heard thai fearful commenting' 
Is leaden servitor to dull delay; 
Delay leads im|iotent and snail-paced beggary: 
Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
Jove's Mercury, and herald fcir a king! 
Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield; 
We must be brief when traitors brave the field. 

\^Exeimt. 
SCENE IV. — Tjcf ore the palace. 

Enter Queen Margaret. 
Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow 
And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, 
To watch the waning of mine adversaries. 
A dire induction am I witness to, 
And will to France, hoping the consequence 
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. [here ? 
AVithdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes 

Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender 
babes ! 
My unlilown flowers, new-appearing sweets! 
If yet your gentle suuls fly in the air 
And be not fix'd in dcioni perpetual. 
Hover about me with your airy wings 
And hear your mother's lamentation ! [I'ight 

Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right i'or 
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 

Duch. So many miseries have crazed my voice, 
That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb, 
Edward Planta^enet, whv art tliou dead V 

V- Mar. Plantagenet doth ipiit Plantagenet. 
Edward for Ivlward pays a dying debt. [lambs, 

Q. Eli::. Wilt thou, God", fly from such gentle 
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? 
AVhen didst thou sleep when such a deed was done ? 

Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. 

Duch. Blind sight,flead life, poor mortal living 
ghost, ( [usurp'd, 

Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life 
Brief abstract and record of tedious days, 
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful eartli, 

[Sitting doivn. 
Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood I 

Q. Eliz. O, that thou wouldst as well afford a 
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ! [grave 

Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. 
O, wl^ hath any cause to mourn but I ? 

[Sitting down hji her. 

Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverend, 
Give mine the benefit of seniory. 
And let my woes frown on the upper hand. 
If sorrow can admit society, 

[Sitting down with them. 
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : 
I had an Edward, till a Uiehard kili'd him; 
I had a Harry, till a Kichard kili'd him : 
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Uiehard kili'd him; 
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kili'd him. 

Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill 
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. [him ; 

Q. Mar. Tliou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
kili'd him. 
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
A hell-hound tljat doth hunt us all to death: 
That dog, that had his teeth bef.u'e his eyes, 
To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, 
That foul defacer of God's handiwork, 
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth. 
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. 
478 



upright, just, ajid true-disposing God, 
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur 
Preys on the issue of his mother's body, 

And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan! 

Duch. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes I 
God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 

Q. Mar. Bear with me ; I am liungry for revenge, 
And now I cloy me with beholding it. 
Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward; 
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; 
Young York he is but boot, because both they 
Match not the high perfection of my loss: 
Thy Clarence he is dead that kili'd iny Edward; 
And the lieliolders of this tragic play. 
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, A'aughan, Grey, 
Untimely smother'd in tlieir dusky graves. 
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer, 
Only reserved their factor, to Ijny souls 
And send them thither: but at hand, at hand, 
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : 
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
To have him suddenly convey'd away. 
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, 
That I may live to say. The dog is dead! [come 

Q. Eliz.O, thou didst imiphesy the time would 
That I should wisli for thee to help me curse 
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad! 

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then vain flourish of my 
fortune; 

1 call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen; 
The presentation of but what 1 was; 

The flattering index of a direful jiageant; 

One heaved a-high, to lie linrl'd ilown below; 

A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes; 

A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble, 

A sign of dignity, a garish flag. 

To be the aim of every dangerous shot; 

A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 

Where is thy husband now V where be thy brothers ? 

AVhere are thy children y wherein dost thou joy '::' 

Who sues to thee and cries ' God save the queen ? ' 

Where be the bending peers that llatter'd tliee'y 

AVhere be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? 

Decline all this, and see what now thou art: 

For happy wife, a most distresse<l widow; 

For joyful mother, one that wails the name; 

For (pieen, a very caitiff crown'd with care ; 

For one being sued to, one tliat luunbly sues; 

For one that scorn 'd at me, now scorn 'd of me; 

For one being fcar'd of all, now fearing one; 

For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 

Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about. 

And left thee but a very prey to time ; 

Having no more but thought of what thou wert. 

To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 

Thou didst usurp my jilace, and dost thou not 

Usur)! the just proportion of my sorrow ? 

Now thy proud neck bears lialf my burthen'd yoke; 

From which even here I slip my weary neck, 

And leave the burthen of it all on thee. 

Farewell, York's wife, and <iueen of sad mischance: 

These Englisli woes will make me smile in France. 

Q. Eliz^ O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile, 
And teach me liow to curse mine enemies! [days; 

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the 
Compare ilead liapidness with living woe; 
Think that thy balies were fairer than they were, 
And he that slew them fouler tluui he is: 
Bettering thy loss makes tlie bad causer worse: 
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse, [thine ! 

Q. Eliz. My words are dull ; O, quicken them with 

Q. Mar. Tliy woes will make them sharp, and 
pierce like mine. [Exit. 

Duch. Why shcudd calamity be full of words? 

Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, 
Airy succeeders of intestate joys. 
Poor breathing orators of uuseriesi 



ACT IV. 



KIKX3^ RICHARD III 



SCENE IV 



Let them Iiave scope : though what they do impart 
Help not at all, yet do they ease the heart. 

JJtich. If so, then be not tongue-tied ; go with me. 
And in the breath of bitter words let 's smother 
My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smoth- 
I liear his drum : be copious in exclaims. [er'd. 

Enter King Richard, marching, with drums and 
trumpets. 

K. Rich. Who intercepts my expedition? 

Dach. O. she that might have intercepted thee, 
By strangling thee in her accursed womb, 
From all the slaugliters, wretch, that thou hast 
done! [crown, 

Q. Eiiz. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden 
Wnere should be graven, if that right were right, 
The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown. 
And the dire death of my two sons and brothers ? 
Tell nie, tliou villain slave, where are my children '? 

Durh. Thou toad, tliou toad, where is "thy brother 
And little Xed Plautagenet, his son ? [Clarence ? 

Q. EUz. Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan. 
Grey V [drums ! 

A'. Kich. A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, 
I^et not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
Rail on the Lord's anointed : strike, I say ! 

[Flourish. Alarums. 
Either be patient, and entreat me fair, 
Or with the clamorous report of war 
Thus will I drown your exclamations. 

Ijurh. Art thou my son ? [self. 

A'. liirh. Ay, I thank God, my father, and your- 

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience, [tion, 

A'. Rich. Madame, I have a touch of your condi- 
Wliich cannot brook the accent of reproof. 

Duch. O, let me speak ! 

A'. Rich. Do then ; but I '11 not hear. 

Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my speech. 

K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in 
haste. 

Duch. Art thou so hasty ? I have stay'd for thee, 
God knows, in anguish, pain and agony. 

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you ? 

Duch. Xo,by the holy rood, thou know'st it well, 
Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell. 
A grievous burthen was thy birth to me ; 
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy : 
Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and 

furious. 
Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous. 
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, bloody, treachr 

erojis, 
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: 
What comfortable hour canst thou name, 
That ever graced me in thy company V 

Ji. Rich. Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that 
caird your grace 
To breakfast once forth of my company. 
If I be so disgracious in your sight. 
Let uie march on, and not offend your grace. 
Strike up the drum. 

Duch. I prithee,.hear me speak. 

K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 

Duch. Hear me a word ; 

For I sliall never speak to thee again. 
. K. Rich. So. 

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi- 
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror, [nance. 
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish 
And never look upon thy face again. 
Therefore take with thee my most lieavy curse; 
AVhich, in the day of battle", tire thee more 
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st ! 
My prayers on the adverse party fight ; 
And there the little souls of Edward's children 
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies 
And promise them success and victory. 



Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; 
Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. 

[Exit. 

Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less 
spirit to curse 
Abides in me; I say amen to all. [you. 

A'. Rich. Stay, madam; I must speak a word witli 

Q. Eliz. I have no moe sons of the royal lilood 
For thee to murder: for my daughters, "Richard, 
They shall be praying nuns, not weejiiug queens; 
And" therefore level not to hit their lives. 

A'. Rich. You liave a daughter call'd Elizabeth, 
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 

(J. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live, 
And I '11 corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; 
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed; 
Throw over her the veil of infamy: 
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 

A'. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal 
blood. 

Q. Eliz. To save her life, I '11 say she is not so. 

A'. Rich. Her life is only safest in lier birth. 

Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her lirothers. 

A'. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were op- 
posite, [trary. 

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con- 

IC Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 

Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny : 
My babes were destined to a fairer death. 
If grace had bless"d thee with a fairer life. 

A'. Rich. You speak as if that I had slain my 
cousins. [cozen 'd 

Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle 
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts, 
Tiiy head, all indirectly, gave direction: 
Xo doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt 
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart. 
To revel in tiie entrails of my lambs. 
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, 
]\Iy tongue shoidd to thy ears not name my boys 
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes'; 
And I, in such a desperate bay of death, 
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, 
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 

A'. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise 
And dangerous success of bloody wars. 
As I intend more good to you and yours 
Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd ! 

Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of 
To be discover'd, that can do me good y [lieaven, 

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, 
gentle lady. • [l.ieads ? 

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to IcSe their 

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of honour, 
The high imperial type of this earth's glory. 

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; 
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, 
Canst thou demise to anj' child of mine? 

K. Rich. Even all I have; yea, and myself and 
WUl I withal endow a child of thine; [all, 

So in the Lethe of thy angry soul 
Tiiou drown the sad rememljrance of those wrongs 
Which thou supposest I have done to thee. 

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy 
kindness 
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. 

A'. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love 
thy dau'jhter. 

Q.Eliz. Mv daiigliter's mother thinks it with her 

K. Rich. What do you think ? [soul. 

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from 
thy soul : 
So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers; 
And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. 

A'. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning : 
479 



ACT IV. 



KINQ RICHARD III. 



SCENE IV. 



I mean, tliat with my soul I love thy daughter, 
And mean to make lier queen of England. 

^. Eliz. Say then, who dost tliou mean shall be 
her king ? 

K, Rich. Even he that makes her queen : who 
should be else ? 

Q. Eliz. What, thou ? 

K. Mich. I, even I : what think you of it, madam ? 

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her V 

K. Bicli. Tliat would I learn of you, 

As one tliat are best acquainted with her humour. 

Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? 

Jv. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. 

Q. Mix. Send to her, by the rhan that slew her 
brothers, 
A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave 
Edward and York; then liaply slie will weep: 
Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret 
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, — 
A luiiidkerrliief ; which, say to her, did drain 
The imrpli' sap from her sweet brother's body. 
And liid her dry her weeping eyes tlierewith. 
If this inducement force her not to love. 
Send her a story of tliy noble acts ; 
Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence, 
Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake, 
Madest quick conveyance with lier good aunt Anne. 

A'. Ridi. Come, come, you mock me; this is not 
To win your daughter. [the way 

Q. Eliz. There is no other way; 

Unless thou coiddst put on some other sliape, 
Au'l not be Ricliard tluit hath done all this. 

A'. Rich. Say tliat I did all this for love of her. 

Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but 
hate thee. 
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 

A'. Rirh. Look, what is done cannot be now 
Men si'.all deal unadvisedly sometimes, [amended: 
"Wliicli alter lionrs give leisure to repent. 
If I tlid take tlie kingdom from your sons. 
To make amends, I '11 give it to your daughter. 
If I have kiird the issue of your womb. 
To quicken your increase, I will beget 
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter : 
A grandam's name is little less in love 
Tlian is the doting title of a mother; 
Tliey are as children but one step below, 
Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; 
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans 
Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
Your children were vexation to your youth. 
But mine sliall be a comfort to your age. 
Tlie loss you have is but a son being king. 
And by that loss your daughtef is made ijueen. 
I cannot make you what amends I would. 
Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 
Dorset your sou, tliat with a fearful soul 
Leads discontented stejis in foreign soil, 
This fair alliance quickly sliall call home 
To liii^li iironiiitiiHis and great dignity: 
The kiiin'. that calls your beauteous daughter wife. 
Familiarly sliall call thy Dorset brother; 
A;;aiii sliall yiui be nicitlierto a king. 
And all the ruins of distressful times 
Ri'liair'd witli double riches of content. 
AVIiai ! we have many goodly days to see: 
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed 
Shall come again, transform 'd to orient pearl, 
Advantaging their loan with interest 
Of ten times double gain of haiiiiiness. 
.(io, then, my mother, to thy daiiuhter go; 
Make bold her bashful years with your experience; 
Prejiare her ears to hear a wooer's tale; 
Put ill her tender heart the aspiring tlame 
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess 
■\Vith the sweet silent liours of marriage joys: 
And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
480 



The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
Bounil with triumphant garlands will I come 
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed; 
To wliom I will retail my conquest won, 
And she shall be sole victress, Ca;sar's Caesar. 

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say V her father's 
brother 
Would be her lord V or shall I say, her uncle ? 
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles ? 
Under what title shall I woo for thee, 
That God, the law, my honour and her love. 
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ? 

K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this 
alliance. [iiig war. 

^. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still last- 

A. Rich. Say that the king, which may command, 
entreats. [forbids. 

Q. Eliz. That at her hands which the king's King 

K.Rich. Sav, she shall be a high and mighty queen. 

Q. Eliz. To" wail the title, as her mother ilulh. 

A. Ricli. Sav, I will love her everlastingly. 

^. Eliz. But how long shall that title ' ever ' last ? 

A. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's eiiid. 

Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet lifa 
last ? [it. 

K. Rich. So long as heaven and nature lengthens 

Q. Eliz. So long as hell and Ilicliard likes of it. 

A. Rich. Say,I,hersovereign,amhersubjectlove. 

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sov- 
ereignty. 

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. [told. 

Q^. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best being plainly 

A. Rich. Then in plain terms tell her my loving 
tale. 

Q. Eliz. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. 

A. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too 
quick. 

Q. Eliz. O no, my reasons are too deep and dead; 
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave. 

K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam ; that 
is past. [break. 

Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings 

A'. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my 
crown, — [usurp 'd. 

Q. Eliz. Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third 

A'. Rich. 1 swear — 

Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath : 

The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; 
The garter, Vilemish'd, jiawnM his knightly virtue; 
The crown, usnrp'd, disirraccd his kingly glory. 
If somi'thiiig thou wilt swear to lie believed. 
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. 

A". Rich. Now, by the world — 

Q. Eliz. 'T is full of thy foul WTOngs. 

K. Rich. My father's death — 

Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd. 

K. Rich. Then, by myself — 

Q. Eliz. Thyself thyself misusest. 

A'. Rich. Why then, by God — 

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 

If thou liadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, 
Tlie unity the king thy brother made 
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain : 
If thou hadst fear\l to break an oath by Him, 
The inqierial metal, circling now thy brow. 
Had graced the tender ti-miilcs of my child. 
And both the princes had tieen breathing here, 
Which now, two tendi^r iilayfellows for dust. 
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. 
Wliat canst thou swear liy now ? 

K. Rich. The time to come. 

(j. Eliz. That thou hastwTonged in the time o'er- 
For I myself have many tears to ^vasll [past ; 

Hereafter time, for time i«st wrong'd by thee. 
The children live, whose iiaieiits thou hast slaugh- 
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age ; [ter'd. 
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, 



ACT IV. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE IV. 



Olil witlierxl plants, to wail it with their age. 
Swear not bj' time to come; for that thou liast 
Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast. 

A'. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent, 
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! 
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours ! 
Day, yield me not thy light ; nor, night, thy rest ! 
IJe opposite all planets of good luck 
To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love, 
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter! 
In her consists my happiness and thine ; 
AVithout her, follows to this land and me, 
To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul, 
Death, desolation, ruin and decay : 
It cannot be avoided but by this ; 
It will not be avoided but by this. 
Therefore, good mother, — I must call you so — 
Be the attorney of my love to her : 
Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; 
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : 
Urge the necessity and state of times, 
And be not peevish-fond in great designs. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? 

K. Rick. Ay. if the devil tempt thee to do good. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself ? 

A'. Rich. Ay, if yourself's remembrance WTOng 
yourself^ ' 

Q_. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children, [them : 

A. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury 
Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed 
Selves of themselves, to your reconiforture. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will ? 

A'. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. 

Q. Eliz. I go. Write to me very sliortly, 
And ynu shall understand from me her mind. 

K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, 
farewell. [Exit Queen Elizabeth. 

Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman ! 

Enter Ratcliff ; Cateshy following. 
How now ! what news ? 

Rat. ^ly gracious sovereign, on the western coast 
Ridctli a "puissant navy; to the shore 
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back : 
'Tis thought that Riclimond is their admiral ; 
And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. [Norfolk: 

K. Ricli.. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of 
Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby ; where is he ? 

Cafe. Here, my lord. 

A. Rich. Fly to the duke : [To Ratcliff] Post thou 
to Salisbury : 
AYhen tliou comest thither,— [To Cattii;/] Dull, un- 
mindful villain. 
Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke? 

Cate. First, mighty sovereign, let me know your 
mind, 
AVhat from your grace I shall deliver to him. 

A'. Rich. O, true, good Catesby : bid him levy 
straight 
The greatest strength and power he can make. 
And meet me presently at Salisbury. 

Qate. I go. [Exit. 

Rat. AV'hat is 't your highness' pleasure I shall do 
At Salisbury? [I go? 

K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there before 

Rat. Your highness told me I should post before. 

A. Rich. My "mind is changed, sir, my mind is 
changed. 

Enter Lord Stanley. 
How now, what news with you ? [hearing; 

Stan. None good, my lord, to please you with the 
Nor none so bad, but it may well be told. 
A". Rich. Hovday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad 1 
31 " 



Why dost thou run so many mile about. 
When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way ? 
Once more, what news ? 

Stan. Richmond is on the seas. 

K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on 
White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there ? [him ! 

Stan. I know not , mighty sovereign, but by guess. 

K. Rich. Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess? 

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, 
He makes for England, there to claim the crown. 

A. Rich. Is the chair empty ? is the sword uu- 
sway'd ? 
Is the king dead ? the empire unpossess'd? 
M'hat heir of York is there alive but we? 
And who is England's king but great York's heir? 
Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea? 

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 

A. Rich. Unless for tiiat he comes to be yom- liege. 
You cannot guess wherefore tlie Welshman comes. 
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 

Stan. No, mighty liege ; therefore mistrust me not . 

K. Rich. Where is thy power, then, to beat him 
Where are thy tenants and thy followers ? [back ? 
Are they not now upon the western sliore, 
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships ? 

Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the 
north. 

K. Rich. Cold friends to Richard : what do they 
in the north. 
When they should serve their sovereign in the west ? 

Stan. Tliey have not been commanded, mighty sov- 
Please it your majesty to give me leave, [ereign : 
I '11 muster up my friends, and meet your grace 
Where and what time your majesty shall please. 

A". Rich. Ay,ay, thouwouldst be goneto join with ■ 
I will not trust you, sk. [Richmond : 

Stan. Most mighty sovereign, 

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful: 
I never was nor never will be false. 

A. Rich. Well, 
Go muster men ; but, hear yon, leave behind 
Your son, George Stanley : look your faith be firm, 
Or else his liead's assurance is but frail. 

Stan. So deal with him as I prove true to vou. 

[Exit. 
Enter a Messenger. 

3Iess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, 
As I by friends am well advertised. 
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate 
Bishop of Exeter, his brother there. 
With many moe confederates, are in arms. 

Enter another Messenger. 
Sec. jl/rss. My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in 
And every hour more compiators [arms ; 

Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth. 

Enter another Messenger. 
Jliird 3Icss. My lord, the army of the Duke of 

Buckingham — 
K.Rich. Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of 
death? [lie striketh him. 

Take that, until thou bring me better news. 

I'hird Mess. The news 1 have to tell your majesty 
Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd; 
And he himself wander'd away alone, 
No man knows whither. 

K. Rich. I cry thee mercy : 

There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. 
Hath any well-advised friend i)roclaim'd 
Reward "to lum that brings the traitor in ? 

Third Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, 
my liege. 

Enter another Messenger. 
Fourth Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Mar- 
quis Dorset, 

481 



ACT V. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCEXE III. 



'T is said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. 
Yet tliis good comfort bring I to your grace, 
The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest : 
Riclimond, in Dorsetsliire, sent out a boat 
Unto the shore, to ask tliose on tlie banks 
If they were his assistants, yea or no ; 
Who answer 'd him, tliey came from Buckingliam 
Upon his party: he, mistrusting tliem, 
Hoised sail and m;ule away for Brittany. 

A', liii-h. March on, march on, since we are up in 
If not to li;;ht witli loreiga enemies, [arms ; 

Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 

Re-enter Catesby. 

Cute. My liege, tlie Duke of Buckingham is taken ; 
Tliat is the best news : that the Earl of Richmond 
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
Is colder tidings, yet they must be told. 

A'. Bich. Away towards Salisbury I while we rea- 
A royal battle might be won and lost : [son here, 
Some one take order Buckingham be brought 
To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



SCENE v. — Lord Derby's house. 

Enter Derby and Sir Christopher Ursudck. 

Dtr. Sir Christoplier, tell Richmond this from me: 
That in the sty of tliis most bloody boar 
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold : 
If 1 revolt, otif goes young George's head ; 
Tiie fear of that withholds my present aid. 
But. tell me, where is princely Richmond now ? 

Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in 

Der. Wliat men of name resort to him? [Wales. 

Chri.t. Sir Waller Herbert, a renowned soldier; 
Sir Gilbert Talbut, Sir William Stanley; 
Oxfonl. rediiubted IVniliroke, Sir .lames Blunt, 
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew; 
And many moe of noble fame and wfirth : 
And towards I.ondon they do bend tlieir course, 
If by the way they be not fought withal. 

Der. Return unto thy lord ; commend mo to him : 
Tell him the queen hath lieartily consented 
He shall espouse Elizaljeth her daugliter. 
These letters will resolve him of my mind. 
Farewell. [Exeunt. 



J^CT V. 



SCENE I. — Salishunj. An open place. 

Enter the Sheriff, and Buckingham, ivith halberds, 
led to execution. 

Buck. 'Will not King Richard let me speak with 
him ? 

Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be patient. 

Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children. Rivers, 
Holy King lltury , and thy fair son Edward, [Grey, 
Vaiiglum^ and all that have miscarried 
By underhand corrupted foul injustice. 
If that your moody discontcTited souls 
Do through the clouds behold this present hour, 
Even for revenge mock my destruction ! 
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not ? 

Sher. It is, my lord. [doomsday. 

Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's 
This is the day that, in King Edward's time, 
I wisli'd might fall on me, wlien I was found 
False to his children or his wife's allies ; 
This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall 
By the false faith of him I trusted most ; 
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul 
Is the determined respite of my wrongs; 
That high All-Seer that I dallied with 
Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head 
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. 
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
To turn their own points on tlieir masters' bosoms: 
Now Margaret's curse is falleu upon my head; 
'When he,' quoth she, 'shall split tliy heart with 
Remember Margaret was a prii|ihetcss.' [sorrow, 
Come, sirs, convey me to the lilnck (if shame; 
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. 

[ExewU. 
SCENE II. — The camp near Tamworth. 
Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and 
others, with drum and colours. 

Bichm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving 
Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, [friends, 
Tlius far into the bowels of the land 
Have we march'd on without impediment ; 
And here receive we from our father Staidey 
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar. 
That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines. 
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his 
trough 

482 



In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 
Lies now even in the centre of this isle. 
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. 
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends. 
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords. 
To Kght against that bloody homicide. 
Jlcrb. I doubt not but his friends will fly to us. 
Blunt. He hath no friends but who are friends for 
fear. 
Which in his greatest need will shrink from him. 
Bichm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's 
name, march : 
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; 
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 111. — Bosworth Field. 

Enter King Richard in arms, with Norfolk, the 
Earl of Surrey, and others. 

K. Bich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bos- 
My Lord of Surrey , why look you so sad ? [worth held. 

Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 

A'. Bich. My Lord of Norfolk,— 

Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 

AT. Bich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! 
must we not V [lord. 

JVor. We must both give and take, my gracious 

K. Bich. Up with my tent there ! here will I lie 
to-night ; 
But where to-morrow V Well, all 's one for that. 
Wlio hath descried the number of the foe V 

Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 

K. Bich. Why, our battalion treliles that account: 
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, 
Which they upon the adverse party want. 
Up with my tent there ! Valiant gentlemen, 
Let us survey the vantage of the field ; 
Call for some men of sound direction : 
Let 's want no discipline, make no delay ; 
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. 

Ellin-, on the olhrr siJr of the field, Eichmond, Sir "Wil- 
liam Brandon, Oxford, and others. Hume oj the Sol- 
diers pitch Richmond's tent. 
Bichm. The weary smi hath made a golden set, 

And, by the bright track of his tiery car, 



ACT V. 



KING RICHARD III 



SCENE III. 



Gives sijinal of a goodly day to-morrow. 

Sir WillJiim Brandon, you shall bear my standard. 

Give me some ink and paper in my tent : 

I '11 draw the form and model of our battle, 

Limit each leader to his several charge, 

And part in just proportion our small strength. 

My Lord of Oxford, you. Sir William Brantlou, 

And you. Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me. 

The Earl of Pembroke keeijs his regiment : 

Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, 

And by the second hour in the morning 

Desire the earl to see me in my tent : 

Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go'st. 

Where is Lord Stanley quarter "d, dost thou know? 

Blimt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much, 
Vriuch well I am assured 1 have not done, 
H is regiment lies half a mile at least 
South from the mighty power of the king. 

Hichm. If without peril it be possible. 
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to iiim. 
And give him from me this most needful scroll. 

Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I '11 undertake it ; 
And so, God give you quiet rest to-night ! 

liichm. Good-night, good Captain Blunt. Come, 
gentlemen. 
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business : 
In to our tent ; the air is raw and cold. 

[Tlicy withdraw into the tent. 

Eater., to his tent., King Richard, Norfolk, Rat- 
cliff, Catesby, and others. 

K. liich. What is 't o'clock V 

Cate. It 's supper-time, my lord ; 

It 's nine o'clock. 

K. liich. I will not sup to-night. 
Give me some ink and paper. 
What, is my beaver easier than it was? 
And all my'armour laid into my tent ? [ness. 

Cate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in readi- 

K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge ; 
Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 

AV/i\ I go, my lord. [Xorfolk. 

K. Bieh. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle 
' Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit. 

K. Bich. Catesby! 

Cate. My lord ? 

A'. Blrh. Send out a pursuivant at arms 

To Stanley's regiment; bid him liring liis power 
Before sunrising, lest his son George fall 
Into the blind cave of eternal nigld,. {Exit Cateshy. 
Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. 
Sa<ldle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. 
Look that my slaves be sound, and not too heavy. 
Eatciiff ! 

Bat. My lord ? [umberland ? 

K. Birli. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Xorth- 
( Bat. Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, 
' Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop 
Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. 

A". Bich. feo, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of 
I have not that alacrity of spirit, [wine: 

Xor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. 
Set it down. Is inli and paper ready ? 

Bat. It is, my lord. 

. K. Bich. Bid my guard watch ; leave me. 

Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent 
And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. 

[Exeunt Batcliff and the other Attendants. 

Enter Derby to Richmond in his tent, Lords and 
others attending. 

Ber. Fortune ami victory sit on thy helm! 

Bichm. All comfort that the dark night can afford 
Be to thy person, iidljle f;ither-in-law! 
Tell me, how fares our loving motlier? 

Dcr. I, by attorney, bless thee fnnn thy mother, 
Who prays continually for Riclniiiind's good: 
So much for that. The silent hours steal on, 



And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
In brief, — for so the season bids us be, — 
Prepare thy battle early in the morning. 
And put thy fortune to Die arbitrement 
Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring ^\'ar. 
I, as I may — that which I would I cannot, — 
With best advantage will deceive the time. 
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: 
But on thy side I may not be too forward. 
Lest, being seen, thy brotlier, tender George, 
Be executed in his father's sight. 
Farevv^ell: the leisure and the fearful time 
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love 
And ample interchange of sweet discourse. 
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon : 
God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well! 

BichiH. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment: 
I '11 strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap, 
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, 
When I should mount with wings of victory: 
Once more, good-night, kind lords and gentlemen. 
[Exeunt all hut Bichrnond. 
O Thou, whose captain I account myself, 
Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, 
Tliat they may crush "down with a heavy fall 
The usiu'ping helmets of our adversaries! 
Make us thy mini-sters of chastisement. 
That we may jiraise thee in tlie victory ! 
To thee I do conniiend my watchful soul. 
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes: 
Sleeping and waking, O, defentl me still ! [Sleejis. 

Enter the Ghost of Prince Ed-ward, son to Henry 
the Sixth. 
Ghost. [To Bichard] Let me sit heavy on thy soul 
to-morrow ! 
Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth 
At Tewksbury : despair, therefore, and die! 
[To Bichrnond] Be cheerful, Ilichmond; for the 

wronged souls 
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf: 
King Henry's issue, Pilchmond, comforts thee. 

Enter the Ghost of Henry the. Sixth. 
Ghost. [To Bichard] When I was mortal, my 
anointed body 
By thee was punched full of deadly holes : 
Think on the Tower and me : despair, and die ! 
Harry the Sixth bids thee despa ir and die ! [queror ! 
[To Richmond] Virtuous and Imly, be thou con- 
Harry, that prophesied tliou sliouliist be king. 
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep : live, and flourish ! 

Enter the Ghost of Clarence. 
Ghost. [To Bichard] Let me sit heavy on thy soul 
to-morrow ! 
I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine. 
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death ! 
To-morrow in tlie battle think on me. 
And fall thy ed^less sworil : despair, and die! — 
[To Richmond] Thou offspring of the house of Lan- 
The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee : [caster, 
Good angels guard thy battle ! live, and floiurish ! 

Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan. 
Ghost of B. [To Bichard] Let me sit heavy on tl.y 
soiil to-morrow. 
Elvers, that died at Pmnfret ! despair, and die! 
Ghost of G. [To Bich<ird] Think upon Grey, and 

let thy soul despair ! 
Ghost of V. [To Bichard] Think upon Yaughan. 
and, with guilty fear. 
Let fall thv lance: despair, and die! 
All. [ To 'Bich mond] Awake, and think our wrongs 
in Richard's busom 
Will conquer him ! awake, and win the day ! 
483 



ACT V. 



KING RICHARD II L 



SCENE III. 



Enter the Ohost of Hastings. 
Ghost. [To Bkhard] Bloody and guilty, guiltily 
And in a bloody Ijattle end thy days ! [awake, 

Tiiink on Lord Hastings: despair, and die! 
[2'o/i/c/(»)0)!(?] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake! 
Arm, Bglit, and conquer, for fair England's sake! 

Enter the Ghosts of the two yoxmg Princes. 
Ghosts. [To Rkhai-d] Dream on thy cousins 

smother'd in the Tower : 
Let ns be lead within thy bosom, Richard, 
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death ! 
Thy nPi)Jiews' souls bid tliee despair and die! 
[Tn l(i<-hinon(T\ Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, 

and wake in joy; 
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! 
Live, and beget a liappy race of kings ! 
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 

Enter the Ghost of Lady Anne. 
Ghost. [To Bichard] Ricliard, thy wife, that 
wretched Anne tl^iy wife, 
That never slept a (luiet hour with thee, 
No\v fills thy sleep with perturliations: 
To-morrow in the battle tliink on me, 
And fall tliy cdgHii-ss sword: despair, and die! 
[To Bichiiiiind] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet 
Dream of success and happy victory! [sleep; 

Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 

Enter the Ghost of Bvickingham. 
Ghost. [To Richard] The first was I that helped thee 
The last was I that felt thy tyranny: [to the crown ; 
O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
And die in terror of thy guiltiness! 
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death : 
Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath! 
[To Richmond] I dieil for hope ere I could lend thee 
But cheer thy heart , and be thou not dismay 'd : [aid : 
God and good angels figlit on Riclnnond's side ; 
And Ricliard falls in height of all his piiilr. 

[The Ghosts vanish. King Jiirhun! starts out 
of his dream. 
K. Rich. Give me another horse: Diud up my 
wounds. 
Have mercy, ,Jesu ! — Soft ! I did but dream. 

coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! 
The lights l»urn blue. It is now dead midnight. 
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
AVhat do I fear ? myself';' there 's none else by : 
Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. 

Is tliere a murderer here ':* No. Yes, I am : 

Then fly. AVliat, from myself;' Great reason why: 

Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself ":' 

Alack, I love myself. Wherefore y for any good 

That I myself have done unto myself ? 

O, no ! alas, I rather hate myself 

For hateful deeds committed by myself ! 

1 am a villain : yet I lie, I am not. 

Fool, of thyself "speak well: fool, do not flatter. 
My conscience hatli a thousand several tongues. 
And every tongue lirings in a several tale. 
And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; 
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree; 
All several sins, all used in each degree. 
Throng to the bar, crying all. Guilty! guilty! 
I sliall despair. Tlicre is no creature loves me; 
And if I die, no soul shall pity me: 
Kay, wherefore should tliey, since that I myself 
Find in myself no pity to myself ':" 
Methouglit tlie souls of all that I had murder'd 
Came to my tent ; and every one did threat 
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 

Enter Ratcliff. 
Rat. My lord! 

A'. Rich, 'Zounds! who is there':* 
4S+ 



Rat. Ratcliff, my lord ; 'tis I. The early village- 
Ilatli twice done salutation to the morn ; " [cock 
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 

A'. Rich. O Ratcliff, I have dream 'd a fearful 
dream! 
What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true 'i 

Rat. jSTo doubt, my lord ? 

K. Rich. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,— 

Rut. Xay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. 

A'. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night 
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard 
Than can the substance of ten'thousand soldiers 
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. 
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me ; 
Under our tents I '11 play the eaves-dropper, 
To see if any mean to shrink from me. [Exeunt. 

Enter the Lords to Richmond, sitting in his tent. 

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond ! 

Richm. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, 
That you liave ta'en a tardy sluggard liere. 

Lords. How have you slept, my lord '/ [dreams 

Richm. Tlie sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding 
That ever euter'd in a drowsy head, 
Have I since your departure had, my lords. [der"d, 
Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard mur- 
Came to my tent, and cried on victory : 
I promise you, my soul is very jocund 
In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
How far into the morning is it, lords '^ 

Lords. Upon the stroke of four. [tlon. 

Richm. Why, then 't is time to arm and give du-ec- 

JTi.i oratlnn tn his soldiers. 
More than I have said, loving countrymen, 
The leisure and enforcement of the time 
Forbids to dwell upon: yet remendjer this, 
God and our good cause fight uimii our side; 
Tlie prayers of lioly saints and wmnged souls. 
Like high-rear "d bulwarks, stand before our faces; 
Richard except, those wliom we flglit against 
Had rather liave us win tlian himthey follow: 
For what is he they follow 'i truly, gentlemen, 
A bloody tyrant and a homicide ;" 
One raised in blood, and one in blood establish 'd; 
One that made means to come by wliat he hatli, 
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help 
A base foul stone, made precious by the toil Piim; 
Of England's chair, wliere he is falsely set ; 
One tliat liath ever ln-cn God's' enemy: 
Then, if you light against God's enemy, 
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers ; 
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down. 
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; 
If you do fight against your country's foes. 
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the liire; 
If yon do figid in safeguard of your wives. 
Your wives shall Wflinmf liome the conquerors; 
If you do free your children inmi the sword, 
Your children's chihiren quit it in .your age. 
Then, in the name of (Jod and all these riglits. 
Advance your standards, draw y(uu- willing swords. 
For me, the ransom of my liold attemi)t 
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; 
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully; 
God and Saint George ! Richmond and victoi'v ! 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants and 
Forces. 
K. Rich. What said Northumberland as touching 

Richmond ? 
Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. 
A". Rich. He said the truth : and what said Sur- 
rey then? [pose.' 
Rat. He smiled and said ' The better for our pur- 



ACT V. 



iriXG RICHARD III. 



SCENE y. 



K. Rich. He was in the right ; and so indeed it 
is. [CI'Kk striketli. 

Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. 
AVho saw the sun to-day V 

Bat. Not I, my lord, [book 

A'. Rich. Then he disdains to shine; for by the 
He should have braved the east an houi' ago : 
A black day will it be to somebody. 
Ratclifl ! 

Bat. My lord ? 

K. Bich. The sun will not be seen to-day ; 

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
I would these dewy tears were from the ground. 
Not shine to-day ! Why, what is tliat to nie 
More than to Richmond ? for the selfsame heaven 
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. 

Enter Norfolk. 

J^or. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the 
field. 

K. Bkh. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse. 
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power : 
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, 
And thus my battle shall be ordered : 
My foreward shall be dra-\vn out all in length, 
Consisting equally of horse and foot ; 
Our archers sliall be placed in tlie midst : 
John Dnke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, 
Shall have tlie leading of this foot and horse. 
They tluis directed, we will follow 
In the main battle, whose puissance on either side 
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
This, and Saint George to boot 1 What think'st 
thou, Norfolk? 

Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. 
This found I ou my tent this morning. 

[He sheweth him a 2Mper. 

K. Bich. [Beadii] ' .Jockey of Norfolk, be not too 
For Dickon tliy master is bought and sold.' [bold, 
A thing devised by the enemy. 
Go, gentlemen, every man uuto his charge: 
Let not our babbling dreams atfright our souls : 
Conscience is but a word that cowards use. 
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe : 
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. 
March on, join bravely, let us to 't pell-mell ; 
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. 

His oration to his army. 
What shall I say more than I have inferr'd ? 
Remember whom you are to cope witlial ; 
A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, 
A scum of Bretons, and base lackey peasants. 
Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth 
To desperate ventures and assured destruction. 
You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest ; 
You having lands, and blest with beauteous wives. 
They would restrain the one, distain the other. 
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow. 
Long kept in Bret.agne at our mother's cost V 
A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow ? 
Let 's YSfhip these stragglers o'er the seas again ; 
Lash hence these overweening rags of France, 
These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; 
Wlio, but for dreaming on this fond exploit. 
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd tliem- 
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, [selves : 
And not these bastard Bretons ; whom our fathers 
Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, 
And in record, left them the heirs of shame. 
Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives ? 
Ravish our daughtei-s? [Drum afar ojf.] Hark! I 

hear their drum. 
Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! 
Spur your proiid horses hard, and ride in blood; 
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves I 



Enter a Messenger. 
What says Lord Stanley ? will he bring his power ? 

Miss. Jly lord, he doth deny to come. 

K. Bich. Off witli his sou George's head ! 

Nor. My lord, tlie enemy is past the marsh : 
After the battle let George Stanley die. 

K. Bich. A thousand hearts are great within my 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; [l,)0S(.ini": 
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! 
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another part of the field. 

Alarum : excursions. Enter Norfolk and forces 
fiyhtiny ; to him Catesby. 

C'tte. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue ! 
The king enacts more wonders than a man, 
Daring an opposite to every danger : 
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights. 
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. 
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost ! 

Alarums. Enter King Richard. 

K.Rich. Ahorse! ahorse! mykingdomforahorse! 

Cute. Withdraw, my lord ; 1 '11 help you to a hor.se. 

K. Rich. Slave, I liave set my life upon a cast. 
And I will stand the hazard of the die: 
I think there be six Richmonds in the field; 
Five liave I slain to-day instead of liim. 
A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Another part of the field. 

Alarum. Enter Richard and Richmond; they fialil. 
Richard is slain. lielrcat and flourish. lic-cntir BicYi.- 
mond, Derby bearing the crown, wilii divers other Lords. 

Richm. God and your arms be praised, victorious 
The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead, [frienil- ; 

Ber. Courageous Richmond, well hast thoii acquit 
Lo, here, tins long-usuriied royalty [tliee. 

From the dead temples nf this 1 iloody wretch 
Have I pluck'd off, tn grace tliy brows withal: 
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 

Richm. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all ! 
But, tell me, is yoimg George Stanley living ? 

Der. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town ; 
Wliitlier, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. 

Richm. AVhat men of name are slain on either side ? 

I)cr. John Duke of Norfolk , Walter Lord Ferrers, 
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon. 

Riclim. Inter their bodies as 1 leci imes their births : 
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers tied 
That in submission will return to us : 
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, 
We will unite the white rose and the red: 
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction. 
That long have frown 'd upon their enmity! 
'What traitor hears me, and says not amen ? 
England hath long been mad, and searr'd herself; 
Th(3 brother blindly slied the brother's blood, 
The father r;ishly slaughter'd his own son. 
The son, couqipliM. been butcher to the sire: 
All this divided York and Lancaster, 
Divided in their dire division, 
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, 
The true succeeders of each royal house. 
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! 
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so. 
Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace. 
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days ! 
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
That would reduce tliese bloody days again, 
And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! 
Let them not live to taste tliis land's increase 
That would with treason wound tills fair land's peace! 
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again : 
That she may long live here, God say amen ! [Exeunt. 
485 



THE FAMOUS HISTORY OF THE LIFE OF 

KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. 



DEAMATIS PERSON'^. 



King Henry the Eighth. 

Cardinal Wolsey. 

Cardinal Campeius. 

Capuckis, Ambassador from the Emperor 

Charles V. 
Cranmer, Arclibisliop of Caaterbuiy. 
Duke of Norfolk. 
Duke of Buckingham. 
Duke of Suffolk. 
Earl of Surrey^ 
Lortl Cbamberluin. 
Lord Chancellor. 
Gardiner, Bishop of Wiachester. 
Bishop ftf Linci)!n. 
Lord Abergavenny. 
Lord Sands. 
Sir Henry Guildford. 
Sir Thomas Lovell. 
Sir Anthony Denny. 
Sir Nicholas Vaux. 
Secretaries to Wolsey. 
CromweU, Servant to Wolsey. 

[For an Analysis of fhe 



Griffith, Gentlemannsher to Queen Katharine. 

Three Gentlemen. 

Doctor Butts, Physician to the King. 

Garter King at-Arnis. 

Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. 

Brandon, and a Sergeant-at Arms. 

Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter, and 

his Man. 
Page to Gardiner. A Crier. 
Queen Katharine, wife to King Henry, afterwards 

divorced. 
Anne BuUen, her Maid of Honour, afterwards 

<.>ueen. 
An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. 
Patience, woman to Queeu Katharine, 

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women 
attending upon the Queen ; Scribes, Officei's, Guards, 
and other Attendants. 

Spirits. 

SCENE — London; Westminster ; Kimbotion. 
Plot of this Play, see Page LVIll.] 



THE I»ROLOaUE. 



I COME no more to make you laugh : things now, 

That bear a weishty and a serious bro\v. 

Sad, lii,t;h, ami \v<iikiiiL;-, full of state and woe. 

Such niililf scenes as draw the eye to How, 

We now in-esi'ut. Those that can pity, here 

May, it they think it well, let fall a tear; 

The suliject will deserve it. Such as give 

Their money out of hope they may believe, 

May here find truth too. Tliose that come to see 

Only a show or two, and so agree 

The play may pass, if they l)e still and willing, 

I '11 undertake may see away their .shilling 

Kichly in two short hours. " Only they 

That come to hear a merry bawdy play, 

A noise of targets, or to see a fellow 

In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, 



Will be deceived ; for, gentle hearers, know, | 

To rank our chosen truth with such a show ; 

As fool and tight is, beside fcirfiiting I 

Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
To make that only true we now intend, i 

Will leave us never an understanding friend. ! 

Therefore, lor goodness' sake, and as you are kncvm \ 
The tirst and happiest hearers of the town, : 

Be sad, as we would make ye : tltink ye see 
The very persons of our noble story ' 

As they were living; think you see Ihem great. 
And Idllow'd with the general throng and sweat 
Of tliousaud IriiMuls: then in a mon)ent,see ^ 

How soon this mightiness meets misery: ■ 

And, if you can !«■ merry then, J '11 say 
A man may weep uiiou his wedding-day. 



.iLCT T. 



SCENE I. — London. An antechamber in the 
palace. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk at one door ; nl the other, the 
Duke of BuckiQgham and the Lord Abergavenny. 

Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have 
Shice last we saw in France V [ye done 

Nor. I thank your grace. 

Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
0£ what I saw there. 

486 



Bvcl-. An untimely ague 

Stay'd me a prisoner in my ciianiber when 
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, 
Met in the vale of Andren. 

Nm-. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: 

I was then present, saw them salute on horseback ; 
Beheld them, wlien they lighted, how they clung 
In their emlmicenient, as they grew together; 
Which had they, what four throned ones conld 
Such a compounded one ? [have weigh 'd 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE I. 



Buck. All the whole time 

I was my chamber's prisoner. 
■i .,.-._ Nor. Then yon lost 

SkT The view of earthly glory : men might say, 

Till this time pomp was single, but now married 
To one above itself. Each following day 
Became the next day's master, till the last 
Made former wonders its. To-day the French, 
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, 
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they 
Made Britain India: every man that stood 
Show'd like a mine. Their dwartish pages were 
As ehernbins, all gilt: the madams too, 
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
The pride upon them, that their very labour 
Was to them as a painting: now this masque 
"Was cried incomparable ; and the ensuing night 
Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings. 
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst. 
As presence did present them; him in eye, 
Still him in praise: and, being present both, 
'T was said they saw but one ; and no discerner 
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns — 
For so tliey phrase 'em — by their heralds cliallenged 
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous 
Being now seen possible enough, got credit, [story, 
That Bevis was believed. 

Btick. O, yon go far. 

Nor. As I belong to worshij) and affect 
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing 
Would Iw a good discourser lose some life, 
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ; 
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. 
Order gave each thing view ; the otlice did 
Distinctly bis fall function. 

Buck. Who did guide, 

I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
Of this great sport together, as you guess V 

Nor. One, certes, that promises no element 
In such a business. 

Buck. I pray you, who, my lord ? 

Nor. All this was ordfer'd by the good discretion 
Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. 
i^Buck. Tlie devil speed him ! no man's pie is freed 
From Ills ambitious finger. What had lie 
To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder 
That such a keech can witli his very bulk 
Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun 
And keep it from the earth. 

Nor. Surely, sir, 

There 's in him stuff that puts him" to these ends; 
For, being not yiropp'd by ancestry, whose grace 
Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon 
For higli feats done to the crown; neither allied 
To eminent assistants; but, spider-like, 
Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, 
The force of his own merit makes his way ; 
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys 
A place next to the king. 

Abcr. I cannot tell 

What heaven hath given him, — let some graver eye 
Pierce into that ; but I can see liis jiride [that. 

Peep through each part of him : whence has he 
If not from hell V the devil is a niggard, 
Or has given all before, and he begins 
'A new hell in himself. 

Buck. Why the devil. 

Upon this French going out, took he npon him, 
Without the privity o' the king, to apimint 
Who should attend on him y He makes up the file 
Of all the gentry; for the most jiart sui-li 
To whom as great a charge as little lionour 
He meant to lay u|«n: and his own letter, 
Tlie liiMionralile board of council out, 
Must fetch him in the papers. 

Aber. I do know 



Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
By this so sicken'd their estates, that never 
They shall abound as formerly. 

Buck. O, many 

Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'eni 
For this great journey. Wliat did this vanity 
But minister communication of 
A most poor issue V 

Nor. Grievingly I flunk, 

Tiie peace between the French and us not values 
Tlie cost that did conclude it. 

Buck. Every man, 

After the hideous storm that follow 'd, was 
A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke 
Into a general iirophecy ; That tliis tempest. 
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
The sudden breach on 't. ■»» 

Nor. Which is budded out ; 

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hatli at- 
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. [tach'd 

Aber. Is it therefore 

The ambassador is silenced V 

Nor. Marry, is 't. 

Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and purchased 
At a superfluous rate ! 

Buck. Why, all this business 

Our reverend cardinal carried. 

Nor. Like it your grace, 

The state takes notice of the private difference 
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise yon — 
And take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
Honour and plenteous safety — that you read 
The cardinal's malice and his potency 
Together; to consider further that 
What Ids high hatred would effect wants not 
A minister in his power. You know his nature. 
That be 's revengeful, and I know his sword 
Hath a sharp edge : it 's long and, 't may be said, 
It readies far, and where 'twill not extend. 
Thither he darts it. Bo.som up my counsel, [rock 
You '11 find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that 
That I advise j'our shunning. 

Enter Cardinal Wolsey, the purse borne he/ore him, cer- 
tain of t.'ie Guard, uyid two Secretaries with papers. 
The Cardinaf ;/• A is passage Jixeth his eye on Bucking- 
ham, and Buckingham on him, both full of disdain. 

Wol. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? 
Where 's his examination V 

First Seer. Here, so please you. 

Wol. Is he in person ready V 

First Seer. Ay, please your grace. 

Wol. Well, we shall then know more; and Buck- 
Shall lessen this big look. [ingham 
[Exeunt Wolseij aiid his Train. 

Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth 'd, and I 
Have not tlie power to muzzle him; therefore best 
Xot wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book 
Outworths a noble's blood. 

Nor. What, are you chafed ? 

Ask God for temperance ; that 's the appliance only 
Which your disease requires. 

Buck. I read in 's looks 

Matter against me ; and his eye reviled 
Me, as his abject object: at this instant 
He bores me with some trick ; he 's gone to the king ; 
I '11 follow and outstare him. 

Nor. Stay, my lord. 

And let your reason with your clmlfr (picstion 
What 'tis you go about: t!o climb stcpp hills 
Requires slow pace at first: anger is like 
A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, 
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
Can advise me like you : be to yourself 
As you would to your friend. 

Buck. ' I '11 to the king; 

And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
487 



ACT I. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE II. 



This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim 
There 's difference in no persons. 

Nor. Be advised ; 

Ifeat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
Tliat it do singe yourself: we may outrun, 
By violent swiftness, that which we run at. 
And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
The fire that mounts the liquor till 't run o'er. 
In seeming to augment it wastes it ? Be advised : 
I say again, there is no English soul 
More stronger to direct you than yourself. 
If with thesap of reason you would quench, 
Or but allay, the tire of passion. 

jb'/tcf. Sir, 

I am thankful to you ; and I '11 go along 
By your prescription : but this top-proud fellow, 
AVliom from the flow of gall I name not but 
From sincere motions, by intelligence. 
And proofs as clear as founts In July when 
We see each grain of gravel, I do know 
To be corrupt and treasonous. 

Nor. Say not ' treasonous.' 

Buck. To the king I'll say 't; and make my 
vouch as strong 
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, 
Or wolf, or both, — for lie is equal ravenous 
As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief 
As able to ijerform 't; his mind and place 
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally — 
Only to show his pom]> as well in France 
As here at home, suggests tlie king our master 
To this last costly treaty, the interview. 
That swallow 'd so much treasure, aud like a glass 
Did break i' the rinsing. 

Nor. Faith, and so it did. 

- BiKk. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning 
The articles o' the combination drew [cardinal 
As himself pleased; and they were ratified 
As he cried ' Thus let be ' : to as much end 
As give>i;rutch to the dead : but our count-cardinal 
Has done this, and 'tis well: for worthy Wolsey, 
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, — 
Wliicli, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
To the olil dam, treason, — Charles the emperor. 
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt,— 
For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came 
To whisper Wolsey, — here makes visitation: 
His fears were, that the interview betwixt 
England and France niiglit, tlirough their amity. 
Breed him some prejudice; lor from this league 
Peep'd harms that menaccil him: he privily 
Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — 
Which I do well ; for I am sure the emperor 
Paid ere he promised ; whereby his suit was granted 
Ere it was ask'd ; but when tlie way was made. 
And paved with gold, the emjieror tlius desired. 
That he would piease to alter the king's course. 
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know. 
As soou he shall by me, that thus the cardinal 
Does buy and sell his lionour as he pleases, 
And for his own advantage. 

Nor. I am sorry 

To hear this of him ; and could wish he" were 
Something mistaken in 't. 

Bwh. No, not a syllable : 

I do pronounce him in that very shape 
He shall appear iu proof. 

Enter Brandon, a Sergeant-at-arms hcfore him, 
and two or tliree of the Guard. 

Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it. 

Serg. Sir, 

My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl 
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
Of our most sovereign king. 

Buck. Lo, you, my lord, 

488 



The net has fall'n upon me ! I shall perish 
Under device and practice. 

Bran. I am sorry 

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
Tiie business present : 't is his highness' pleasure 
You shall to the Tower. 

Buck. It wiU help me nothing 

To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me 
Which makes my whitest part black. The will of 
Be done in this and all things ! I obey. [heaveu 

my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well I 

Bran. Nay, he must bear you company. The king 
[To Aherfiavcnuij. 
Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know 
How he determines further. 

Aber. As the duke said. 

The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure 
By me obey'd! 

Bran. Here is a warrant from 

The king to attach Lord Montacute ; and the bodies 
Of the duke's confessor, .John de la Car, 
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 

Buck. So, so; 

These are the limbs o' the plot; no more, I hope. 

Bran. A monk o' the C'h;irtreux. 

Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins ? 

Bran. He. 

Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o"er-great cardinal 
Hath show'd him gold; my life is spaun'd already: 

1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham, 
Whose figure even tliis instant cloud puts on. 
By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. 

lExcunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. The council-chamber. 

Cornets. Entrr the King-, leaning on the Cardinal's shovl- 
der, the Nobles, niitl Sir Thomas Lovell ; the Cardinal 
places hiviself -under the King's /eel on his rifjhl side. 

King. My life itself, and the best heart of it, 
Tlianks you for this great care: I stood i' the level 
Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us 
That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person 
I '11 hear him his confessions justify; 
And point by point the treasons of hLs master 
He shall again relate. 

A noise within, crying ' Room for the Queen ! ' Enter Queen 
Katharine, ushered by the Duke of Norfolk, and the 
Duke of Suffolk : she kneels. The King- riselli from his 
state, lakes her lip, kisses unel placeth her by him. 

Q.Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel: lamasuitor. 

King. Arise, and take place by us: half your suit 
Never name to us; yon liave half our power: 
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; 
Repeat your will and take it. 

Q. Ke'tth. . Thank your majesty. 

That yon would love yourself, aud in that love 
Not nnciinsider'd leave your honour, nor 
The dignity of your ollice, is the point 
Of my petition. 

King. Lady mine, proceed. 

Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, 
And those of true condition, that your subjects 
Are in great grievance: there have been coniniissions 
Sent down among 'em, wliich hutli fiaw'd the heart 
Of all their loyalties: wherein, although. 
My goo(l lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
ilost bitterly ou you, as putter on 
Of these exactions, yet the kinj; our master — 
Whose honour heaven shield from soil! — even he 

escapes not 
Language unmannerly, yea, smM which breaks 
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
In loud rebellion. 

Nor. Not almost appears, 



ACT I. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE IT. 



It doth appear: for, upon these taxations, 
The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
Tlie many to them longing, have put off 
Tlie spinsters, car(lers,"fullers, weavers, who, 
Unfit for otiier life, eompell'd by hunger 
And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
Daring the event to the teeth, are all iu uproar, 
And danger serves among them. 

Kiwj. Taxation! 

Wherein y ami what taxation ? ]My lord cardinal. 
You that are blamed for it alike with us. 
Know you of tliis taxation V 

Wol. Please you, sir, 

I know but of a single part, in aught 
Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
Wliere others tell steps with me. 

(j. Kath. No, my lord. 

You know no more than others; but you frame [some 
Things that are kndwii alike; wliich ai'e not whole- 
To those which would nut know them, and yet must 
Perforce be their ar(iuaii)tance. These exactions, 
"Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
Most pestilent to the hearing; and, to bear 'em. 
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say 
They are devised by you; or else you suffer 
Too hard an exclamation. 

King. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it ? in what kind, let 's know, 
Is this exaction V 

Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 

In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd 
Under your promiseil pardon. The subjects' grief 
Comes through commissions, which compel from 
The sixth part of his substance, fo be levied [each 
Without delay ; and the pretence for this [mouths : 
Is named, your wars in France: tins makes bold 
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 
Allegiance in them; their curses now 
Live where their prayers did : and it 's come to pass. 
Tills tractable obedience is a slave 
To each incensed will. I would your highness 
Would give it quick consideration, for 
There is no primer business. 

King. By my life. 

This is against our pleasure. 

Wol. And for me, 

I have no further gone in this than by 
A single voice; and that not pass'd me but 
By learned approbation of the judges. If I am 
Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know 
]My faculties nor person, yet will be 
Tlie chronicles of my doing, let me say 
'T is but the fate of "place, and the rough brake 
Tliat virtue must go through. We must not stint 
Our necessary actions, in the fear 
To cope malicious censurers ; which ever, 
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
That is new-f riinm'd, but beuelit no further 
Tlian vainly longing. What we oft do best. 
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
Xot ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft, 
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
For our best act. If we shall stand still. 
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
"We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
State-statues only. 

King. Things done well, 

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; 
Things done without example, in their issue 
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precejlent 
Of this commission V I believe, not any. 
AVe must not rend our subjects from our laws. 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each ? 
A trembling Contribution ! Why, we take 
From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber; 
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd. 
The air will drink the sap. To every county 



"Where this is question'd send our letters, with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied 
The force of tliis commission : pray, look to 't ; 
I put it to your care. 
Wul. A word with you. 

[To the Sccretan/. 
Let there be letters writ to every shire. 
Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved cnm- 
Hardly conceive of me ; let it be noised [mous 

That through our intercession this revokement 
And pardon comes : I sliall anon advise you 
Furtlier m tlie proceeding. [Kxit ISecreiary. 

Enter Surveyor. 

Q. Kath. 1 am sorry that the Duke of Bucking- 
Is run in your displeasure. [ham 

King. It grieves many: 

The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker; 
To nature none more bound ; bis training such. 
That he may furnish and instruct great teachers. 
And never sgek for aid out of himself. Yet see, 
"When these so noble benefits shall prove 
Xot well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, 
They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 
Tlian ever they were fair. This man so comiile'te, 
Who was enroU'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, 
Almost with ravish 'd listening, could not find 
His hour of .speech a minute ; he, my lady. 
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
That once were his, and is become as black 
As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us ; you shall hear — 
This was his gentleman in trust — of him 
Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount 
The fore-recited practices ; whereof 
We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 

Wol. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what 
Most like a careful subject, have collected [you, 
Out of the Duke of Buckingham. 

King. Speak fi-eely. 

Sure. First, it was usual with him, every day 
It would infect his speech, that if the king 
Should without issue die, he '11 carry it so 
To make the sceptre his : these very words 
I 've heard him utter to his son-in-law. 
Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced 
Kevenge upon the cardinal. 

Wol. Please your highness, note 

This dangerous conception in tliis point. 
Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
His will is most malignant ; and it stretches 
Beyond you, to your friends. 

Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, 

Deliver all with charity. 

King. Speak on : 

How grounded he his title to the crown, 
Uyion our fail ? to this point hast thou heard him 
At any time speak aught '( 

"Surv. He was brought to this 

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins^ 

King. What was that Hopkins '? 

Sun-. Sir, a Chartreux friar, 

His confessor ; 'who fed him every minute 
With words of sovereignty. 

King. How know'st thou this ? 

Snrr. Not long before your higlnicsss|ieil to France, 
The duke being at the Rose, witliin the parish 
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
Wliat was the speech among the Londoners 
Concerning the French journey : I replied. 
Men fear'd tlie French would prove perfidious. 
To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 
'T would prove the verity of certain words 
Spoke by a holy monk ; ' that oft,' says he, 
' Hatli sent to me, wishing me to permit 
John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour 
To hear from him a matter of some moment : 
489 



ACT I. 



KING HENRY VII L 



SCENE III. 



Whom after under the confession's seal 
He solemnly had sworn, that wliat he spoke 
My chaplain to no creature living, but 
To me, sliould utter, with demure confidence 
This pausiugly ensued : Neither tlie king nor 's heirs. 
Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid liim strive 
To gain the love o' the commonalty : the duke 
Sliall govern England.' 

Q. Kath. If I know you well. 

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office 
On the complaint o' the tenants : take good lieed 
You charge not in your spleen a noble person 
And spoil your nobler soul : I say, take heed ; 
Yes, heartily beseech you. 

King. Let him on. 

Go forward. 

Sure. On my soul, I '11 speak but truth. 

I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions 
The monk might be deceived ; and that 't was dan- 
gerous for him 
To ruminate on this so far, until 
It forged him some design, wliich, being believed. 
It was much like to do : he answer'd, ' Tusli, 
It can do me no damage; ' ad<ling furtlier. 
That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd. 
The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
Sliould have gone off. 

King. Ha ! what, so rank ? Ah ha ! 

There's mischief in this man: canst thou say fur- 

jSui'u. I can, my liege. [theri' 

King. Proceed. 

Surv. Being at Greenwich, 

After your highness had reproved tiie duke 
About Sir William Blomer, — 

King. I remember 

Of such a time : being my sworn servant, 
The duke retain'd him his. But on ; what hence V 

Surv. ' If,' quoth he, ' I for this had been i;om- 
mitted. 
As, to tlie Tower, I thought, I would have play'd 
Tiie part my father meant to act upon 
Tlie usurper Richard ; who, being at Salisbury, 
Made suit to come in 's presence ; which if granted, 
As he made semblance of his duty, would 
Have put his knife into him.' ' 

King. A giant traitor ! 

Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in free- 
And this man out of prison V [dom, 

Q. Kath. God mend all ! 

King. There 's something more would out of thee ; 
what say'st ? [knife,' 

Surv. After 'the duke his father,' with 'the 
He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger. 
Another spread on 's breast, mounting his eyes, 
He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenour 
Was, — were he evil used, he would outgo 
His lather by as mucli as a performance 
Does an irresolute purpose. 

King. There 's his period,* 

To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 
Call him to present trial : if he may ' 
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, 
Let him not seek 't of us : by day and night. 
He 's traitor to the height. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — An antechamber in the palace. 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. 

Cham. Is 't possililc tlie spells of France should 
Men into such strange mysterias y [juggle 

Sands. New customs. 

Though they be never so ridiculous, 
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 

Cham. As far as I see, all tlie good our English 

Have got by the late voyage is but merely 

A fit or two o' the face; but they are shre\\'Tl ones; 

For when tiiey hold 'em, you would swear directly 

41)0 



Their very noses had been counsellors 

To Pepin or Clotliarius, tliey keep state so. 

Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones: 
one would take it, 
That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin 
Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. 

Cham. Death ! my lord, 

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. 

Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 

How now ! 
What news. Sir Thomas Lovell ? 

Lov. Faith, my lord, 

I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
That 's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 

Cham. What is 't for? 

Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants. 
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. 

Cham. I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray 
our monsiem'S 
To think an English courtier may be wise, 
And never see the Louvre. 

Lov. They must either. 

For so run the conditions, leave those remnants 
Of fool and feather that they got in France, 
With all their linnourable points of ignorance 
Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks, 
Abusing better men than they can be, 
Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean 
The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings. 
Short blister'd breeches, ami those types of travel, 
And understand again like honest men; 
Or pack to their old playfellows ; there, I take it, 
They may, ' cum privilegio,' wear away 
The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh 'd at. 

Satidt:. 'T is time to give 'em physic, their dis- 
Are grown so catching. [eases 

Cham. ^ What a loss our ladies 

Will have of these trim vanities ! 

Lov. Ay, marry. 

There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly wlioresons 
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies ; 
A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. 

Sands. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are 
going. 
For, sure, there 's no converting of 'em : now 
An lionest country lord, as I am, beaten 
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song 
And have an hour of hearing ; and, by 'r lady, 
Held current music too. 

Cham. Well said, Lord Sands; 

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. 

.S(( lids. No, my lord ; 

Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 

Cham. Sir Thomas, 

Whither were you a-going V 

Loc. To the cardinal's: 

Your lordship is a guest too. 

Cham. O, 'tis true: 

This night he makes a suiiper, and a great one. 
To many lords and ladies; there will be 
Tlie beauty of this kingdom, I '11 assure yon. 

Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind 
indeed, 
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; 
His dews fall every where. 

Cham. No doubt he 's noble ; 

He had a black mouth that said other of him. 

Sands. He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in 
him > 
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine : 
Men of his way sliould be most liberal; 
They are set here for examples. 

Cham. True, they are so ; 

But few- now give so great ones. My barge stays: 
Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, 



ACT I. 



KIXG HENRY VIII. 



SCENE IV. 



We shall be hUe else; wbich I would not be, 
For I was spoke to, with Sir Hemy Xruildfoid 
This night to be comptrollers. 
Sands. I am your lordship's. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. —^ Hall in York Place. 

Havtboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, 
a tunijer table for the quests. Then enter Anne Bullen 
and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen >/.< i/negl.f, at 
one door; at another door, enter Sir Henry Guildford. 

Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from liis grace 
Salutes j-e all; this night he dedicates 
To fair content and you : none here, he hopes, 
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her 
One care abroad ; he would have all as merry 
As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, 
Can make good people. O, my lord, you 're tardy : 

Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir 

Thomas Lovell. 
Tlie very thought of this fair company 
Clapp'd wings to me. 

Cham. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. 

Sands. Sir Tiiomas Lovell, had the cardinal 
But half my lay tlinughts in him, some of these 
Sliould tind a nmuiiig 1 i;in(iuet ere they rested, 
I think would better please "em : by my life, 
They are a sweet society of fair ones. 

Loi'. O, that your lordship were but now confessor 
To one or two of these ! 

Sands. I would I were ; 

They should find easy penance. 

Loc. Faith, how easy ? 

S'lnds. As easy as a domi-bed would afford it". 

Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sitV Sir 
Harry, 
Place you that side; I '11 take the charge of this: 
His grace is entering. Nay, you mustiiot freeze; 
Two women placed togetlier makes cold weather: 
My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking ; 
Pray, sit between these ladies. 

Sands. By my faith. 

And tliank your lordsliip. By your leave, sweet ladies: 
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; 
I had it from my father. 

Anne. Was he mad, sir ? 

S<(nds. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too: 
But lie would bite none ; just as I do now, 
He would kiss you twenty with a breath. 

[Kisses her. 

Cham. Well said, my lord. 

So, now you 're fairly seated. Gentlemen, 
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies 
^ Pass away frowning. 

Sands. For my little cure. 

Let me alone. 

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, and takes 
his state. 

Vi'ul. You 're welcome, my fair guests: that noble 
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, [lady, 

Is not my friend : this, to confirm my welcome; 
And to you all, good health. [Drinks. 

Sands. Your grace is noble : 

Let me have such a bowl may hold iny thanks, 
And save me so much talking. 

Wol. My Lord Sands, 

I am beholding to you : cheer your neighbours. 
Toadies, you are not merry: gentlemen," 
Whose fault is this? 

Sands. The red wine first must rise 

In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 
Talk us to silence. ['em 

Anne. You are a merry gamester, 

My Lord Sands. 

Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 



Here 's to your ladyship ; and pledge it, madam, 
For 't is to such a thing, — 

Anne. You cannot show me. 

Sands. I told your grace they Vv-ould talk anon. 
[Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged. 

Wol. What 's that ? 

Chain. Look out there,some of ye. [Exit Servant. 

Wol. What warlike voice, 

And to what end, is this V Nay, ladies, fear not; 
By all the laws of war you 're privileged. 

Ee-enter Servant. 
Cham. How now ! what is 't r' 
Serv. A noble troop of strangers ; 

For so they seem : they 've left their barge and landed; 
And hither make, as great ambassadors 
From foreign princes. 

Wol. Good lord chamberlain, 

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French 

tongue ; 
And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em 
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. 
[Exit CJianiherlain, attended. All rise, 
and tables removed. 
You have now a broken banquet ; but we '11 meud it. 
A good digestion to you all : and once more 
I shower a welcome on ye ; welcome all. 

Haxithoys. Enter the King and others, as mnsqners, habited 
like shepherds, vshereil bij the Lord Chamberlain. They 
pass directly before the Cardinal, and gracefully salute 
him. 

A noble company! what are their pleasures? [pray 'd 

Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they 
To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame 
Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
This night to meet here, they could do no less. 
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty. 
But leave their flocks ; and, under j'our fair conduct, 
Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat 
An hour of revels with 'em. 

Wol. Say, lord chamberlain, 

They have done my poor house grace ; for which I 

pay "em [ures. 

A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleas- 

[They choose Ladies for the dance. Tlie 

King clwoses Anne liuUen. 

King. The fairest hand I ever touch'd ! O beauty. 
Till now I never knew thee ! [Music. Dance. 

Wol. My lord ! 

Cham. Your grace? 

Wol. Pray, tell 'em thus much from me: 

There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, 
More wortliy this place than myself; to whom, 
If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
I would surrender it. 

CJiam. 1 will, my lord. 

[imsjjers the Masqiters. 

Wol. What say they ? 

Cham. Such a one, they all confess, 

There is indeed ; which they would have your grace 
Find out, and he will take it. 

Wol. Let me see, then. 

By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; here I '11 make 
My royal choice. 

King. ■ Ye have found him, cardinal : 

[Unmasking. 
You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord : 
You are a churelmian, or, I '11 tell you, cardinal, 
I sliould judge now unhappily. 

Wol. I am glad 

Your grace is grown so pleasant. 

King. My lord chamberlain, 

Prithee, come hither : what fair lady 's that ? 

Cliam. A.n 't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bul- 
len's daughter, — 

491 ; 



ACT IT. 



KING HENRY VI 11. 



SCENE I. 



The Viscount Eochford, — one of her highness' 
women. 

King. Bylieaven,sheisadaintj'one. Sweet-heart, 
I were unmannerly, to take you out. 
And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen ! 
Let it go round. 

Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
I' the privy chamber ? 

Lm\ Yes, my lord. 

Wol. Your grace, 

I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 



King. I fear, too much. 

Wot. ■ There 's fresher air, my lord, 

In tlie next chamber. 

King. Lead in your ladies, every one : sweet part- 
ner, 
I must not yet forsake you : let 's be meny : 
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths 
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 
To lead 'em once again ; and then let 's dream 
AVho 's best in favour. Let the music knock it. 

{Extimt with trumpets. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I.— Westminster. A street. 
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 

First Gent. .Whither away so fast ? 

Sec. Gent. O, God save ye ! 

Even to the hall, to hear what shall become 
Of the great Duke of Buckingham. 

First Gent. I '11 save you 

That labour, sir. All 's now done, but the ceremony 
Of bringing back the prisoner. 

Sec. Gent. Were you there ? 

First Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 

Sec. Gent. Pray, speak what has happen 'd. 

First Gent. You may guess quickly what. 

Sec. Gent. Is he found guilty ? 

First Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemu'd upon 't. 

Sec. Gent. I am sorry for 't. 

First Gent. So are a number more. 

Sec. Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it '? 

First Gent. I '11 tell you in a little. The great duke 
Came to the bar ; where to his accusations 
He pleaded still not guilty and alleged 
Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 
The king's attorney on the contrary 
Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions 
Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired 
To have brought viva voce to his face : 
At which appear'd against him his surveyor ; 
Sir Gilbert Peek his chancellor; and John Car, 
Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, 
Hopkins, that made this mischief. 

Sec. Gent. Tliat was he 

Tliat fed him with his prophecies'? 

First Gent. The same. 

All these accused him strongly; which he fain 
Would have flung from hiin, but, indeed, he could 
And so his peers, upon this evidence, [not: 

Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 
He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all 
Was either pitied in him or forgotten. 

Sec. Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself ? 

First Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, 
to hear 
His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd 
With such an agony, he sweat extremely, 
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty: 
But he fell to himself again, and sweetly 
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 

Sec. Gent. I do not think he fears death. 

First Gent. Sure, he does not : 

He never was so womanish ; the cause 
He may a little' grieve at. 

Sec. Gent. Certainly 

The cardinal is the end of this. 

First Gent. 'T is likely, 

By all conjectures: first, Kildai'e's attainder. 
Then deputy of Ireland; who removed, 
Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too. 
Lest he should help his father. 

Sec. Gent. That trick of state 

Was a deep envious one. 

492 



First Gent. At his return 

Xo doubt he will requite it. This is noted. 
And generally, whoever the king favours, 
The cardinal instantly will find employment. 
And far enuugli from court too. 

Sec. Gent. All the commons 

Hate him perniciously, and, o' iliy conscience. 
Wish him ten fathom deep: this iluke as niucli 
They love and dote on", call him bounteous Buck- 
The mirror of all courtesy ; — [ingham, 

First Gent. Stay there, sir, 

And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 

Enter Bucklngliam from, his arraignment ; tipstaves before 
him ; the a.ve with the edge totearih him ; halberds on e<:r/i 
side : (tccompanifd leilii Sir Thomas Lovell, Sir Nicli- 
olas Vaux, Sir WUliara Sands, and common people. 

Sec. Gent. Let 's stand close, and behold him. 

Buck. All good people, 

You that thus far have come to pity me. 
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
I have this day received a traitor's judgment, [ness. 
And by that name must die : yet, heaven bear wit- 
And if I have a conscience, let it sink me. 
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! 
The law I bear no malice for my death ; 
'Thas done, upon the premises," but justice: 
But those that snught it I could wish more Chris- 
Be what tlie'V will, I heartily forgive 'em: [tians: 
Yet let 'em lock thi\v glory not in mischief. 
Nor build their cxils on tlie graves of great men; 
For then my j;uiltl('ss blood must cry against 'em. 
For further life in this world I ne'er hope. 
Nor will I sue. altliou.^h tlie king have mercies 
More than I dare make faults. You few that loved 
And dare be hold to wee|) for Buckingham, [me. 
His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave 
Is only bitter to him, only dying, 
Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
And, as the long divorce of steel fails on me. 
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice. 
And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name. 

Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, 
If ever any malice in your heart 
Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 

Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you 
As I would be forgiven : I forgive all ; 
There cannot be those numberless offences [envy 
'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with : no black 
Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace ; 
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him 
You met liim half in heaven : my vows and prayers 
Yet are the king's ; and, till my soul forsake. 
Shall cry for blessings on him : may he live 
Longer than I have time to tell his years! 
Ever beloved and loving may his rule be ! 
And when old time shall lead him to his end. 
Goodness and he fill up one monument! 

Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace ; 
Then give m.y charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, 
Who undertakes you to your end. 



ACT II. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCEXE II. 



Yaux. Prepare there, 

Tlie duke is coming : see tlie barge Ije ready ; 
And fit it witli such furniture as suits 
The greatness of his person. 

Bii'-k. Nay, Sir Xicliolas, 

Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me. 
AVhen I came hither, I was lord high constable 
And D>ike of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward 
■Yet I am riclier than my base accusers, [Bohun : 
Tiiat never knew what truth meant : I now seal it ; 
And with that blood will make 'em one day groan 
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, [for 't. 
Who first raised head against usurping Richard, 
Flying for succour to his servant Banister, 
Being distress'd, was by that WTetch betray'd. 
And "without trial fell ; God's peace be with him ! 
Henry the Seventli succeeding, truly pitymg 
My father's loss, like a most royal prince. 
Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins. 
Made my name once more noble. Xow his son, 
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all 
That made me happy at one stroke has taken 
For ever from the world. I had my trial, 
And, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes me 
A little liappier than my \\Tetched father: 
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both 
Fell by our servants, liy those men we loved most; 
A most unnatural and faithless service! 
Heaven has an end in all : yet, you that hear me. 
This from a dying man receive as certain : 
Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels 
Be sure you be not loose ; for those you make friends 
And give your hearts to, when tiiey once perceive 
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
Like water from ye, never found again 
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, 
Pray for me ! I must now forsake ye : the last hour 
Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
Farewell : 

And when you would say something that is sad. 
Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive 
me! [Exeunt Duhc and Trnin. 

First Gent. O, this is full of pity ! Sir, it calls, 
I fear, too many curses on their heads 
That were the authors. 

Sec. Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 

'T is full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 
Of an ensuing evil, if it fall. 
Greater than this. 

First Gent. Good angels keep it from us ! 

What may it be ? You do not doubt my faith, sir ? 

Sec. Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require 
A strong faith to conceal it. 

First Oent. Let me have it ; 

I do not talk much. 

iSfc. Gent. I am confident ; 

You shall, sir : did you not of late days hear 
A Inizzing of a separation 
Between the king and Katharine? 

First Gent. ' Yes, but it held not : 

For when the king once heard it, out of anger 
He sent command to the lord mayor straight 
To stop the'rumour, and allay those tongues 
That durst disperse it. 

Sir. Gent. But that slander, sir. 

Is found a truth now : for it grows again 
Freslier than e'er it was ; and held for certain 
The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, 
Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
To the good queen, possessed him with a scruple 
That will uniio her: to confirm this too. 
Cardinal Canipeius is arrived, and lately; 
As all tliink, for this business. 

First Gent. 'T is the cardinal ; 

And merely to revenge him on the emperor 
For not bestowing on him, at his asking. 
The archbisliopric of Toledo, this is purposed. 



Sec. Gent. I think you have hit the mark: but 
is 't not cruel 
That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal 
Will have his wUl, and she mtlst fall. 

First Gent. 'T is woful. 

AVe are too open here to argue this ; 
Let 's think in private more. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — An anteehcimher in the palace. 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a leltcr. 

Cham. 'My lord, the horses your lordship sent 
for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, rid- 
den, and furnished. They were young and hand- 
some, and of the best breed in the north. When 
they were ready to set out for London, a man of my 
lord cardinal's, by commission and main pokier. 
took 'em from me; with this reason: His master 
would be served before a subject, if not before the 
king ; which stopped our mouths, sir.' 
I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them: 
He will have all, I think. 

Enter, to the Lord Chamberlain, the Dukes of 
Norfolk and Suffolk. 

I^^or. Well met, my lord chamberlain. 

Cliam. Good day to both your graces. 

Suf. How is the king employ 'd? 

Cham. I left him private. 

Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 

Nor. What 's the cause ? 

Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's 
Has crept too near his conscience. [wife 

S'-tf. Ko, his conscience 

Has "crept too near anotlier lad.y. 

Nor. 'T is so : 

This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 
That blind priest, like the "eldest son of fortur.e. 
Turns what he list. The king will knowhim one day. 

Suf. Pray God hedo! he'llneverknowhimself else. 

2\'or. Hov\- holily he works in all liis business! 
And with what zeal! for, now he has crack "d the 
league [nepliew, 

Between us and the emperor, the queen's great 
He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters 
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience. 
Fears, and despairs ; and all these for his marriage ; 
And out of all these to restore the king, 
He counsels a divorce ; a loss of her 
That, like a jewel, lias hung twenty j^ears 
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; 
Of her that loves him with that excellence 
That angels love good men with ; even of lier ■ 
Tliat, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls. 
Will bless the king: and is not this cour.se pious? 

Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 'Tis 
most true ['em, 

These news are every where ; every tongue speaks 
And every true heart weeps for 't : all that dare 
Look into these atfairs see this main end. 
The French king's sister. Heaven \x\\\ one day open 
Tlie king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
This bold bad man. 

Sxf. And free us from his slaverj'. 

Nor. We had need pray. 
And lieartily, for our deliverance ; 
Or this imperious man will work us all 
From princes into pages: all men's lionours 
Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
Into what pitch he please. 

Snf. For me, my lords, 

I love liim not, nor fear him ; there 's my creed : 
As I am made without him, so I '11 stand, 
If the king please ; his curses and his blessings 
Touch me alike, they 're breatli I not lielieve in. 
I knew him, and I know liim ; so 1 leave him 
To liim that made him proud, the pope. 
493 



ACT ir. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE III, 



Nor. Let 's in ; 

And with some other business put the king 
From tliese sad tlioug^lits, that work too mucli upon 
My lord, you 'II bear us company ? [Iiim ; 

'Cham. Excuse me ; 

The king has sent me otherwhere: besides, 
You '11 iind a most unfit time to disturb him: 
Health to your lordships. 

JVo;-. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 

[Exit Lord CJmmberlain ; and the King draws 

the curtain, and sits reading pensively. 

Suf. How sad lie looks ! sure, he is much afflicted. 

King. Who 's there, ha ? 

Nor. Pray God he be not angry. 

King. "Who 's there, I say V How dare you thrust 
Into my private meditations ? [yourselves 

Wlio am I? ha? 

Nor. A gracious kmg that pardons all offences 
Mali(?e ne'er meant : our breach of duty this way 
Is business of estate ; in which we come 
To know your royal pleasure. 

King. Ye are too bold : 

Go to ; I '11 make ye know your times of busLuess : 
Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha ? 

Enter "Wolsey and Campeius, viith a commission. 
Who 's there ? my good lord cardinal ? O my Wol- 
Tlie quiet of my wounded conscience ; [sey. 

Thou art a cure fit for a king. [To Cavip.] You 're 

welcome. 
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom : 
Use us and it. [To Wol.] My good lord, have great 
I be not found a talker. [care 

Wol. Sir, you cannot. 

I would your grace would give us but an hour 
Of private conference. 

King. [To Nor. and Suf.] We are busy; go. 

Nor. [Aside to Suf.] This priest has no pride in 

Suf. [Aside to Nor.] Not to speak of : [him ? 

I would not be so sick though for his place : 
But this cannot continue. 

Nor. [Aside to Suf.] If it do, 

I '11 venture one have-at-him. 

Suf. [Aside to Nor.] I another. 

[Exeunt Nor. and Siif. 

Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom 
Above all princes, in committing freely 
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom: 
Who can be angry now ? what envy reach you ? 
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, 
Must now confess, if they have any goodness, 
The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
I mean the leurned ones, in Christian kingdoms 
Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judg- 
Invited by your iiolilc self, liath sent [ment. 

One general t(in,n\ie unto us, this good man. 
This just and learned priest. Cardinal Campeius; 
Whom once more I present unto your highness. 

King. And ouce more in mine arms I bid him 
welcome. 
And thank the holy conclave for their loves : [for. 
They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd 

Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' 
You are so noble. To your highness' hand [loves, 
I tender my counnission ; by wdiose virtue, 
The court of Home commanding, you, my lord 
Cardhiiil of Yiuk, are join'd with me their servant 
In the unijartial judging of this business. 

King. Two ecjual men. The queen shall be ac- 
quainted 
Forthwith for what you come. Where 's Gardiner ? 

Wol. I know your majesty has always loved her 
So dear m heart, not to deny her that 
A woman of less jilace might ask by law: 
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. [favour 

King. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my 

To him that does best : God forbid else. Cardinal, 

494 



Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretaiy : 
I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey. 

He-enter "Wolsey, with Gardiner. 

Wol. [Aside to Gard.] Give me your hand: much 
joy and favour to you ; 
You are the king's now. 

Gard. [Asicle to Wol.] But to be commanded 
For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me. 

King. Come hither, Gardiner. 

[ Wallis and whispers. 

Cam. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace 
In tliis man's place before him? 

Wol. Yes, he was. 

Cam. Was he not held a learned man ? 

Wol. Yes, surely. 

Cam. Believe me, there 's an ill opinion spread 
Even of yourself, lord cardinal. [then 

Wol. How I of me ? 

Cam. They will not stick to say you envied him, 
And fearing he would rise, he was "so virtuous, 
Kept him a foreign man still ; which so grieved him, 
That he ran mad and died. 

Wol. Heaven's peace be with him ! 

That 's Christian care enough : for living murnnu-ers 
Tliere 's places of rebuke. He was a fool ; 
For he would needs be virtuous : that good fellow, 
If I command him, follows my appointment : 
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, 
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. 

King. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 

[Exit Gardiner. 
The most convenient place that I can think of 
For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars ; 
There ye shall meet about this weighty business. 
My Wolsey, see it furnish 'd. O, my lord, 
Would it not grieve an able man toleave 
So sweet a bedfellow ? But, conscience, conscience I 
O, 't is a tender place ; and I must leave her. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — An antechamber of the Quecn^s apart- 
ments. 

Enter Anne BuUen and an Old Lady. 

Anne. Not for that neither: here 's the pang that 
pinches: 
His highness liaving lived so long with her, and she 
So good a lady that no tongue could ever 
Pronounce dishonour of her ; by my life, 
She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after 
So many courses of the sun enthroned, 
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which 
To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 
'T is sweet at first to acquire, — after this process. 
To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity 
Would move a monster. 

Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 

Melt and lament for her. 

Anne. O, God's will! much better 

She ne'er had kno\\ii pomp : though 't be temporal, 
Yet, if that (piarrel, fortune, do divorce 
It from the bearer, 't is a sutferance panging 
As soul and body's severing. 

Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 

She 's a stranger now again. 

Anne. So much the mm-e 

Must pity drop upon her. "Verily, 
I swear, "'t is better to be lowly born, 
And range witli liumble livers in content. 
Than to be i)crk"il up in a glistering grief, 
And wear a golden sorrow. 

Old L. Our content 

Is our best having. 

Anne. By my troth and maidenhead, 

I would not be a queeii. 

Old L. Beshrew me, I would. 



ACT II. 



KING HENRY VII I. 



SCE^-E IV. 



And venture maidenhead for 't ; and so would you, 

For all this spice of your hypocrisy : 

You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, 

Have too a woman's heart ; which ever yet 

Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 

Wiiich, to say sooth, are blessings ; and which gifts, 

Saving your mincing, the capacity 

Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, 

If you might please to stretch it. 

Anne. Nay, good troth. 

Old L. Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be 
a queen ? 

Amie. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 

Old L. "Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would 
Old as I am, to queen it : but, I pray you, [liire me, 
AVhat think you of a duchess? have you limbs 
To bear that load of title V 

Anne. No, in truth. 

Old L. Then you are weakly made : pluck off a 
I would not be a young count in your way, [little ; 
For more than blushing comes to : if your back 
Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, 't is too weak 
Ever to get a boy. 

Anne. How you do talk ! 

I swear again, I would not be a queen 
For all the world. 

Old L. In faith, for little England 

You 'Id venture an emballing : I myself 
Would for Carnarvonshire, although tliere long'd 
No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes 
here ^ 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 

Cliam. Good morrow, ladies. What were 't worth 
The secret of your conference ? [to know 

Anne. My good lord, 

Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 

Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
The action of good women : there is hope 
All will be well. 

Anne. Now, I pray God, amen ! 

Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 
blessings 
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady. 
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note 's 
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
Commends his good opinion of you, and 
Does jiurpose honour to you no less flowing 
Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to whicli title 
A thousand pound a year, annual support. 
Out of his grace he adds. 

Anne. I do not know 

What kind of my obedience I should tender ; 
More than my ail is nothing : nor my prayers 
Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
More worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers and 

wishes 
Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship. 
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, 
As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; 
■\Vhnse health and royalty I pray for. 

Cham. Eady, 

I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit 
Tlie king hath of you. [Aside] I have perused her 
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled [well; 
That they have caught the king : and who knows 
But from this lady may proceed a gem [yet 

To lighten all this isle ? I '11 to the king. 
And say I spoke with you. {Exit Lord Chamberlain. 

Anne. My honour'd lord. 

Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see ! 
I have been begging sixteen years in court. 
Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor coidd 
Come pat betwixt too early and too late 
For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate I 
A very fresh-fish here — fie, fie, fie upon 



This compell'd fortune I — have your mouth fill'd up 
Before you open it. 

^4n?!e. This is strange to me. 

Old L. How tastes it ? is it bitter ? forty pence. 
There was a lady once, 't is an old story, [no. 

Tluit would not be a queen, that would she not. 
For all the mud in Egypt : have you heard it ? 

Anne. Come, you are pleasant. 

Old L. With your tlieme, I could 

O'ermount the lark. TheMarchionessof Pembroke ! 
A thousand pounds a year for pure respect ! 
No other obligation ! By my life, 
That promises moe thousands : honour's train. 
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time 
I know your back will bear a duchess : say, 
Are you not stronger than you were ? 

Anne. Good lady, 

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
And leave me out on 't. Would I had no being, 
If this salute my blood a jot : it faints me. 
To think what follows. 
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
In our long absence : pray, do not deliver 
What here you 've heard to lier. 

Old L. What do you think me ? 

[Exmnt. 

SCENE IV.— A hall in Blade-Friars. 

Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter twn Vergers, with 
short silver wands ; next them, tiro Scribes, in t/ie hiihil 
of doctors; after them, the Archbishop of Canterbury 
alone ; after him, the Bishops of Lincoln, Ely, Roches- 
ter, a«(/ Saint Asaph; next them, with some smiill dis- 
tance, follows a Gentleman hcai in<j the purse, with the 
great seal, and a cardinal's hat ; then two Priests, bea?-- 
ing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher bare- 
headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms hearing 
a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearimj tiro great 
silver pillars ; after them, side by side, the two Cardinals ; 
too Noblemen with the sword and mace. The King 
takes place under the cloth of state ; the two Cardinals sit 
under him u.i Jndi/rs. The Queen takes place some dis- 
tance from, the King-. The Bishops place theniselves on 
each side the court, in manner of a consistor;/ ; below them, 
the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest 
of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the 
stage. 

Wfjl. Whilst our commission from Rome is read. 
Let silence be commanded. 

King. What 's the need ? 

It hath already publicly been read, 
And on all sides the authority allow'd ; 
You may, then, spare that time. 

]Vol. Be 't so. Proceed. 

Scribe. Say, Henry King of England, come into 
the court. 

Crier. Henry King of England, &c. 
Kinej. Here. 

Scribe. Say, Katharine Queen of England, come 
into the court. 

Crier. Katharine Queen of England, &e. 

[The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her 
chair, goes about the court, comes to the 
King, and kneels at his feet; then speaks. 
Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you do me right and j u*>tice ; 
And to bestow your pity on me : for 
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger. 
Born out of your dominions; having here 
No Judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir. 
In what have I offended you ? what cause 
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, 
Tliat tluis you should proceed to put me off, [ness, 
And take your good grace from me V Heaven wit- 
I liave been to you a true and humble wife. 
At all times to your will conformable ; 
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike. 
Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry 
495 



ACT II. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE IV. 



As I saw it inclined : when was tlie hour 

I ever contradicted your desire, 

Or made it not mine too V Or wliicli of your friends 

Have I not strove to love, although I knew 

He were mine enemy V what friend of mine 

That Iiad to him derived your anger, did I 

Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice 

He was from thence discharged j* Sir, call to mind 

That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 

Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 

With many children by you : if, in the course 

And process of this time, you can report, 

And prove it too, against mine honour aught, 

My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 

Against your sacred person, in God's name, 

Turn meaway ; and let the foul'st contempt 

Shut door upon me, and so give me up 

To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir, 

The king, your father, was reputed for 

A prince most prudent, of an excellent 

And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, 

My father, king of Spain, was reckon 'd one 

The wisest prince that there had reign 'd by many 

A year before : it is not to be questioned 

That they had gather'd a wise council to them 

Of every realm, that did debate tliis business. 

Who deem'd our marriage lawi:ul: whereiore I 

Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may [humbly 

Be by my friends in Spain advised ; whose counsel 

I will implore: if not, i' the name of God, 

Your pleasure be fuUiirdI 

Wol. You have here, lady, 

And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men 
Of singular integrity and learning, 
'Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled 
To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless 
That longer you desire the court ; as well 
For your own quiet, as to rectify 
AV'hat is unsettled in the king. 

Cam. His grace 

Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam. 
It 's fit tills royal session do proceed ; 
And that, without delay, their arguments 
Be now produced and heard. 

Q. Kalh. Lord cardinal, 

To you I speak. 

Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? 

q. Kath. Sir, 

I am about to weep; but, thinking that 
We are a queen, or long have dream 'd so, certain 
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
I '11 turn to sparks of Are. 

Wol. Be patient yet. [fore, 

Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; nay, be- 
Or God will punish me. I do believe. 
Induced by potent circumstances, that 
You are mine enemy, and make my challenge 
You shall not be my juilge: for it is j'ou 
Have blown tliis coal betwixt my lord and me; 
Which (idd's drw (lueuch ! Therefore I say again, 
I utterly abJior, yea, from ray soul 
Refuse you for my judge ; whom, yet once more, 
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
At all a friend to truth. 

Wot. I do profess 

You speak not like yourself ; wlio ever yet 
Have stood to cliar-ity, and disjilay'd the effects 
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom [wrong: 

O'ertopping woman's poT\er. Madam, you do me 
I have no spleen against you; nor injustice 
For you or any : how far I have proceeded. 
Or how far fvu-ther shall, is warranted 
By a commission from the consistory, [me 

Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge 
That I have blown this coal: I do deny it : 
The king is present : if it be known to him 
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, 
496 



And worthily, my falsehood ! yea, as much 

As you have done my truth. If he know 

That I am free of your report, he knows 

I am not of your wrong. Therefore in liim 

It lies to cure me : and the cure is, to 

Remove these thoughts from you : the which before 

His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 

You, gracious madam, to uuthiuk your speaking 

And to say so no more. 

Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 

I am a simple woman, much too weak [mouth 'd; 
To oppose your cunning. You 're meek and humble- 
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming. 
With meekness and humility; liut your heart 
Is cramm'd with arr*ganey, spleen, and pride. 
You have, by fortune\ind his highness' favours, 
Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted 
Wliere powers are your retainers, and your words, 
Domestics to you, serve your will as "t please 
Yourself pronounce their oilice. I must tell you. 
You tender more your person's honour than 
Your high profession spiritual: that again 
I do refuse you for my judge ; and liere. 
Before you all, appeal" unto the pope. 
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 
And to be judged by him. 

[She curtsies to the King, and offers to depart. 

Cam. The queen is obstinate, 

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
Disdainful to be tried by 't : 't is not well. 
She 's going away. 

King. Call her again. [the court. 

Crier. Katharine Queen of "England, come into 

Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. [your way : 

Q. Kath. What need you note it V pray you, keep 
When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help, 
They vex me past my patience ! Pray you, pass on : 
I will not tarry; no, nor ever more 
L^pon this business my appearance make 
In any of their courts. 

[Exeunt Queen, cmd her Attendants. 

King. Go thy ways, Kate : 

That man i' the world who shall report he has 
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, 
For speaking false in that : thou art, alone, 
If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
Tliy meekness saint-like, wife-like government. 
Obeying in commanding, and thy parts 
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, 
Tlie queen of earthly queens: she 's noble born; 
And, like her true nobility, she has 
Carried herself towards me. 

Wol. Most gracious sir, 

In humblest manner I require your highness. 
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing 
Of all Uiese ears, — for where I am robb'd and bound. 
There nmst I be luiloosed, although not there 
At once and fully satisfied, — whether ever I 
Did Isroacli this business to your highness; or 
Laid any scruple in your way, which might 
Induce you to the question on 't V or ever 
Have to yon, but with thanks to God for such 
A royal lady, spake one the least word that might 
Be to the prejudice of her present state, 
Or touch of her good person 'i* 

King. My lord cardinal, 

I do excuse 3-ou; yea, upon mine honour, 
T free you from 't. You are not to be taught 
Tliat you have many enemies, that know not 
Why they are so, but, like to village-curs. 
Bark when their fellows do: by some of these 
The queen is put in anger. You 're excused: 
But will you l)e more justified V you ever [sired 
Have wish'd the sleeping of tliis business ; never de- 
It to be stirr'd; but oft liave hinder'd, oft, 
Tlie jiassages made toward it : on my honour, 
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, 



ACT III. 



KIXG HENRY VIII. 



SCENE I. 



And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to 't, 

I will be bold with time and your attention: 

Then mark the inducement. Thusitcame; give heed 

M}' conscience first received a tenderness, [to 't: 

Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 

By the IJisliop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; 

Who had been hither sent on the debating 

A marriaae 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and 

Our daugliter Mary : i' the progress of this business, 

Ere a determinate resolution, he, 

I mean the bishop, did require a respite; 

Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 

Whether our daughter were legitimate. 

Respecting this our marriage with the dowager. 

Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite sliook 

The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me. 

Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 

The region of my breast ; wliicli forced such way, . 

That many mazed considerings did throng 

And pressed in with this caution. First, methought 

I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had 

Commanded nature, that my lady's womb. 

If it conceived a male child by me, should 

Do no more offices of life to 'tthan 

The grave does to the dead ; for her male issue 

Or died where they were made, or shortly after 

This world had air'd them : hence I took a thought, 

This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom. 

Well worthy the best heir o' the workl, sliould not 

Be gladded in 't by me: then follows, that 

I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in 

By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me 

Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in 

The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer 

Toward tliis remedy, whereupon we are 

Xow present here together ; that 's to say, 

I meant to rectify my conscience, — which 

I then did feel full sick, and }-et not well, — 

By all the reverend fathers of the land 

And doctors learn 'd : tirst I began in private 



With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember 
How mider my oppression I did reek, 
When I first moved you. 

Lin. Very well, my liege, [say 

King. I have spoke long : be pleased yourself to 
How far you satisfied me. 

Lin. So please youi highness, 

The question did at first so stagger me. 
Bearing a state of mighty moment in 't 
And consequence of dread, that I committed 
The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt; 
And did entreat your highness to this coui'se 
Wliicli you are running here. 

Kimj. I then moved j'ou, 

]\Iy Lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave 
To make this present summons : unsolicited 
I left no reverend person in this court; 
But by particular consent proceeded 
Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on; 
For no dislike i' the world against the person 
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward : 
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life 
And kingly dignity, we are contented 
To wear our mortal state to come with her, 
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
That 's paragon "d o" the world. 

Cam. So please your highness. 

The queen being absent, 't is a needful fitness 
That we adjourn this court till further day: 
Meanwhile must be an earnest motion 
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
She intends unto his holiness. 

King. [Aside] I may perceive 

These'cardinals trifle with me: I abhor 
This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. 
My learn "d and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, 
Prithee, return : with thy approach, I know. 
My comfort comes along. 13reak up the court : 
I say, set on. [Exeunt in manner as they entered. 



J^CT III. 



SCENE I. — London. The Queen''s apartments. 
Elder the Queen and her Women, as at work, 
Q. Kitth. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows 
sad with troubles; 
Sing, and disperse "em, if thou canst : leave working. 

SONG. 

Orpheus with his lute made trees. 
And the mountain tups tliat freeze. 

Bow themselves wlien lie did sing: 
To his music plants and Howers 
Ever sprung; as sun and showers 

There had made a lasting spring. 

Every thing that heard him plav. 
Even the billows of the sea. 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art. 
Killing care and grief of heart 

Fall asleep, or hearing, die. 

Enter a Gentleman. 
Q. Kath. How now! [dinals 

Gent. An 't please your grace, the two great car- 
Wait in the presence. 

Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? 

Gent^ They wiU'd me say so, madam. 
Q. Kath. Pray their graces 

To come near. [Exit Oent.] What can be their 
business 
32 



With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour '? 
I do not like their coming. Now I think on 't, 
They should be good men ; their affairs as righteous : 
But all hoods make not monks. 

Enter the two Cardinals, "Wolsey ayid Campeiua. 

Wol. Peace to your liiglmess ! 

Q. Kath. Your graces find nii- here part of a hous*- 
I would be all, against the v. orst may liappen. [wife. 
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? 

Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw 
Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
The full cause of our coming. 

Q. Kath. Speak it here; 

There 's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, 
Deserves a corner : would all other women 
Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
My lords, I care not, so much I am happy 
Above a nmnber, if my actions 
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, 
Envy and liase oi)inion set against 'em, 
I know my life so even. If your Inisiness 
Seek me out, and that way I am wife in. 
Out with it Ijoklly: truth loves open dealing. 

Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina 
serenissima, — 

Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; 
I am not such a truant since my coming. 
As not to know the language I have lived in : 
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, 
suspicious ; 

497 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE I. ! 



Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank you, 
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; 
Believe me, she has had mucli wrong : lord cardinal, 
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed 
May be absolved in English. 

Wol. , NoTjle lady, 

I am sorry my integrity should breed. 
And service to his majesty and you, 
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
AVe come not by the way of accusation, 
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, 
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, 
You have too much, ijood lady; but to know 
How you stand njiiided in the weighty difference 
Between tlie king and you; and to deliver. 
Like free and honest men, our just opinions 
And comforts to your cause. 

Cam. Most honour'd madam, 

My Lord of York, out of his noble natiu'e. 
Zeal and obedience he still bore your gi'ace. 
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
Both of his truth and him, which was too far, 
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
His service and his counsel. 

Q. Kath. [Adde] To betray me. — 

My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; 
Ye speak like honest men ; pray God, ye prove so ! 
IJut how to make ye suddenly an answer. 
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, — 
More near my life, I fear, — with my weak wit. 
And to such men of gravity and learning. 
In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking 
Either for such men or such business. 
For her sake that I have been, — for I feel 
The last fit of my greatness, — good your graces, 
Let me have tinie and ('(iiniscl for my cause: 
Alas, I am a wmiian, trieniUcss, hopeless! 

Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these 
Your hopes and friends aVe inlinite. [fears : 

q. Kath. In England 

But little for my profit: can you think, hirds, 
That any Englishnuin dare give nic counsel':' 
Or be a known I'ricml, "gainst his highness' jileasure, 
Though he be grown so ilesiicrate to be honest, 
And live a subject ';* Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
They that must weigh out my afflictions. 
They that my trust must grow to, live not here : 
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence 
In mine own country, lords. 

Cam. I would your grace 

Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 

Q.Kath. How, sir? 

. Cam. Put your main cause into the king''s pro- 
tection ; 
He 's loving and most gracious : 't will be much 
Botli for your honour better and your cause ; 
For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye. 
You '11 part away disgraced. 

Wol. He tells you rightly. 

(J. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, — my 
Is this your Christian counsel ? out upon ye ! [ruin : 
Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a judge 
That no king can corrupt. 

Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 

Q. Kath. The more shame for ye: holy men I 
thought ye, 
TJpon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; 
But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye : 
!Mend "em, for shame, my lonls. Is this your com- 
The cordial tliat ye luiiig a wretched lady, [fort? 
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scoru'd '} 
I will not wish ye half my miseries ; 
I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye; 
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
The liurtjien of my sorrows fall upon ye. 

Wol. M;uVdm, this is a mere distraction; 
You turn tlie good we offer into euvy. 
498 



Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing : woe upon ye 
And all such false professors ! would you have me — 
If you have any justice, any pity : 
If ye be anything but cliurrluucirs habits — 
Put my sick cause into his liaiids tliat hates me? 
Alas, has banish'd me his bed already. 
His love, too long ago ! I am old, my lords, 
And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
Is only my obedience. "VVliat can happen 
To me above this wretchedness? all your studies 
Make me a curse like this. 

Cam. Your fears are worse. 

Q. Kath. Have I lived thus long — let me speak 
myself. 
Since virtue finds no friends — a wife, a true one ? 
A woman-, I dare say without vain-glory. 
Never yet branded with suspicion ? 
Have I with all my full affections [liim ? 

vStill met the king ? loved him next heaven ? obey'd 
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ? 
Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
And am I tlius rewarded ? 't is not well, lords. 
Bring me a constant woman to her husband. 
One that ne'er dream 'd a joy beyond his pleasure; 
And to that woman, when slie has done most, 
Yet will I add an huiiour, a great patience. 

Wol. Mad:ini,y(ui wanilcrfrunithegood weaimat. 

Q.Kdl/i. ilvloril, I dare not make myself so guilty, 
To give up willingly that noble title 
Your master wed nie to : nothing but death 
Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 

Wol. Pray, hear me. 

Q. Kath. "Would I had never trod this English 
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it 1 [earth, 
Ye have angels" faces, but heaven knows your hearts. 
What will become of me now, wretched lady! 
I am the most uidiapjiy woman living. 
Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes! 
Shipwreck 'd upon a. kiiigd(iui, where no pity. 
No friends, no hope ; n<i kimired weep for me ; 
Almost no grave allnw'd nii' : like the lily, 
That once was mistress of the field and flourish "d, 
I '11 hang my head and perish. 

Wol. If jour grace 

Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, 
You 'Id feel more comfort : why should we, good lady, 
Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places, 
The way of our profession is against it : 
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. 
For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; 
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this car- 
The hearts of princes kiss obedience, [riage. 

So much they love it ; but to stubborn spirits 
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
I know you have a gentle, noble temper, 
A soul as even as a calm : pray, think us [vants. 
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and ser- 

Cum. ISIadam, you '11 find it so. You wrong your 
virtues 
With these weak women's fears : a noble spirit, 
As yours was put into you, ever casts [you ; 

Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves 
Beware you lose it not : for us, if you please 
To trust us in your business, we are ready 
To use our utniiost studies in your service. 

Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords : and, pray, 
forgive me, 
If I have used myself unmannerly; 
You know I am a woman, lacking wit 
To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
Pray, do my service to his majesty : 
He lias my heart yet ; and shall have my prayers 
While 1 sliall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, 
Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs. 
That little thought, when she set footing here. 
She should have bought her dignities so dear. 

[Exeunt. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE II. 



SCENE II. — Antechamber to the King''s apartme)it. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, the 
Earl of Surrey, and IheLiOTCi Chamberlain. 

J^or. If you will now unite in your complaints, 
Anil force them with a constancy, the cai'diual 
<';iiiiiiit stanil uniiiT them: if you omit 
Tiie (il'ftr ut this time, I cannot promise 
]jut that you shall sustain moe new disgraces, 
'With these you bear already. 

Sur. I am joyful 

To meet the least occasion that may give me 
I?emembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, 
To be revenged oil him. 

Suf. Which of the peers 

Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 
Strangely neglected y when did he regard 
The stamp of nobleness in any person 
Out of himself ? 

Chum. My lords, you speak your pleasures: 

What he deserves of you and me I know ; 
What we can do to him, though now the time 
Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot 
Bar his access to the king, never attempt 
Any thing on him ; for lie hath a witchcraft 
Over the king in 's tongue. 

Nor. O, fear him not ; 

His spell in that is out: the king hath found 
Matter against him that for ever mars 
The honey of his language. Ko, he 's settled. 
Not to come off, in his displeasure. 

Sur. Sir, 

I should be glad to liear such news as this 
Once every hour. 

Nor. Believe it, this is true : 

In the divorce his contrary proceedings 
Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears 
As I would wish mine enemy. 

Sur. How came 

His practices to light ? 

Snf. Most strangely. 

Silr. O, how, how? 

Suf. The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried, 
And came to the eye o' the king : wherein was read, 
How that the cantinal did entreat his holiness 
To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if 
It did take place, ' I do,' quoth he, ' perceive 
My king is tangled in affection to 
A creature of the queen's. Lady Anue Bullen.' 

Sur. Has the king this if 

Suf. Believe it. 

Sur. Will this work V 

Cham. The king m this perceives him, how he 
coasts 
And hedges his own way. But in this point 
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
After his patient's death: the king already 
Hath married the fair lady. 

Sur. Would he had ! 

Suf. May you be happy in your wish, my lord! 
For," I profess, you have it. 

Sur. Now, all my joy 

Trace the conjunction ! 

Suf. My amen to 't ! 

Nor. All men's ! 

Suf. There 's order given for her coronation: 
Mariy, this is yet but young, and may be left 
To some ears unrecouiited. But, my lords, 
She is a gallant creature, and complete 
In mindand feature: I persuade me, from her 
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
111 it be memorized. 

Sur. But, will the king 

Digest this letter of the cardinal's V 
The Lord forbid ! 

Nor. Marry, amen ! 

Suf. No, no ; 

There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose 



AVill make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius 
Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; 
H;is left the cause o' the king unliandled; and 
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal. 
To second all his plot. I do assure you 
The king cried Ha ! at this. 

Cham. Now, God incense him, 

And let him cry Ha ! louder ! 

Nor. But, my lord. 

When returns Cranmer? 

Suf. He is return'd in his opinions; which 

Have satisfied the king for his divorce, 
Together with all famous colleges 
Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe. 
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
Her coronation. Katharine no more 
Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager 
And widow to Prince Arthur. 

Nor. This same Cranmer 's 

A worthy fellow, and hath ta'eu much pain 
In the king's business. 

Suf. He has ; and we shall see him 

For it an archbishop. 

Nor. So I hear. 

Suf. 'T is so. 

The "cardinal! 

Enter "Wolsey and Crom-well. 

Nor. . Observe, observe, he's moody. 

Wol. The packet. Cromwell, 
Gave 't you the king ? 

Crom. To his owii hand, in 's bedchamber. 

Wol. Look'd he o' the inside ot the paper y 

Crom. Presently 

He did unseal them : and the first he view'd. 
He did it with a serious mind; a heed 
Was in his countenance. You he bade 
Attend him here this morning. 

Wol. Is he ready 

To come abroad ? 

Crom. I think, by this hels. 

Wol. Leave me awhile. [Exit CrnmKcU. 

[Aside] It shall be to the Duchess ot AlenQon, 
The French king's sister: he shall marry her. 
Anne Bullen ! No ; I 'II no Anne Bullens for him : 
There 's more in 't than fair visage. Bullen ! 
No, we '11 no Bullens. Sjieedily I wish 
To hear from Rome. The IMarchioness of Pembroke ! 

Nor. He 's discontented. 

Suf. May be, he hears the king 

Does whet his anger to him. 

Sur. Sharp enough, 

Lord, for thy justice ! 

Wol. [Astfdf] The late queen's gentlewoman, a 
knight's daughter, 
To be her mistress" mistress ! the queen's queen ! 
This candle Inu'iis not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; 
Then out it goes. AVhat though I know her virtuous 
And well deserving ? yet I know her for 
A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to 
Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of 
Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up 
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one 
Hath crawl'd into the favom- of the king. 
And is his oracle. 

Nor. He is vex'd at something. 

Sur. I would 'twere something that would fret 
The master-cord on 's heart ! [the string. 

Enter the King, reading of a schedule, and Lovell. 

Suf. The king, the king! 

Kinq. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated 
To his own portion! and what expense by the hour 
Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of thrift. 
Does he rake this together ! Now, my lords. 
Saw you the cardinal V 

Nor. My lord, we have 

Stood here observing him : some strange commotion 
499 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCE]vrE II, 



Is in his brain : lie bites liis lip, and starts; 
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, 
Then lays his linger on his temple; straight 
Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, 
Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts 
His eye against the moon : in most strange postures 
We have seen him set himself. 

Kimi_. It may well be ; 

There' is a mutiny in 's mind. This morning 
Papers of state he sent me to peruse, 
As I required : and wot you what I found 
There, — on my conscience, but unwittingly ? 
Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing; 
The several parcels of his ])]ate, his treasure. 
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which 
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks 
Possession of a subject. 

Nor. It 's heaven's will : 

Some spirit put this paper in the packet, 
To bless your eye withal. 

Kin(j. If we did think 

His contemplation were above the earth, 
And lix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid 
His thinkings arc below the moon, not worth 
His serious I'onsidering. 

[jVfiiy taki.6 Ids seal; whispers Lovell, loho goes to 
the Cardinal. 

Wol. Heaven forgi ve, me! 

Ever God bless your highness ! 

Kiiuj. Good my lord. 

You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inven- 
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which [tory 
You were now running o'er: you have scarce time 
To steal from sinritual leisure a brief span 
To keep your earthly audit: sure, ui that 
I deem you an ill husband, and am glad 
To have you therein my companion. 

Wnl. Sir, 

For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
To think upon the part of business which 
I bear i' the state; and nature does require 
Her times of preservation, which perforce 
I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal. 
Must give my tendence to. 

Jiinij. You have said well. 

Woi. And ever may your highness yoke together. 
As I vi'ill lend you cause, my doing well 
With my well saying ! 

King. 'T is well said again ; 

And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well: 
And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you : 
He said he did ; and with his deed did crown 
His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
Employ 'd you where high profits might come home, 
But pared my present havings, to bestow 
My bounties upon you. 

Wol. [Aside] What should this mean ? 

/Sur. [Aside] The Lord increase this business ! 

King. Have I not made you 

The prime man of the state ? I pray you, tell me, 
If what I now pronounce you have found true: 
And, if you may confess it, say withal, 
If you are bound to us or no. What say yon ? 

Wol. My sovereign, 1 confess your royal graces, 
Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could 
INIy studied piu'poses nM|uite; which went 
licyond ail man's eudcavonrs: my endeavours 
Have ever come too short of my desires. 
Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends 
Have been mine so t liat evermore they pointed 
To the good of your most sacred person and 
The profit of tlie state. For your great graces 
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks. 
My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, 
500 



Which ever has and ever shall be growing. 
Till death, that winter, kill it. 

King. Fairly answer'd ; 

A loyal and obedient subject is 
Therein illustrated : the honour of it 
Does pay the act of it ; as, i' the contrary, 
The'foulness is the lumishment. I presume 
That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you. 
My heart tlropp'd love, my power rain'd honour. 
On you Oiau any; so your hand and heart, [more 
Your ))rain, and every function of your power. 
Should, notwithstanding that y(uu-'tioud of duty, 
As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
To me, your friend, than any. 

Wol. I do profess 

That for your highness' good I ever labonr'd 
More than mine own ; that am, have, and will be — 
Though all the world should crack their duty to you. 
And throw it from their soul; though perils did 
Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, and 
Api)ear in forms more horrid, — yet my duty, 
As doth a rock against the chiding flood. 
Should the approach of this wild river break, 
And stand unshaken yours. 

King. 'T is noljly spoken : 

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 
For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this; 

[Ginng him ^japers. 
And after, this: and then to breakfast with 
What appetite you have. 

[Exit Kimj, froirnirig upon Cardinal Wolsey: 
till ynhhs throng after him, smiling and 
irhispiriiiij. 

Wol. What should this mean ? 

What sudden anger 's this ? how have I reap'd it '? 
He parted frownmg from me, as if ruin 
Leap'd from his eyes: so looks tlie chafed lion 
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him; 
Tlien makes him nothing. I must read this paper; 
I fear, the story of his anger. 'T is so ; 
This paper has undone me : 't is the account 
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the poiJedom, 
And fee my friends in Rome. 6 negligence! 
Fit for a fool to fall by: what cross devil 
Made me put this main secret in the packet 
I sent the king ? Is there no way to cure this ? 
No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know 
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune [Pope ! ' 
Will bring me off again. What's this? 'To the 
The letter, as I live, with all the Imsiness 
I writ to 's holiness. Nay then, farewell ! 
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ; 
And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
I haste now to my setting: I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
And no man see me more. 

lie-enter fn Wolsey, llie Dukes of Norfolk (in,! Suffolk, 
tlie Earl of Surrey, und the Lord Chamberlain. 

Kor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : who com- 
To render up the great seal presently [mauds you 
Into our hands; and to confine yourself 
To Asher House, my Lord of Wincliester's, 
Till you hear further from his highness. 

Wol. Stay: 

Where's j'our commission, lords? words caniwit 
Authority so weighty. [carry 

Snf. Who dare cross 'em. 

Bearing the king's will from his mouth exiiressly ? 

Wol.T\\\ I find more than will en- words to do it, 
I mean your malice, know^ otTieious lords, 
I dare and must deny it. Now I feel 
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy: 
How eagerly ye follow n:y disgraces. 
As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 



-m 










-J' ' ( 



IIIIW?flt\ ' '' 



-68 



ACT III. 



KING HENRY VII I. 



SCENE IT. 



Ye appear in everj' thing may bring my ruin ! 
Follow your envious courses, men of malice; 
You have Christian warrant for -em, and, no doubt, 
In time will find their lit rewards. That seal, 
You ask with such a violence, the king, 
Mine and your master, with his own hand gave me ; 
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours. 
During my life ; and. to confirm his goodness. 
Tied it by letters-patents: now, who '11 take it? 

Sit?*. The king, that gave it. 

Wol. It must be himself, then. 

Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 

Wol. Proud lord, thou liest : 

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
Have burnt that tongue than said so. 

Sar. Thy ambition, 

Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law: 
The heads of all thy brother cardinals. 
With thee and all thy best parts bound together, 
Weigh 'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy! 
You sent me deputy for Ireland: 
Far from his succour, from the king, from all 
That might have mercy on the fault thou gavest him ; 
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity. 
Absolved him with an axe. 

Wol. This, and all else 

This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 
I answer is most false. The duke by law 
Found his deserts: how innocent I was 
From any private malice in his end, 
His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
If I loved many words, lord, I should tell you 
You have as little honesty as honour. 
That in the way of loyalty and truth 
Toward the king, my ever royal master. 
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be, 
And all that love his follies. 

Sur. By my soul, [feel 

Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou shouldst 
My sworii i" the life-blood of thee else. My lords. 
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? 
And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely, 
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet. 
Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward, 
And dare us with his cap like larks. 

Wol. All goodness 

Is poison to thy stomach. 

Sur. Yes, that goodness 

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion; 
The goodness of your intercepted packets [ness. 
You writ to the pope against the king : yimr good- 
Since you provoke me, shall be most notcirious. 
My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, 
As you respect the common good, the state 
Of our despised nobility, ourissues. 
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen. 
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
Collected from his life. I "11 startle you 
Worse than the sacring bell, when the In'own wench 
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 

Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this 
man. 
But that I am bound in charity against it ! 

Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in tlie king's 
But, thus much, they are "foul ones. [hand : 

Wol. So much fairer 

And spotless shall mine innocence arise, 
AV^hen the king knows my truth. 

Sur. This cannot save you : 

I thank my memory, I yet remember 
Some of tliese articles; and out they shall. 
Now, if you can bhish and cry ' guilty,' cardinal, 
You 'U show a little honesty. 

Wol. Speak on, sir; 

I dare your worst oTijeetions: if I blush. 
It is to see a nobleman want manners. 



Sar. I had rather want those than my head. Have 
at you ! 
First, that, without the king's assent or knowledge. 
You v/rought to be a legate; by which power 
You mairu'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 

Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else 
To foreign princes, ' Ego et Eex mens ' 
Was still inscribed ; in which you brought the king 
To be your servant. 

Suf. Then that, without the knowledge 

Either of king or council, when you went 
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
To carry into Flanders the great seal. 

.S'»i'. Item, you sent a large commission 
To Gregory cle Cassado. to conclude, 
Without tiie king's will or the state's allowance, 
A league between his highness and Ferrara. 

Saf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caused 
Your holy hat to be stamp "d on the king's coin. 

Sur. Then that you have sent innumerable sub- 
stance — 
By what means got, I leave to your own conscience — 
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing 
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ; 
Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
I will not taint niy mouth with. 

Cliam. O my lord, 

Press not a falling man too far ! 't is virtue : 
His faults lie open to the laws; let them. 
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him 
So little of his great self. 

Sur. I forgive him. 

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's furtlier pleasure is. 
Because all those things you have done of lute, 
By your power legatine, within this kingdom. 
Fall into the compass of a pnemunire. 
That tlierefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements. 
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
Out of the king's protection. This is my charge. 

Nor. And so w-e 'U leave you to your meditations 
How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
About the giving back the great seal to us, [you. 
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank 
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 

{Exeunt all but Wolsey. 

Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hopes; to-mormw blnssoms. 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost. 
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root. 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured. 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. 
This niiiny summers in a sea of glory. 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me and now has left me. 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
"^^ain pomp and glory of this world. I hate ye : 
I feel my heart new open'd. O, bow wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
!More pangs and feai's than wars or women have : 
And when he falls, lie falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. 

Enter Cromwell, and stands amazed. 

Why, how now, Cromwell ! 
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 
Wol. What, amazed 

At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder 
A great man should decline V Nay, an you weep, 
I am fall'u indeed. 

501 



ACT IV. 



KING HENRY VI 11. 



SCENE I. 



Crmn. How does your grace ? 

Wol. Why, well; 

Xever so truly liappy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself nowt and I feel withiu me 
A i)eace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, 
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoul- 
These niiuM iiiUars, out of pity, taken [ders, 

A load wimld sink a navy, too much honour: 
O, 't is a V)urthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven ! 

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right 
use of it. 

Wol. I hope I have : I am able now, methinks, 
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel. 
To endure more miseries and greater far 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad '{ 

Crom. The heaviest and the worst 

Is your displeasure with the king. 

Wol. God bless him ! 

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord cliancellor in your place. 

Wol. That 's somewhat sudden : 

But he 's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in liis liiglmess' favour, and do justice 
For truth's sake and his conscience ; that liis bones, 
AVhen he has run his course and sleeps in blessings. 
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! 
Wliat more y 

Crom. That Cranmer is return 'd with welcome, 
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. That's news indeed. 

(Jrom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 

Whom the king liath in secrecy long married. 
Tills day w.is view'd in open as Ids queen. 
Going to eliapcl ; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

Wol. Tliere was the weight that pull'd me down. 
O Cromwell, 
The kini;- has gone beyond me : all my glories 
In that one woman I liave lost for ever: 
Xo sun shall ever usher forth mine honours. 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited » 

Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ; 
I am a poor I'aU'n man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master: seek the king; 
That smi, I pray, may never set ! I have told him 



What and howtrue thou art : he will advance thee; 

Some little memory of me will stir him — 

I know his noble nature — not to let 

Thy hopeful service perish too: good Ci-omwell, 

Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 

For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord. 

Must I, then, leave you ? must I needs forego 
So good, so noble and so true a master? 
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
"Witli what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. 
Tiie king sliall have my service; but my prayers 
For ever and for ever shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not tliink to slied a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forci'd me, 
Out of tiiy honest truth, to play the woman. 
Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Crom- 
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall he, [well ; 
An<l sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of m<^ more must be heanl of, say, I taught tliee, 
Say, Wolsey, that once trod tlie ways of glory. 
And souniled all the deptlis and shoals of honour, 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark Imt my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
'KCroinwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: ~ 
By tliat sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by itV 
Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. [thee; 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
To silrncf envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thv country's. 
Thy God's, ai^d truth's; then if tliou fairst, O 

Cromwell, 
Tiiou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the king ; 
And, — prithee, lead me in : 
There take an inventory of all I have, 
To the last penny; 't is the king's: my robe. 
And my integrity to heaven, is'all 
I dare now call niine own. O Cromwell, CromweU ! 
Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Crom. Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. So I have. Farewell 

The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. 

[Exeunt. 



.ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — A street in Westminster. 
Enter two Gentlemen, meeling one another. 
First Gent. You're well met once again. 
See. Gent. So are you. 

First Gent. You come to take your stand here, and 
The Lady Anne pass from her coronation ? poehold 
Sec. Gent. 'T is all my business. At our last en- 
coimter. 
The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 

First Gent. 'T is very true : but that time offer'd 
This, general joy. • [sorrow; 

Sec. Gent. 'T is well: the citizens, 

• I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds — 
As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forwai'd — 
In celebration of tins day with shows. 
Pageants and sights of honour. 

First Gent. Never greater. 

Nor, I '11 assure you, better taken, sir. 

Sec. Gent. May I be bold to ask what that con- 
Tliat paper in your hand i* [tains. 

First Gent. " Yes ; 't is the list 

Of those that claim their offices this day 
By custom of the coro'iiation. 
602 



Tlie Buke of Suffolk is the first, and claims 
To be high-steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk, 
He to be earl marshal : you may read the rest. 

Sec. Gent. I tliaiik you, sir: had I not known 
those customs, 
I should have been beholding to your paper. 
But, I beseech you, what 's become of Katharine, 
The princess dowager ? how goes her business i* 

First Gent. That I can tell you too. The Arch- 
Of Canterbury, accom]>anied with other [bishop 
Learned and reverend fathers of his order, 
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off 
From Amptliill where the prin(>ess lay ; to which 
Slio was often cited by them, but aiijicar'd not : 
And, to be short, for not appearance and 
The king's late scruple, by the main assent 
Of all these learned men she was divorced. 
And the late marriage made of none effect : 
Since which she was removed to Kimbolton, 
Where she remains now sick. 

Sec. Gent. Alas, good lady ! 

[ Trumftets. 
The trumpets Bound : stand close, the queen is com- 
ing. [Hixathdijs. 



KIXG HENRY VII I. 



SCENE II. 



THE ORDER OF THE COROXATIOX. 

1. A lively flourish of Trwnjjcts. 

2. Then, two Judges. [him. 

3. Lord Chaucelior, with the purse and mnce hcfure 

4. Choristers, singing. [Music. 

5. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then Gar- 

ter, in his coat of arms, and on his head a gilt 
copper crowti. 

6. Marquess Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on 

his head a d£rni-coronal of gold. With him, the 
Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver with 
the dove, cromned with aa earVs coronet. Col- 
lars of SS. 

7. Duke o"f Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coro- 

net on his head, bearing a long white wand, as 
high-steward. With him, the Duke of Nor- 
folk, icith the rod of marslialship, a coronet 
on his head. Collars of SS. 

8. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports ; 

under it, the Queen in her robe; in her hair 
richly adorned with pearl, croivneiil. On each 
side her, the Bisliops of London and Win- 
chester. 

9. Tlie old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, 

u-rought with flowers, bearing the Queen's train. 
10. Certain Ladies or Countesses, wiJA jutaifi, circlets 
of gold without floirers. 
Tliey pass over the stage in order and state. 

See. Gent. A royal train, believe me. These I 
Who 's that that bears the sceptre ? [know : 

First Gent. Marquess Dorset : 

And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod. 

Sec. Gent. A bold brave gentleman. That should 
The Duke of Suffolk? [be 

First Gent. 'T is the same: high-steward. 

Sec. Gent. And that my Lord of Norfolk ? 

First Gent. Yes. 

Sec. Gent. Heaven bless thee ! 

[Looking on the (^ueen. 
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. 
Sir, as I liave a soul, she is an angel ; 
Our king has all the ludies in his arms, 
And more and richer, when he strains that lady, 
I cannot blame his conscience. 

First Gent. Tliey that bear 

The cloth of honour over her, are four barons 
Of the Cinque-ports. [near her. 

Sir. Gi nt. Tliose men are happy ; and so are all are 
I take it, slie tliat carries up the train 
Is that old noble lady. Duchess of Norfolk. 

First Gent. It is; and all the rest are countesses. 

Sec. Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars 
And sometimes falling ones. [indeed ; 

First Gent. No more of that. 

[Exit procession, and then a great flourish 
of trumpets. 
Enter a third Gentleman. 

First Gent. God save you, sir ! where have you 
been broiling V 

Third Gent. Among the crowd i' the Abbey; 
wliere a finger 
Could not be wedged in more : I am stifled 
AVith the mere rankness of their joy. 

See. Gent. You saw 

The ceremony ? 

Third Gent. That I did. 

First Gent. How was it ? 

Third Gent. Well worth the seeing. 

Sec. Gent. Good sir. speak it to us. 

Third Gent. As well as I am able. Tlie rich stream 
Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen 
To a prepared place in the clioir, fell off 
A distance from her ; while her grace sat do^vn 
To rest a while, some half an hour or so, 
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 
The beauty of her person to the people. 



Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 
That ever lay by man : which when the people 
Had the full view of, such a noise arose 
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest. 
As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, — 
Doublets, I think, — flew up; and liad tlieir laces 
Been loose, this day tliey had been lost. Such joy 
I never saw before. Great-bellied women. 
That had not half a week to go, like rams 
In the old time of war, would shake the press, 
•And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living 
Could say ' This is my wife ' there ; aU were woven 
So strangely in one piece. 

Sec. Gent. But, what follow'd ? 

Third Gent. At length her grace rose, and with 
modest paces 
Came to the altar ; where she kneel'd, and saint-like 
Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly. 
Then rose again and bow'd her to the people: 
When by the Archbishop of Canterbury 
She hadall the royal makings of a queen; 
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, 
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
Laid nobly on her: which perform'd, the choii', . 
With all the choicest music of the kingdom. 
Together sung ' Te Deum.' So she parted. 
And with the same full state paced back agaiu 
To York-place, where the feast is held. 

First Gent. Sir, 

You must no more call it York-place, that 's past ; 
For, since the cardinal fell, that title 's lost: 
'Tis now the king's, and call'd Whitehall. 

Third Gent. I know it; 

But 't is so lately alter'd, that the old name 
Is fresh about nie. 

Sec. Gent. What two reverend bishops 

Were those that went on each side of the queen '? 

Tliird Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner ; the one of 
Winchester, 
Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary, 
The other, Loudon. 

Sec. Gent. He of Winchester 

Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 
The virtuous Cranmer. 

Tliird Gent. All the land knows that : 

However, yet there is no great breach ; when it comes, 
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 

Sec. Gent. Who may that be, I pray you ? 

Third Gent. Thomas Cromwell ; 

A man iu much esteem with the king, and truly 
A worthy friend. The king has made him master 
O' the jewel house. 
And one, already, of the priv^ council. 

Sec. Gent. He will deserve "more. 

Third Gent. Yes, without all doubt. 

Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 
Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests: 
Something I can command. As I walk thitlier, 
I '11 tell ye more. 

Both. You may command us, sir. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n.—Kiinbolton. 

Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between Grif- 
fith, her gentleman usiter, and Patience, her woman. 

Grif. How does your grace ? 

Kri'th. O Griffith, sick to death I 

Mv legs, like loaden branches, bow to the eartli. 
Willing to leave their burthen. Reach a chair: 
So ; now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me. 
That the great child of honour. Cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead? 

Grif. Yes, madam : but I think your grace, 

Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to 't. 

Kath. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died : 
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily 
For my example. 

503 



ACT IV. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE II. 



Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 

For after the stout Earl Northumberland 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward, 
As a man sorely tainted, to his answer, 
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill 
He could not sit his mule. 

Kath. AlaSj poor man ! 

Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
Lodged in the abbey ; where tlie reverend abbot, 
With all his covent, honourably received him ; 
To whom he gave these words, ' O, father abbot. 
An old man, broken with the storms of state. 
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; 
Give him a little eartli for charity! ' 
So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness 
Pursued him still : and, three nights after this, 
Alidut the hour of eight, which he himself 
FiiretoM should be his last, full of repentance. 
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
He gave his honours to the world again, 
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him ! 
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
And yet with charity. He was a man 
Of an unboundp<l stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with priiu-cs; one that, by suggestion. 
Tied all the kinndoin : sinicmy was fair-play; 
His own opinion was his law: i' the presence 
He would say mitrutlis; and be ever double 
Both in his words and meaning: he was never. 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful: 
His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
But his performance, as he is now, nothing : 
Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Grif. Noble m ad a m , 

Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your highness 
To hear me speak his good now V 

Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 

I were malicious else. 

Grif. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was fashion \1 to much iidnour from his cradle. 
He was a scholar, and a riiie and good one; 
Exceeding wise, fair-simken, and persuading: 
Lofty and sour to tlu'm tliat loved him not; 
But to thosemen that sought him sweet as summer. 
And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
Whicli was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam, 
III' was most princely : ever witness for liim 
■ Those twins of learning that he raised in you, 
Ipswieli and Oxford I one of which fell with him. 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 
The otlier, though unhnish'd, yet so famous. 
So excellent in art, and still so rising. 
That Clu'istendiiui shall ever sjicalc liis virtue. 
His overthrow heapM ha]ii>iness uimn him; 
For then, and not till tlu^n, he IVlt liimself. 
And found the blcsst'ihirss of being little: 
And, to add greater honours to his age 
Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 

Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
No other speaker of my living actions. 
To keep mine honour from corruption, 
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
Whom I most hated living, thou liast made me, 
AVitli thy religious truth and modesty. 
Now in his ashes honour : peace Ije with him ! 
Patience, be near me still; and set nie lower: 
I have not long to troulile thee. (Jood Griffith, 
Cause the musicians play me tliat sad note 
I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 

[Sad and solemn music. 

Grif. She is asleep: good wench, let 'ssitdownquiet, 
For fear we wake her: softly, gentle Patience. 
504 



Tfie vis-ion. Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six 
personages, clad in white rubes, wearing vn tlieir Iieads 
garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their facts; 
branches of bays or palm in their hands. Tlicy first con- 
gee unto her, then dunce; and,at certain clumgcs, t/ie first 
two hold a spare garlatul over her head ; at which the other 
four ma/ee reverent curtsies; then tlie two that held the 
garland deliver the same to the oilier next two, who observe 
tlie same order in their c/iayiges, and holding tlie garland 
over her liead: whicli done, they deliver the same garland 
to the last two, who likewise observe the same order: at 
which, as it were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep 
signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to Iieaven : 
and so in their dancing vanish, cari-ying the garland with 
them. The music continues. 

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? are ye all 
gone, 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? 

Grif. Madam, we are here. 

luith. It is not you I call for : 

Saw ye none enter since I slept ? 

Grif. None, madam. 

Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed 
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces [troop 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
They promised me eternal happiness; 
And brought nie garlands, Gritlith, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall, assuredly. 

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy. 

Kath. Bid the music leave, 

They are harsh and heavy to me. [J/ustc ceases. 

Fat. Do you note 

How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden ? 
How long her face is drawn ? how jiale she looks. 
And of an earthy cold V ;Mark her eyes 1 

Grif. She is going, wench: pray, pray. 

Pat. Iieaven comfort her ! 

I 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. An 't like your grace, — 

Kath. You are a saucy fellow : 

Deserve we no more reverence ? 

Grif. You are to blame. 

Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness. 
To use so rude behaviour ; go to, kneel. 

Jl/ess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon ; 
My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying 
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 

ICath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: but this 

Let me ne'er see again. [fellow 

[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger. 

He-enter GrifBth, luith Capucius. 

If my sight fail not, 
You shoidd be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
My royal nephew, and yom- name Capucius. 

Cap. Madam, the same; your servant. 

Kath. O, my lord. 

The times and titles now are alter'd strangely 
With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you. 
What is yom- pleasiu-e with me y 

Cap. Noble lady. 

First, mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
The king's request that I would visit you ; 
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
Sends you his princely commendations. 
And heartily entreats you take good comfort, [late; 

Kath. O my good lord, that comfoi-t comes too 
'T is like a pardon after execution : 
That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me; 
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
How does his highness ? 

Cap. Madam, in good health. 

Kath. So may he ever do 1 and ever Uourish, 
When I sliall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
Banisird the kingdom 1 Patience, is that letter, 
I caused you write, yet sent away i 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY VII I. 



SCElfE T. 



Fat. No, madam. 

{Giving it to Katli.arine. 

Kaih. Sir. I most humbly pray you to deliver 
This to my lord the king. 

Cap. Most willing, madam. 

Kath. In which I have commended to his good- 
ness 
Tlie model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : 
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings oif her! 
Beseeching hiui to give her virtuous breeding, — 
She is young, and of a noble modest nature, 
I hope she will deserve well, — and a little 
To love her for lier mother's sake, tliat loved him. 
Heaven knows liow dearly. My next poor petition 
Is, that Ills noble grace woidd liave some pity 
Upon my wretched women, that so long 
Have folio w'd both my fortunes faithfully: 
Of whicli tliere is not one, I dare avow. 
And now I should not lie, but will deserve, 
For virtue and true beauty of the soul, 
Per honesty and decent carriage, 
A right good husband, let hinrbe a noble : * 

And, sure, those men are happy tliat sliall liave 'em. 
The last is, for my men; they are llie pdorest. 
But poverty could never di-avv' 'em from lue ; 



Tliat tliey may have their wages duly paid 'em, 

And sonietliing over to remember me by: 

If heavt-n liad pleased to liave given me longer life 

And able means, we had not parted tlms. 

These are the whole contents: and, good my lord, 

By that you love the dearest in tliis world. 

As you wish Christian peace to souls departed. 

Stand these poor people's fiieud, and urge the king 

To do me this last right. 

Cap. By heaven, I will, 

Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 

Knth. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
In all hunnlity unto his higlmess: 
Say liis lung trouble now is passing 
(jut of tliis world; tell liim, in death 1 blsss'd him, 
For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell, 
My lord. . Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience, 
You miLst not leave me yet: I must to bed; 
Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench, 
lA't me lie useil with honour: strew me over 
With maiden llowers, that all the world may know 
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me. 
Then lay me fortli: although unqueen'd, yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I can no more. [E.ceunt, leading Katharine. 



.ACT V. 



SOENEj I. — Lnnclon. A gnUeri/ in the palace. 

Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Wincliester, a Page toith 

a torch before Idm, met by Sir Thomas Lovell. 

Gar. It 's one o"clockj boy, is 't not ? 

Boij. It hath struck. 

Gar. These should be hours for necessities. 
Not for delights ; times to repair our nature 
With comforting repose, and not for us [Thomas ! 
To waste these times. Good hour of night. Sir 
Whithei* so late ? 

Lov. Came you from the king, my lord ? 

Gar. I did. Sir Tlionias; and left him at primero 
With the Duke of Suffolk. 

Lov. I must to him too. 

Before he go to bed. I '11 take my leave. 

Gar. Not yet. Sir Thomas Lovell. What 's the 
matter ? 
It seems yuu are in haste: an if there be 
No great offence belongs to 't, give your friend 
Some toucli of yoiu' late business : affairs, that walk. 
As they say spirits do, at midnight, liave 
In them a wilder nature tlian tlie business 
That seeks dispatch by day. 

Lov. My lord, I love you ; 

And durst commend a secret to your ear [labour. 
Much weightier than this work. Tlie queen 's in 
Tliey say, in great extremity; and fear'd 
She '11 witli tiie kiboLU' end. 

Gar. The fruit she goes ■with 

I pray for heartily, that it may tiiul 
Good time, and live: but for the stock. Sir Thomas, 
I wish it grubb'd up now. 

Lov. Methinks I could 

Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says 
She 's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
Deserve bur better wishes. 

Gar. But, sir, sir. 

Hear me. Sir Thomas: you 're a gentleman 
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; 
And, let me tell you, it will' ne'er be well, 
'T will not. Sir Thomas Lovell, take 't of me. 
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, 
Sleep in their graves. 

Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two 

The most remark 'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell, 
Beside that of the jewel house, is made master 



O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir. 
Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments, 
Willi which the time will load him. The archbishop 
Is the king's hand and tongue; and who dare speak 
One syllable against him'i' 

Gar. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, 

There are that dare ; and I myself have ventured 
To speak my mind of him: and indeed this day, 
Sir, I may tell it you, I think I liave 
Incensed the lords o' the council, that he is. 
For so I laiow he is, they know he is, 
A most arch lieretic, a pestilence 
That does infect the land: with Which they moved 
Have broken with the king ; who hath so far 
Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace 
And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
Our reasons laid before liim, hatli commauded 
To-morrow morning to tlie council-board 
He be convented. He 's a rank weed. Sir Thomas, 
And «'e must root him out. From your affairs 
I hinder you too long: good-night. Sir Thomas. 

Lov. Many good-nights, my hnxl: I rest your sei'- 
vaiit. \_Ex,cunt Gardiner and Page. 

Enter the King and Suffolk. 

King. Charles, I will play no more to-night ; 
My mind 's not on 't ; you are too hard for me. 

'Sitf. Sir, I did never win of you before. 

King. But little, Charles; 
Nor shall not, when my fancy 's on my play. 
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is tlie news? 

Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
What you Cdinniaiided me, but by her woman 
I sent your message ; who return'd her thanks 
In the'great'st humbleness, and desired your liigh- 
Most heartily to pray for her. [ness 

King. What say'st thou, ha 'i" 

To pray for her ? what, is she crying out y 

Lov.' So said her woman; and that her sufferance 
Almost each pang a death. [made 

King. Alas, good lady ! 

Snf. God safely quit her of her burthen, and 
With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
Your highness with an heir ! 

King. 'T is midnight, Charles; 

Prithee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember 
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone; 
505 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE II. 



For I must think of that which company 
Would not be friendly to. 

Suf_. I wish your highness 

A quiet night ; and my good mistress will 
Remember in my prayers. 

Khuj. Charles, good-niglit. [Exit Suffolk. 

Enter Sir Anthony Denny. 
Well, sir, wliat follows:' 

Ben. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop. 
As you commanded me. 

King. Ila ! Canterbury ? 

Ben. Ay, my good lord. 

King. 'T is true : where is he, Denny ? 

Ben. He attends your highness' pleasure. 

King. Bring him to us. 

[Exit Benny. 

Lov. [Aside] This is about that which the bishop 
I am happily come hither. [spake : 

Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer. 

King. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stai/.] 
Ha ! I have said. Be gone. 
What ! [Exeunt Lovell and Benny. 

Cran. [Aside] I am fearful : wherefore frowns lie 
'T is his aspect of terror. All 's not well. [thus V 

Ki.iij. How now, my lord ! you do desire to know 
Wlierefore I sent for you. 

Cran. [Kneeling] It is my duty 

To attend your highness' pleasure. 

King. Pray you, arise. 

My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury. 
Come, yi m and I must walk a turn together ; [hand. 
I have news tu tell you: come, come, give me your 
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, 
And am right sorry to repeat what follows : 
I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, 
Grievous complaints of j'ou; whicli,being consider'd, 
Have moved us and our council, that you shall 
This morning come before us: where, I know, 
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself, 
But that, till further trial in those charges 
Which will require your answer, you must take 
Your patience to you, and be well contented [us. 
To make your house our Tower : you a brother of 
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
Would come against you. 

Cran. [Kneeling] I humbly thank your highness; 
And am riglit gliiil to catch tliis good occasion 
Most tlinmglily to lie winnow'd, where my chaff 
And corn sliall lly asunder ; for, I know. 
There 's none stands under more caluumious tongues 
Than I myself, poor man. 

King. ' Stand up, good Canterbury : 

Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted 
In us, tliy friend: give me thy hand, stand up: 
Prithee, let 's walk. Now, by my holidanie, 
Wliat manner of man are you? JNIy lord, I look'd 
You would have given me your petition, that 
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together 
Yourself and your accusers ; and to have heard you, 
Without indurance, further. 

Cram. Most dread liege, 

Tlie good I stand on is my truth and lionegty : 
If they shall fail, I, with "mine enemies, 
Will triumiih o'er my person; whicli I weigh not, 
Being of tliose virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
What can be said against me. 

King. Know you not 

How your state stands i' the world, with the whole 
world ? [tices 

Your enemies are many, and not small ; their prac- 
Must bear the same proportion ; and not ever 
Tlie justice and the truth o' the question carries 
The due o' the verdict with it: at what ease 
Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
To swear against you V such things have been done. 
506 



You are potently oiiposed ; and witli a malice 
Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, 
I mean, in perjured witness, than your master, 
Whose minister you are, whiles here lie lived 
Upon tills naughty earth V Go to, go to ; 
You take a precipice for no leap of danger, 
And woo your own destruction. 

Gran. God and your majesty 

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
The. trap is laid for me ! 

King. Be of good cheer ; 

They shall no more prevail than we give way to. 
Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see 
You do appear before them : if they shall chance, 
In charging you with matters, to commit you, 
The best persuasions to the contrary 
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
Tlie occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties 
AVill render you no remedy, this ring 
Deliver them, and your appeal to us [weeps! 

There make before them. Look, the good man 
He 's honest, on mine honour. God's blest motherl 
I swear he is true-hearted ; and a soul 
None better in my kingdom. Get you gone. 
And do as I have bid you. [E.cit Cranmer.] He 
His language in his tears. [iias strangled 

Enter Old Lady, IjOvell folloiinng. 

Gent. [ Within] Come back : what mean you ? 

Old L. I 'U not come back ; the tidings that I 
bring [gels 

Will make my boldness manners. Now, good au- 
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
Under their blessed wings ! 

King. Now, by thy looks 

I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd V 
Say, ay ; and of a boy. 

Old L. Ay, ay, my liege ; 

And of a lovely boy : the God of heaven 
Both now and ever bless her! 't is a girl, 
Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
Desires your visitation, and to be 
Acquainted with this stranger: 'tis as like you 
As cherry is to cherry. 

King. Lovell ! 

Lov. Sir ? 

King. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the 
queen. [Exit. 

Old L. An hundred marks! By this light, I'll 
An ordinary groom is for such payment, [ha' more. 
I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
Said I for this, the girl was like to him ? 
I will have more, or else unsay 't; and now. 
While it is hot, I '11 put it to the issue. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Before the coimcil-chamber, 
PursiiivantSj Pages, (£*c., attending. 
Enter Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Cran. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gen- 
tleman. 
That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me 
To make great haste. All fast ? what means this ? 
Who waits there ? Sure, you know me ? [Ho ! 

Enter Keeper. 

Keep. Yes, my lord ; 

But yet I cannot help you. 

Cran. Why? 

Enter Doctor Butts. 

Keep. Your grace must wait till you be call'd for. 

Cran. So. 

Butts. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I am glad 
I came this way so ha|ipily : the king 
Shall understand ii presently. [Exit. 

Cra n . [Aside] 'T is Butts, 

The king's physician : as he pass'd along, 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY VII L 



SCENE III. 



How earnestly be cast his eyes upon me ! [tain, 
Pray heaven, he sound not "my disgrace! For cer- 
Tiiis is of purpose laid by some that hate me — 
God turn their hearts! I never sought their mal- 
ice — [make me 
To quench mine honour: they would shame to 
"Wait else at door, a fellow-coimsellor, [ures 
'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleas- 
Mustbe fulflird, and I attend with patience. 

Enter the King mid Butts at a window above. 
Butts. I '11 show your grace the strangest sight — 
King. SVhat 's that , Butts V 

Butts. I think yom- highness saw this m.iny a day. 
Juiu/. Body o' me, where is it ? 
Biitis. There, my lord: 

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbiu'y ; 
AViio holds his state at door, 'mougst pursuivants, 
Pages, and foot boys. 

King. Ha! 't is he, indeed : 

Is this the honour they do one another V 
'T is well there 's one above 'em yet. I had thought 
They had parted so much honesty among 'em, 
At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer 
A man of his place, and so near our favour. 
To (lance attendance on their lordships' jileasures, 
And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
By lioly Mary, Butts, there 's knavery: 
Let 'em alone, and draw the cmlaiu close : 
"We shall hear more anon. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Uouncil-Chamher. 
Entrr Lord Chancellor ; places himself at the upper end 
of 'he t.ihle on l/ie left h.nul ; a seat beinri left raid above 
him, »s /.)(• Canterbury's seat. Duke of Suffolk, 
Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gar- 
diner, srji i/iciiid'lei-6 in order on each side. Cromwell 
at lower end^ as seeretari/. Keeper at the door. 

Clian. Speak to the business, master secretary : 
Wliy are we met in coimcil y 

Crom. Please your honours, 

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. 

Gar. Has he had knowledge of it y 

Crom. Yes. 

Xor. "Who waits there ? 

Kfcp. Without, my noble lords? 

<Tii,-. Yes. 

Jiuji. My lord archbishop; 

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. 

Chan. Let him come in. 

Keep. Your grace may enter now. 

[Cranmer enters and approaches the council-table. 

Chan. My good lord archbishop, I 'm very sorry 
To sit here at this present, and behold 
That chair stand empty : but we all are men, 
In our own natures frail, and capable 
Of our flesh : few are angels : out of which frailty 
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, 
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little. 
Toward tlie king first, then his laws, in tilling 
The whole realm, by your teaching and your cliap- 
For so we are inforin'd, with new opinions, pains. 
Divers and dangerous ; which are heresies. 
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 

Gar. "Which reforuiation must be sudden too, 
!My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses 
Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, 
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 
Till they obey the manage. If we sulfer, ['em. 
Out of our easiness and childish pity 
To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, 
Farewell all physic : and what follows then 'if 
C'ouiuiotions, uproars, with a general taint 
Of tlie whole state : as, of late days, our neighbours. 
The upper Germany, can dearly witness. 
Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress 
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd. 



And with no little study, that my teaching 

And the strong course of my authiuity 

Might go one way, and safely ; and the end 

Was ever, to do well : nor is there living, 

I speak it with a single heart, my lords, 

A man that more detests, more stirs against, 

Both in his private conscience and his place, 

Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 

Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 

With less allegiance in it ! Men that make 

Envy and crooked malice nourishment 

Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, 

That, in this case of justice, my accu.sers. 

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, 

And freely urge against me. 

Suf. Nay, my lord, 

That cannot be : you are a counsellor. 
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 

Gar. My lord, because we have business of more 
moment, [me. 

We will be short with you. 'T is his highness' pleas- 
And our consent, for better trial of you. 
From hence you be committed to the Tower ; 
Where, being but a private man again. 
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly. 
More than, I fear, you are provided for. [you ; 

Cran. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank 
You are always my good friend ; if your will pass, 
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, 
You are so merciful : I see your end ; 
'T is my undoing : love and meekness, lord, 
Become a chru-chman better than ambition: 
Win straying souls with modesty again. 
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, 
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience 
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, 
But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 

Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary. 
That 's the plain truth : your painted gloss discovers, 
To men that understand you, words and weakness. 

Crom. My Lord of Winchester, you are a little, 
By your good favour, too sharp ; men so noble, 
Uowevei" faulty, yet should find respect 
For what they have been : 't iS a cruelty 
To load a falling man. 

Gar. Good master secretary, 

I cry your honour mercy ; you may, worst 
Of all this table, say so. 

Crom. Why, my lord ? 

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer 
Of this new sect 'i* ye are not sound. 

Crom. 2s'ot sound? 

Gar. Not sound, I say. 

Crom. Would you were half so honest ! 

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. 

Gar. I shall remember this bold language. 

Crom. Do. 

Remember your bold life too. 

Chan. This is too much ; 

Forbear, for shame, my lords. 

Gar. I have done. 

Crom. And I. 

Clian. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands 
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith [agreed, 

You be convey 'd to tiie Tower a prisoner; 
There to remain till tlie king's further pleasure 
Be knowii unto us : are you all agreed, lords ? 

All. We are. 

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy. 

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ? 

Gar. What other 

Would you expect ? you are strangely troublesome. 
Let sonie o' the guard be ready there. 



Enter Guard. 
Cran. 
Must I go like a traitor thither? 
507 



For me ? 



ACT V. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



SCENE IV. 



Gar. Receive him, 

Aiifl see him safe i' the Tower. 

CVaii. Stay, good my lords, 

I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; 
n^y virtue of that rinj?, I take my cause 
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 
To a most noble judge, the king my master. 

Cham. This is the king's ring. 

Sur. 'T is no counterfeit. 

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, 
"Whe'n we first put this dangerous stone a-rollmg, 
'T would fall upon ourselves. 

Nor. Do you think, my lords. 

The king will suffer but the little finger 
Of this man to be vex'd ? 

Chan. 'T is now too certain : 

How much more is his life in value with him? 
AVould I were fairly out on 't ! 

Crom. My mind gave me. 

In seeking tales and informations 
Against this man, whose honesty the devil 
And his di-sciples only envy at, 
Ye blew the fire that burns ye : now have at ye ! 

Enter King, froioning on them ; takes his seat. 

Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to 
In daily tiianks, that gave us such a prince; [lieaveu 
Not only good and wise, but most religious: 
One that, in all obedience, makes the cliurch 
The chief aim of his honour ; and, to strengthen 
That holy duty, out of dear respect. 
His royal self in judgment comes to hear 
The cause betwixt her and this great offender. 

King. You were ever good at sudden commenda- 
Bishop of Winchester. But know,I come not [tious, 
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; 
Tliey are too tlsin and bare to lade offences. 
To me you cannot reach, you play tlie spaniel, 
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me ; 
But, whatsoe'er thou takest me for, I 'm sure 
Thou hast a crnel nature and a bloody, [proudest 
[ To CranmerjGood man ,sit down. Now let me see the 
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee : 
By all that 's holy, he had better starve 
Thau but once think this place becomes thee not. 

ISur. May it please your grace, — 

King. No, sir, it does not please me. 

I had thought I had had men of some understanding 
And wisdom of my council ; but I find none. 
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man. 
This good man, — few of you deserve that title, — 
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy 
At chamber-door ? and one as great as you are ? 
Why, what a shame was this ! Did my commission 
Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye 
Power as he was a counsellor to try him. 
Not as a groom: there 's some of ye, I see, 
More out of malice than integrity, 
Would try him to the utmost, liad ye mean ; 
Which ye shall never have while I live. 

Chan: Thus far, 

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed 
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather, 
If there be faitli in men, meant for his trial. 
And fair purgation to the world, than malice, 
I 'm sure, in me. 

King. Well, well, my lords, respect him; 

Take him, and use him well, he 's worthy of it. 
I will say thus much for liim, if a prince 
May be beholding to a subject, I 
Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
Make me no more ado, but all embrace liim : n^i'i'yi 
Be friends, for shame, my lf)rds I My Lord of Canter- 
I have a suit which you must not deny me: 
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism. 
You must be godfather, and answer for her. 

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory 
508 



In such an honour : how may I deserve it. 
That am a poor and humble subject to you ? 

King. Come, come, my lord, you 'Id spare your 
spoons : you shall have two noble partners with you ; 
the old Duchess of Norfolk, and Lady Marquess Dor- 
set : will these please you ? 

Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you, 
Embrace and love this man. 

Gar. With a true heart 

And brother-love I do it. 

CVct)!.. And let heaven 

AVitness, how dear I hold this confirmation. [lie«rt '■ 

King. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true 
The common voice, I see, is verified Djury 

Of thee, which says thus, ' Do my Lord of Canltr- 
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.' 
Come, lords, we trifle time away ; I long 
To have this young one made a Christian. 
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain; 
So 1 grow stronger, you more honour gain. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The palace yard. 
JVoise and tumult within. Miter Porter and his Man. 

Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: 
do you take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude 
slaves, leave your gaping. [larder. 

[Within] Good master porter, I belong to the 

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, j-e 
rogue ! is this a place to roar in P Fetch me a dozen 
crab-tree staves, and strong ones: these are but 
switches to 'em. I '11 scratch your heads : you 
must be seeing christenings? do you look for ale 
and cakes here, you rude rascals ? [sible — 

Man. Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much impos- 
Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons — 
To scatter 'em, as 't is to make 'em sleep 
On May-day morning; which will never be : 
We may aswell push against Powle's, as stir 'em. 

Port. How got they in, and be hang'd ? 

Jl/aii. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in? 
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot — 
You see the poor remainder — could distribute, 
I made no spare, sir. 

Port. You did nothing, sir. 

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, 
To mow 'em down before me : but if I spared any 
That had a head to hit, either young or old. 
He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker. 
Let me ne"er hope to see a chine again; 
And that I would not for a cow, God save her! 

[Within] Do you hear, master porter ? 

Port. I shall be with \ou presently, good master 
puppy. Keep the door close, sirrah. 

Man. What would you have me do ? 

Port. Wliat slionld you do.l.mt knock 'em down by 
the dozens? Is I his Mnortields to muster in ? or have 
we some strange Indian witli the great tool come to 
court, the women so besiege us ? Bless me, what a 
fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian con- 
science, tliis one christening will beget a thousand; 
here will be father, godfather, and all together. 

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There 
is a fellow somewhat near the door," he should be a 
brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty 
of the dog-days now reign in 's nose; all that stand 
about him are under the line, they need no other 
penance: that fire-drake did I hit three times on 
the head, and three times was his nose discharged 
against me: he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to 
blow us. There was a liaherdasher's wife of small 
wit near him, that railed ujion me till her pinked 
porringer fell off her head, fur kindling such a com- 
bustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and 
hit that woman; who cried out 'Clubs!' when I 
might see from far some forty truncheoners draw 
to Iier succour, which were the hope o' the Strand, 
where she was quartered. They fell on; I made 



ACT V. 



KIXG HENRY VIII. 



SCENE v. 



good my place: at length they came to the broom- 
staff to me; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file 
of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered sucli a 
shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine 
honour in, and let 'em win tlje work: the devil was 
amongst 'em, I think, surely. 
^ Fr/rt. These are the youths that thunder at a play- 
house, and tight for bitten apples ; that no audience, 
but the tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of 
Limehouse, tlieir dear brothers, are able to endure. 
I liave some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there 
tliey are like to dance these three days; besides the 
runiiing banquet of two beadles that is to come. 

JSnter Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Mercv o' me, what a multitude are here! 
They grow still too ; from all parts they are coming, 
j\ s if we kept a fair here ! Wliere are these porters, 
These lazy knaves ? Ye have made a fine hand, fel- 
There 's a trim rabble let in : are all these Pows : 
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have 
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, 
AVlien they pass back from the christening. 

Fort. An 't please your honour, 

We are but men; and what so many may do, 
Xot being torn a-pieces, we have done: 
An army cannot rule 'em. 

Clin III. As I live, 

If Die king blame me for 't, I '11 lay ye all 
By the iieels, and suddenly; and ou your heads 
Cia]) round tines for neglect: ye are lazy knaves; 
Ami here ye lie baiting of bombards, wiien 
Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets soimd; 
They 're come already from the cliristening: 
Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
To let the trooppass fairly: or I "11 find 
A ilarshalsea shall hold ye play these two months. 

Fort,. Make way there for the princess. 

M'l.n. You great fellow, 

Stand close up, or 1 11 make your head ache. 

Fori. You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail ; 
I '11 peck you o'er the pales else. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE 'V.— The palace. 

Enter trnmprts, soiimling; then, two Aldermen, Lord 
Mayor, Garter, Craniner, Duke of Norfolk ivitk his 
mui-.ihal'x si Iff] Duke of Suffolk, liro Noblemen bear- 
inij ijmil st'i'irliiiij-bitmU foe the christeuinij yij'ls ; then 
finir Noblemen benring a caiuipy, under which the 
Duchessof Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child richly 
hiil,:te,l in n m I ,il/r, d-e., train borne by a t,a.dY ; thenfol- 
loirs the Marchioness Dorset, the other godmother, and 
Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter 
speaks. 

Qnrt. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send 
prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high 
and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth ! 

Flourish. Enter King and Gvard. 

Cran. [Kneelinej] And to your royal grace, and 
the good queen. 
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray : 
Ail comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady. 
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, 
May hourly fall upon ye! 

, Kiiiij. Thank you, good lord archbishop: 

Wiiat is her name ? 

Cran. Elizabeth. 

King. Stand up, lord. 

[Tl>e King kisses the. child. 
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! 
Into whose hand I give thy life. 

Cran. Amen. 

Kini/. ]\Iy noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal : 
I tliank ye heartily ; so shall this lady. 
When she has so much English. 

Cnni. Let me speak, sir. 

For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter 



Let none think flattery, for they "11 find 'em truth. 
This royal infant — heaven still move about her! — 
Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
LTpon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be — 
But few now living can behold that goodness — 
A pattern to all princes living with her, 
And all that shall succeed : Saba was never 
jMore covetous of wisdom and fair virtue 
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces. 
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is. 
With all the virtues that attend the good. 
Shall still be doubled ou her: truth shall nurse her, 
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 
Slie shall be loved and fear'd: her own shall bless 
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, [her; 
And hang their heads with sorrow : good grows with 
In her days every man shall eat in safety, [her: 
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing 
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: 
God shall be truly kno\\ii : and those aljnut her 
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour. 
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as wheu 
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phceuix. 
Her ashes new create another heir. 
As great in admiration as herself; 
So shall she leave her blessedness to one, [ness. 
When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark- 
Who from the sacred ashes of her honour 
Shall star-like rise,"as great in fame as she was. 
And so stand fix'd : peace, plenty, love, truth, terror. 
That were the servants to this chosen infant. 
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to liim : 
"Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine. 
His honour and the greatness of his name 
Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish. 
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
To all the plains about him : our children's children 
Shall see this, and bless heaven. 

King. Thou speakest wonders. 

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of Euglaud, 
An aged princess: many days shall see her, 
And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
"Would I had known no more! but she must die, 
Slie nuist, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, 
A most luispotted lily shall she pass 
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 

King. O lord archbishop, 
Thou hast made me now a man ! never, before 
This happy child, did I get any thing: 
This oracle of comfort has so pleased me. 
That when I am in heaven I shall desire 
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. 
I tliank ye all. To j-ou, my good lord mayor. 
And your good bretlu'en. I am much beholding ; 
I have received much honour by your presence. 
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords : 
Ye must all see the queen, and she must lluuik ye. 
She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
Has business at his house; for all shall stay : 
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt. 

EPILOGDE. 

'T is ten to one this play can never please 
All that are here : some come to take their ease. 
And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear. 
We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 't is clear, 
They '11 say't is naught : others, to hear the city 
Abused extremely, and to cry ' That 's witty ! ' 
Which we have not done neither: that. I fear. 
All the expected good we 're like to hear 
For this play at tliis time, is only in 
The merciful construction of good women ; 
For such a one we show'd 'em: if they smile, 
And say 't will do, I know, within a while 
All the best men are ours; for 't is ill hap. 
If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap. 
509 




TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



BEAM AXIS PERSONS. 



Priam, King of Troy. 

Hector, I 

Troilus, 

Paris, y his sons. 

Deiphobus, 

Helenus, J 

Marg-arelon, a bastard son of Priam. 

' ! Troian commanders. 
Antenor, j 

Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking jjart with the 

Creeks. 

Pandarus, uncle to Cressida. 

Agamemnon, the Greciau general. 

Menelaus, his brother. 

Achilles, 

Ajax, 



' Greciau princes. 



Grecian princes. 



[For 



of the Plot of ihi 



Ulysses, 

Nestor, 

Diomedes, 

Patroclus, J 

Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. 

Alexander, servant to Cressida. 

Servant to Troilus. 

Servant to Paris. 

Servant to Diomedes. 

Helen, wife to Menelaus. 

Andromache^ wife to Hector. 

Cassandra, daughter to Priam, a prophetess. 

Cressida, daughter to Calchas. 

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. 
SCENE — Troy, and the Grecian camp before it. 
s Play, see Page LIX.] 



PROLOaXJE, 



In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece 
The princes orgulous, their higli lilood chafed, 
Have to the port of Athens sent their shii)s, 
Prauglit with the niiiiistei's and instruments 
Of cruel war: sixty and nim', that wore 
Their crownets regal, from the Athrnian bay 
Put forth toward Phrygia; and tlicir vow is made 
To ransack Troy, within whose stnmg immures 
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, 
With wanton Paris sleeps ; and that 's the quarrel. 
To Tenedos they come ; 

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains 
The fresh and yet nnbruised Greeks do pitch 
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, 
Dardan, and Tymbria, Heluis, Chetas, Troien, 



And Antenorides, with massy staples 

And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 

Sperr up the sons of Troy. 

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 

On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 

Sets all on hazard : and hitlier am I come 

A prologue arm'd, but not in conhdence 

Of author's pen or actor's voice, hut suited 

In like conditions as our argmnent. 

To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 

Leaps o'er the vaunt and lirstlings of those broils. 

Beginning in the middle, starting thence away 

To wliat may be digested in a jilay. 

lAke or liiid faidt ; do as your pleasures are: 

Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 



-A.CT I. 



SCENE I.— Troy. Before Priam'' s palace. 
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. 

Tro. Call here my varlet ; I '11 unarm again : 
Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
That find such cruel battle here within ? 
Each Trojan that is master of his heart, 
Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 

Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended ? [strength, 

Tro. The Greeks are strong and skilful to their 
Fierce to their skill and to tlieir fierceness valiant; 
But I am weaker than a woman's tear. 
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, 
Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 
An<l skilless as unpractised infancy. 

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for 
my jiart, I '11 not meddle nor make no further. He 
that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs 
tarry the grinding. 

510 



Tro. Have I not tarried ? piolting. 

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the 

Tro. Have I not tarried Y [leaveiiing. 

Pan. Av, tlie bolting, but you must tarry the 

Tro. Still have I tarried. 

Pan. Ay, to the leavening; but here 's yet in the 
word ' hereafter ' the kneading, the making of the 
cake, the heating of the oven and the baking; nay, 
you must stay tlie cooling too, or you may chance 
to burn your liiis. 

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be. 
Doth lesser blencli at sufferance than I do. 
At Priam's royal table do I sit; 
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — 
So, traitor ! ' When she comes ! ' When is she 
thence ? 

Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than 
ever I saw her look, or any'woman"else. 

Tro. I was about to tell thee : — when my heart, 



ACT I. 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



SCENE II. 



As wedged with a sigh, would rive iu twain, 
Lest Hector or my fatlier should perceive me, 
I luive, as when the sun doth light a storm, 
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: 
But sorrow, that is coucli'd in seeming gladness, 
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
Helen's — well, go to — there were no more com- 
parison between the women: but, for my part, she 
is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, 
praise her: but I would somebody had heard her 
talk yesterday, as I did. I will uot dispraise your 
sister Cassandra's wit, but — 

Tro. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus, — 
Wlieu I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, 
Keply not in how many fathoms deep 
They lie indreuch'd. I tell thee 1 am mad 
In Cressid's love: thou answer'st ' she is fair; ' 
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my h§art 
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice. 
Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 
In whose comparison all whites are ink. 
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure 
Tlie cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense 
Hard as the palm of ploughman : this thou tell'st 
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her ; [me. 
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, 
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 
Tiie knife that made it. 

Fan. I speak no more than truth. 

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 

Pan. Faith, I '11 not meddle in 't. Let her be as 
she is : if she be fair, 't is the better for lier; an she 
Ix- not, she has the mends in her own hands. 

Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus! 

Pan. I have had my labour for my travail ; ill- 
thouglit on of her and ill-thought on of you; gone 
between and between, but small thanks for my 
labour. [me V 

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with 

Pan. Because-she 's kin to me, therefore she 's not 
so fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me, she 
would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. 
15ut what care I ? I care not an she were a black- 
a-moor ; 't is all one to me. 

Tro. Say I she is not fair ? 

Fan. I do not care whether you do or no. She 's 
a fool to stay behind her father;' let her to the 
Greeks; and so I '11 tell her the next time I see her: 
for my part, I '11 meddle nor make no more i' tlie 

Tro. Pandarus, — [matter. 

Pan. Not I. 

Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me : I will leave 
all as I found it, and there an end. 

[EkU Pandarus. An alarum. 

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, 
rude sounds ! 
Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair. 
When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 
I cannot fight upon this argument ; 
It is too starved a subject for my sword. 
But Pandarus, — O gods, how do you i)lague me ! 
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; 
And he 's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo, 
"As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, 
■\Vhat Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? 
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl: 
Between our Ilium and where slie resides, 
I>et it be call'd the wild and wandering flood, 
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar 
Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark. 

Alarum. Enter .ffineas. 
JEne. How now. Prince Troilus ! wherefore not 
afield ? 



Tro. Because not there: this woman's answer 
For womanish it is to be from thence. [sorts. 

What news, ^neas, from tlie field to-day? 

^ne. That Paris is returned home and hurt. 

Tro. By whom, ^neas? 

^ne. Troilus, by Menelaus. 

Tro. Let Paris bleed : 't is but a scar to scorn ; 
Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. 

yEne. Hark, what good sport is out of town to- 
day ! ['may.' 

Tro. Better at home, if ' would I might ' were 
But to the sport abroad: are you bound tliither? 

^Ene. In all swift haste. 

Tro. Come, go we then together. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 11.— The same. A street. 

Enter Cressida and Alexander. 

Cres. Who were those went by ? 

Alex. Queen Hecuba and Helen. 

Ores. And whither go they ? 

Alex. Up to the eastern tower, 

Whose height commands as subject all tlie vale, 
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved: 
He chid Andromache and struck Ins armourer, 
And, like as tliere were husbandry in war, 
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light. 
And to the field goes he; where every flower 
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
In Hector's wrath. 

Crcs. What was his cause of anger ? 

Alex. The noise goes, this: there is among the 
Greeks 
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ; 
They call him Ajax. 

Crcs. Good ; and what of him ? 

Alex. They say he is a very man per se. 
And stands alone. 

Cres. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, 
or have no legs. 

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts 
of their particular additions ; he is as valiant as the 
lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a 
man into whom nature hath so crowded humours 
that his valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced 
with discretion ; there is no man hath a virtue that 
he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint 
but he carries some stain of it : he is melancholy 
without cause, and merry against the hair: he liath 
the joints of every thingi but every thing so out of 
joint that he is a" gouty Briareus, many hands and 
no use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 

Crcs. But how should this man, that makes me 
smile, make Hector angry ? 

Alex. They say lie yesterday coped Hector in the 
battle and struck liini down, the disdain and shame 
whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and 
waking. 

Crcs. Who comes here ? 

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 

Enter Pandarus. 

Cres. Hector 's a gallant man. 

Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 

Pail. What 's that ? what 's that ? 

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do yon 
talk of? Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, 
cousin ? When were you at Ilium ? 

CVes. This morning, uncle. 

Paji. What were you talking of when I came ? 
Was Hector armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium? 
Helen was not up, was she ? 

Cres. Hector was gone, but Helen was not up. 

Pan. Even so : Hector was stirring early. 

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger. 
511 



ACT I. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCENE IT. 



Pan. Was he angry ? 

Cres. So he says here. 

Pan. True, he was so: I know the cause too: 
he '11 lay about him to-day, I can tell tlieni that : 
and there 's Troilus will not come far behind him ; 
let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell tliem tliat 

Cres. What, is he angry too? [too. 

Pan. Who, Troilus 'i Troilus is the better man 
of the two. 

Cres. O Jupiter ! there 's no comparison. 

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector V 
Do you know a man if you see him ? 

Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him. 

Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. 

Cres. Tlien you say as I say; for, I am sure, he 
is not Hector. 

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some de- 
grees. 

Cres. 'T is just to each of them ; he is himself. 

Pon. Himself ! Alas, poor Troilus ! I would he 

Cres. So he is. [were. 

Pa7i. Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. 

Cres. He is not Hector. 

Pan. Himself! no, he's not himself: would a' 
were himself ! Well, the gods are above ; time must 
friend or end: well, Troilus, well: I would my 
heart were in her body. No, Hector is not a better 
man than Troilus. 

Cres. Excuse me. 

Pa?i. He is elder. 

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 

Pan. Th' other 's not come to 't ; you shall tell 
me another tale, when th' other 's come to't. Hector 
shall not have his wit this year. 

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. 

Pan. Nor his qualities. 

Cres. No matter. 

Pan. Nor his beauty. 

Cres. 'T would not become him ; his own 's better. 

-Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen her- 
self swore th' other day, that Troilus, for a brown 
favour — for so 'tis, I must confess, — not brown 
neither, — 

Cres. No, but brovra. 

Payi. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. 

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 

Pan. She praised his complexion above Paris. 

Cres. Why. Paris hath colour enough. 

Pan. So lieTias. 

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : if she 
praised liim above, his complexion is higher than 
his ; he having colour enough, and the other higher, 
is too Ihuiiiug a praise for a good complexion. I 
had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended 
Troilus for a copper nose. 

Pon. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him 
better than Paris. 

Ores. Tlien she 's a merry Greek indeed. 

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him 
th' other day into the compassed window, — and, 
you know, he has not past three or fom- hairs on 
his chin, — 

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon 
bring his particulars therein to a total. 

Pan. Why, he is very young: and yet will he, 
within three pound, lift as much as his brother 
Hector. 

Cres. Is he so young a man and so old a lifter ? 

Pan. But to prove to you that Helen loves him : 
she came and puts me her white hand to his cloven 
chin — 

Cres. Jmio have mercy I how came it cloven ? 

Pan. Why, you know, 't is dimpled : I think his 
smiling becomes him better than any man in all 

Ores. O, he smiles valiantly. [Phrygia. 

Pan. Does he not ? 

Cres. O yes, and 't were a cloud in autumn. 
512 



Pan. Why, go to, then: but to prove to you that 
Helen loves Troilus, — 

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you '11 
prove it so. 

Pan. Troilus ! why, he esteems her no more tlian 
I esteem an addle egg. 

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love 
an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. 

Pon. I cannot choose but laugli, to think how 
she tickled his chin: indeed, she has a marvellous 
white hand, I must needs confess, — 

Cres. Without the rack. 

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair 
on his chin. 

Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. 

Pan. But there was such laugliing ! Queen Hec- 
uba laughed that lier eyes ran o'er. 

Cres. With mill-stones. 

Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 

Cres. But there was more temperate fire under 
the pot of her e3'es : did her eyes rmi o'er too ? 

Pan. And Hector laughed. 

Cres. At what was alt this laughing? 

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied 
on Troilus' chin. [laughed too. 

Cres. An 't had been a green hair, I should have 

Pa?r. They laughed not so much at the hair as at 
his pretty answer. 

Cres. What was his answer ? 

Pan. Quoth slie, ' Here 's but two and fifty hairs 
on your cliin, and one of them is white.' 

Ores. Tins is her question. 

Pan. That 's true ; make no question of that. 
' Two and fifty hairs,' quoth he, ' and one while : 
that white hair is my father, and all the rest are liis 
sons.' ' Jupiter! ' quoth she, ' which of these hairs 
is Paris my husband ? ' ' Tlie forked one,' quoth 
he, ' pluck 't out, and give it him.' But there was 
such laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so 
chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed. 

Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while 
going by. [think on "t. 

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; 

Cres. So I do. * 

Pan. I '11 be sworn 't is true ; he will weep you, 
an 't were a man born in April. 

Cres. And I '11 spring up in his tears, an 'twere 
a nettle against May. {A retreat sounded. 

Pan. Hark ! they are coming from the field : shall 
wo stand up here, and see them as they pass toward 
Ilium ? good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida. 

Ores. At youi' pleasure. 

Pan. Here, here, here 's an excellent place ; here 
we may see most bravely : I '11 tell you them all by 
their names as they pass by ; but mark Troilus above 

Cres. Speak not so loud. [the rest. 

.ffineas passes. 
Pan. That's ^^^neas: is not that a brave man? 
he 's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you : but 
mark Troilus ; you shall see anon. 

Anterior passes. 

Cres. Who 's that ? 

Pan. That 's Antenor : he has a shrewd wit, I can 
tell you ; and he 's a man good enough : he 's one o*- 
the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and a 
proper man of person. When comes Troilus ? I '11 
show you Troilus anon : if he see me, you shall see 
him nod at me. 

Ores. Will lie give you the nod ? 

Pan. You shall see. 

Ores. If he do, the rich shall have more. 

Hector passes. 

Pan. That 's Hector, that, that, look you, that ; 

there 's a fellow ! Go thy way, Hector! Tliere 's a 



ACT I. 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



SCENE III. 



brave man, niece. O brave Hector ! Look how he 
looks ! there 's a countenance ! is 't not a brave man ? 

Cres. O, a brave man! 

Pan. Is a' not V it does a man's heart good. Look 
you what hacks are on his helmet ! look you yonder, 
do you see ? look you there : there 's no jesting ; 
tliere 's laying on, take 't off who will, as they say : 
there be hacks! 

Crcs. Be tliose with swords ? 

Pan. Swordsl any thing, he cares not; an the devil 
come to him, it 's all one : by God's lid, it does one's 
heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes 
Paris. . • 

Pans passes. 

Look ye yonder, niece ; is 't not a gallant man too, 
is 't not ? Why, this is brave now. Who said he 
came hurt home to-day ? he 's not hurt : why, this 
will do Helen's heart good now, ha ! Would 1 could 
see Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon. i 

Helenus jiasses. 

Cres. Who 's that y | 

Pan. That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus ; 
is. That 's Helenus. I think he went not forth | 
to-day. Tliat 's Helenus. 

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle ? 

Pan. Helenus? no. Yes, he '11 fight indifferent 
well. I marvel where Troilus is. Hark ! do you not 
hear the people cry ' Troilus ' ? Helenus is a priest. 

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder ? 

Troilus passes. 

Pan. Where ? yonder ? that 's Deiphobus. 'T is 
Troilus! there's a man, niece! Hem! Brave 
Troilus ! the prince of chivaU-y ! 

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace! 

Pan. Mark liim ; note him. O brave Troilus! 
Look well upon him, niece : look you how his sword 
is bloodied, and his helm more hacked than Hector's, 
and how he looks, and how he goes ! O admirable 
youth ! he ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way, 
Troilus, go thy way ! Had I a sister were a grace, 
or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. 
O admirable man ! Paris ? Paris is dirt to him ; 
and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye 

Cres. Here come more. [to boot. 

Forces pass. 

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff 
and bran ! porridge after meat ! I could live and 
die i' the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; 
the eagles are gone : crows and daws, crows and 
daws ! I had rat)ier be such a man as Troilus than 
Agamemnon and all Greece. 

Cres. There is among the Greeks Achilles, a bet- 
ter man than Troilus. 

Pan. Achilles ! a drayman, a porter, a very camel. 

Cres. Well, well. 

Pan. ' Well, well! ' Why, have you any discre- 
tion ? have you any eyes ? do you know what a man 
is y Is not birth, beauty, good sliape, discour.se, 
manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, lib- 
erality, and such like, the spice and salt that sea- 
son a man ? 

Cres. Ay, a minced man : and then to be baked 
with no date in the pie, for then the man's date 's out. 

Pan. You are such a woman ! one knows not at 
what ward you lie. 

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly ; upon 
my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my secrecy, to 
defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my 
beauty; ami you, to defend all these: and at all 
these wards I lie, at a thousand watches. 

Pan. Say one fjf your watches. 

Cres. Nay, I '11 watch you for that ; and that 's 
one of the chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward 
wiiat I would not have hit, I can watch you for 
33 



telling how I took the blow ; unless it swell past 
hiding, and then it 's past watching. 
Pan. You are such another ! 

Enter Troilus's Boy. 

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 

Pan. Where? 

Boy. At your own house ; there he unarms him. 

Pan. Good boy, tell him I come. [Exit Boy.] I 
doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece. 

Cres. Adieu, uncle. 

Pan. I '11 be with you, niece, by and by. 

Cres. To bring, uncle ? 

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 

XJres. By the same token, you are a bawd. 

[Exit Panilarits. 
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice. 
He offers in another's enterprise : 
But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see 
Than in the glass of Pandar's prai.se may be; 
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing : 
Things won are done: joy's soul lies in the doing. 
That she beloved knows nouglit that knowsnot this: 
Men prize the thing uugain'd more than it is: 
That she was never yet that ever kninv 
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue. 
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach : 
Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech: 
Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear, 
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— The Grecian camp. Before 
Agamemnon'' s tent. 

Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, 
Menelaus, and others. 

Aya^n. Princes, 
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks V 
The ample proposition that hope makes 
In all designs begun on earth below 
Fails in the i>romised largeness : checks and disasters 
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd, 
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap. 
Infect tlie sound pine and divert his grain 
Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us 
That we come short of our suppose so far 
That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand ; 
Sith every action that hath gone l)ef()re, 
Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, 
And that unbodied figure of the thought 
That gave 't surmised shape. Why then, you princes, 
Do you with cheeks abash 'd behold our works. 
And call them shames '? which are indeed nought else 
But the protractive trials of great Jove 
To find persistive constancy in men: 
The fineness of which metal is not found 
In fortune's love; for then the bold and coward, 
Tlie wise and fool, the artist and unread, 
The hard and soft, seem all aflined and kin: 
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown. 
Distinction, with a broad and jtowerful fan, 
Pufling at all, winnows the liglit away : 
And what hath mass or matter, by itself 
Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. 

Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat, 
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apiily 
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men : the sea being smooth, 
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
Upon her patient breast, making their way 
With those of nobler bulk ! 
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
Tlie gentle Thetis, and anon behoM [cut. 

The stroug-ribb'd bark through Uauid mouutains 
513 



ACT I. 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



SCENE III. 



Bounding between the two moist elements, 
Like Perseus' horse : where 's then tlie saucy boat 
Wliose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
Co-rivall"d greatness ? Either to liarbour tied, 
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide 
In storms of fortune; for in her I'ay and brightness 
The herd liatli more anmiyance by the breeze 
Tliau by the titjer; but when the splitting wind 
Makes llexible tiie knees of knotted oaks, [courage 
And flies fled under shade, why, then the thing of 
As roused with rage with rage doth sympathize. 
And with an accent tuned in selfsame key 
lletorts to chiding fortune. 

JJlyss. Agamemnon, 

Thou great conmiander, nerve and bone of Greece, 
Heart nf our numbers, soul and only spirit. 
In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
Should be shut up, hear wliat Ulysses speaks. 
Besides the applause and approbation 
The which, [^To A(jatiiemnon\ most mighty for thy 
place and sway, [out life 

[ To Nest.] And thou most reverend for thy stretch 'd- 
I give to both your speeches, which were such 
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
Should hold up hii^li in brass, and such again 
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, 
Should witli'a bond of air, strong as the axletree 
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears 
To his experienced tongue, yet let it please both. 
Thou great, niid wise, to hear Ulysses speak. 

Aijiiin. Spiak. Prince of Ithaca; and be 't of less 
That mat tcriH'edless, of importless burden, [expect 
Divide thy li|)s, than we are confident, 
Wlien rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, 
AVe shall hear music, wit and oracle. 

Uh/ss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down. 
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, 
Birt for these instances. 
The specialty of rule hath been neglected : 
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
When that the genernl is not like the hive 
To wlKim tlie t'c]rag<'rs sliall all repiiir. 
What honey is expci-ted ? i )cgrer being vizarded. 
The unwortliiest shows as fairly in the mask. 
The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre 
Observe degree, priority and place, 
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
Office and custom, in all line of order; 
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol 
In noble eminence enthroned and spliered 
Amidst the other; whose mi'dieiualile eye 
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil. 
And posts, like the eonimandment of a kinr. 
Sans check to good and bad : but when the planets 
In evil mixture to disorder wander, 
What plagues and wluit portents! what mutiny! 
What raging of tlie sea ! sliaking of earth ! 
Commotion in the winds I friglits, changes, horrors. 
Divert and crack, rend antl deracinate 
Tlie unity and married calm of states 
(2uite from tlieir fixure ! O, when degree is sliaked, 
AVliich is the ladiler to all liigh designs. 
Then enterprise is sick ! IIow could communities, 
Degrees in scliools and brotlicrhoods in cities. 
Peaceful connneree froui di\ iilable shores. 
The primogenitive and due of liirtli. 
Prerogative of age, crowns, scei>trcs. laurels. 
But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
Take but degree away, untune that string. 
And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets 
In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters 
Should lift their liosonis higher than the shores 
And make a sop of all this solid glolie: 
Strength should be lord of indie<-ili( y. 
And the .rude son, should strike his father dead: 
Mi 



Force should be right ; or rather, right and wrong, 

Between whose endless jar justice resides. 

Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 

Then every thing includes itself in power, 

Power into will, will into appetite; 

And appetite, an universal wolf. 

So doubly seconded with ^^■ill and power. 

Must make perforce an universal prey, 

And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 

This chaos, when degree is suffocate, 

Follows tlie choking. 

And this neglection of degree it is 

That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 

It hath to climb. The general "s disdain'd 

By him one step below, he by the next, 

That next Ijy liini beneath ; so everj^ step, 

Exampled by the first pace that is sick 

Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 

Of pale and bloodless emulation : 

And 't is this fever that keeps Troy on foot. 

Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 

Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 

Nest. Most wisely hatli Ulysses here discover'd 
The fever wliereof all our power is sick. 

Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, 
What is the remedy ? 

Uh/.ss. The great Achilles, wdiom opinion crowns 
The sinew and the forehand of our host. 
Having his ear full of his airy fame. 
Grows dainty of his worth and in his tent 
Lies mocking our designs : with him Patroclus 
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day 
Breaks scurril jests. 

And with ridicidous and awkward action. 
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls. 
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, 
Thy topless deputation lie puts on. 
And, like a strutting player, whose conceit 
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
To liear the wooden dialogue and sound 
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage, — 
Such to-be-pitied and o"er-wrested seeming 
He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 
'T is like a chime a-uieuding ; with terms unsquared. 
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd. 
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff 
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling. 
From Ids deep chest laughs out a loud applause; 
Cries ' Excellent ! 't is Agamemnon just. 
Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard. 
As he being drest to some oration.' 
That 's done, as near as the extremest ends 
Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife : 
Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent! 
'T is Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus, 
Arming to answer in a night alarm.' 
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough and spit, 
And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget. 
Shake in and out the rivet : and at this sport 
Sir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus; 
Or give me ribs of steel ! I sliall split all 
In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion, 
xVll our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
Severals and generals of grace exact. 
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions. 
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, 
Success or loss, what is or is not, serves 
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 

Nest. And in the imitation of these twain — 
Who, as Ulysses says, opmion crowns 
With an imperial voice — many are infect. 
Ajax is grown self-will'd, 'and bears his head 
In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him ; 
flakes factious feasts; rails on our state of war. 
Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites, 



ACT I. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCENE III, 



A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint, 
To matcli us in comparisons with dirt, 
To weaken and discredit our exposure. 
How rank soever rounded in witli danger. 

Uli/ss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice, 
Count wisdom as no member of the war, 
Torestall prescience and esteem no act 
But tliat of hand : the still and mental parts, 
That do contrive how many hands sliall strike. 
When fitness calls them on, and know by measure 
C )f their observant toil tiie enemies' weight, — 
AVhy, this hath not a finger's dignity: 
They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war; 
80 tiiat the ram that batters down the wall. 
For the great swing and rudeness of his poise. 
They place before liis hand that made the engine. 
Or those that with the fineness of their souls 
By reason guide his execution. 

JN'e.sf. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
Makes many Thetis'' sons. [A tucket. 

Aijam. Wliat trumpet ? look, Menelaus. 

21en. From Troy. 

Ejiter .ffineas. 

Arjam. What would you 'fore our tent ? 

^i'/ie. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you '? 

Aiinm. Even this. 

^iie. May one, that is a herald and a prince, 
Do a fair message to his kingly ears? 

Afiam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 
'Fore all the Greekisli lieads, whicli with one voice 
Call Agamennioii head and general. 

^^ne. Fair leave and large security. How may 
A stranger to those most imperial looks 
Know them from eyes of other mortals ? 

Aqam. How! 

^^ne. Ay; 
I ask, that I might waken reverence. 
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes 
The youthful Piioebus : 
Which is that god in ofllee, guiding men ? 
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? 

Ar/nm. Tliis Trojan scorns us ; or the men of Troy 
Are ceremonious courtiers. 

^ne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd. 
As bending angels ; that 's their fame in peace : 
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, 
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's 

accord, 
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, vEneas, 
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips! 
The worthiness of praise distains his worth, 
If that the praised himself bring the praise forth: 
But what the repining enemy commends. 
That breatli fame blows; that praise, sole pure, 
transcends. 

Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself ^Eneas ? 

JiCne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 

^(im. What 's your affair, I pray you? 

^ne. Sir, pardon; 't is for Agamemnon's ears. 

Aijam. He hears nought privately that comes 
from Troy. 

^ne. Xor I from Troy come not to whisper him : 
J bring a trumpet to awake his ear. 
To set his sense on the attentive bent, 
And then to speak. 

A(jam. Speak frankly as the wind ; 

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: 
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, 
He tells thee so himself. 

yEne. Trumpet, blow loud. 

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents ; 
And every Greek of mettle, let him know, 
AVhat Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. 

[jyumpet sounds. 
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 



A prince eall'd Hector, — Priam is his father, — 
Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
Is rusty grown : he bade me take a trumpet, 
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords! 
It there be one among the fair'st of Greece 
Tliat holds his honour higher than his ease. 
That seeks his praise more tlian he fears his peril, 
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear, 
Tliat loves his mistress more than in confession, 
With truant vows to her own lips he loves, 
And dare avow her beauty and her worth 
In other arms than hers,-^to him this challenge. 
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it. 
He Iiath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, 
Tlian ever Greek did compass in his arms. 
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call 
ilidway between your tents and walls of Troy, 
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
If any come. Hector shall honour him; 
If none, he '11 say in Troy when he retires. 
The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth 
The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 

Agam. This shall be told our lovers, Lord .^Eneas ; 
If none of them have soul in such a kind, 
AVe left them all at home: but we are soldiers; 
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove. 
That means not, hath not, or is not in love! 
If then one is. or bath, or means to be. 
That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. 

Xest. Tell him of Xestor, one that was a man 
Yv'hen Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now; 
But if there he not in our Grecian host 
One noble man that hath one spark of fire. 
To answer for his love, tell him from me 
I "II hide my silver beard in a gold beaver 
And in my ^■antbrace put this witlier'd brawn, 
And meeting him will tell him that my lady 
Was fairer than his grandam and as chaste ■ • 
As may be in the world: his youth in flood, 
I '11 prove this truth with my three drops of blood. 

^nc. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth ! 

I'li/ss. Amen. 

Again. Fair Lord .(Eneas, let me touch your hand ; 
To our pavilion shall I lead }'ou, sir. 
Achilles shall have word of this intent ; 
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent : 
Yourself shall feast with us before you go 
And find the welcome of a noble foe. 

[Exeunt all but Ulysses and Kestor. 

Ulijss. Nestor! 

Nest. AVhat says Ulysses ? 

Uh/ss. I have a young conception in my brain ; 
Be you my time to bring it to some shape. 

Kest. AVhat is 't ? 

r/;/.^.s. This 'tis: 
Blunt wedges rive hard knots : the seeded pride 
That hath to this maturity blown up 
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd, 
Or, sliedding, l>reed a nursery of like evil. 
To oN'erbulk us all. 

A'c.sf. Well, and how? 

Uh/ss. This challenge that the gallant Hector 
However it is spread in general name, [sends, 

Relates in purpose only to Achilles. [stance, 

Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub- 
Whose grossness little characters sum up : 
And, in'the publication, make no strain. 
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
As banks of Libya,— though, Apollo knows, 
'T is dry enough, — will, with great speed of judg- 
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose [ment. 
Pointing on him. 

Ulgss. And wake him to the answer, think you ? 

Xest. Yes, 't is most meet : whom may you else op- 
That can from Hector bring his honour off, [pose, 
If not Achilles ? Though "t be a sportful combat, 
515 



ACT IT, 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



SCENE I. 



Yet iu the triiil much opinion dwells; 

For here the Trojans taste (uir dear'st repute 

With their hncst palate: and trust to me, Ulysses, 

(^ur imimtation shall be oddly poised 

In tills wild artion; for the success, 

Although ))arlicular, shall give a scantling 

Ot good or had unto the general; 

And in such indexes, although small pricks 

To their sulis('(iuent volumes, there is seen 

The baby hgure of the giant mass 

Of things to come at large. It is sujiposed 

He that meets Hector issues from our choice; 

And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 

Makes merit her election, and doth boil. 

As 'twere from forth us all, a man distilFd 

Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, [part, 

What heart receives from hence the conquering 

To steel a strong opinion to themselves ? 

Which entertaiu'd, limbs are his instruments. 

In no less working than are swords and bows 

Directive by the limbs. 

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech : 
Therefore 't is meet Achilles meet not Hector. 
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, 
And think, jierphance, they '11 sell; if not, 
The bistre of the better yet to show. 
Shall show till' Ijetter. Do not consent 
That ever Ilevtor and Achilles meet ; 
For both our honour and our shame in this 
Are dogg'd with two strange followers. 



Kest. I see them not with my old eyes : what are 
they y 

Uli/ss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hec- 
tor, 
Were he not proud, we all should share with him : 
But he already is too insolent : 
And we were better parch in Afric sun 
Tlian in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, 
Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd, 
AV'liy then, we did our main opinion crush 
In taint of our best man. Ko, make a lottery; 
And, by device, let blockish jVjax draw 
The sort to fight with Ileclor: among ourselves 
Give him allowance for the better man: 
For that will physic the great Myrmidon 
Who broils in loud ap|ilause, and make him fall 
His crest that jirnuder than blue Iris bends. 
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 
We '11 dress him up in voices: if he fail, 
Yet go we under our opinion still 
That we have better men. But. liit or miss, 
Our project's life this sliape of sense assumes: 
Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. 

JVest. Ulysses, 
Kow I begin to relish thy advice; 
And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone 
jMust tavre the mastiffs on, as 't were their bone. 

[Exeunt. 



J^CT II. 



SCENE I. — A x>art of the Grecian camp. 

Enter Ajax and Thersltes. 

Ajax. Thersites! 

Ther. Agamemnon, how if he had boils V full, 
all over, generally '? 

Ajax. Thersites! 

Tlier. And those boils did run? say so: did not 
the general run then Y were not that a botchy core ? 

Ajax. Dog! 

Ther. Tlien would come some matter from him; 
I see none now. 

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear ? 
[Beatint/ him] Feel, then. 

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mon- 
grel beel'-witteil lord! 

Ajax. Speak tlien, thou vinewedst leaven, speak : 
I will beat tliee into handsoineness. 

Ther. I shall snoner rail thee into wit and holi- 
ness : but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an ora- 
tion than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou 
canst strike, canst thou ? a red miu'rain o' thy jade's 
tricks ! 

Ajax. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. 

7hcr. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou 
strikest me thus ? 

Ajax. The proclamation! 

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 

Ajax. Do not, porpentine, do not : my fingers itch. 

Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot 
and I had the scratching of thee ; I would make 
thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou 
art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as 
another. 

A-jax. I say, the proclamation! 

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on 
Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at Ids great- 
ness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that 
thou barkest at him. 

Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! 

Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. 

Ajax. Cobloaf! 

516 



TIlcv. He would pun thee into shivers with his 
fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 

Ajax. [JJeatiny hint] You whoreson cur ! 

Ther. Do, do. 

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! 

Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thon 
hast no more brain than I have in mine elbow s ; 
an assinego may tutor thee; thou scurvyvaliant 
ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans; and thou 
art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a 
barbarian slave. If thou use to beat" me, I will 
begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, 
thou thing of no bowels, thou! 

^ijax. You dog ! 

Ther. You scurvy lord ! 

Ajax. [Beating him] You cur! [do, ilo. 

Tlier. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ! wherefore do you 
thus y How now, Thersites ! what 's the matter, 

Ther. You see him there., do you V [man ': 

Achil. Ay ; what 's the matter V 

Ther. Nay, look upon him. 

Achil. So I do: what 's the matter? 

Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 

Achil. ' Well ! ' why, I do so. 

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him ; for, 
whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 

Achil. I know that, fool. 

Tlier. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he ut- 
ters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have 
bobbed his brain more than he has beat my bones : 
I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia 
mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. 
This lord, Achilles, Ajax, who wears his wit in 
his belly and his guts in his head, I '11 tell you what 
I say of him. 

Achil. What ? 

Ther. I say, this Ajax — [Ajax offers to heat him. 



ACT IT. 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



SCENE II. 



Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 

Tlwr. lias not so uiueh wit — 

Ai-kil. Nay, I must hold you. 

Titer. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for 
whom he comes to tiL'ht. 

Achil. Peace, fool! 

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the 
fool will not : he there : that he : look you there. 

Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall — 

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's? [it. 

2' her. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame 

Patr. Good words, Thersites. 

Achil. What 's the quarrel ? 

Ajax. I bade tlie vile owl go learn me the tenour 
of tlie proclamation, and he rails upon me. 

Ther. I serve thee not. 

Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 

Ther. I serve here voluntary. 

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 't was not 
voluntary: no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was 
here the voluntary, and you as under an iuqiress. 

Ther. E'en so; a great deal of your wit, too, lies 
in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall 
have a great catch, if he knock out either of your 
brains : a' were as good crack a fusty nut with no 

Achil. What, witli me too, Thersites ? [kernel. 

Ther. There 's Ulysses and old Nestor, whose 
wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on 
their toes, yoke you "like draught-oxen and make 
you plough up the wars. 

Achil. What, what? 

Ther. Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! 

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 

Ther. "Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as 
thou afterwards. 

Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace ! 

T/icr. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach 
bids me, shall I ? 

Achil. There 's for you, Patroclus. 

Tker. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I 
come any more to your tents : I will keep where there 
is wit stirring and leave the faction of fools. [Exit. 

Patr. A good riddance. [our host : 

Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all 
That Hector, tiy the tifth hour of the sun. 
Will with a trumpet 'twixt oui' tents and Troy 
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms 
Tliat hath a stomach; and such a nne that dare 
Maintain — I know not what : 't is trash. Farewell. 

Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him y 

Achil. I know not : 't is put to lottery ; otherwise 
He knew his man. 

Ajax. O, meaning you. I will go learn more of 
it. [Kvcunt. 

SCENE II. — Troy. A room in Priam'' s palace. 

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and 
Helenus. 

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, 
Thus once again says Nestor from tlie Greeks: 
' Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, [snmed 
AVounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- 
In liot digestion of this (•(uniorant war — 
Shall be strui-k oft.' Hector, what say you to 't ? 

Hect. Thougli no man lesser fears the Greeks than 
As far as toucheth my particular, [I 

Yet, dread Priam, 

There is no lady of more softer bowels. 
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear. 
More ready to cry out ' Who knows wliat follows ?' 
Tlian Hector is : the wound of peace is surety, 
Surety secure; but modest doulit is caird 
The beacon of the wise, tlie tent that searches 
To the bottom of the worst. I^et Helen go : 
Since the first sword was drawn about this question. 



Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes. 
Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean, of ours : 
If we have lost so many tenths of ours. 
To guard a thing not ours nor wortli to us, 
Had it our name, the value of one ten, 
AV'hat merit 's in that reason which denies 
The yielding of her up ? 

Tw. Fie, fie, my brother ! 

Weigh yon the worth and honour of a king 
So great as our dread father in a scale 
Of conmion ounces ? will you with counters sum 
The past proportion of his infinite ? 
And buckle in a waist most fathomless 
With spans and inches so diminutive 
As fears and reasons? lie, fur godly shame! [sons, 

Hcl. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at rea- 
You are so empty of them. Shoidd not our fatlier 
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, 
Because your speech hath none that tells him so? 

Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother 
priest ; [reasons : 

You fur j'our gloves with reason. Here are your 
You know an enemy intends you harm; 
You know a sword enjploy'd is perilous, 
And reason flies the oliject of all harm: 
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
Tlie very wings of reason to his heels 
And tly like cliiddcn Mercury from Jove, 
Or like a star disorlTd ? Nay, if we talk of reason. 
Let 's shut our gates and sleep : manhood and honour 
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their 

tlioughts 
With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect 
Make livers pale and lustihood deject. 

Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost 
The holding. 

Tro. What is aught, but as 't is valued ? 

Hect. But value dwells not in particular will ; 
It holds his estimate and dignity 
As well wherein 't is precious of itself 
As in tlie p/izer : 't is mad idolatry 
To make the service greater than the god; 
And the will dotes that is attriljutive 
To what infectiously itself alfeets, 
Without some image of the affected merit. 

2'ro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
Is led on in the conduct of my will ; 
My will enkindled liy nune eyes and ears. 
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
Of will and judgment : liow may I avoid, 
Although my will distaste wliat it elected, 
The wife I eliosev there can tie no evasion 
To blench from tliis and to stand lirm by honour: 
We turn not back the silks uiion tlie meri'hant. 
When we bine soil'd them, nor the remainder viands 
We do not throw in unrespective sieve, 
BeeTTuse we now are full. It was llunight meet 
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks: 
Your lireath of full consent bellied his sails; 
The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce 
And did him service: he touch'd tlie ports desired. 
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive. 
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and 

freshness 
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning. 
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt : 
Is she worth keeping ? why, she is a pearl. 
Whose price hath launehM' aliove a thousand ships. 
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
If you '11 avouch 't was wdsdom Paris went — 
As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go,' — 
If you '11 confess he brought home noble prize — 
As you must needs, for you all clapii'd your hands. 
And cried ' Inestimable ! ' — why do you now 
Tlie issue of your proper wisdoms rate, _^ 
And do a deed that fortune never did, 
517 



act; II. 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



SCENE ITT. 



Beggar tlie estimation whicli you prized 
Richer than sea and land ? 0, theft most base, 
That we have stol'n what we do tear to keep! 
But, tliieves, iniwurthy of a thing so stol'n, 
Tliat in their coinitry did them that disgrace, 
We fear to warrant in onr native place! 

'-V(s. [Withla] Cry, Trojans, cry ! 

PH. Wliat noise r* wliat shriek is this ? 

Tvo. 'T is our mad sister, I do know her voice. 

Cus. [Willdir\ Cry, Trojans! 

Hect. It is Cassandra. 

Enter Cassandra, raving. 

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand eyes. 
And I will till them with prophetic tears. 

Hect. Peace, sister, peace ! 

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld, 
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
Add to my clamours ! let us pay betimes 
A moiety of tliat mass of moan to come. 
Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears! 
Troy rnnst not l)e, nor goodly Ilion stand; 
Our tirfbraiid brother, Paris. Imrus us all. 
Cry, Triijans, cry ! a Helen and a woe: 
Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit. 

Hect. Now, youtliful Troilus, do not these high 
Of divination in our sister work [strains 

Some touches of remorse V or is your blood 
So madly liot tliat no discourse of reason, 
Nor fear nf bad success in a bad cause, 
Can qualify the sameV 

Tro. Why, brother Hector, 

We may not think the justness of each act 
Such and no other than event doth form it, 
Nor unci' deject the courage of our minds. 
Because ('ussanilra's mad: her brain-sick raptures 
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel 
Wliicli hath our several liouours all engaged 
To make it gracious. Por my private liart, 
I am no more tonch'd tlian all Priam's sons: 
And Jove fciiail I here sliould be done amongst us 
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
To fight for and maintain! 

Pur. Else might the world convince of levity 
As well my undertakings as yoiu- counsels : 
But I attest the gods, your full consent 
Gave wings to my propension and cut off 
All fears attending on so dire a project. 
For wliat, alas, can these my single arms ? 
AVhat proiuignation is in one man's valour, 
To stanil tlie i)usli and enmity of those 
This (piarrel would excite y Yet, I protest, 
Were 1 alone to jmss tlie difficulties 
And had as ample power as I have will, 
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath doue, 
Nor faint in the pmsuit. 

Pri. Paris, you speak 

Like one besotted on your sweet delights : " 
You have the honey still, but these the gall ; 
So to be valiant is no praise at all. 

Pur. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 
The iilcasures sm-li a beauty brings with it; 
But I would have th(^ soil of her iair rape 
Wiped off, in honourable keeiang her. 
What treason were it to the ransack 'd queen. 
Disgrace to your great worths and shame to me, 
Now to deliver her possession up 
On terms of base compulsion ! Can it be 
That so degenerate a strain as this 
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? 
Tliere 's not the meanj.'st spirit on our party 
Without a heart to dare or sword to dra\v 
AVhen Helen is defemled, nor none so noble 
Whose life were ill bestow'd or death imfamed 
Where Helen is the subject ; then, I say, 
Well may we fight for lier whom, we know well. 
The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 
518 



Hect. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well, 
And ou the cause and ciuestion now iu hand 
Have glozed, but superlieially : not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy : 
The reations y(ui allege do more conduce 
To the hot i>assion of distemper'tl blood 
Than to make up a free determination 
'Twixt right and wrong, lor jjleasure and revenge j 
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice | 

Of any true decision. Nature craves ' 

All dues be render 'd to their owners: now, 
What nearer debt in all humanity ; 

Than wife is to the husband y If this law j 

Of nature be corrui)ted through affection, \ 

And that great niiuds, of jiartial indulgence 
To their l)eu\nulieil wills, resist the same, 1 

There is a law iu each well-order'tl nation '• 

To curb those raging appetites that are -i 

Most disoliedieut and refractory. ^ 

If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king. 
As it is known she is, these moral laws | 

Of nature and of nations speak ahuid 
To have her back return 'd : thus to persist 
In doing wrong extenuates not wnuig, ; 

But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion i 
Is this in way of truth; yet ne'ertheless, j 

My spritely brethren, T jiropend to you 
In resolution to keep Helen still, J 

For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence 
Upon our joint and several iliguities. [sign: i 

Tro. Wlo'i there you touch'd the life of our de- i 
Were it not glory that we more affected j 

Than the perfcu'mance of oiir heaving spleens, i 

I would not wish a drop of Trojan biood | 

Spent more in her defence. But, wcu'thy Hector, \ 
She is a theme of honour and renown, ' , 

A spur to valiaut and niagnauimous deeds, ' 

Whose present courage m;i> beat down our foes, 
And fame in time to C(uiie canoui/,e us; • 

For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose i 

So rich advantage of a promised ghu-y 
As smiles upon the forehead of this action : 

For the wide world's revenue. 

Meet. ■ I am yours, i 

Y"ou valiant offspring of great Priamus. , 

I have a roistiug cliallenye sent amougst ; 

The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks , 

Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits: 
I was a<lvertised their great general slept. 
Whilst emulation in the army crept: 
This, I presume, will wake him. [EMimt. 

SCENE III. — The Grecian ramp. Before Achilles'' 
tent. 

Enter Thersites, solus. 
Ther. How now, Thersites! what, lost in the i 
labyrinth of thy fury! Shall the elei)hant Ajax 
carry it thus'? he beats me, and I rail at him: O, 
worthy satisfaction ! would it were otherwise; that | 
I eoulil beat him, whilst he railed at me. 'Sfoot, 
I '11 learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see 
someissueof my spiteful execrations. Then there's 
Achilles, a rare enginer ! It Troy be not taken till | 
tliese two undermine it, the walls will stand till ! 
they fall of tliemselves. O thou great thunder- | 
darter of Olympus, forget that thou art .Jove, the i 
king of gods, and. Mercury, lose all the serpentine ; 
craft of Uiy eaduceus, if ye take not that little little ] 
less than little wit from them that they have ! which 
short-armed igutirauce itself knows is so abundant , 
scarce, it will not in circumvent ion deliver a tiyfronv ■ 
a spider, without <lrawing their miissy irons and cut- 
ting the wel I. After tliis, the vengeance on the whole ■ 
canqi! or rather, the bone-ache! forthat, methinks, 
is the curse dependent ou those that war for a ; 



ACT II. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCENE III. 



placket. I have said my prayers and devil Envy 
say Ameu. What ho ! my Lord Aciiilles! 

Enter Patroclus. 

Pair. Who 's there ? Thersites ! Good Thersites, 
come in and rail. 

Ther. If I coidd have remembered a gilt counter- 
feit, tliou wouldst iiot have slipped out of my con- 
templation: but it is uo matter; thyself upon thy- 
self! The common curse of mankind, folly and igno- 
rance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee 
from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! 
Let thy blood be thy direction till tliy death ! then 
if she that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, 
I "11 be sworn and sworn upon 't she never shrouded 
any but lazars. Amen. Where 's Achilles V 

Pair. What, art thou devoutV wast thou iu prayer? 

Tker. Ay : the heavens hear me ! 

Enter Achilles. 
Achil. AVho 's there ? 
Patr. Thersites, my lord. 

Achil. Wliere, where 'f Art thou come ? why, my 
cheese, ray digestion, why hast thou not served 
thyself in to my table so many meals? Come, 
what 's Agamemnon ? 

Ther. Thy conunander, Achilles. Then tell me, 
Patroclus, what 's Achilles? 

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites: then tell me, I pray 
thee, what 's thyself ? 

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me, 
Patroclus, what art thou ? 

Patr. Thou mayst tell that knowest. 

Achil. O, tell, tell. 

Ther. I '11 decline the whole question. Agamem- 
non commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am 
Patroclus' knower, and Patroclus is a fool. 

Patr. You rascal! 

Ther. Peace, fool ! I have not done. [sites. 

Achil. He is a privileged man. Proceed, Ther- 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ; 
Thersites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a 

Achil. Derive this; come. [fool. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command 
Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of 
Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a 
fool, and Patroclus is a fool positive. 

Pair. Why am I a fool? 

Ther. Make that demand of the prover. It suf- 
fices me thou art. Look you, who comes here ? 

Achil. Patroclus, I '11 speak with nobody. Come 
in with me, Tliersites. ' [Exit. 

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling and 
such knavery! all the argument is a (.'uckoM and a 
whore; a good quarrel to di-aw enudons factions 
and bleed to death upon. Now, the tlry serpigo on 
the subject ! and war and lechery confound all ! 

[Exit. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Dio- 
medes, and Ajax. 

Again. Where is Achilles ? 

Pair. Within his tent; but ill disposed, my lord. 

Ayam. Let it be known to him that w^e are here. 
He shent our messengers; and we lay by ■ 
"Our appertainments, visiting of him : 
I>et him be told so; lest perchance he think 
AVe dare not move the question of our place, 
Or know not what we are. 

Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 

Ulyss. AYe saw him at the opening of his tent : 
He is not sick. 

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you 
may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man ; 
but, by my head, 't is pride : but why, why ? let him 
show us the cause. A word, my lord. 

[Takes Agamemnon aside. 



Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? 

Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from 1dm. 

Nest. Who, Thersites ? 

Ulyss. He. 

Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
his argument. 

Ulyss. No, you see, he is his argument that has 
his argument, Achilles. 

Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our 
wisli than their faction : but it was a strong com- 
posure a fool could disunite. 

Uh/ss. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly 
may easily imtie. Here comes Patroclus. 

Re-enter Patroclus. 
Nest. No Achilles with him. 

Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for cour- 
tesy :' his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. 

Patr. Achilles bids me say, lie is much sorry, 
If anything more than your sport and pleasure 
Did move your greatness and this noble state 
To call upon him ; he hopes it is no other 
But for your health and your digestion sake. 
An after-dinner's breath. 

A(jum. Hear j'ou, Patroclus: 

AVe are too well acquainted with these answers : 
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, 
Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
JIuch attribute he hath, and much the reason 
AVhy we ascribe it to him ; yet all his virtues, 
Not virtuously on his own part beheld. 
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss. 
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, 
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him, 
AVe come to speak willi him ; and you shall not sin. 
If you do say we thiidv litm over-iinuid 
And under-honest, in silf-assuniption greater 
Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier than 

himself 
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, 
Disguise tlie holy strength of their command, 
And uudfrwriti- ill an dliserving kind 
His humorous predominance; yea, watch 
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if 
The passage and whole carriage of this action 
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add. 
That if he overbold bis price so much, 
AVe '11 none of him: but let him, like an engine 
Not portable, lie under this report : 
' ]5ring action hither, this cannot go to Vi'xr : 
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
Before a sleeping giant.' Tell him so. 

Patr. I shall;' and bring his answer presently. 

[Exit. 

Agam. In second voice we '11 not be satisfied ; 
We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you. 

[Exit Ulysses. 

Ajax. AA^hat is he more than another ? 

Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. 

Ajax. Is he so much ? Do you not think he thinks 
himself a better man than I am ? 

Agam. No question. [is ? 

Ajax. AVill you subscribe his thought, and say he 

Agam. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as 
valiant, as wi-se, no less noble, much more gentle, 
and altogether more tractable. 

Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How doth 
pride grow ? I know not what i)ride is. 

Agam. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your 
virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats up him- 
self: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his 
own chronicle ; and whatever praises itself but iu 
the deed, devours the deed in the praise. 

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the en- 
gendering of toads. 

Nest. Yet he loves himself : is 't not strange ? 

[Aside. 
519 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



SCENE I. 



Be-enter Ulysses. 

Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 

Ajj'am. AVhat 's his excuse ? 

ifli/ss. He doth rely on none, 

But carries on the stream of his dispose 
Without observance or respect of any, 
In will pei-iiliar and in self-admission. 

Aijiiiu. Wliy will he not upon our fair request 
Unt'ent his person and share the air with us? 

Ulijss. Things small as nothing, for request's 
sake only, 
He makes important : possess'd he is with greatness. 
And sp(jaks not to liiuiself but with a pride 
That quarrels at sclf-breatli : imagined worth 
Holds in his blood snch swoln and hot discourse 
That 'twixt his mental and his active parts 
.Kiiigdom'd Achilles in commotion rages 
And batters down himself : what should I say ? 
He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens of it 
Cry 'No recovery.' 

Agani. Let Ajax go to him. 

Dear lord, go you and greet liim in his tent: 
'Tis said he holds you well, and will be led 
At your request a little from himself. 

JJlijss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
We 'il consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
When the^ go from Achilles : shall the proud lord 
That bastes his arrogance witli his own seam 
And never suffers matter of the world 
Enter his thoughts, save such as do revolve 
And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp'd 
Of that we hold an idol more than he V 
No, this thrice worthy and riglit valiant lord 
Must not so stale Ills palm, nobly acquired; 
Nor, by my will, assubjngate his merit. 
As amply titled as Achilles is, 
By going to Ai.'hilles: 
That were to enlard his fat already pride 
And add more coals to Cancer when he burns 
With entertaining great Hyperion. 
This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid. 
And say in thunder ' Acliilles go to him.' 

Nest. [Aside to Bio.] O, this is well; he rubs the 
vein of him. 

Dio. [Aside to Nest.] And how his silence drinks 
up this applause ! 

Ajctx. If I go to him, with my armed fist 
I 'll'pash him o'er the face. 

Again. O, no, you shall not go. 

Ajax. An a' be proud with me, I'll pheeze his 
Let' me go to him. [pride : 

Ulyss. Not for the woi-th that hangs upon our 

Ajax,. A paltry, insolent fellow! [quarrel. 

Ifest. How he deserilies hiiuself ! 

Ajax. Can lie not lie sociable? 

Ulyss. The raven chiiles blackness. 

Ajax. I '11 let his humoiu's blood. 



Afjam. He will be the physician that should be 
the patient. 

Ajax. An all men were o' my mind, — 

Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. 

Ajax. A' should not bear it so, a' should eat 
swords first : shall pride carry it ? 

Nest. An 'twould, you 'Id carry half. 

Ulyss. A' would have ten sliares. 

Ajax. I will knead him ; I '11 make him supple. 

Nest. He 's not yet through warm : force him with 
praises: pour in, pour in ; liis ambition is dry. 

Ulyss. [To Aijam.] My lord, you feed too much 
on tliis dislike. 

Nest. Our noble general, do not do so. 

Bio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 

Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him 
Here is a man — but 't is before his face ; [harm. 
I will be silent. 

Nest. Wherefore should you so ? 

He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 

Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. 

Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus 
Would he were a Trojan ! [with us ! 

Nest. What a vice were it in Ajax now, — 

Ulyss. If he were proud, — 

Bio. Or covetous of praise,— 

Ulyss. Ay, or siu'ly borne, — 

Bio. Or strange, or self-affected ! [composure; 

Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet 
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck: 
Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
Thrice famed, beyond all erudition: 
But he that disciplined thy arms to fight, 
Let Mars divide eternity in twain. 
And give him half: and, for tliy vigour. 
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield 
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, 
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
Thy spacious and dilated parts : here 's Nestor ; 
Instructed by the antiquary times, 
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise: 
But pardon, fatlier Nestor, were your days 
As green as Ajax' and your brain so teuqier'd, 
You should not have the eminence of him, 
But be as Ajax. 

Ajax. Shall I call you father ? 

Nest. Ay, my good son. 

Bio. Be rided by him. Lord Ajax. 

Ulyss. There is no tarrying here ; the hart Achilles 
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
To call together all his state of war ; 
Fresh kings are come to Troy : to-morrow 
We must with all our main of jiower stand fast: 
And here 'sa lord, — come kniglils from east to west, 
And cull their fiower, Ajax sliall cope the best. 

Aqam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep : 
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 
deep. [Bxeant. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I. — Troy. Priam''s palace. 

Enter a Servant and Pandarus. 

Fan. Friend, you ! pray you, a word : do not you 
follow the young Lord Paris ? 

Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 

Pan. You depend upon him, I mean? 

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 

Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman; I 
must needs praise him. 

Serv. The lord be praised ! 

Pan. You know me, do you not ? 

Serv. Faith, sir, superficially. 
520 



Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the Lord 
Pandarus. 

Serv. I hope I shall know your honour better. 

Pan. I do desire it. 

Serv. You are in the state of grace. 

Pan. Grace! not so, friend; honour and lordship 
are my titles. [Mu^ir irithin.] What music is this? 

Scry. I do lint partly know, sir: it is music in parts. 

Pan. Know you the musicians ? 

Serv. Wholly, sir. 

Pan. Who play they to ? 

Serv. To the hearers, sir. 

Pun. At whose pleasure, friend ? 



ACT III. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCEXE IT. 



Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 

Pan. Command. I mean, friend. 

Scrv. "Wlio shall I command, sir ? 

Pii.a. Friend, we understand not one another: I 
am ton courtly and thou art too cumiing. At whose 
request do these uien play V 

Scrv. That's to 't indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the 
request of Paris njy lord, who 's there in pereon : 
with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of ! 
beauty, love's invisible soul, — 

Pan. Who, my cousin CressidaV 

Serf. Xo. sir, Helen: could you not find out that 
by lier attributes ? 

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not 
seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak with 
Paris from the Prince Troilus : I will make a com- 
plimental assault upon him, for my business seethes. 

Sen-. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase 
indeed. -„ „ . , „ 

Enter Pans and Helen, attended. 

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair 
company I fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly j 
guide them I especially to you, fair queen! fair 
thoughts be your fair pillow !" | 

Hiden. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. 
Fair prince, here is good broken music. 

Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by my life, i 
you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it 
out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is 
full of harmony. 

Pan. Truly, lady, no. 

Helen. O, sir. — 

Part. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, very rude. 

Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in tits. 

Pail. I have business to my lord, dear queen. 
My lord, will you vouclisafe me a word V 

Helen. Nay," this shall not hedge us out: we'll 
hear you sing, certainly. 

Paa. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with 
me. But, marry, thus, my lord : my dear lord and 
most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus, — 

Helen. My Lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord, — 

Pail. Go to, sweet queen, go to: — commends 
himself most affectionately to you,^ 

Helen. You sliall not bob us out of our melody: 
if you do, our melancholy upon your head ! 

Pan. Sweet queeu, sweet queen ! that 's a sweet 
queen, i' faith. [offence. 

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour 

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that 
shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such 
words; no, no. And, my lord, he desires you, that 
if the king call for him at supper, you will make 
his excuse. 

Helen. My Lord Pandarus, — 

Paii. What says my sweet queen, my very very 
sweet queen ? ' [liight V 

Pur. What exploit 's in hand ? where sups he to- 

Helen. Nay, but, my lord, — 

Pan. Wliat says my sweet queen? My cousin will 
fall out with you. You must not know where he sujis. 

Par. I "11 lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. 

Pan. No, no, no such matter; you are wide: 
come, your disposer is sick. 

Par. Well, I '11 make excuse. 

Pait. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say 
Cressida V no, yoiu* poor disposer 's sick. 

Par. I spy. 

Pan. You spy! what do you spy? Come, give 
me an instruuicut. Now, sweet queen. 

Hilcn. Why. this is kindly done. 

Pun. ^ly niece is horribly in love with a thing 
you have, sweet queen. [lord Paris. 

Helen. She sliall have it, my lord, if it be not my 

Pan. He I no, she'U none of him; they two are 
twain. 



Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make 
them three. 

Pail. Come, come, I 'U hear no more of this ; I '11 
sing you a song now. 

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet 
lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 
Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 
Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo 
us all. O Cuijid, Cupid, Cupid ! 
Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith. 
Pltr. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. 
Pan. In good troth, it begins so. [Sings. 

Love, love, nothing but love, still more ! 
For, O, love's bow 
Slioots buck and doe : 
The shaft confounds. 
Not tliat it woun<ls, 
But tickk-s still the sore. 
These lovers cry Oh ! oh ! they die ! 

Yet that which seems the wound to kill, 
Doth turn oh ! oh ! to haSha ! he I 

So dying love lives still: 
Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Heigh-ho ! 
Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. 
Par. He eats nothing but doves, love, and that 
breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, 
and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is 
love. 

Pan. Is this the generation of love ? hot blood, 
hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers: 
is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who 's 
a-lield to-day? 

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and 
all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed 
to-day, but my Nell v.'ould not have it so. How 
chance my brother Troilus went not ? 

Helen. He hangs the lip at something : you know 
all. Lord Pandarus. 

Pan. Not I. honey-sweat queen. I long to hear 
how thev sped to-day. You "U remember your broth- 
Par. "To a hair. [er's excuse ? 

Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 
Helen. Commend me to your niece. 
Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. 

[A retreat sounded. 
Par. They 're come from field : let us to Priam's 
hall, [you 

To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo 
To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles. 
With these y(uu' white enchanting fingers touch'd, 
Sliall more obey than to the edge of steel 
Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more 
Tlian all the island kings,— disarm great Hector. 

Helen. 'T will make us proud to be his servant, 
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty [Paris; 
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have. 
Yea, overshines ourself. 
Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n. — The same. Pandarus'' orchard. 
Enter Pandarus and Troilus' Boy, meeting. 
Pan. How now ! where 's thy master ? at my 
cousin Cressida 's? [thither. 

Bni/. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him 
Pon. O, here he comes. 

Enter Troilus. 
How now, how now I 

Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Boy. 

Pan. Have vou seen mv cousin ? 
D-o. No, Pa"ndarus; I stalk about her door, 
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian hanks 
Staying for waftage. O, be tho'u my Charon, 
And give me swift transportance to those fields 
521 



ACT III. 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



SCENE II. 



Where I may wallow in the lily-beils 
Proposed for the deserver! (J .ueutle Pandarus, 
From C'upid"s shoulder pluck his painted wings, 
And tly with me to (Jressid ! 

Pun. Walk here i' the orchard, I "11 brin^ her 
straight. lExU. 

Tro. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. 
The imaginary relish is so sweet 
That it enchants my sense: what will it be, 
AVhen that the watery palate tastes indeed 
Love's thrice rei)ured nectar? death, I fear me, 
Hwooning destruction, or some joy too tine, 
Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp iir sweetness, 
For the cajiacity of my ruder powers : 
I tear it nmi'h ; and I do tear besides. 
That I shall lose distinction in my joys; 
As doth a'liattle, when they charge on heaps 
The euemy Hying. 

Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. She 's making her ready, she '11 come straight: 
you must be witty now. She does so blush, and 
fetches her wind so short, as if she were irayiMl with 
a sprite: I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain: 
she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en spar- 
row. [Exit. 

Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom : 
My heart l)eats thicker than a feverous pulse; 
And all my iiowers do tlirir bestowing lose, 
lake vassalage at unawares encountering 
The eye of majesty. 

Be-enter Pandarus luith Cressida. 

Pan. Come, come, what need you blush ? shame 's 
a baby. Here she is now : swear tlie oaths now to 
her that you liave sworn to me. What, are you 
gone again ? you must be watched ere you be made 
tame, must you ? Come your ways, come your 
ways; an you draw backward, we '11 put you i' the 
fills. Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw 
this curtain, and let 's see your picture. Alas the 
day, liow loath you are to offend daylight I an 't were 
dark, you 'Id close sooner. So, so ; rub on, and kiss 
tlie mistress. How now ! a kiss in fee-farm ! build 
there, -carpenter; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall 
fight your liearts out ere I part you. The falcon 
as the tercel, for all the ducks i' the river: go to, 
goto. 

Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 

Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but 
she '11 bereave you o' the deeds too, if she call your 
activity in(iui-stion. AVhat. billing again ? Here 's 
' In wiuicss whereof the parties interchangeably ' — 
Come in, cduie in : I "11 go get a lire. [Exit. 

Ores. Will you walk in, my lord? [thus! 

Tro. O Cressida, how ofteu have I wished me 

Cres. Wished, my lord I The gods grant, — O my 
lord ! 

Tro. What should they grant? wliat makes this 
pretty abruption ? What too curious dreg espies 
my sweet lady in the fountain of our love ? 

Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears liave 
eyes. 

Tro. Fears make devils of cherubius; they never 
see truly. 

Ores. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds 
safer footing than blind reason stumbling without 
fear : to fear the worst oft cures the worse. 

Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear: in all 
Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. 

Ores. Nor nothing monstrous neither? 

2Vo. Nothing, but our umlertakings; when we 
vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat meks, tame tigers; 
thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imjio- 
sition enough than for us to undergo any dillicidty 
imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, 
that the will is infinite and the execution confined, 
522 



that the desire is boundless and the act a slave to 
limit. 

Cres. They say all lovers swear more performance 
than they are alile and yet reserve an ability tliat 
they never perform, vowing more than the perfection 
of ten and discharging less than the tenth part of 
one. They that have the voice of lions and the act 
of hares, are they not monsters ?, 

Tro. Are there such ? such are not we : praise us 
as we are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head 
shall go bare till merit crown it: no perfection in 
reversion shall have a praise in present : we will not 
name desert before liis birth, and, being born, his 
addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: 
Troilus shall be sucli to Cressid as what envy can 
say worst shall be a mock for his truth, and what 
truth can sjieak truest not truer than Troilus. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 

Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. What, blushmg still ? have you not done 
talking yet ? 

Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedi- 
cate to you. 

Pan. I thank you for that : if my lord get a boy 
of you, you '11 give him me. Be true to my lord : if 
he flinch, chide me for it. 

Tro. You know now your hostages ; your uncle's 
word and my firm faitli. 

Pan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too : oiur kin- 
dred, tlidugli they be long ere they are wooed, they 
are const ant being won: they are burs, I can tell 
you; they 11 stick where they are thrown. Pieart. 

Ores. Boldness comes to me now, and briiigs me 
Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day 
For many weary months. 

Tro. Why was my Cressid tlien so hard to win ? 

Cres. Hard to seem won : buti waswon, my lord, 
With the first glance that ever — pardon me — 
If I confess much, you will play tlie tyrant. 
I love you now ; but not, till now, so umch 
But I might master it : in faith, I lie ; 
My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown 
Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools! 
Why have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us, 
When we are so misecret to ourselves ? 
But, though I loved you well, I woo'd yon not ; 
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man. 
Or that we women had men's jirivilege 
Of speaking Ih'st. Sweet, liid me hold my tongue, 
For in this rapture I shall surely speak 
The thinfj I shall repent. See, see, your silence, 
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
My very soul of counsel 1 stop my mouth. 

Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. 

Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 

Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me ; 
'T was not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss': 
I am ashamed. O heavens ! what have I done ? 
For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ! 

Pan. Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow' 
morning, — 

Cres. Pray you, content you. 

Tro. What offends you, lady ? 

Cres. Sir, mme own company. 

Tro. You cannot shun 

Yourself. 

Cres. Let me go and try : 
I have a kind of self resides with yon ; 
But an unkind self, that itself will leave. 
To be another's fool. I would be gone : 
Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak. 

Tro. Well know they what they speak that speak 
so wisely. [love ; 

Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than 
And fell so roundly to a large confession. 



ACT III. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



3CENE III, 



To angle for your thoughts : but you are wise, 
Or else you love not, for to be wise and love 
Exceeds man's uiiglit ; that dwells with gods above. 

Tro. O that I thought it could be in a woman — 
As, if it can, I will presume in you — 
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love ; 
To keep lier constancy in plight and youth. 
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
Tiiat doth renew sviiftcr llian blood decays! 
Or that persuasiiin could Ijut tlius convince me, 
That my integrity and trutli to you 
INIiglit be atfr'ontt'd with the match and weight 
Of such a wiunow'd purity in love; 
How were 1 tlieu uplifted! but, alas! 
I am as true as trutli's simplicity 
And simpler than the infancy of truth. 

Crcs. In that I '11 war with you. 

Tro. O virtuous fight, 

"Wlien right with right wars who shall 1 le most riglit ! 
True swains in love sliall in tlie world to come 
A]iprove tlieirtrutlis by Troilus : wlien tlieir rhymes. 
Pull of protest, of oath and big compare, 
AVant similes, truth tired witli iteration. 
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon. 
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate. 
As iron to adamant, as eartli to the centre. 
Yet, after all comparisons of truth, 
As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
' As true as Troilus ' shall crown up the verse. 
And sanctify the numbers. 

Cres Prophet may you be ! 

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, 
AVlien time is old and liatli forgot itself, 
"Wlien waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
And miglity states characterh'ss are grated 
To dusty nothing, yet let memory. 
From false to false, among false maids in love. 
Upbraid my falsehood ! wlien they 've said ' as false 
As air, as water, wind, or .sandy earth. 
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
Pard to the liind, or stepdame to her son,' 
' Yea,' let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 
' As false as Cressid.' 

Fan. Go to, a bargain made : seal it, seal it ; I '11 
be tlie witness. Here I hold your hand, here my 
cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another, 
since I have taken sucli pains to bring you together, 
let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's 
end after my name ; call them all Pandars ; let all 
constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, 
and all brokers-between Pandars! say, amen. 

Tro. Ameu. 

Crcs. Amen. 

Fail. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a cham- 
ber with a bed ; which bed, because it shall not speak 
of your pretty encounters, press it to death: away! 
And C.'uiiid grant all tongue-tied maidens here 
Bi'il , cliamber, Pandar to provide this gear ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. —The. Orecian camp. Before Achilles'' 
lent. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, 
Ajax, Menelaus, ami Calclias. 
C'll. N(jw, princes, for the service I liavedone j'ou, 
Tlie advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind 
Tliat, tlirough the siglit I bear in things to love, 
I liave abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
Inciu-r'd a traitor's name ; exposed myself. 
From certain and possess'd conveniences. 
To douljtfid fortunes; sequestering from me all 
Tliat time, acquaintance, cu.stom and condition 
!Made tame and most familiar to my nature. 
And here, to do you service, am become 
As new into tlie world, strange, imacquaiuted : 



I do beseech you, as in way of taste. 
To give me now a little benefit, 
Out of those many register'd in promise. 
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 

Arjarn. AVliat wouldst thou of us, Trojan? make 
demand. 

Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor, 
Yesterday took: Troy holds him very dear. 
Oft have you — often have you thanks tlierefore — 
Desired my Cressid in right great excliange, 
AVhom Troy hath still denied : but tliis Antenor, 
I know, is such a wrest in their affairs 
That their negotiations all must slack. 
Wanting liis manage ; and they will almost 
Give us a prince of blood, a sou of Priam, 
In change of him : let him be sent, great princes. 
And he shall buy my daughter ; and tier presence 
Shall quite strike off all service I have done. 
In most accepted pain. 

Arjnm. Let Diomedes bear him, 

And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shtill have 
What he requests of us. Good Diomed, 
Furnisli you fairl)- for this intercliange: 
Withal bring word if Hector will to-morrow 
Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 

Bio. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a biu'den 
Which I am proud to bear. 

[Exeunt Biomedes and Calchas. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their tent. 
JJli/sg. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent: 
Please it our general to pass strangely by him, 
As if he were forgot ; and, princes all. 
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
I will come last. 'T is like he '11 question me 
Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him : 
If so, I have derision medicinable, J. 

To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
Which his own will shall have desire to drink : 
It may do good : pride hath no otlier glass 
To show itself but pride, for supjile knees 
Feed arrogance and are the jiroud man's fees. 

Again. We '11 execute your purpose, and put on 
A form of strangeness as we pass along : 
So do each lord, and either greet him not. 
Or else disdainfully, wliich shall shake him more 
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 

Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me ? 
You know my mind, I 'II tight no more 'gainst Troy. 

Agam. What says Acliilles':' would he aught 
with us ? 
. Kcst. AVould you, my lord , aught with the general "? 

Achil. So. 

JSTest. Nothing, my lord. 

Agam. The better. 

[Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor. 

Achil. Good day, good day. 

3Ien. How do you V how do yoti ? [Exit. 

Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me ? 

Ajax. How now, Patroclus! 

Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. 

Ajax. Ha? 

Achil. Good morrow. 

Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit. 

Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they 
not Achilles ? [bend. 

Pair. They pass by strangely : they were used to 
To send their smiles before them to Achilles; 
To come as humbly as they used to creep 
To holy altars. 

Achil. What, am I poor of late ? 

'T is certain, greatness, once fall'u out with fortime. 
Must fall out witli men too : what the declined is 
He shall as soon read in the eyes of othei-s 
As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies, 
Sliow not their mealy wings but to the summer, 
And not a man, for being simply man, 
523 



ACT IIT, 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



3CENE III. 



Ilutli any honour, but honour for those honours 

That are without him, as place, riclies, favour, 

Prizes of accident as oft as merit: 

"vVhich when they fall, as being slippery standers, 

Tlie love that lean\l on them as slippery too, 

Do one pluck down another and together 

Die in the fall. But 't is not so with me : 

Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy 

At ample point all that I did possess, 

Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out 

Something not worth in me such rich beholding 

As they have often given. Here is Ulysses : 

I 'U interrupt his reading. 

How now, Ulysses ! 

Uh/ss. Now, great Thetis' sou! 

Ar'liil. What are you reading ? 

I'hiss. A strange fellow here 

AVrites me: ' That man, how dearly ever parted. 
How much in havmg, or without or in, 
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath. 
Nor feels not what he owes, but by rellectiou ; 
As when his virtues shining upon others 
Heat them and they retort that heat again 
To the first giver.' 

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 

The beauty that is borne here in the face 
The bearer knows not, but eomuiends itself 
To others' eyes ; nor doth the eye itself, 
That most pure spirit of sense, beliold itself, 
Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed 
Salutes eacli other with each other's form ; 
For spcc\Llation turns not to itself, 
Till it hatii travell'd and is mirror'd there 
Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all. 

Uli/ss. I do not strain at the position, — 
It is familiar, — but at tlie author's drift ; 
Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves 
That no man is the lord of any thing. 
Though in and of him there be much consisting, 
Till he communicate his parts to others; 
Nor doth he of iiiuiself know tlicm lor aught 
Till he behold them fonii'd in the applause 
Where they 're extended ; who, like an arch, re- 
verberates 
The voice again, or, like a gate of steel 
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in this ; 
And apiirehended here immediately 
The uidcnown Ajax. 

Heavens, what a man is there ! a very liorse. 
That has he knows not what. Nature, what things 
iMost abject in regard and dear in use! [there are 
What things again most dear in the esteem 
And poor in worth ! Now shall we see to-morrow — 
An act that very chance doth throw upon him — 
Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, 
While some men leave to do ! 
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall. 
Whiles others i)lay the idiots in her eyes! 
How one man cats into another's iiride, 
While pride is fasting in his wantonness! 
To see these Grecian lords! — why, even already 
They clap the lubber Ajax on the" shoulder. 
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast 
And great Troy shrieking. 

Ackil. I do believe it ; for they pass'd by me 
As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me 
Good word nor look : what, are luy deeds forgot ? 

Uli/ss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at bis back, 
AVhereiu he puts alms tor oblivion, 
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : [vour'd 
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are de- 
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
As done: perseverance, dear 'my lord, 
Keeps lionoru' bright : to have done is to hang 
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; 
524 



For honour travels in a strait so narrow, 

Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; 

For emulation hath a thousand sous 

That one by one pursue : if you give way, 

Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 

Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by 

And leave you hindmost; 

Or, like a gallant liorse fall'n in first rank. 

Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, [present, 

O'er-run and tramph'd on: then what they do in 

Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours ; 

For time is like a fashionable host 

That sligiitly shakes his jiarting guest by the hand, 

And witii liis arms outstrelch'd, as he would fly. 

Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, [seek 

And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue 

Remuneration tor the thing it was ; 

For beauty, wit. 

High ).)irth, vigour of bone, desert in service, 

Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 

To envious and calumniating time. 

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. 

That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, 

Though they are made and moulded of things past, 

And give to dust that is a little gilt 

More laud than gilt o"er-dusted. 

The present eye praises the present object: 

Then marvel not, thou great and complete man. 

That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax; 

Since things in motion sooner catch the eye 

Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee. 

And still it might, aud yet it may again. 

If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive 

And case thy reputation in thy tent; 

Whose glorious deeds, but iu these fields of late. 

Made emulous missions "niongst the gods themselves 

And drave great Mars to faction. 

Achil. Of this my privacy 

I have strong reasons. 

Uli/ss. But 'gainst your privacy 

Tlie reasons are more potent and heroical : 
'T is known, Achilles, that you are iu love 
With one of Priam's daughters. 

^1c/m7. Ha! kno\^ii! 

Uli/ss. Is that a wonder ? 
The providence that 's in a watcliful state 
Knows almost every grain of Pint us' gold, 
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps, 
Keeps place with thought and almost, like the gods. 
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
There is a mystery — with whom relation 
Durst never meddle — in the soul of state; 
Wliich hath an operation more divine 
Than breath or pen can give expressure to : 
All the commerce that you have had with Troy 
As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord ; 
And better would it fit Achilles much 
To tlirow down Hector than Polyxena: 
But it must grirve young Pyrrhus now at home, 
AVhen fame sliall iu our islands sound her trump. 
And all the Greekisli girls shall tripping sing, 
' Great Hector's sister did Achilles win. 
But our great Ajax bravely Vieat down him.' 
Farewell, my lord: I as yoiu- lo\er speak; 
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. 

[Exit. 

Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you: 
A womau impudent and mannish grown 
Is not more loathed tlian an ell'eniiuate man 
In time of action. I stanil condemn'd for this ; 
They think my little stomach to the war 
And your great love to me restrains you thus : 
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid 
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, 
XnA, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane. 
Be sliook to air. 

Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? 



ACT IV. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCEJTE I. 



Patr. Ay, and perhaps receive mucli honour by 

Adiil. I "see my reputation is at stake ; [liim. 
JIv fame is shrewdly gored. 

Pair. O, then, beware ; 

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves : 
Omission to do what is necessary 
Seals a commission to a blank of danger; 
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 

Arhil. Go call Thersites "hither, sweet Patroclus: 
I 'II send the fool to Ajax and desire him 
To invite the Trojan lords after the combat 
To see us here miarm'd : I have a woman's longing. 
An appetite that I am sick withal. 
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace, 
To talk with liim and to behold his visage, 
Even to my full of view. 

Enter Thersites. 

A labour saved ! 
Ther. A wonder! 

Achil. Wliaty [liimself. 

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for 

Arhil. How SO? 

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hec- 
tor, and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cud- 
gellnig that lie raves in saying nothing. 

Arhil. How can that be ? 

Titer. Wliy, he stalks up and down like a pea- 
cock, — a stride and a stand: ruminates like an 
hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set 
down her reckoning: bites his lip witli a politic re- 
gard, as who should say 'There were wit in this 
head, an 't would out ; ' and so there is, but it lies 
as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not 
show without knocking. The man 's imdone for 
ever: for if Hector break not his neck i' the com- 
bat, he '11 break 't himself in vain-glory. He knows 
not me: I said 'Good morrow, Ajax ; ' and he re- 
l)lies ' Tlianks, Agamemnon.' What think you of 
tills man that takes me for the general 'y He's 
grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. 
A plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on both 
sides, like a leather jerkin. [Thersites. 

Arhil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, 

Tlicr. Who, I':* why, he'll answer nobody: he 



professes not answering: speaking is for beggars; 
he wears his tongue in 's arms. I will put on his 
presence : let Patroclus make demands to me, you 
shall see the pageant of Ajax. 

Achil. To him, Patroclus: tell him I humbly de- 
sire the valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous 
Hector to come unarmed to my tent, and to pro- 
cure safe-conduct for his per.son of the magnani- 
mous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-hon- 
oured captain-general of the Grecian army, Aga- 
memnon, et cetera. Do this. 

Patr. Jove bless great Ajax I 

Ther. Hum! 

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, — 

Ther. Ha! 

Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite 
Hector to his tent, — 

Ther. Hum! 

Peitr. And toprocure safe-conduct from Agamem- 

Ther. Agamemnon! [nou. 

Patr. Ay, my lord. 

Ther. Ha! 

Patr. AVhat say you to 't ? 

Titer. God b' wi' you, with all my heart. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. li to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven 
o' clock it will go one way or other : howsoever, 
he shall pay for me ere he has me. 

Patr. Yoiu- answer, sir. 

Titer. Fare you well, with all my heart. 

Achil. Why", but he is not in this tmie, is he ? 

Ther. Xo, but he's out o' time thus. What 
music will be in him when Hector has knocked out 
his brains, I know not ; but, I am sure, none, un- 
less the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make cat- 
lings on. [straight. 

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him 

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that 's 
the more capable creature. 

^(7) (7. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd ; 
And I mj-self see not tlie bottom of it. 

[E.rewtt Achilles and Pntrnchis. 

Ther. Would the foimtain of your mind were 
clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had 
rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant^ ig- 
norance. [Exit. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— Troy. A street. 

Enter, from one side. ^Eneas, and Servant irith a torch ; 
frnni the. other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, Dio- 
medes, and others, with torches. 

Par. See, ho ! who is that there ? 

Dei. It is the Lord .^neas. 

^ne. Is the prince there in person '? 
Had I so good occasion to lie long [ness 

As you. Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly busi- 
Shoiild rob my bed-mate of my company. [JEneas. 

Bill. That "s my mind too. Good morrow. Lord 

l'"r. X valiant Greek, ^Eneas, — take his hand, — 
■Witness tlie process of yom' speech, wlierein 
You ti>ld how Diomed, a whole week by days. 
Did hamit you in the field. 

JEnc. Health to you, valiant sir. 

During all question of the gentle truce; 
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance 
As heart can think or courage execute. 

Pin. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health! 
But when contention and occasion meet. 
By Jove, I '11 play the hunter for thy life 
With all my force, pursuit and policy. 



jEhc. And thou shall hunt a lion, that will fly 
With his face backward. In humane gentleness, 
Welcome to Troy ! now, by Auehises' life. 
Welcome, hideed ! By Venus' hand I swear, 
Xo man alive can love in such a sort 
The thing he means to kill more excellently. 

Dio. We symi)athize : Jove, let jrEneas live, 
If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
A thousand complete courses of the sun! 
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, 
AVith everv joint a woimd, and that to-morrow! 

^Enc. We know each other well. 

Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse. 

Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting. 
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. 
What business, lord, so early 'i* 

^ne. I was sent for to the king; but why, I 
know not. [this Greek 

Par. His purpose meets you: 'twas to brhig 
To Calchas' house, and there to render him. 
For the enfreed Autenor, the fair Cressid : 
Let 's have your company, or, if you please. 
Haste tliere before us: I constantly do think — 
Or rather, call my thought a certain knowledge — 
My brotlier Troilus lodges there to-night: 
525 



ACT IV 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCENE II. 



Rouse him and give him note of onr approach, 
"With the whtile (juality wherefore : I fear 
We shall be much uuwelcome. 

jEnc. That I assure you : 

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece 
Than Cressid borne from Troy. 

Par. There is no help ; 

The bitter disposition of the time 
Will liave it so. On, lord ; we '11 follow you. 

^ne. Good morrow, all. \Exit v:ith Servant. 

Par. And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true, 
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, 
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Uelen best, 
Myself or Menelaus ? 

JJio. Both alike : 

He merits well to have her, that doth seek her, 
Not making any scruple of her soilure, 
"With such a hell of pain and world of charge. 
And you as well to keep her, that defend her, 
Not palating the taste of her dislionour, 
With such a costly loss of weaUli and friends: 
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece; 
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
Are pleased to breed out your inheritors : 
Both merits poised, each weighs nor less nor more ; 
But he as he, the lieavier for a whore. 

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 

Dio. She "s bitter to her country : hear me, Paris : 
For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple 
Of her contamhiated carrion weight, 
A Trojan liatli been slain: since she could speak. 
She hath not given so many good words larcath 
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer 'd death. 

Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, 
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
But we in silence hold this virtue well, 
We '11 but commend what we intend to sell. 
Here lies our way. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Court af Pawlarus' house. 
Enter Troilus a7id Cressida. 

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself : the morn is cold. 

Cits. Then, sweet my lord, I '11 call mine uncle 
He shall luibolt the gates. [down ; 

Tro. Trouble him not ; 

To bed, to bed : sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
And give as soft attachment to thy senses 
As infants' empty of all thought ! 

Cres. Good morrow, then. 

Tro. I prithee now, to bed. 

Cres. Are you a-weary of me ? 

Ti'o. O Cressida I but that the busy day. 
Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows. 
And dreaming niglit will hide our joys no longer, 
I would not from thee. 

Cres. Night hath been too brief. 

. Tro. Beshrew the witch 1 with venomous wights 

she stays 
As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love 
With wings more momentarj^-swift than thought. 
You will catch cold, and curse me. 

Cres. Prithee, tarry : 

You men will never tarry. 

foolish Cressid ! I might have still held off. 
And then you would have tarried. Hark ! there 's 

one up. 
Pan. [ Withiii] What, 's all the doors open here ? 
Tro. It is your uncle. 
Cres. A pestilence on him I no w will he be mocking: 

1 shall have such a life ! 

Enter Pandarus. 
Pan. How now, how now ! how go maidenheads? 
Here, you maid ! where 's my cousin Cressid ? 
526 



Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking 
uncle ! 
You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. 

Pail. To do wliat V to do what '? let her say what : 
what have I brought you to do V 

Cres. Come, come, beshrewyour heart! you '11 ne'er 
Nor suffer others. [be good, 

Pan. Ha, ha 1 Alas, poor wretch ! ah, poor ca- 
pocchial hast not slept to-night y would he not, a 
naughty man, let it sleep V a bugbear take him ! 

Cres. Did not I tell you ? Would he were knuck'd 
i' the head I [KnorliiKj v:illdn. 

Who 's that at door ? good imcle, go and see. 
My lord, come you again mto my chamber : 
You smile and mock'me, as if I meant naughtily. 

Tro. Ha, ha ! 

Cres. Come, you are deceived, I think of no such 
thing. [Kuocking within. 

How earnestly they knock ! Pray you, come in : 
I would not foV half Troy have you seen here. 

[Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. 

Pan. Who 's there V what 's the matter ? will you 
beat down the door ? How now ! what 's the mat- 
ter? 

Enter .fflneas. 

u3Sne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. 

Pan. Who 's there? my Lord yEueas! By my troth, 
I laiew you not : wliat news with you so early ? 

JEne. Is not Prince Troilus here ? 

Pan. Here ! what should he do here ? 

.Mne. Come, he is here, my lord ; do not deny him : 
It doth import him much to speak with me. 

Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know, 
I'll be sworn: for my owii part, I came in late. 
What should he do here ? 

jEne. Who! — nay, then: come, come, you '11 do 
him wrong ere you're ware: you'll be so true to 
Iiim, to be false to him: do not you know of him, 
but yet go fetch him hither ; go. 

Re-enter Troilus. 

Tro. How now! what 's the matter? 

^ne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, 
My matter is so rash : there is at hand 
Paris your brother, and l)eipliobus. 
The Grecian Diomed, and onr Antenor 
Deliver'd to us; and for liim forthwith, 
Ere the first sacriiiee, within this hour. 
We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
The Lady Cressida. 

2Vo. Is it so concluded ? 

^ne. By Priam and the general state of Troy: 
They are at liand and ready to effect it. 

Tro. IIow my achievements mock me! 
I will go meet them : and, my Lord iEneas, 
We met by chance ; you did hot find me here. 

^Ene. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of nature 
Have not more gift in taciturnity. 

[Exeunt Troilus and ^neas. 

Pan. Is 't possible ? no sooner got but lost ? The 
devil take Antenor ! the j'oung prince will go mad : 
a plague upon Antenor! I would they had' broke 's 
neck r ^ 

Be-enter Cressida. 

Cres. How now ! what 's the matter ? who was 

Pan. Ah, ha! [here? 

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? where 's my 
lord? gone! Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the 
matter ? 

Pan. Would I were as deep under the earth as 
I am above ! 

Cres. O the gods ! what 's the matter ? 

Pan. Prithee, get thee in: would thou hadst 
ne'er been born ! I knew thou wouldst be his death. 
O, poor gentleman ! A plague upon Antenor ! 

Cres. Good luicle, I beseech you, on my knees I 
beseech you, what 's the matter"? 



ACT IT. 



TROILUS AND CBESSIDA. 



SCENE IV. 



Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be 
gone; thou art changed for Antenor: thou must to 
thy fatlier, and be gone from Troilus: 't will be his 
deatli ; 't will be his bane ; lie cannot bear it. 

('res. O you immortal gods ! I will not go. 

Pan. Thou must. 

Crcis. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father; 
I know no touch of consanguinity ; 
Xo kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me 
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine ! 
Make Cressid's name the very cro^vn of falsehood. 
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, 
Do to this body what extremes you can ; 
But the strong base and building of my love 
Is as the very centre of the earth, 
Drawing all "things to it. I '11 go in aud weep, — 

Paii. Do, do. [cheeks. 

Cms. Tear my bright hair and scratcli my praised 
Crack my clear" voice with sobs and break my heart 
"Willi soundmg Troilus. I wiU not go from Troy. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — r/iesa?Me. Street before Pandarus' 
house. 

Enter Paris, Troilus, .ffineas, Deiphobus, An- 
terior, aiicl Dioniedes. 

Par. It is great morning, aud the hour prettx^d 
Of lier delivery to this valiant Greek 
Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus, 
Tell you the lady what she is to do. 
And haste her to the purpose. 

Tro. Walk into her house ; 

I "11 bring her to the Grecian presently : 
Aud to his hand when I deliver lier. 
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus 
A jiriest there offering to it his ovm heart. [Exit. 

Par. I know what 'tis to love; 
And would, as I shall pity, I could help! 
Please you walk in, my lords. [E.ccunt. 

SCENE IV. — The same. Pandarus' house. 

Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 

Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 

Ores. Why tell you me of moderation ? 
The grief is'fine, full, perfect, that I taste, 
And violenteth in a sense as strong 
As tliat which causeth it : liow can I moderate it ? 
If I could temporize with my affection. 
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate. 
The like allaymeut could 1 give my grief: 
Illy love admits no qualifying dross ; 
No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 

Pan. Here," here, here he comes. 

Enter Troilus. 
Ah, sweet ducks! 

Crcs. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Ernhracing him. 

Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let me 
embrace too. ' O heart,' as the goodly sayuig is, 

' O heart, heavy heart. 

Why sigh'st thou without breaking?' 
where he answers again, 

' Because thou canst not ease thy smart 
By friendship nor by speaking.' 
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away 
nothing, for we may live to have need of such a 
verse : we see it, we see it. How now, lambs ? 

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity, 
That tlie bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy, 
More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me. 
Cres. Have the gods envy ? 
Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 't is too plain a case. 
Cres. And is it true that I must go from Troy V 
Tro. A hateful truth. 



Crcs. What, and from Troilus too? 

Tro. From Troy and Troilus. 

Cres. Is it possible ? 

Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance 
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly liy 
All time of pause, rudely beguiles oiu- lips 
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
Our lockM enilirasures. strangles our dear vows 
Even in tlie birth ol our own laboiu'ing breath: 
We two, that with so many thousand .siglis 
Did liny each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
AVith the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
Injurious time nowwith a robber's haste 
Crams his rich tliievery up, he knows not how: 
As iiumy farewells as be stars in heaven. 
With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, 
lie fumbles up into a loose adieu. 
And .scants us with a single famish 'd kiss, 
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 

^Ene. [Within] My lord, is the lady ready':' 

Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : some say tlie (ienius so 
Cries ' come ' to him that instantly must die. 
Bid them have patience ; she shall come anon. 

Pan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this wind, 
or my heart will be blown up l)y the root. [Exit. 

Cres. I must then to the Grecians ? 

Tro. No remedy. 

Cres. A wof ul Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks ! 
When shall we see again ? [heart, — 

IWi. Hear me, my love: be thou but true of 

Cres. Itrue! hownow! what wicked deem is this? 

Tro. Kay, we must use expostidatiou kindly, 
For it is parting from us : 
I speak not ' be thou true,' as fearing thee. 
For I will throw my glove to Death himself, 
That there 's no maculation in thy heart: 
But ' be thou true,' say I, to fashion in 
My sequent protestation; be thou true, 
And I will see thee. 

Cres. O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers 
As infinite as imminent ! but I '11 be true. 

Tro. And I '11 grow friend with danger. Wear 
this sleeve. 

Crfs. And you this glove. When shall I see you ? 

Tro. 1 will corrupt the Grecian sentinels. 
To give thee nightly visitation. 
But yet be true. 

Cres. O lieavens ! ' be true ' again ! 

Tro. Hear why I speak it, love: 
The Grecian youths are full of quality ; 
They 're loving, well composed with gifts of nature, 
Flowing and swelling o'er with arts and exercise: 
How novelty may move, and parts with person, 
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy — 
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous siu — 
ilakes me afeard. 

Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. 

IVo. Die I a villain, theu ! 
In this I do not call your faith in question 
So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing. 
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk. 
Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, [nant : 
To which the Grecians are most prompt and preg- 
But I can tell that in each ^race of tliese 
There Im-ks a still and dunib-discoiu-sive devil 
That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempted. 

Cres. Do you think I will ? 

Tro. No. 
But something may be done that we will not : 
And sometimes we" are devils to ourselves. 
When we will tempt the frailty of our jiowers. 
Presuming on their cliangeful potency. 

yEne. [Within] Nay, good my lord, — 

Tro. ' Come, kiss; and let us part. 

Par. [Within] Brother Troilus ! 

Tro. Good brother, come you hither; 

And brmg ^neas and the Grecian with you. 
527 



ACT IV. 



TR0ILU8 AND CRESS ID A. 



SCENE V. 



Cre". My lord, will you be true ? 

Tro. Wlio, I V alas, it is my vice, my fault: 
"Whiles others fish with craft for great oijiuiou, 
1 with great truth catch mere simplicity; 
Wliilst souie Willi cunning gild their copper crowns, 
With truth anil plainness 1 "do wear mine bare. 
Fear not my trutii: tlie moral of my wit 
Is ' plain and true ; ' there "s all the reach of it. 

Enter ^neas, Paris, Anterior, Deiphobus, and 

Diomedes. 
Welcome, Sir Diomed 1 here is the lady 
Which for Antenor we deliver you: 
At the port, lord, I '11 give her to thy hand; 
And by the way possess thee what she is. 
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, 
Kanie ( 'ressicl, and thy life shall be as safe 
As Priam is iu Ilion. 

Bin. Fair Lady Cressid, 

So please you, save the thanks this prince expects: 
Tlie lustre in your eye, lieaven in your cheek. 
Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed 
You shall be mistress, and cuniniand him wholly. 

Tro. Grecian, thou dost nol usn nic courteously. 
To shame the zeal of my pet it inn In t liee 
In praising her: I tell thei". Inril nl' Greece, 
She is as far liigh-soaring o'er tliy praises 
As thou unwoviliy to be caird lier servant. 
I charge tlice use lier well, even for my charge; 
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, 
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
I '11 cut thy throat. 

Dio. O, be not moved, Prince Troilus : 

Let me be privileged by my place and message. 
To be a speaker free ; when I am hence, 
I'll answer to my lust: and know you, lord, 
I '11 nothing do on charge : to her own worth 
She shall be prized; but that you say ' be 't so,' 
I '11 speak it in my spirit and lionour, ' no.' 

Tro. Come, to the port. I '11 tell thee, Diomed, 
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. 
Lady, give me your hand, and, as we walk, 
To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 

[Exeimi Troilus, Cressida, and Diomedes. 
[Trumpet ■within. 

Par. Hark! Hector's trumpet. 

^ne. How have we spent this morning ! 

The prince must think me tardy and remiss, 
That swore to ride before him to the field. 

Par. 'T is Troilus' fault: come, come, to field with 

Dei. Let us make ready straight. [him. 

u3Sne. Yea, with a bvidegroom's fresh alacrity, 
Let us address to teml on Hector's heels: 
The glory of our Troy doth tliis day lie 
On his fair worth and single chivalry. \_Exeunl. 

SCENE V. — Tlic Grecian camp. Lists set out. 

Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Pa- 
troclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and others. 

Aejum. Here art thou in appointment fresh and 
Anticipating time with starting courage. [fair. 
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
Thou dreadful Ajax; that the appalled air 
May pi('i ce llie liead of the great combatant 
And hale him hit!;er. 

Ajax. Thou, trum]iet, there 's my purse. 

Koiv crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe; 
Blow, villain, till thy spliered bias cheek 
Outswell the colic of pufE'd Aquilon : [blood ; 

Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout 
Tliou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet sounds. 

Ult/ss. No trumpet answers. 

Achil. 'T is but early days. 

Again. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' daugh- 

fflyss. 'Tishejiken the manner of his gait; [ter? 
528 



He rises on the toe : that spirit of his 
In aspiration lifts hiu) from the eartli. 

Enter Diomedes, with Cressida. 

Agam. Is this the Lady Cressid y 

Dio. Even she. 

Aaam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet 
lady. 

Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. 

Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 
'Twere better she were kiss'd in general. 

West. And very courtly counsel : I '11 begin. 
So much for Nestor. 

Arhil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair 
Achilles liids you welcome. [lady : 

Men. I had good argument for kissing once. 

Pair. But that 's no argument tor kissing now ; 
For thus popp'd Paris in his liardiment, 
And parted thus you and your argument. 

Ulyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns ! 
For which we lose our heads to gild his horns. 

Pair. Thei,first was Menelaus' kiss ; this, mine: 
Patroclus kisses you. 

3Ien. O, this is trim ! 

Patr. Paris and I kiss evermore for him. 

Men. I 'U have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave. 

Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive 'r* 

Patr. Both take and give. 

Cres. 1 '11 make my match to live, 

The kiss you take is better than you give; 
Therefore no kiss. 

Men. I '11 give you boot, I 'U give you three for 
one. 

Cres. You 're an odd man ; give even, or give none. 

Men. An oihl man, lady ! every man is odd. 

Cres. No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true, 
That you are odd, and he is even with you. 

Men. You fillip me o' the head. 

Cres. No, I '11 be sworn. 

IHi/ss. It were no match, your nail against his horn. 
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you V 

Cres. You may. 

Ulyss. I do desire it. 

Cres. Why, beg, then. 

Ulyss. Why then for Venus' sake, give me a kiss. 
When Helen is a maid again, and his. 

Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 't is due. 

Ulyss. Never 's my day, and then a kiss of you. 

Dio. Lady, a word : I '11 bring you to yom- father. 
[Exit with Cressida. 

JSfest. A woman of quick sense. 

Z^yss. Fie, fie upon her I 

There 's language in lier eye, her cheek, her lip. 
Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out 
At every joint and motive of her body. 
O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, 
That give accosting welcome ere it comes. 
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
To every ticklish reader! set them down 
For shittisli spoils of opportunity 
And daughters <if the game. [Trumjjet unthin. 

All. The Trojans' trumpet. 

A(jam. Yonder comes the troop. 

Enter Hector, armerl; .ffineas, Troilus, and other 
Trojans, icith Attendants. 

^«e. Hail, all you state of Greece! what shall 
be done 
To him that victory commands ? or do you purpose 
A victor shall be kno\vn ? will you the kuiglits 
Shall to the edge of all extremity 
Pursue each other, or shall be divided 
By any voice or order of the field '? 
Hector bade ask. 

Agam. Which way would Hector have it ? 

^iie. He cares not ; he 'U obey conditions. 

Achil. 'Tis doue like Hector; but securely done. 



ACT TV. 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



SCENE V. 



A little prouiily. and great deal misprizing 
The kiiiglit opposed. 

JEne. If uot Achilles, sir, 

Wliat is yoiu' name? 

Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 

JEne. Therefore Achilles: but, whatever, know 
In the extremitj' of great and little, [this : 

Viilour and pride excel themselves in Hector; 
The one almost as iulinite as all, 
T!ie other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
And that which looks like pride is courtesy. 
Tills Ajax is half made of Hector's blood: 
lii lov? whereof, half Hector stays at home; 
II, lit heart, luilf h;iiid, liaU' Hector comes to seek 
This bleudi-d kni^^lit, h.ilf Trojan and half Greek. 

Achil. A maiden battle, then 'i O, I perceive you. 

He-enter Diomedes. 

Aijnm. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight, 
Stand by our Ajax : as you and Loril ^-Eneas 
Consent upon the order of their tiglit. 
So be it; either to the uttermost, 
Or else a breath : the combatants being kin 
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 
[Ajax and Hector enter the lists. 

Vh/ss. They are opposed already. 

Ayam. AV^liat Trojan is that same that looks so 
heavy ? 

ZUi/ss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight, 
Not yet mature, yet matcliless, hrm of word. 
Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue ; 
Xot soon provoked nor being provoked soon ealm'd; 
His heart and hand Ijoth open and both free ; 
For what lie has he gives, what thinks he shows ; 
Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty. 
Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath ; 
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes 
To tender objects, Imt he in heat of action 
Is more vindicative than jealous love : 
They call liim Troilus, and on him erect 
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
Tlius says -Eneas ; one that knows the youth 
Even to his inclies, and with private soiil 
Did iu great Iliou thus translate him to me. 

[Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight. 

Agani. They are in action. 

Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! 

Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st ; 

Awake thee ! '"" 

Aqam. His blows are well disposed : there, Ajax ! 

Bio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease. 

uEne. Princes, enough, so please you. 

Ajax. I am not warm yet ; let us tight again. 

I)io. As Hector pleases. 

Hect. Why, then wiU I no more : 

Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, 
A cousiu-german to great Priam's seed ; 
Tlie obligation of our blood forbids 
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain : 
"Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so 
That thou couldst say ' This hand is Grecian all. 
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg 
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood 
Kuiis on tlie dexter cheek, and this sinister 
"Bounds in iny father's;' by Jove multipotent. 
Thou shouldst not bear froin me a Greekisli member 
Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
Of our rank feud: but the just gods gainsay 
That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother, 
My sacred aunt, should liy my mortal sword 
Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : 
By Imn that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; 
Hector would have them fall upon him thus : 
Cousin, all honour to thee ! 

Ajax. I thank thee, Hector: 

Thou art too gentle and too free a man : 
34 



I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
A great addition earned in thy death. 

Hect. Not Neoptolenuis so mirable. 
On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes 
Cries ' This is he,' could promise to himself 
A thought of atl'led honour torn from Hector. 

^ne. There is expectance here from both the sides, 
■\Vhat further you will do. 

Hert. We '11 answer it ; 

The issue is emliracement : Ajax, farewell. 

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success — 
As seld I have the chance — I would desire 
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 

-Dio. 'T is Agamemnon's wish, and gnat Achilles 
Doth long to see unamfd the valiant Hector. 

Hect. ^Eneas, call my brotlier Troilus to me, 
And signify this loving interview 
To the expecters of our Trojan jiart ; 
Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin; 
I will go eat with thee and see your knights. 

Ajax. Great Agamennion coines to meet us here. 

Hect. The wt>rthiest of them tell me name by name; 
But for Achilles, mine own. searching eyes 
Shall find him by his large and portly size. 

A<jam. Worthy of arms! as welcome as to one 
That would be rid of such an enemy ; 
]?ut that 's no welcome : understand more clear. 
What 's past and what 's to come is strew'd with 
And formless ruin of oblivion ; [husks 

But in this extant moment, faith and troth, 
Strain'd pm"ely from all hollow bias-drawing, 
Bids thee, with most divine integrity. 
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 

Hect. 1 thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. 

Ayam. [To Troilus] My well-famed lord of Troy, 
no less to you. [ing : 

3Ien. Let me confirm my princely brother's greet- 
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. 

Hect. Who must we answer ? 

^lie. The noble Menelaus. 

Hect. O, you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet. 
Mock not, that i affect the untraded oath; [thanks! 
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove: 
She 's well, but bade me uot commend her to you. 

Men . Name her not now, sir; she 's a deadly theme. 

Hect. O.iiardon; I offend. 

Nest. I nave, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft 
Labouring for destiny make cruel way [thee, 

Through ranks of Greekish youth, and I have seen 
As liot as Perseus, spur thy Ir'hr.vgian steed, 
Despising many forfeits and subduements. 
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air, 
Not letting it decline on the declined, 
That I have said to some my stunders by 
' Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life ! ' 
And I have seen thee pause and talie thy breath, 
When that a ring of Greeks have liemm'd thee in, 
Like an Olj'mpian '^Testling: this have I seen; 
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, 
And once fought with him : he was a soldier good; 
But. by great Mars, the captain of us all. 
Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee ; 
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 

^nc. 'T is the old Nestor. 

Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle. 
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time : 
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 

Nest. I would my arms could match thee in con- 
As they contend with thee in courtesy. [tention, 

Hect. I would they could. 

Ne.9t. Ha! 
By this white beard, I 'Id fight with thee to-morrow. 
Well, welcome, welcome! — I have seen the time. 

Z77//SS. I wonder now how yonder city stands 
When we have here her liase and pillar by us. 

Hect. I know your favour. Lord Ulysses, well. 
529 



ACT V. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCENE I. 



Ah, sir, there 's many a Greek and Trojan dead, 
Since first I saw ycinrselt and Diinued 
In Ilion, on your Greekisli emliassy. 

Tlhjss. Sir, I foretold you tlien wiiat would ensue : 
My prophecy is but halt his journey yet ; 
Tor yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss tlie clouds. 
Must kiss their own feet. 

Hect. I must not believe you : 

There they stand yet, and modestly I think, 
The fall of every Plirygiau stone will cost 
A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all, 
And that old commou arbitrator, Time, 
Will one day end it. 

Uhjss. So to him we leave it. 

Most'scntle and most valiant Hector, welcome: 
After the general, I lirseeeh yiiu next 
To feast witli nic ami see me at my tent. 

Achil. 1 shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou! 
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee ; 
I have with exact view perused thee, Hector, 
And quoted joint by johit. 

Hwt. Is this Achilles ? 

Achil. I am Achilles. 

Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee. 

Achil. Behold thy fill. 

Hect. Nay, I have done already. 

Achil. Thou art too brief: I will tlie second time. 
As I would buy thee, view thee limli by limb. 

Hect. O, like a book of sport thou 'It read me o'er ; 
But there 's more in me than thou uuderstaiurst. 
Why do.st thou so oppress me witli thine eyeV 

Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which lurt of his 
body [there V 

Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there, or 
That I may give the local wound a name 
And make distinct the very breach whereout 
Hector's great spirit flew: answer me, heavens! 

Hect. It would discre<lit the blest gods, proud man. 
To answer such a question: stand aguui: 
Think'st tliou to catch my life so pleasantly 
As to prenoniinate in nice conjecture 
Where tliou wilt hit me dead ? 

Achil. I tell thee, yea. 

Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
I 'Id not believe thee. Henceforth guartl thee well ; 



For I '11 not kill thee there, nor (here, nor there; 
But, by tlie forge tliat stithied Mars his helm, 
I '11 kiil thee every wliere, yea, o'er and o'er. 
You wisest Grecians, purd.m me tliis brag; 
His insolence draws folly from my lips; 
But I '11 endeavour deeds to match these words, 
Or may I never — 

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin : 

And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, 
Till accident or purpose bring you to 't : 
You may liave every day enough of Hector, 
If you have stomach ; the general state, I fear, 
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him? 

Hect. I pray you, let us see you in tlie field : 
We have had pelting wars, since you refused 
The Grecians' cause. 

Achil. Dost thou entreat me. Hector ? 

To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death ; 
To-night all friends. 

Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 

Ayam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my 
There in the full convive we : afterwards, [teat ; 
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
Concur together, severally entreat him. 
Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow. 
That this great soldier may his welcome know. 

[Exeunt all except Troilus and Vh/sscs. 

Tro. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech ytiu. 
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep V 

Ulyss. At Menelans' tent, most princely Troilus : 
There Diomed doth feast with him to-night; 
Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, 
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
On the fair Cressid. 

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much. 
After we part from Agamemnon's tent, 
To bring me thither ? 

?7?;/ss. You shall command me, sir. 

As gentle tell me, of what honour was 
This Cressida in Troy '? Had she no lover there 
That wails her absence ? 

Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars 
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord '? 
She was beloved, slie loved ; she is, and doth : 
But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 

[Exeunt. 



^CT V. 



SCENE I.- 



■The Grecian camp, 
tent. 



Before Achilles' 



Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 
Achil. I '11 heat his blood with Greekish wine 
to-night. 
Which with my scimitar I '11 cool to-morrow. 
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 
Patr. Here comes Thersites. 

Enter Thersites. 

Achil. How now, thou core of envy ! 

Thou crusty batch of nature, what 's the news '? 

Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, 
and idol of idiot-worshippers, here 's a letter for 

Achil. From whence, fragment ? [thee. 

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 

Patr. Who keeps the tent now ? 

Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patieut's wound. 

Pa.tr. Well said, adversity ! and what need these 
tricks ? 

27ier. Pi-ithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy 
talk : thou art thought to tse Achilles' male varlet. 

Patr. Male varlet, you rogue ! what 's that "^ 

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rot- 
530 



ten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, 
catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold 
palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livei-s, wheezing lungs, 
bladders full of inipost-liuuie, sciaticas, limekilns i* 
the pahn, incurable Ijnne-ache, and the rivelled fee- 
simple of the tetter, take and take again such pre- 
posterous discoveries ! 

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, 
what meanest thou to curse thus":' 

Ther. Do I curse tliee ? 

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whoreson 
indistinguishable cur, no. 

Ther. No! why art thou then exasperate, thou 
idle immaterial skein of sleave-silk, tliou green sar- 
cenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's 
purse, thou '? Ah, liow the poor world is pestered 
with such waterflies, diminutives of uatui-e ! 

Patr. Out, gall ! 

Ther. Finch-egg! 

Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite 
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, 
A token from her daughter, my fair love. 
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep 
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it : 



ACT V. 



TROILUS AND CRES8IDA. 



SCENE II. 



Fall Greeks ; fail fame ; honour or go or stay ; 
My major vow lies here, this I '11 obey. 
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent: 
This iiis'ht ill lianquetiiig must all be spent. 
Away, Patrorlus! [Exeunt Achilles atid Patrodas. 
Tkcr. 'With too much blood and too little brain, 
these two may run mad; but, if with too much 
brain and too little blood they do, I '11 be a curer 
of madmen. Here 's Agamemnon, an honest fel- 
low enough, and one that loves quails: biit lie has 
not so much brain as ear-wax: and the goodly 
transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the 
bull, — the primitive statue, and oblique memorial 
of cuckolds; a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, 
hanging at his brother's leg, — to what form but 
that he is, should wit larded with malice and 
malice forced with wit turn him to? To an ass, 
were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to an ox, 
were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, 
a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a 
puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not 
care ; but to be ilenelaus ! I would conspire against 
destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not 
Thei'siles; for I care not to be the lou.se of a lazar, 
so I were not Menelaus. Hoy-day ! spirits and 
tires ! 

Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajas, Agamemnon, Ulysses, 
Nestor, Menelaus, ayul Diomedes, witk liijhts. 

Ai/itiii. We go wrong, we go wrong. 
Ajdx. K o, yonder 't is ; 

There, where we see the lights. 
//[(■(. I trouble you. 

AJax.- No, not a whit. 
Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 

He-enter Achilles. 

Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes 
all. 

Again. So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good 
night. 
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. [eral. 

Hect. Thanks and good night to the Greeks' gen- 

J/cn. Good night, my lord. 

Hect. "Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus. 

2 her. Sweet draught: 'sweet' quoth 'al sweet 
sink, sweet sewer. 

Achil. Good night and welcome, both at once, to 
those 
That go or tarry. 

Agdm. Good night. 

[jExcunt Agamemnon and Menelaus. 

Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, 
Keep Hector company ^n hour or two. 

Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business, 
The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hec- 

Hect. Give me your hand. [tor. 

Ulyss. [Aside to Troilus] Follow his torch ; he 
" goes to Calclias' tent : 
I '11 keep you company. 

Tr-o. Sweet sir, you honour me. 

Hect. And so, good night. 

[Exit Diomedes; Uhjsses and Troilus following. 

Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 

[Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax, and Nestor. 

Ther. That same Diomed 's a false-hearted rogue, 
a most unjust knave; I will no more trust him 
wlien he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses: 
he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brab- 
Viler tlie hound ; but when he performs, astronomers 
foretell it; it is prodigious, there will come some 
change ; the sun borrows of the moon, when Dio- 
nieil keeps his word. I will rather leave to see 
Hector, than not to dog him: they say he keeps a 
Tnijaii drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent: 
1 '11 after. Nothing but lechery ! all incontinent 
varlets I [Exit. 



SCENE II. — Tlie same. Before Calchas'' tent. 

Enter Diomedes. 
Bio. What, are you up here, ho V speak. 
Cal. [ Within] Who calls ? 

Bio. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where 's your 
Cal. [Within] She comes to you. [daughter ? 

Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after 
them, Thersites. 

Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us. 
Enter Cressida. 

Tro. Cressid comes forth to him. 

Bio. How now, my charge I 

C'l-es. Now, my sweet guardian! Ilark, a word 
with you. [Whispers. 

Tro. Yea, so familiar f 

ZUyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 

Titer. And any man may sing her, if he can take 
her cliff ; she 's noted. 

Bio. Will you remember ? 

Cres. Remember! yes. 

Bio. Nay, but do, then; 
And let your mind be coupled with your words. 

Tro. What should she remember ? 

Ulyss. List. 

Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me.no more to 

27tcr. Roguery! [folly. 

Bio. Nay, then, — 

Ores. I '11 tell you what, — 

Bio. Foh, foil ! come, tell a pin : you are forsworn. 

Ores. In faith, I cannot : what would you have 
me do V 

Ther. A juggling trick,— to be secretly open. 

Bio. What did you swear you would bestow on me? 

Ores. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
Bid me ilo anything but that, sweet Greek. 

Bio. Good iiight. 

Tro. Hold, patience ! 

Ulyss. How now, Trojan! 

Cres. Diomed, — 

Bio. No, no, good-night: I 'II be your fool no more. 

T)-o. Thy better must. 

Ores. Hark, one word in your ear. 

Ti-o. O plague and madness ! [iiray you, 

Ulyss'. You are moved, prince; let us depart, I 
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself 
To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous; 
The time riL;ht deadly; I beseech you, go. 

Tro. Behold, I pray you ! 

Ulyss. ' Nay, good my lord, go off : 

You flow to great distraction; come, my lord. 

Tro. I pray thee, stay. 

Ulyss. You have not patience; come. 

T'ro. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's tor- 
I will not speak a word ! [ments. 

Bio. And so, good night. 

Ores. Nay, but you part in anger. 

Tro. Doth that grieve thee ? 

wither'd truth ! 

IJlyss. Why, how now, lord ! 

Tro. By Jove, 

1 will be patient. 

Ores. Guardian ! — why, Greek ! 

Bio. Foh, foh! adieu; you palter. 

Ores. In faith, I do not: come hither once again. 

Uli/ss. You shake, my lord, at something: will 
You'will break out. [you go ? 

2Vo. She strokes his cheek ! 

Ulyss. Come, come. 

Tro. Nay, stay ; by Jove, T will not speak a word : 
There is between my will and all offences 
A guard of patience : stay a little while. 

Ther. How the devil I>uxury, with his, fat rump 
and potato-finger, tickles these together! Fry, 
lechery, fry ! 

531 



ACT V. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCENE II. 



Bio. But will you, then ? 

Ores. Ill faith, I will, la; never trust me else. 

Dio. Give ine some token for the surety of it. 

Cres. I '11 fetch you one. [Exit. 

JJbjsa. You have sworn patience. 

Tro. Fear me not, sweet lord ; 

I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
Of what I feel : I am all patience. 

Re-enter Cressida. 

Ther. Now the pledge; now, now, now! 

Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 

Tro. O beauty ! where is thy faith > 

Ulyss. My lord, — 

Tro. I will be patient; outwardly I will. 

Ores. You look upon that sleeve ; beliold it well. 
He loved me — O false wench ! -^ Give 't me again. 

I)io. Whose was 't ? 

Cres. It is no matter, now I have 't again. 
I will not meet with you to-morrow night: 
I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more. 

Ther. Now she sharpens: well said, whetstone ! 

Bio. I shall have it. 

Cres. What, this? 

Bio. Ay, that. 

Cres. O, all you gods ! O pretty, pretty pledge ! 
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove, 
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it. 
As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me ; 
He that takes that doth take my heart withal. 

Bio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 

Tro. I did swear patience. 

Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed ; faith, you 
I '11 give you som.ething else. [shall not ; 

Bio. I will have this : whose was it r' 

Cres. It is no matter. 

Bio. Come, tell me whose it was. 

Cres. 'T was one 's that loved me better than you 
But, now you have it, take it. [will. 

Bio. Whose was it 'i 

Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yond, 
And by lierself , I will not tell you whose. 

Bio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm. 
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. 

Tro. Wert thou the devil, and worest it on thy 
It should be challenged. [horn, 

Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past: and yet it 
I will not keep my word. [is" not ; 

Bio. Why, then, farewell ; 

Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. 

Cres. You sliall not go : one cannot speak a word. 
But it straights starts you. 

Bio. I do not like this fooling. 

Ther. Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not 
you pleases me best. 

Bio. What, shall I come ? the hour V 

Cres. Ay, come: — O Jove! — do come: — I shall 

Bio. Farewell till then. [be plagued. 

Cres. Goodnight: I prithee, come. 

\_Exit Biomedes. 
Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee; 
lint with my heart the other eye doth see. 
All, poor our sex ! this fault in us I find, 
The error of our eye directs our mind : 
What error leads must err; O, then conclude 
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. [Exit. 
Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish 
more, 
Unless she said ' My mind is now tum'd whore.' 
Ulyss. All 's done, my lord. 
Tro. It is. 

Ulyss. Why stay we, then V 

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul 
Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
But if I tell how these two did co-act, 
Shall I not lie in publishing a trutli 'i 
532 



Sitli yet there is a credence in my heart, 
All esperance so obstinately strong. 
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears. 
As if those organs had deceptions functions, 
Created only to calumniate. 
Was Cressid here ? 

Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 

Tro. She was not, sm'e. 

Ulyss. Most sure she was. 

Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. 

Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but 

Tni. Let it not be believed for womanhood! [now. 
Tliiiik. we had mothers; do not give advantage 
To stiililjiirn critics, apt, without a theme, 
For dt-priivatioii, to square the general sex 
By Cressid 's rule: rather think this not Cressid. 

Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil 
our mothers V 

Tro. Nothing at all, unless tliat this were she. 

Ther. Will he swagger hiiiiself out on 's own eyes ? 

Tro. This she ? no, this is Diumed's Cressida: 
If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; 
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies. 
If sanctimony be the gods' delight. 
If there be rule in unity itself. 
This is not she. O madness of discourse. 
That cause sets up with and against itself! 
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid. 
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight 
Of this strange nature that a thing iiiseparate 
Divides more wider than the sky and earth. 
And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
Admits no orifex for a point as subtle 
As Ariachne's broken woof to enter. 
Instance, O instance! strung as Pluto's gates; 
Cressid is mine, tied with the Iniiids of heaven : 
Instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself ; 
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolved, and 
And with another luiot, five-flnger-tied, [loosed; 
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love. 
The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy relics 
Of her o'er-eaten faitli, are bound to Diomed. 

Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach 'd 
With that which here his passion doth express ? 

3Vo. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged well 
In characters as red as Mars his heart 
Inflamed with Venus : never did young man fancy 
With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
Hark, Greek: as mucli as I do Cressid love. 
So much by weight hate I her Diomed : 
That sleeve is mine that he '11 bear on his helm ; 
AVere it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill, 
Jly sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout 
Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
Constriuged in mass by the almighty sun, 
Shall dizzy with more clamour JSteptune's ear 
In his descent than shall my prompted sword 
Falling on Diomed. 

Ther. He '11 tickle it for his concupy. [false I 

ri-o. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, 
Let all mitruths stand by thy stained name, 
And they '11 seem glorious. 

Ulyss. O, contain yourself ; 

Your passion draws ears hither. 

Enter .fflneas. 

^ne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord : 
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; 
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 

Tro. Have with you, prince. IMycom'teous lord. 
Farewell, revolted fair! and, Diomed, [adieu. 

Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head! 

Ulyss. I'll bring you to the gates. 

Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 

[Exeunt 2'roiliis, ^neas, and Ulysses. 



ACT V. 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 



SCENE III. 



27ur. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed ! I 
would cmak like ;i raveu; 1 would bode, I would 
bode. PatrocliLs will give me ajiy thing for the in- 
telligence of this whore: the parrot will not do 
more for an almond than he for a commodious 
drab. Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and lechery ; 
nothing else holds fashion: a buruing devil take 
them ! \_Exit. 

SCENE III. — Troy. Before Priam^s palace. 

Enter Hector and Andromache. 

^11(7. AVlien was my lord so much ungently tem- 
To stop his ears against ailmonishment ? [iier'd, 
Vnarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 

II(xi. You train me to offend you; get you in: 
By all the everlasting gods, 1 '11 go! 

^•liif?. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the 

Jiict. 2so more, I Say. [day. 

Enter Cassandra. 

Cas. Where is my brother Hector V 

And. Here, sister : arm'd, and bloody in intent. 
Consort with me in loud and dear petition, 
Pursue we him on knees; for I have dream'd 
Of bloody tm'bulence, and this whole night 
llath not liing 1 leen but shapes and forms of slaugh- 

Cas. O, 'tis true. [ter. 

Meet.' Ho! bid my trumpet sound! 

Vas. Xo notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet 
brother. [swear. 

Hect. Be gone, I say: the gods have heard me 

t'us. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows : 
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
Than spotted livei-s in the sacrifice. 

And. O, be persuaded! do not count it holy 
To hurt by being just : it is as lawful. 
For we would give nuich, to use violent thefts, 
And rob in the behalf of charity. 

Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow ; 
But vows to every purpose must not hold : 
Unarm, sweet Hector. 

Htct. Hold you still, I say; 

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate: 
Lite every man holds dear ; but the brave man 
Holds honour- far more precious-dear thau life. 

Enter Troilus. 
Hownow, young man ! mean'st thou to fight to-day ? 

And. Cassau(h-a, call my father to i)ersiuule. 

[Exit (^xnsaadra. 

Hect. Xo, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, 
I am to-day i" the vein of chivalry : [youth ; 

Let grow thy sinews till their knijts be strong, 
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 
Unarm thee, go, and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
I "11 stand to-day for thee and me and Troy. 

2Vo. Brother, j'ou have a vice of mercy in you, 
AVhich better fits a lion than a man. 

Ilect. What vice is that, good Troilus V chide me 
for it. 

Tro. When many times the captive Grecian falls. 
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, 
You bid them rise, and live. 

Hect. O, 't is fair play. 

Tro. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector. 

Jlect. How now ! how now ! 

Tro. For the love of all the gods. 

Let 's leave the l\ermit pity with our mothers, 
And when we have our armours buckled on, 
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords. 
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. 

Hect. Fie, savage, fie! 

Tiv. Hector, then 't is wars. 

Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. 
_ Tro. Who should withliold me ? 
Xot fate, obedieuce, uor the hand of Mars 



Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire; 

Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees. 

Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; 

Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 

Opposed to hinder me, should stop my way, 

But by my ruin. 

Re-enter Cassandra, icUh Priam. 

Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast: 
He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay, 
Thou on him leauiug, and all Troy ou thee, 
Fall all together. 

Fri. Come, Hector, come, go back : 

Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had 

visions ; 
Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself 
Am like a prophet suddenly eurapt 
To tell thee that this day is ominous: 
Therefore, come back. 

Hect. ^neas is a-field ; 

And I do stand engaged to many Greeks, 
Even in the faith of valour, to appear 
This morning to them. 

Fri. Ay, but thou shall not go. 

Hect. I must not break my faith. 
You luiow me dutiful ; tlierefore, dear sir. 
Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave 
To take that course by your consent and voice, 
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 

Cas. O Priam, yield not to liim! 

And. Do not, dear father. 

Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you : 
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 

[Exit Andromoche. 

Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
Makes all these bodements. 

Cas. O, farewell, dear Hector! 

Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns pale ! 
Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents! 
Hark, how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out! 
How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth! 
Behold, distraction, frenzy and amazement, 
Like witless antics, one another meet. 
And all cry, Hector! Hector 's dead! O Hector! 

2Vo. Away! away! 

Cas. Farewell: yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave : 
Thou dost thyself" and all our Troy deceive. [E.cit. 

Hect. You are aiiiazt-d, my liege, at her exclaim : 
Go in and cheer the town : we '11 forth and figlit, 
Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night. 

Fri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about 
thee! 
[Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. 

Tro. They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, be- 
lieve, 
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 

Enter Pandarus. 
Pan. Do you hear, my lord 'i do you hear ? 
Tro. What nowj* 

Pan. Here 's a letter come from yond poor girl. 
Tro. Let me read. 

Pan. A whoreson tisick,awhoresonrascallytisick 
so troubles me, and the foolLsli fortune of this girl; 
and whatone thing, what another, that I shall leave 
J'OU one o' these days: and I have a rheum in mine 
eyes too, and such an ache in my bones that, unless 
a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on 'c. 
AVhat says she there 'f 

Tro. "Words, words, mere words, no matter from 
the heart ; 
The effect doth operate another way. 

[Teariwj the letter. 
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. 
My love with words and errors still she feeds; 
But edifies another with her deeds. 

[Exeunt severally. 
533 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



SCENE TT. 



SCENE IV. — Plains between Troy and the Grecian 
camp. 

Alarums: exc^irsiims. Enter Thersites. 
Ther. Now they ;ire chiiiper-chuving one another; 
I '11 go look on. That disseniblinji aboniinal)le var- 
let, Diomed, lias got that same scurvy doting fool- 
ish young Ivuave's sleeve of Troy tliiTc in liis helm: 
• I would fain see them meet ; tliat that same young 
Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, miglit send 
that Greekish whoremasterly villain, with the 
sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of 
a sleeveless errand. O' the t'otlier side„the policy 
of those crafty swearing rascals, that stale old 
mouse-eaten dry clieese, Nestor, and that same dog- 
fox, Uly.sses. is not i>roved worth a blackberry : they 
set me up. in iioliev, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against 
tliat dogof asliail a kind. Achilles: and now is the 
cur Ajax prouder tlian tlie cur Acliilles, and will 
not arm to-day ; whereupon the Grecians begin to 
proclaim liarljarism, and policy grows into an ill 
opinion. Soft ! here comes sleeve, and t'other. 

Enter Diomedes, Troilnsfolhwinrj. 

Tfo. Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river 
I would swim after. [Styx, 

Bio. Thou dost miscall retire : 

I do not fly, but advantageous dare 
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : 
Have at thee ! 

Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian! — now for thy 
wliore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the sleeve! 
[Exeunt Troilus and Biomedes, fighting. 

Enter Hector. 

Hect. What art thou, Greek ? art thou for Hec- 
Art thou of blood and honour y [tor's match ? 

Ther. No, no, I am a rascal; a scurvy railing 
knave : a very filthy rogue. 
Meet. I do believe thee : live. [Exit. 

Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me: 
but a plague break thy neck for frighting me! 
What 's become of the wenching rogues V I think 
tliey have swallowed one another; I would laugh 
at tliat miracle: yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. 
I '11 seek them. [Exit. 

SCENE v. — Another part of the plains. 

Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 

Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse; 
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid : 
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty : 
Tell her I have ehastised the amorous Trojan, 
And am her knight by [iroof. 

Serv. " " I go, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Agamemnon. 
Aii(un. "Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydamas 
Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon 
Hath Diireiis |irisoner. 
Ami stands enlnssiis-wise. waving his beam. 

Upon tlie pushed corses i>\' llie kings 
Fiiistriiplius and ( 'ediiis: I'oh \enes is slain, 
Amiiliimaelms and Tlioas deadly hurt, 
Patriielns ta'eii or slain, and Palamedes 
Sore hurt and bruised: the dreadlul Sagittary 
Appals our numbers: haste we, Diomed, 
To reinforcement, or we perish all. 

Enter Nes1x)r. 
Kest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles; 
And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame. 
There is a thousand Hectors in the field : 
Now here he fights on Galaihe Ids horse. 
And there lacks work; anon lie "s there afoot. 
And there they fly or die, like scaletl sculls 
Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder, 
534 



And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, 
Fall down before him, like the mower's swath : 
Here, there, and every where, he leaves and takes, 
Dexterity so obeying appetite 
That what he will he does, and does so much 
That proof is call'd impossibility. 

Enter Ulysses. 
ZHyss. O, courage, courage, princes ! great Achilles 
Is arming, weejiing, cursing, vowing vengeance: 
Patroclus' wouiiils have roused his drowsy blood. 
Together with his mangled Myrmidons, 
That noseless, haudless, liack'd and chipp'd, come 

to him, 
'Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend 
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it. 
Roaring fur Troilus, who hath done to-day 
Mad and faiilastie execution. 
Engaging and reileeming of hftnself 
With such a careless force and forceless care 
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning. 
Bade him win all. „ 

Enter Aj iX. 

Ajnx. Troilus! thou coward Troilus! [Exit. 

I)io. Ay, there, there. 

Nest. So, so, we draw together. 

Enter Achilles. 
Achil. Where is this Hector? 

Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face ; 
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry: 
Hector! where 's Hector V I will none but Hector. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE Vl. — Another jMrt of the itlains. 
Enter Ajax. 
Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy 
head! _ „. 

Enter Diomedes. 

Bio. Troilus, I say ! where 's Troilus ? 
Ajax. What wouldst thou ? 

Bio. I would correct him. [office 

Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my 
Ere that correction. Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus ! 

Enter Troilus. 
Tro. O traitor Diomed! turn thy false face, thou 
traitor. 
And pay tliy life thou owest me for my horse ! 
Bio. Ha, art thou there V < 

Ajax. I '11 fight with him alone: stand, Diomed. 
Bio. He is my prize ; I will not look upon. 
Tro. Come, both you cogging Greeks; have at 
you both! [Exeunt, fighting. 

Enter Hector. 
Hect. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my young- 
est brother ! 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Now do I see thee, ha! have at thee. Hector! 

Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. 

Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan: 
Be happy that mv arms are out of use: 
Mv rest and negligence befriends thee now, 
]?iit thou anon shall hear of me again ; 
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 

Hect. Fare thee well : 

I would have been much more a fT-esher man. 
Had I expected thee. How now, my brother! 

Be-enter Troilus. 
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en .Eneas : shall it be ? 
No, bv the flame of vonder glorious heaven. 
He shall not carry hnn : I '11 be ta'en too. 
Or bring him off : fate, hear me what I say ! 
I reck not though I end my life to-day. [Exit. 



ACT V. 



TROILUS AND CRESS I DA. 



SCEiSTE X. 



Enter one in sumptuous armour. 
Ifect. Stand, stand, thou Greek ; thou art a goodly 
Xoy wilt thou not'/ I like thy armour well; [luark: 
I '11 frush it and urdock tlie rivett; all, 
lint I '11 be master of it : wilt thou not, beast, abide'/ 
'\Vhy,theullyou,ril hunt theeforthy hide. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — Another pari of the plains. 

Enter Achilles, with Msri-midons. 
Achil. Come here about nie, you my Myrmidons; 
Slark what 1 say. Attend me where 1 wheel : 
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath: 
And when I have the bloody Hector found. 
Empale him with your weapons round about ; 
In fellest manner execute your aims. 
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : 
It is decreed Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. 

Enter'Menelau3anclFaris,_P'(jhting: then Thersites. 
Ther. The cuckold and the cnckold-maker are at 
it. Kow, bull! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, "loo ! now 
my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paris, 'loo ! The 
bull has the game : ware horns, ho ! 

[Exeunt Paris and Jlenelaus. 

• Enter Margarelon. 

Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 

Ther. What art thou '/ 

Mar. A bastard sou of Priam's. 

Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I am 
a bastard begot, bastard iustructed, bastard in mind, 
bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One 
bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one 
bastard'? Take heed, the quarrel "s most ominous 
to us : if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he 
tempts judgment : farewell, bastard. [Exit. 

Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [Exit. 

SCENE Ylll. — Another part of the iAains. 
Enter Hector. 
Hcct. Most putrefied core, so fair without. 
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. 
Now is my day's work done ; I "11 take good breath : 
Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death. 
[Puts off his helmet and hangs his shield behind him. 

Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 

Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set ; 
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
Even with the vail and darking of the sun, 
To close the day up. Hector's life is done. 

Hect. I am unarm 'd; forego this vantage, Greek. 

Aehil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the nian I 
seek. [Hector falls. 

So, Ilion, fall thou next ! now, Troy, sink down ! 
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. 
On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain, 
'Achilles hath the miglity Hector slain.' 

[.1 retreat sounded. 
Hark ! a retire upon our Grecian part. [lord. 

Mi/r. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my 

Achit. The dragon wng of night o'erspreads the 
A'lil, stickler-like, the armies separates. [earth. 
My half-snijp'il sword, that frankly would have fed, 
.Pleased with tliis daiuty bait, thiis goes to bed. 

[Sheathes his sword. 
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; 
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IX. — Anotlier part of the plains. 

Enter Agamenanon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, 
Diomedes, and others, niarchimj. Shouts witldn. 
Ai/am. Hark ! Iiark ! what shout is that '/ 
Kest. Peace, di-ums I 



[Within] Achilles! AchUles! Hector 's slain ! Achil- 
les! 

Dio. The bruit is. Hector 's slain, and by Achilles. 

Aja^e. If it Ije so, yet bragless let it be; 
Great Ilectur was a man as good as he. 

Ayiin. Marcli patiently along: let one be sent 
To pray Achilles see us ut our tent. 
If in his death the gods have us befriended. 
Great Troy is om-s, and our sharp wars are ended. 
[E.ceunt, marchiny. 

SCENE X.— Another part of the plains. 
Enter .ffineas and Trojans. 
JEne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field : 
Never go home; here starve we out the night. 

Enter Troilus. 

Tro. Hector is slain. 

All. Hector! the gods fori lid! 

Tro. He's dead : and at the nuirdcn-r's horse's tail, . 
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. 
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed! 
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy! 
I say, at once let your brief [ilaiiues lie mercy. 
And linger not our siu'e destructions on! 

JEnc. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. 

Tro. You understand me not that tell me so: 
I do not .sjieak of fiight, of fear, of death. 
But dare all innoiiiejice that goils and men 
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone : 
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba '/ 
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd, 
Go in to Troy, and say there. Hector 's dead: 
There is a word will Psiani turn to stone; 
Jilake wells and Xiobes of the maids and wives, 
Cold statues of the youth, and, in a word, 
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away : 
Hector Is dead : there is no more to say. 
Stay yet. You vile abominable tents. 
Thus ]irondly pight upon our Phrygian plains. 
Let Titan rise as early as he dare. [coward, 

I '11 through and through you ! and, thou great-si^e^l 
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates: 
I '11 haunt thee like a wicked conscience still. 
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts. 
Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go: 
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 

[Exeunt ..Eneas and Trojans. 

As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, 
Pandarus. 

Pan. But hear you, hear you ! 

Tro. Hence, broker-lackey ! ignomy and shame 
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! [Exit. 

Pun. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O 
W'Orld! world! world! thus is tiie poor agent de- 
spised ! () traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you 
set a-work, and how ill reciuited ! why should our en- 
deavour be so loved and the iierformance so loathed '/ 
what verse for it '/ what instance for it '/ Let me see : 

Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing. 
Till he hatli lost his honey and his sting ; 
And being once subdued in armed tail. 
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. 

Good traders in the flesh, set this in yom' painted 
As many as be here of pander's hall, [cloths. 

Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall; 
Or if you cannot weeji, yet give some groans. 
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. 
Brethren and sisters'of the hold-door trade. 
Some two months hence my will shall here be made : 
It should be now. but that my fear is this. 
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss: 
Till then 1 "11 sweat and seek about for eases. 
And at that time becpieathe you my diseases. [Exit. 
535 




COEIOLANUS. 



DB-1jV.IT/S PEUSON.T:. 



Caius Marcius, aflerwaiils Calus Marcius Co- 

rlolanus. 
Titus Lartius, 
Cominkis, 

Menenius Agrippa, friend to Cociolanus. 
Sicinius Velutus, 
Junius Brutus, 

Young Marcius, son to Coriolanus. 
A Roman Ilenikl. 

Tullus Aufidius, General of the Volscians. 
Lieutenant to Aufidius. 
Conspirators with Aufidius. 



Generals against the Volscians. 



, Tribunes of the i>eople. 



A citizen of Antiura. 
Two Volscian Guards. 
Volumnia, motlier to Coriolanus. 
Virgilia, wife to C'oriolanns. 
Valeria, friend to Virtplia. 
Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia. 

Eoman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, .Sidiles, Lie- 
tors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Au- 
fidius, and other Attendants. 



SCENE - 



-Home tmd the veiglihoitrhood ; Corloli and 
the neighbourhood ; Antium, 



[For 



Analysis of the Plot ol thi; 



-ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Borne. A street. 



Enter a company of miititu 
and olh 



; Citizens, with slaves, clubs, 
n^upons. 

Fin^t Cit. Before we proceed any further, hear me 

All. Speak, speak. [s])eak. 

First (Jit. You are all resolved rather to die thau 
to famish ? 

All. Resolved, resolved. 

First Cit. First, you know Caius Marcius is chief 
enemy to the peojtle. 

All. We know 't, we know 't. 

First Cit. Let us kill hiin, and we '11 liave corn at 
our own price. Is 't a verdict '? 

All. No more talking on 't ; let it be done : away, 

■Sec. Cit. One word, good citizens. [away! 

First Cit. We are accounted poor citizens, the 
patricians good. Wluit authority surfeits on woidd 
relieve us: if tliey wcuild yield lis Vmt thv snjier- 
fluity, while it were wJKilesi line, we mislit gurss they 
relieved us himianely ; but they think we are too 
dear: the leainiess that afflicts us, the object of our 
misery, is as an inventory to particularize their 
abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them. Let 
us revenge tliis witli our pikes, ere we become rakes : 
for the gods know I speak this in iiunger for bread, 
not in thirst for revenge. 

Sec. Cit. Would you proceed especially against 
Caius Marcius? 

All. Against him first : he 's a very dog to the 
commonalty. 

Sec. Cit. Consider you wliat services he has done 
for his country ? 

First Cit. Very well ; and could be content to 
give him good report for 't, but that lie pays liim- 
self with being proud. 

Sec. Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 

First Cit. I sa)[ unto you, what lie liath done fa- 
mously, he did it to that end : though soft-con- 
scieneed men can be content to say it was for his 
country, lie did it to please his mother, and to be 
partly proud ; which he is, even to the altitude oi 
his virtue. 

Sec. Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you 
account a vice in liim. You must in no way say 
he is covetous. 

636 



First Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of 
accusations; lie hath faults, witli surplus, to tire in 
repetition. [Shunts irithin.] What shouts are these y 
The otlier side o' the city is risen: why stay we 
prating liere V to tlie Capitol ! 

AH. Come, come. 

First Cit. Soft ! who comes liere ? 

Enter Menenius Agrippa. 

Sec. Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that 
hath always loved the peojile. 

Fir.st Cit. He 's one honest enough : would all the 
rest were so ! 

Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? 
where go you 
With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I pray 
you. 

First Cit. Our l)usiness is not unknown to the 
senate; they have had inkling this fortnight what 
we intend to do, which now we '11 show 'em in 
deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths : 
they shall know we have strong arms too. 

il/e,». Why, masters, my good friends, mine 
' honest neighbours, 
Will you undo yourselves ? 

First Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already. 

Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
Have the patricians of you. For your wants. 
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 
Strike at the lieaven with your staves as lift them 
Against the Eoman state, whose course will on 
Tiie way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
Of more strong link asunder than can ever 
Appear in your iiiiiifdiincnt. For the dearth, 
The gods, not the iiutriciaiis, make it, and 
Your knees to them, not amis, must help. Alack,. 
You are transported by calamity 
Thither where more attends you, and you slander 
The helms o' the state, who ctu-e for you like fathers, 
When you curse them as enemies. 

Fir.<<t Cit. Care for us ! True, indeed ! They 
ne'er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish, ami 
their store-houses crammed with grain ; make 
edicts for usury, to support usurers; rejieal daily 
any wholesome act established against the rich, and 
provide more piercing statutes daily, to chain up 



■f 




i 



ACT I. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCEISTE I. 



and restrain tlie poor. If the wars eat us not up, 
tliey will ; ami there 's all the love they bear us. 

Men. Either j-ou must 
Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you 
A pretty tale : it may be you have heard it; 
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
To stale 't a little more. 

Firat Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must 
not think to fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, 
an 't please you, deliver. [bers 

Men. There was a time when all the body's mem- 
Kebeird against the belly, thus accused it : 
That only "like a gulf it did remain 
I" the midst o' the body, idle and unaetive, 
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing 
Like labour with the rest, where the other instru- 
ments 
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel. 
And, mutually participate, did minister 
Unto the aiiiietite and allcclion common 
Of the whole body. The belly answer"d — 
First Cit. Well," sir, what answer made the belly ? 
Men. Sir, I shall tell yon. With a kind of smile. 
Which ne'er came from the lun,c;s, but even thus — 
For, look you, I may make the iji-lly smile 
As well as speak — it tauntijigly replied 
To the discontented members, the nuitinous parts 
That envied his receipt; even so most litly 
As you malign our senators for that 
They are not such as you. 

First Cit. Your belly's answer ? What ! 

The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye. 
The counsellor heart, tjie arm our soldier. 
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, 
Witli other nmuiuieuts and petty helps 
In this om' fabric, if that they — 

3Iai. What then ? 

'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what 

then V 

First Cit. Shoidd by the cormorant belly be re- 

. Who is the sink o' the body, — [s'train'd. 

Men. Well, what then ? 

First Cit. The former agents, if they did eom- 

What could tlie belly answer > [plain. 

Men. I will tell you ; 

If you '11 bestow a small — of what you have little — 
Patience awhile, you '11 hear the belly's answer. 
First Cit. Ye 're long about it. 
Men. Note me this, good friend ; 

Y'our most grave belly was deliberate, 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd : 
VjTrue is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he, 
/'That I receive the general food at first, 
' 5 Whicli you do live upon ; and fit it is, 
.Because I am tlie store-house and the shop 
)Of the wlinlc body: but, if you do remember, 
j I send it through the rivers of your blood, 
/ Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain ; 
) And, through the cranks and offices of man, 
JTlie strongest nerves and small inferior veins 
/ From me receive that natural coin\ieteiu>y 
I AVhereby they live' and tliougli that all at once, 
^ Y"ou, my good friends,' — this says the belly, mark 
First Cit. Ay, sir; well, well. " [me, — 

■ Men. ' Though all at once camiot 

See what I do deliver out to each, 
Y'et I can make my audit up, that all 
From me do back receive the flour of all. 
And leave nie but the bran.' What say you to 't ? 
First Cit. It was an answer: how applv ynn tliisV 
Men. The senators of Rome are this g(jiid lielly. 
And you the mutinous members; for examine 
Their counsels and their cares, digest things rigidly 
Toucliing the weal o' the common, you shall find 
No public benefit which you receive 
But it proceeds or comes from them to you 



And no way from yourselves. What do you thiisk, 
You, the great toe of this assembly? 

First Cit. I the great toe ! why the great toe ? 

3Ien. For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, 
poorest. 
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: 
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, 
Lead'st first to win some vantage. 
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs : 
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle ; 
The one side must have bale. 

Enter Caius Marcius. 

Hail, noble Marcius ! 
Meir. Thanks. AVhat 's the matter, you disseii- 
tious' rogues. 
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion. 
Make yourselves scabs ? 
First Cit. We have ever your good word. 
Mar. He that will give good words to thee will 
flatter 
Beneath abhorring. What would j-ou have, you curs, 
That like nor peace iinr war? the one affrights you. 
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, 
Where he should lind you lions, finds you hares; 
Where foxes, geese : you are no surer, no, 
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice. 
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is 
To make him worthy whoso offence subdues him 
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves great- 
ness 
Deserves your hate ; and your affections are 
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
Which woidd increase his evil. He that depends 
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead 
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Tru.st 
With every minute you do change a mind, [ye ? 
And call him no'ole that was now your hate. 
Him vilethat was your garland. What 'sthematter, 
That in these several places of the city 
You cry against the noble senate, who. 
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else 
Would feed on one another ? What 's their seeking ? 
3Ien. For corn at their own rates; whereof, they 
The city is well stored. [say, 

Mar. Hang 'em ! They say ! 

They '11 sit by the fire, and presume to know 
AVhat 's done i' the Capitol ; who 's like to rise, 
Wlio thrives and who declines; side factions and 

give out 
Conjectural marriages; making parties strong 
Ami feebling sucli as stand not in their liking 
r.elow their (■()bV)led shoes. They say there 's grain 
Would the uoliility lay aside tlieir ruth, [enough! 
And let nu' use my swortl, I "Id make a (piaiTy 
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
As I could pick my lance. 

Men. Nay , these are almost thoroughly persuaded ; 
For tliougli abundantly they lack di.screlion, , 
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, 
AVhat says the other troop ? 

Mar. They are dissolved : hang 'em ! 

They said they were an-liungry ; sigh'd forth prov- 
erbs. 
That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat. 
That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent 
Corn for the rich men only : with tliese shreds [not 
They vented their complainings; which being an- 
swer'd. 
And a petition granted them, a strange one — 
T(i break tlie heart of gciicnisity, [caps 

And make bdld jiciwer look pale — they threw their 
As they would hang them ou the horns o' the moon, 
Shouting their emulation. 
Men. AVhat is granted them ? 

Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar 'nis- 
doms, 

537 



ACT I. 



CORIOLANUS. 



5CENE III. 



Of tlieir own clioice : one 's Junius Brutus, 
Siciiiius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath! 
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, 
Ere so in-evail'd with me : it will in time 
Win ui)on power and throw forth greater themes 
For insurrection's arguing. 

Mm. This is strange. 

Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments ! 

Enter a Messenger, hastily. 
Mess. Wliere 's Caius Marcius V 
Mar. ' Here : what 's tlie matter ? 

Mess. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. 
Mar. I am glad on 't : then we shall ha' means to 
Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders, [vent 

Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, ami other Sen- 
ators ; Junius Brutus anil Sicinius Velutus. 

Fir.st Sen. Marcius, 't is true that you have lately 
The Volsces are in arms. [told us ; 

Meir. They have a leader, 

Tullus Aufidius, that will put 5'ou to 't. 
I sin in envying his nobility. 
And were I any thing but what I am, 
I ■would wish me only he. 

Com. You have fought together. 

3[ar. Were half to half the world by the ears and 
Upon my party, I 'Id revolt, to make [he 

Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
That I am proud to hunt. 

First Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 

Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 

Com. It is your former promise. 

Meir. Sir, it is ; 

And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou 
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. 
What, art thou stiff ? stand'st out ? 

Tit. No, Cains Marcius; 

I '11 lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, 
Ere stay behind this business. 

Men. O, trneJired ! 

First Sen. Your company to the Capitol; where. 
Our greatest friends attend us. [I know. 

Tit. [To Cejm.] Lead you on. 

[To Meir.] Follow Cominius; we must follow you; 
Right worthy you priority. 

Corn. Noble Marcius ! 

First Sen. [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; 

Mar. Nay, let tliem follow : [be gone ! 

The A'^olsces have niucli corn ; take these rats thither 
To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, 
Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. 

[Citizens steed avmi. h'.i-nnit all hut 
Si''-i,iiii^ ,1,1,1 i:,-„i,,s. 

Sic. Was ever man so jiroud as is this Marcius ? 

J>)'M. He has no equal. [people, — 

Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the 

Jirit. Mark'd you his lip and eyes ? 

Sic. J Nay, but his taunts. 

Jiru. Being moved, he will not spare to gird the 

Sic. Be-mock tlie modest moon. [gods. 

Uru. The present wars devour him : he is grown 
Too proud to be so valiant. 

Sic. Such a natiu-e, 

Ticldi'd with good success, disdains the sluidow 
Which he treads on at noon: but I do wonder 
His insolence can brook to be commanded 
Under Cominius. 

Brxi. Fame, at the which he aims. 

In whom already he 's well graced, can not 
Better be held nor moreattain'd than by 
A place below the first: for what miscarries 
Shall be the general's fault, tliougli he perform 
To the utmost of a man, and giddy censiure 
Will then cry out of Marcius ' O, if he 
Had borne the business ! ' 

Sic. Besides, if things go well, 

538 



Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall 
Of his demerits rob Cominius. 

liru. Come : 

Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
Though Marcius earn'd them not, and all his faults 
To jNIarcius shall be honours, though indeed 
In aught he merit not. 

Sic. Let 's hence, and hear 

How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, 
More than his singularity, he goes 
Upon this present action. 

Brxi. Let 's along. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. —CorioU. The Senate-house. 

Enter Tullus Aufidius and certain Senators. 

First Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels 
And know how we proceed. 

Auf. Is it not yours ? 

AVhal ever have been thought on in this state, 
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome 
Had circumvention ? 'T is not four days gone 
Since I heard thence ; these are the words : I tliirJc 
I have the letter here ; yes, here it is. [knov, u 

[Tiectels] ' They have press 'd a power, but it is not 
AVhether for east or west : the dearth is great ; 
The peo]iIe mutinous ; and it is rnmour'd, 
Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, 
AVho is of Kiuiie worse hated than of you, 
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, 
These three lead on this preparation 
Whither 't is bent : most likely 't is for you : 
Consider of it. ' 

First Sen. Our army 's in the field : 
We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready 
To answer us. 

Auf. Nor did you think it folly 

To keep your great pretences veil'd till w'hen 
They needs must show themselves; which in the 

hatching, 
It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery 
We shall lae shorten 'd in our aim, which was 
To take in many towns ere almost Rome 
Should know we were afoot. ^ 

Sec. Sen. Noble Aufidius, 

Take your commission ; hie you to your bands : 
Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
If they set down before 's, for the remove 
Bring up your army ; but, I think, you '11 find 
They 've liot prepared for us. 

A uf. O, doubt not that ; 

I si)ea.k from certainties. Nay, more, 
Some iiarccls of their power are forth already. 
And only hitherwanl. I leave your honours. 
If we and Caius JIarcius chance to meet, 
'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike 
Till one can do )io more. 

All. The gods assist you ! 

Auf. And keep your honours safe ! 

First Sen. Farewell. 

Sec. Sen. Farewell. 

All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Borne. A room in Marcius'' house. 

Enter Volumnia and Virgilia : they set them down 
on tu;> loir .•<tii<,h, aiid sew. 
Vol. I pray you, iUiuulit( r. sing; or express your- 
self in a more conil'ni lable s(irt : if my son were my 
husband, I should livelier rejoice in that absence 
wherein he won honimr than in the embraceinents 
of his bed where he would sliow most love. When 
yet he was but tender-bodied and the only son of 
my womb, when youth with comeliness i)lnckeil all 
gaze his w-ay, when for a day of kings' entreaties a 
mother should not sell him an hour from her behold- 



ACT I. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE IV. 



iiig, I, considering how honour would become such 
a person, that it was no better than picture-lilce to 
liang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, was 
pleased to let him seek danger where lie was like to 
tind fame. To a cruel war 1 sent him ; from whence 
he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, 
daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing 
he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had 
proved himself a man. [how then i* 

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam ; 

Vol. Then his good report should have been my 
son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me 
profess sincerely : had I a dozen sons, each in my 
love alike and iione less dear than thine and my 
good iMarcius. I had rather had eleven die nobly 
lor their country than one voluptuously surfeit out 
of action. 

Enter a Gentlewoman. 

Gent. Madam,the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. 

■Vir. Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. 

Vol. Indeed, you shall not. 
Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum, 
See him pluck Aulidius down by tlie hair. 
As children from a Ijear, tlie \'ciiscr.s shunning him: 
Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus: 
' Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear. 
Though you were born iuRome: ' his bloody brow 
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, 
lAke to a harvest-man that 's task'd to mow 
Or all or lose his hire. 

Vir. His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood ! 

Vol. Away, you fool! it more becomes a man 
Than gilt his trophy : the breasts of Hecuba, 
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
Than Hectw-'s forehead when it spit forth blood 
At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria, 
We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent. 

Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufldius! 

Vol. He '11 beat Aufidius' head below his knee 
And tread upon his neck. 

Enter Valeria, wif/j an Usher and Gentlewoman. 

Val. My ladies both, good day to you. 

Vol. Sweet mad,am. 

Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 

Val. How do you both ? you are manifest house- 
keepers. What are you sewing here ? A fine spot, 
in good faith. How does your little son y 

T/ir. I thank yonr ladyship; well, good madam. 

Vol. He had rather see tlie swords, and hear a 
drum, than look upon his schoolmaster. 

Val. O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear, 
't is a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon 
him o' Wednesday half an hour together: has such 
a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a 
gilded butterlly ; and when he caught it, he let it go 
again ; and after it again ; and over and over he 
comes, and up again; catched it again ; or whether 
his fall enraged him, or liow 't was, he did so set his 
teeth and tear it : O, I warrant, how he mammocked 

Vol. One on "s father's moods. [it ! 

Val. Indeed, la, 't is a noble child. 

Vir. A crack, madam. 

Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have 
you play the idle luiswile with me tins afternoon. 

Vir. No, guild niadani; 1 will not out of doors. 

Val. Not out of doors! 

T'*;. She sliall, she shall. 

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience: I '11 not over 
the threshold till my lord return from the wars. 

Val. Fie, you confine yourself most unrcasc mat ily : 
come, you must go visit the good lady tliat lies in. 

Vir. I will wish her .speedy strength, and visit her 
with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. 

Vol. "Why, I pray you ? 

Vir. 'T is not to save labour, nor that I want love. 

Val. You would be another Penelope: yet, they 



say, all the yarn she spun in ITlysscs" alisencedidbut 
fill Itliacafull of moths. Come: 1 would your cam- 
bric were seiisilile as your finger, th;U you migl it leave 
pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. 

Vir. No, good raadam, pardon me ; indeed, I will 
not forth. 

Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I '11 tell you 
excellent news of your husliand. 

Vir. O, good madam, tliere can be none yet. 

Val. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there came 
news from him last night. 

Vir. Indeed, madam y 

Val. In earnest, it 's true ; I heard a senator 
speak it. Thus it is: the Volsces have an army 
forth ; against whom Cominius the general is gone, 
with one part of our Roman power : yonr lord and 
Titus Lartiusare set down before tlieir city ( 'ini(di ; 
they nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief 
wars. Thisis true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, 
go with us. 

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam : I will obey 
you in every thing hereafter. 

Vol. Let her alone, lady : as she is now, she will 
but disease our better wiirth. 

Val. In troth, 1 flunk slie would. Fare you well, 
then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, 
tiu'u thy solemness out o' door, and go along \\-itli us. 

T7r. No, at a word, madam ; indeed, I must not. 
I wish you much mirth. 

Val. Well, then, farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Before Corioli. 

Enter, with drum arid colours, Marclus, Titus Lartius, 
Captains and Soldiers. I'o them a Messenger. 

J/ar. Yonder comes news. A wager they have 

Lart. My horse to yours, no. [met. 

Mar. 'T is done. 

Lart. Agreed. 

Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy V 

Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as yet. 

Lart. So, the good horse is mine. 

Meir. I '11 buy him of you. 

Lart. No, I '11 nor sell nor give him : lend you liim 
I will 
For half a hundred years. Summon the town. 

Mar. How far off lie these arnnes V 

Mess. Within this mile and half.* 

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they 
ours. 
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work. 
That we with smoking swords may march from 

hence. 
To help our fielded friends ! Come, blow thy blast. 

They sound a parley. Enter two Senators with others on 
the walls. 

Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? [lie, 

First Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than 

That 's lesser than a little. [Drums afar off.] Hark ! 

our drums 
Are bringing forth our youth. We '11 break our walls, 
Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates. 
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with 

rushes ; 
They '11 open of themselves. [Alarum of ar off'.] Hark 

you, far off ! 
There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes 
Amongst your cloven army. 
Mnr. O, they are at it ! 

Lart. Theirnoise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! 

Enter the army of the Volsces. 
Mar. They fear iis not, but issue fortli their city. 
Now put your sliields before j-our hearts, and fight 
AVith hearts more proof than shields. Advance, 
brave Titus : 

539 



ACT I, 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE VI. 



They do disdain us mucli beyond our thouglits, 
Whicli nialves nie sweat with wrath. Come on, 

my fellows : 
He thatretiivs, I "11 take him for a Volsce, 
And he shall feel mine edge. 

Alarum. Tke Romans are heat had' to their 
trenches. He-enter Marcius, cursiny. 
Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, 
You shames of Kome! you lierd of — Boils and 

plagues 
Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd 
Further than iseen and one infect another 
Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese, 
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
From slaves lliat ai)es would beat ! Pluto and hell ! 
All hurt iH'Uiiid; liacks red, and faces pale 
AVitli llight and agued lear ! Mend and charge home, 
Or, by the lires of heaven, I "U leave the foe 
And make my wars on you : look to 't : come on ; 
If you "11 stand fast, we '11 beat them to their wives. 
As they us to our trenches followed. 

Another alarum. The "Volsces fi/, and Marcius 

follows them to the gates. 
So, now tlie gates are ope : now prove good seconds : 
'T Is for the followers fortune widens them, 
Not tor the fliers: mark me, and do the like. 

[Enters the gates. 
First Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I. 
Sec. Sol. Nor I. 

[Marcius is shut in. 
First Sol. See, they have shut liim in. 
All. To the pot, I warrant him. 

[.Llarum continues. 

Be-enter Titus Lartius. 

Lart. "What is become of Marcius ? 

All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 

First Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, 
"With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, 
Clapp'd to their gates: he is himself alone, 
To answer all the city. 

Lart. O noble fellow ! 

"Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, 
And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Mar- 
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, [cius : 

"Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
Only in strokes ; but, with thy grim looks and 
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, 
Thou madest thine enemies shake, as if the world 
"Were feverous and did tremble. 

Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy. 

First Sol. Look, sir. 

Lart. O, 't is Marcius ! 

Let 's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 

[They fight, and all enter the city. 

SCENE V.—Corioli. A street. 

Miller certain Romans, with spoils. 

First Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 

Sec. Rom. And I this. 

Tliird Rom. A murrain on 't ! I took this for 

silver. [Alarum continues still afar off. 

Enter Marcius and Titus Lartius loith a trumpet. 
Mar. See here these movers that do prize their 
hours 
At a crack'd drachm ! Cushions, leaden spoons. 
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
Bury with those that wore them, tliese l)ase slaves, 
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : down with tVifm I 
And hark, wliat noise the general makes ! To him ! 
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
540 



Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take 
Cojivenient numbers to make good the city ; 
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste 
To help Cominius. 

Lart. "Worthy sir, thou bleed 'st ; 

Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
A second course of fight. 

Mar. Sir, praise me not ; 

My work hath yet not warm'd me : fare you well : 
The blood I drop is rather physical 
Than dangerous to me : to Aufidius thus 
I will appear, and fight. 

Lart. Now the fair goddess. Fortune, ■ 

Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great charms 
Misguide thy opposers' swords I Bold gentleman, 
Prosperity be thy page ! 

Mar. Thy friend no less 

Than those she placeth highest ! So, farewell. 

Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius ! [Exit Marcius. 
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; 
Call thither all the ollicers o' the town, 
"Where they shall know our mind: away ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE "VI. — Near the camp of Cominius. 

Enter Cominius, as it loere in retire, with soldiers. 
Com. Breathe you, my friends : well fought; we 
are come off 
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands. 
Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs, 
AVe shall be charged again. "VV^hiles we have struck, 
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard 
The charges of our friends. Ye Ronuui gods ! 
Lead their successes as we wish our own. 
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun- 
May give you thankful sacrifice. [teriug, 

Untcr a Messenger. 

Thy news ? 

ircss. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 
I saw our party to their trenches driven. 
And then I came away. 

C'on. Though thou speak'st truth, 

Methinks thou speak'st not well'. How lonj; is 't 

Mess. Above an hour, my lord. [since "i*. 

Com. 'T is not a mile; briefly we heard their drums: 
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour. 
And bring thy news so late ? 

3fcss. Spies of the Volsces 

Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel 
Three or four miles about, else had I, sir, 
Half an hour since brought my report. 

Com.. "Who 's yonder, 

Tliat does appear as he were flay'd ? O gods I 
He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have 
Before-time seen him thus. 

3Iar. [ Within] Come I too late V 

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a 
tabor 
More than I know the sovmd of Marcius' tongue 
From every meaner man. 

Enter Marcius. 

Mar. Come I too late ? 

Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, 
But mantled in your own. 

Jfar. O, let me clip ye 

In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart 
As merry as when our nuptial day was done. 
And. tapers burn'd to bedward ! 

Com. Flower of warriors. 

How is 't with Titus Lartius? 

3I(ir. As with a man Inisied about decrees: 
Condemning some to death, and some to exile: 
Raiisoniiiig'liini, or pitying, threatening the other; 
I Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 



rT T. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE IX. 



K en like a fawninsr greyhound in the leash, 
Til let him slip at will. 

Cum. Where is that slave 

^VllicIl told me they had beat you to your trenches V 
Where is he? call him hither. 

Mar. Let him alone; 

lie did inform the truth : but for our ijentlemen, 
The common tile — a plague! tribunes for tlieail — 
T!ie mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge 
From rascals worse than tliey. 

Com. But how prevail'd you ? 

Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? I do not think. 
Wliere is the enemy i* are you lords o' the field ? 
If not, why cease you till you are so ? 

Com. Marcius, 

We have at disadvantage fought and did ' 
Retire to win our purpose. 

Mnr. How lies their battle V know you on which 
They have placed their men of trust ? [side 

Com. As I guess, Marcius, 

Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, 
Of their best trust; o'er them Aufldius, 
Their very heart of hope. 

Mar. I do beseech you. 

By all the battles wherein we have fought, 
By the Ijlood we have shed together, by the vows 
AVe have made to endure friends, that you directly 
Set me against Autidius and liis Antiates; 
And that you not delay the present, but. 
Filling the air with swords advanced and darts. 
We prove this very hour. 

Co»j. Though I could wish 

You were conducted to a gentle bath 
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
Deny your asking: take your choice of tliose 
That best can aid your action. 

Mar. Tliose are they 

That mo!3t are willing. If any such be here — 
As it were sin to doubt — that love tliis painting 
Wlierein you see me smear'd ; if any fear 
Lesser liis jierson than an ill report; 
If any think brave deatli outweighs bad life 
And that his country's dearer tlian himself; 
Let him alone, or so many so minded. 
Wave thus, to express his disposition. 
And follow Marcius. 

[Tliey all shout and wave their swords, take 
him lip in their arms, and cast up their caps. 
O, me alone ! make you a sword of me ? 
If these shows be not outward, whicli of you 
But is four Volsces V none of you but is 
Able to bear against the great Aufldius 
A shield as liard as his. A certain number, 
Tliough tlianks to all, must I select from all: the 
Shall bear the business in some other fight, [rest 
As cause will l)e obey'd. Please you to march ; 
And four shall quickly draw out my command, 
Wliieh men are best inclined. 

Com. March on, my fellows: 

Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
Divide in all with us. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— 27te gates of Corioli. 

Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioli, going 
■tnHh drum and trumpet toward Comlnlus and Caius 
Marcius, enters tvith a Lieutenant, other Soldiers, 
and a Scout. 

Lnrt. So. let theports be guarded: keep your duties. 
As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch 
Tliose centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve 
For a short holding : if we lose the field, 
We cannot keep the tovsm. 

Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 

Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon 's. 
Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE ^nll.— Afield of buttle. 

Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, 
Marcius and Aufldius. 
Mar. I 'U fight with none but thee; for I do hate 
Worse than a promise-breaker. * [thee 

Auf. We hate alike : 

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 
Jlore than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. 

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave. 
And the gods doom him after ! 

Auf. If I fly, Marcius, 

Holloa me like a hare. 

Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, 

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, 
And made what work I pleased: 't is not my blood 
Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge 
Wrench up thy power to the highest. 

Auf. Wert thou the Hector 

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 
Thou shouldst not scape me here. 

[Then fiijht, and certain Volsces come to the 
aid of Aufidius. Marcius fights till they he 
driven in breathless. 
Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me 
In your condemned seconds. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IK. —The Roman camp. 

Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. 
Enter, from one side, Cominlus with the Romans; 
from the other side, Marcius, with his arm in a scarf. 

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's 

work. 
Thou 'Idst not believe thy deeds: but I '11 report it 
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, 
Wliere great patricians shall attend and shrug, 
I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted. 
And, gladly quaked, hear more; where the dull 

tribunes. 
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours. 
Shall say against their hearts ' We thank the gods 
Our Rome hath such a soldier.' 
Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast, 
Having fully dined before. 

Enter Titus Lartius, luiih liis power, from the 
pursuit. 

Lart. O general, 

Here is the steed, we the caparison: 
Hadst thou beheld — 

Mar. Pray now, no more : my mother, 

Who has a charter to extol her blood. 
When she does praise me grieves me. I have done 
As you have done : that 's what I can ; induced 
As you have been : that 's for my country : 
He that has but effected his good will 
Hath overta'en mine act. 

Co))i. You shall not be 

The grave of your deserving ; Rome must know 
T!ie value of her own : 't were a concealment 
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
To hide your doings: and to silence that. 
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd. 
Would seem Init modest : therefore, I beseech you — 
In sign of what you are, not to reward 
What you liave done — before our army hear me. 

Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they 
To hear themselves remember'd. [smart 

Com. Sliould they not. 

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude. 
And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, 
Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of all 
The treasure in this field achieved and city, 
We render 50U the tenth, to be ta'en forth, 
Before the common distribution, at 
Yom- only choice. 

541 



ACT II. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE I. 



Mar. I thank you, general ; 

But cannot make my heart consent to take 
A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it ; 
And stand upon my conniion part with those 
That have beheld the doing. 

[A long flourish. They all cry ' Marcius ! Mar- 
cius ! ' cast up their caps and lances : Comin- 
'ius and Lartius stand bare. 

Mar. May these same instruments, which you 
profane, 
Never sound more ! when drams and trumpets shall 
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts aud cities be 
Made all of false-faced soothing ! 
^Vhen steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, 
]^et hiui be made a coverture for the wars! 
No more, I say ! For that I have not wash'd 
My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch, — 
Which, without note, here 's many else have done, — 
You sliout me forth 
In acclamations hyperbolical ; 
As if I loved my little should be dieted 
In praises sauced with lies. 

Com. Too modest are you ; 

More cruel to your good report than grateful 
To us that give you truly : by your patience, 
If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we '11 put you. 
Like one that means ills proper harm, in manacles. 
Then reason safely with you. Therefore, bo it 

knowai. 
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 
Wears this war's garland: in token of tlie which. 
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
AVith all his trim belonging; and from'tliis time. 
For what he did before'Corioli, call him. 
With all the applause and clamour of the host, 
Caius ^Mahcius Coriolanus! Bear 
The addition nobly ever! 

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. 

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! 

Oir. I will go wasli ; 
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
Whether I blush or no: howbeit, 1 thank you. 
I mean to stride your steed, and at all times 
To undercrest your good addition 
To the fairness of my power. 

Com. So, to our tent ; 

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, 
Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome 
The best, with whom we may articulate. 
For their own good and ours. 

Lart. I .shall, my lord. 

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. Ltiiatnow 
Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
Of my lord general. 

Com. Take 't; 'tis yours. What is 't? 

Cor. I sometime lay here in Corioli 



At a poor man's house ; he used me kindly : 
He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ; 
But then Aufidius was within my view. 
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you 
To give my poor host freedom. 

Com. O, well begg'd I 

Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
Be free as is the wind. Deliver liim, Titus. 

Lart. Marcius, his name ? 

Cor. By Jui)iter ! forgot. 

I am weary ; yea, my memory is tired. 
Have we no wine here V 

Com. Go we to our tent : 

The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time 
It shoijld be look'd to : come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE X.—The camp of the Volsces. 

A flourish. Cornets. £^n((>r Tullus Aufidius, 
bloody, with two or three Soldiers. 

Auf. The town is ta'en ! 

First Sol. 'T will be deliver'd back on good con- 

Auf. Condition! [dition. 

I woidd I were a Roman ; for I cannot. 
Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition ! 
What good condition can a treaty find 
I' the part that is at mercy ? Five times, Marcius, 
I have fought with tliee ; so often hast thou beat me, 
And wouldst do .so, 1 think, should we encounter 
As often as we eat. By the elements, 
If e'er again I meet him beard to beard. 
He 's mine, or I am his : mine emulation 
Hath not that honour in 't it had; for where 
I thought to crush liim in an equal force. 
True sword to sword, I "11 potch at him some v.'ay 
Or wrath or craft may get him. 

First Sol. He 's the devil. 

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's 
" poison'd 
AVith only suffering stain by him; for him 
Sliall fly out of itself: nor sleep nor sanctuary, 
Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, 
The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, 
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there. 
Against the hosjdtable canon, would I 
AVash my fierce hand in 's heart. Go you to the city ; 
I^earn how 't is held ; and wliat they are that must 
Be liostages for Rome. 

First Sol. AAMll not you go ? [you — 

Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove: I i^ray 
'T is "south the city mills — bring me word thither 
How t!ie world goes, that to the pace of it 
I may spur on my journey. 

First Sol. I shall, sir. [Kveunt. 



A.CT II. 



SCENE I. — Rome. A puhlic place. 

Enter Menenius u-itJi the two Tribunes of the people, 
Siciaius aneL Brutus. 

Men. The augurer tells me we shall have news 

Bru. Good or bad"? [to-night. 

il/eix. Not according to the prayer of the people, 
for they love not Marcius. 

Sic. Nature teaches Vieasts to know their friends. 

Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ? 

Sic. The lamb. 

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians 
would the noble Marcius. 

Bru. lie 's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. 
542 



Men. He 's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
You two are old men : tell me one thing that I shall 

Botli. AVell, sir. [ask you. 

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that 
you two have not in abundance V [all. 

Bru. He 's poor in no one fault, but stored w-ith 

Sic. Especially in pride. 

Bru. And topiiiiiL;- all others in boasting. 

Men. Til is is st ranue now : do you two know how 
you are censuvfil here in the city, I mean of us o' the 
right-hand file V do you V 

Liilli. AVliy, liow are we censured r* 

Men. Because you talk of pride now, — will j-ou 
not be angry '{ 



ACT II. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCEXE I. 



Both. Well, well, sir, well. 

Men. Why, "t is uo sieat matter; for a very little 
thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of 
patience: give yonr dispositions the reins, and be 
angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it 
as a pleasure to you iu being so. You blame Mar- 
cius for being proud V 

Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 

Jfe/i. I know )ou can do very little alone; for 
your helps are many, or else your actions would 
grow wondrous single : j'our abilities are too infant- 
like for doing much alone. You talk of pride : O 
that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of 
your necks, and make but an interior survey of 
your good selves ! O tiiat you could ! 

Brii. What then, sir ? 

Jl/en. Why, then you should discover a brace of 
unmeriting, proud. Violent, testy magistrates, alias 
fools, as any in Rome. 

iS'i>. Menenius, you are kno^Ti well enough too. 

3[en. I am known to be a humorous patrician, 
and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop 
of allaying Tiber in 't ; said to be something imper- 
fect in favouring the flrst complaint ; hasty and 
tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that con- 
verses more with the buttock of the night than with 
the forehead of the morning : what I think 1 utter, 
and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two 
such wealsmeu as you are — I cannot call you Lycur- 
guses — if the drink you give me touch my palate 
adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can't say 
your worships have delivered the matter well, when 
I find the ass in compound witli the major part of 
your syllables: and though I must be content to 
bear with those that say you are reverend grave 
men, yet they lie deadly tliat tell you you have good 
faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, 
follows it that I am knowni well enough too V what 
harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of 
this character, if I be known well enough too ? 

Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. 

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps 
and legs : you wear out a good wholesome forenoon 
in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a 
fosset-seller ; and then rejourn the controversy of 
three pence to a second day of audience. When 
you are hearing a matter between party and party, 
if 30U chance'to be pinched with the colic, you 
make faces like mummers ; set up the bloody flag 
against all patience ; and, in roaring for a chamber- 
pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more en- 
tangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in 
their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You 
are a pair of strange ones. 

Biu. Come, conie, you are well understood to be 
a perfecter giber for the table than a necessary 
bencher in the Capitol. 

Men. Our very priests must liecome mockers, if 
they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you 
are. When you speak best unto the puri^ose, it is 
not worth the wagging of your beards; and your 
beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff 
a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's 
pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, IMarcius is 
proud ; who, in acheap estimation, is worth all your 
predecessors since Deucalion, though perad venture 
some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. 
God-den to your worehips: more of your conversa- 
tion would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of 
the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my 
leave of you. \Brutus and Sicinius jo aside. 

Enter Volumnia, Virgllia, and Valeria. 
How now, my as fair as noble ladies, — and the 
moon, were slie earthly, no nolilef, — -whither do 
you follow your eyes so fast '^ 



Vol. Honourable ilenenius, my boy Marcius ap- 
proaches ; for the love of Juno, let 's go. 

Men. Ha! Marcius coming home ! 

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most pros- 
perous approbation. 

Men. Take^niy cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. 
Hoo ! Marcius coming home ! 

Vol. Vir. >>ay, 'tis true. 

Vol. Look, here 's a letter fi'om him : the state 
hath another, his wife another ; and, I think, there 's 
one at home for you. 

Men. I will make my very house reel to-night : a 
letter for me ! [saw 't. 

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I 

Men. A letter for me ! it gives me an estate of 
seven years' health ; in which time I will make a 
lip at the physician : the most sovereign prescription 
in Galen is but emiuricutic. and, to this preservative, 
of no better report than a horse-drencli. Is he not 
womided ? he was wont to come home wounded. 

Vir. O, no, no, no. 

Vol. O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for 't. 

Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : brings a' 
victory iu his pocket ? the wounds become liim. 

Vol. On 's brows: Menenius, he conies the third 
time home with the oaken garland. 

Men. Has he disciplined "Aufidius soundly? 

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, 
but Aufidius got off. 

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I '11 warrant 
him that: an he had stayed by him, I would not 
have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, 
and the gold that 's in them. Is the senate pos- 
sessed of this ? 

Vol. Good ladies, let 's go. Yes, yes, yes ; tlie 
senate has letters from the general, wherein he 
gives my son the whole name of the war: he hath 
in this action outdone his former deeds doubly. 

Vol. In troth,there's wondrous things spokeof him. 

3Ien. Wondrous ! ay, I warrant you, and not with- 
out his true purchasing. 

Vir. The gods grant them true ! 

Vol. True ! pow, wow. 

Men. Trae ! I '11 be sworn they are true. Where 
is he wounded? [To the Tribunes] God save your 
good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has 
more cause to be jjroud. Where is he wounded ? 

Vol. V the shoulder and i' the left arm : there will 
be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall 
stand for his place. He received iu the repulse of 
Tarquin seven hurts i' the body. 

Meyi. One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh, — 
there 's nine that I know. 

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- 
five wounds upon him. 

Men. Now it "s twenty-seven: every gash was an 
enemy's grave. [A shout andjloiirish.] Hark! the 
trunrpets. 

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before him 
he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears : 
Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; 
Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. 

Asetiiiet. Trumpets sound. JTriler Comildus the grnf)-iil, 
anil Titus Lartius; between (/(/■)», Coriolanus, croimcd 
wilh an o'iki-n garland; with Captains and Soldiers, 
and a Herald. 

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight 
Within Corioli gates : where he hath won, 
Witli fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these 
In honour fallows Coriolanus. 
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish. 

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 

Cor. No more of this ; it does offend my heart : 
Pray now, no more. 

Com. Look, sir, your mother ! 

Cor. O, 

543 



ACT TT. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE II. 



You have. I know, petition'd all the gods 

For my prosperity ! ^Kneels. 

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up; 

My gentle llarciiis, worthy Cains, and 
By deed-achieving lidnonr newly named. — • 
What is itV — I'oriolanus must I call tlieeV — 
But, O, thy wife! 

Cor. My gracious silence, hail ! 

Wouldst thou have laugh 'd had I come coffiu'd liome, 
That weep'st to see me triumph ^ Ah, my dear, 
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear. 
And mothers that lack sons. 

Men. Now, the gods crown thee ! 

Cor. And live you yet 'i \To YalericCl O my sweet 
lady, pardon. [home: 

Vol. I know not where to turn: O, welcome 
And welcome, general: and ye 're welcome all. 

M(n. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep 
And I coidd laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome. 
A curse begin at very root on 's heart, 
Tliat is not glad to see thee! You are three 
That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of 
men, [not 

We have some old crab-trees here at home that will 
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors : 
We call a nettle but a nettle and 
The faults of fools but folly. 

Com. Ever right. 

Cor. Menenius ever, ever. 

Iltrald. Give way there, and go on ! 

Cor. \To Volumnia and VirfjiUa] Your hand, 
and yours : 
Ere in our own house I do shade my head, 
Tiie good patricians must be visited; 
From whom 1 liave received not only greetings, 
But Willi them change of honours. 

Vol. I have lived 

To see inherited my very wishes 
And the buildings of my fancy : only 
There 's one thing wanting, wliich I doubt not but 
Our Rome will cast upon thee. 

Cor. Know, good mother, 

I had ratlier be their servant in my way 
Than sway with them in theirs. 

Corn. On, to the Capitol ! 

[Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. 

Dnitus and Sicinius conieforward. 

JBru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared 
sights 
Are spectacled to see him : your prattling nurse 
Into a rapture lets her baby cry 
While she chats him : tlie kitchen malkin pins 
Her ficliest loekram 'bout lier reechy neck, [dows. 
Clambering the walls to eye liim : stalls, bulks, win- 
Are smother'd up, leads lill'd, and ridges horsed 
With variable complexions, all agreeing 
In earnestness to see him : seld-shown llamens 
Do press among the popular throngs and puff 
To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames 
Commit the war of wliite and damask in 
Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil 
Of Phttbus' burning kisses : such a potlier 
As if that whatsoever god who leads liim 
Were slily crept into iiis luiman powers 
And gave him graceful posture. 

Sic. On the sudden, 

I warrant him consul. 

JBru. Then our ofBce may. 

During liis power, go sleep. 

Sic. lie cannot temperately transport his honours 
From wliere he shoidd begin and end, but will 
Lose those he hath won. 

l!ru. In that there 's comfort. 

Sic. Doubt not 

The commoners, for whom we stand, but they 
ITjion tlieir ancient malice will forget 
Witli tlie least cause these his new honours, which 
544 



Tliat he will give them make I as little question 
As lie is proud to do 't. 

Ih-H. I heard him swear. 

Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
Appear i' the market-place nor on him put 
The napless vesture of liumility ; 
Xor, showing, as the manner is, his woimds 
To tlie people, beg their stinking breaths. 

Sic. 'T is right. 

Lrii. It was Ids word ; O, he would miss it rather 
Than carry it but liy the suit of the gentry to him 
And tlie desire of the nobles. 

Sic. 1 wish no better 

Than have him hold that purpose and to put it 
In execution. 

-Brit. 'T is most like he will. 

Sic. It shall be to him then as our good wills, 
A sure destruction. 

hra. So it must fall out 

To him or our authorities. For an end, 
We must suggest tlie people in what hatred 
He still hatli lield tliem ; that to 's power lie would 
Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders and 
Disprojiertied tlieir freedoms, holdmg them. 
In human action and capacity. 
Of no more soul nor fitness for the world 
Than camels in the war, who have their provand 
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
For sinking under them. 

Sic. Tins, as you say, suggested 

At some time when his soaring insolence 
Sliall touch tlie people — which time shall not want, 
If he be put upon 't ; and that 's as easy 
As to set dogs on sheep — will be his fire 
To kindle their dry stubble ; and their blaze 
Shall darken him for ever. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Bru. Wliat 's the matter ? 

Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tisthought 
Tliat Marcius shall be consul: 
I liave seen the dumb men tlirong to see him and 
Tlie blind to hear him speak : matrons flung gloves, 
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, 
Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles beuded. 
As to Jove's statue, and tlie commons made 
A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts: 
I never saw the like. 

Bru. Let 's to the Capitol ; 

And carry with us ears and eyes for tire time, 
But hearts for the event. 

Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. The Capitol. 
Enter two Officers, to lay cushions. 

First Of. Come, come, tliey are ahnost liere. 
How many stand for consnlsliips? 

iSVc. Oji''. Three, tliey say: but 'tis thought of 
every oiie Corinlanus will carry it. 

First Off'. Tliat "s a brave fellow; but he's ven- 
geance proud, and loves not the common peojile. 

Sec. Off. Faith, there have been many great men 
that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved 
them ; and there be many that they have loved, 
they know not wherefore: so that, if they love they 
know not why, they liate upon no better a ground: 
therefore, for Coi-iolaims neither to care whether 
they love or hate him inanifests the true knowledge 
he "has in their disposition; and out of his noble 
carelessness lets tlieni plainly see 't. 

First Off. If he did not care whether he had their 
love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them 
neither good nor liarm : but he seeks their hate 
with greater devotion tlian they can render it him ; 
and leaves noMiing midoiie that may fully discover 
him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the 



ACT 11. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCEXE II. 



malice and disi)leasure of the people is as bad as 
that which he dislil^es, to tiatter them for their love. 

Sec. Off. lie hath deserved worthily of liis coun- 
try : and his ascent is not by such easy degrees as 
tliose who, having been supple and courteous to the 
people, bonneted, without any further deed to have 
tliem at all into their estimation and report: but 
he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and 
his actions in tlieir hearts, tluit for their tongues to 
be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of 
ingratef ul injury ; to report otherwise, were a malice, 
tliat, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and 
rebuke from every ear that lieard it. 

First Off. Xo more of liim; he's a worthy man: 
make way, they are coming. 

A sennet. Eni€r,wilh Liotors before them, Cominius the 
cmisiil. Menenius, Coriolanus, Senators, Sicinius 
and Brutus. The Senators lake their pi'ices ; the 
Tribunes take their places by themselves. Coriolanus 
stands. 

Men. Having determined of the Yolsces and 
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, 
As the main point of this our after-meeting, 
To gratify his noble service that 
Hath thus stood for his country: therefore, please 
IVIost reverend and grave elders, to desire [you, 
The pr&sent consul, and last general 
In our well-found .successes, to report 
A little of that worthy work perform'd 
By Caius ilarcius Coriolanus, whom 
"We met here both to thank and to remember 
AVith lionours like himself. 

First Sea. Speak, good Cominius : 

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think 
Kather our state 's defective for requital 
Than we to stretch it out. [To the Tribunes] Mas- 
ters o' the people, 
"We do request your kindest ears, and after. 
Your loving motion toward the common body, 
To yield what passes here. 

Sic. "We are convented 

Upon a pleasing treaty, and liave hearts 
Inclinable to honour and advance 
The theme of our assembly. 

Bru. "Which the rather 

"We shall be blest to do, if he remember 
A kinder value of the people than 
He hath hereto prized tliem at. 

2Ien . That 's off, that 's off ; 

I would you rather had been silent. Please you 
To liear Cominius speak ? 

Bru. ^Most willingly; 

But yet my caution was more pertinent 
Than the rebuke you give it. 

Men . He loves your people ; 

But tie him not to be their bedfellow. 
"Worthy Cominius, speak. [Coriolanus offers to go 
mrai/.] N«,y, keep your place. 

First Sen. Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear 
"\Vhat you have nobly done. 

Cor. Your honours' pardon : 

I had rather have my wounds to heal again 
Tlian hear say how I got them. 

Bru. Sir, I hope 

My words disbench'd you not. 

Cor. No, sir: yet oft, 

"When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. 
You soothed not, therefore hurt not: but your 
I love them as they weigh.' [people, 

Men. Pray now, sit down. 

Cor. 1 had rather have one scratch my head 
i' the sun 
When the alarum were struck than idly sit 
To hear my nothings monster'd. " [Exit. 

Men. Masters of the people, 

Your multiplying spawu how can he flatter — 
35 



That 's thousand to one good one — when you now 
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour [see 
Than one on 's ears to hear it V Proceed, Cominius. 

Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus 
Should not be utter 'd feebly. It is held 
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
Most dignifies the haver: if it l)e. 
The man I speak of cannot in the world 
Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years, 
Wlien Tarciuin made a head for Rome, he fought 
Beyond tlie mark of others: our then dictator. 
Whom with all praise I point at, saw^ him fight. 
When witli his Amazonian chin he drove 
The bristled Wys ln'fdre him : he be-strid 
An o'er-press"d Bonian and i' the consul's view 
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met, 
And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats. 
When he might act the woman in the scene, 
lie proved best man i' tlie field, and for liis meed 
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
Man-enter 'd thus, he waxed like a sea. 
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since 
He lurcird all swords of the garland. For this last. 
Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; 
And by his rare example made the coward 
Turn terror into sjiort : as weeds liefore 
A vessel under sail, so men oliey'd 
And fell belnw his stem : his sword, death's stamp, 
AVhere it did mark, it took ; from face to foot 
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd 
The mortal gate of the city, wdiich he painted 
With shunless ilestiny ; aidless came off. 
And with a sudden re-inforcement struck 
Corioli like a planet : now all 's his : 
When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce 
His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit 
Re-quicken \1 what in flesh was fatigate. 
And to tlie battle came he ; wliere he did 
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
'T were a perpetual spoil : and till we call'd 
Both field and city ours, he never stood 
To ease his breast with panting. 

Men. Worthy man! 

First Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the 
Which we devise him. [honours 

Cojn. Our spoils he kick'd at. 

And look'd upon things jirecious as they were 
The common mu.'-k of tlie world : lie covets less 
Than misery itself would give; rewards 
His deeds with doing them, and is content 
To spend the time to end it. 

Men . He 's right noble : 

Let him be call'd for. 

First Sen. Call Coriolanus. 

Off. He doth appear. 

He-enter Coriolanus. 

Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased 
To make thee consul. 

Cor. I do owe them still 

My life and services. 

Men. It then remains 

That you do speak to the people. 

Cor. I do beseech you. 

Let me o'erleap tliat custom, for I cannot 
Put on the gown, stand naked and entreat them. 
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage : please 
That I may pass this doing. [you 

Sic. Sir, the people 

Must have their voices; neither will they bate 
One jot of ceremony. 

Men . Put them not to 't : 

Pray you, go fit you to the custom and 
Take to you, as your ])redecessors have, 
Your honour with your form. 
545 



ACT II. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE III. 



Cor. It is a part 

That I shall hkish in acting, and might well 
Be taken from the people. 

Bru. Mark you that ? 

Cor. To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus; 
Show them the unachiuj? scars which I should hide, 
As if I had received them for the hire 
Of tlieir breath only 1 

Men. Do not stand upon 't. 

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people. 
Our purpose to them : and to our noble consul 
Wish we all joy and honoiu'. 

Senators. To Coriolauus come all joy and hon- 
our ! [Flourish of cornets. Exeunt all but Si- 
cinius and Brutus. 

Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. 

Sic. May they perceive 's intent ! He will require 
As if he did contemn what he requested [tliem, 
Should be in them to give. 

Bra. Come, we '11 inform them 

Of our proceedings here : on the market-place, 
I know, they do attend us. [Exeunt. 

SCENE in..—Tke same. Tlie Forum. 
Enter seven or eight Citizens. 

First Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we 
ought not to deny him. 

Sec. Cit. We may, sir, if we will. 

Third Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, 
but it is a power that we have no power to do; for 
if he sliow us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we 
are to put our tnugiies into those wounds and speak 
for them; so, if lie tell us his noble deeds, we must 
also tell him our noble acceptance of them. In- 
gratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be 
ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude ; 
of the wliicli we being nicuiliers, should bring our- 
selves to be monstrous meiidjers. 

First Cit. And to make us no better thought of, 
a little help will serve ; for once we stood up" about 
the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many- 
headed multitude. 

Third Cit. We have been called so of many ; not 
that our heads are some brown, some black, some 
auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely 
coloured : and truly I think if all our wits were to 
issue out of one skull, they would (ly east, west, 
north, south, and their consent of one direct way 
should be at once to all the points o' the compass. 

Sec. Cit. Think you so ? Which way do you judge 
my wit would fly"? 

Third Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as 
another man's will; 'tis strongly wedged up in a 
block-head, l)ut if it were at liberty, 't would, sure. 

Sec. Cit. Wliy that way ? [soutliwanl. 

Third Cit. To lose itself in a fog, where being 
three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth 
would Return for conscience sake, to help to get 
thee a wife. 

Sec. Cit. You are never without your tricks: you 
may, you may. 

Third Cit. Are you all resolved to give your 
voices ? But that 's no matter, the greater part 
carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, 
there was never a worthier man. 

Enter Coriolanus in a gown of humility, xoith 
Menenius. 
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility : mark 
his behaviour. We are not to stay all together, but 
to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, 
and by threes. He 's to make his requests by par- 
ticulars; wherein every one of us has a single hon- 
our, in giving him our own voices with our own 
tongues: therefore follow me, and I '11 direct you 
how jou shall go by him. 
546 



All. Content, content. [Exeunt Citizens. 

Men. O sir, you are not right : have you not known 
The worthiest men have done 't ? 

Cor. What must I say? 

' I pray, sir,' — Plague upon 't I I cannot bring 
My tongue to such a pace : — ' Look, sir, my w ouuds ! 
I got them in my country's service, when 
Some certain of your brethren roar'd and I'an 
From the noise of our own drums.' 

Men. O me, the gods ! 

You must not speak of that : you must desire them 
To think upon you. 

Cor. Think upon me! hang 'em! 

I would they would forget me, like the virtues 
Which our divines lose by 'em. 

Men. You '11 mar all : 

I '11 leave you : pray you, speak to 'em, I pray you, 
In wholesome manner. [Exit. 

Cor. Bid them wash their faces 

And keep their teeth clean, [li^-tnter two of the 
Citizens.^ So, here comes a brace. [Re-enter 
a third Citizen.] 
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 

Tliird Cit. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought 

Cor. Mine own desert. [you to 't. 

Sec. Cit. Your own desert ! 

Cor. Ay, but not mine own desire. 

Third Cit. How not your own desire ? 

Cor. No, sir, 't was never my desire yet to trouble 
the poor with begging. 

Third Cit. You must think, if we give you any 
thing, we hope to gain by you. [ship i* 

Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the consul- 

First Cit. The price isto ask it kindly. 

Cor. Kindly ! Sir, I pray, let me ha 't : I have 
wounds to show you, which shall be yours in pri- 
vate. Your good voice, sir ; what say you ? 

Sec. Cit. You shall ha 't, wortliy sir. 

Cor. A match, sir. There's in all two wortliy 
voices begged. I have your alms: adieu. 

Third Cit. But this is something odd. 

Sec. Cit. An 'twere to give again, — but 't is no 
matter. [Exeunt the three Ciiizens. 

Ee-enter two other Citizens. 

Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune 
of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the 
customary gown. 

Fourth Cit. You have deserved nobly of yom- 
country, and you have not deserved nobly. 

Cor. Your enigma V 

Fourth Cit. You have been a scourge to her ene- 
mies, you have been a rod to her friends ; you have 
not indeed loved the common people. 

Cor. You should acenuut me the more virtuous 
that I have not been c<iuimon in my love. I will, 
sir, flatter my sworn brntlier, the people, to earn a 
dearer estimation of them ; 't is a condition they 
account gentle: and since the wisdom of their 
choice is "rather to have my hat than my heart, I 
will practise the insinuating nod and be off to them 
most counterfeitly ; that is, sir, I will counterfeit 
the bewitchment of some ))opular man and give it 
bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, 
I may be consul. 

Fifth Cit. We hope to find you our friend; and 
therefore give you our voices heartily. 

Fourth /Dit. You have received many wounds for 
your country. 

Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with show- 
ing them. I will make much of your voices, and 
so trouble you no further. 

Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily ! 

[Exeunt. 

Cor. Most sweet voices ! 
Better it is to die, better to stars'e. 
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 



ACT II. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE III. 



Wliy in this woolvisli toge should I stand here, 
To beg of Hob and Dick, tliat do apjiear. 
Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to 't: 
"What cuslom wills, in all things should we do 't, 
Tlic dust on anti(iuc time would lie unswept, 
And mountainous error be too highly heapt 
For truth to o'er-peer. Rather than fool it so, 
Let the liigh othce and the honour go 
To one that would do thus. I am half through; 
Tiie one part sulfer'd, the other will I do. 

Re-enter three Citizens more. 
Here come moe voices. 
Your voices : for your voices I liave fought ; 
"Watch'd for your voices; for your voices bear 
Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six 
I have seen and heard of; for your voices have 
Done many things, some less, some more: your 
liiili'ed, I would ije consul. [voices: 

Sij:th Cit. lie has done nobly, and cannot go 
without any honest man's voice. 

Seventh (jit. Therefore let him be consul : the gods 
give him joy, and make him good friend to the people! 

All Cit. Ameu, amen. God save thee, noble 
consul ! [Exeunt. 

Cor. Worthy voices ! 

Re-enter Menenius, with Brutus and Sicinius. 

Men. You have stood your limitation; and the 
tribunes 
Endue you with the people's voice: remains 
That, ill the oflicial marks invested, you 
Anon do meet the senate. 

Citr. Is this done? 

Sic. The custom of request you have discharged : 
The people do admit you, and are summon'd 
To meet anon, upon your approbation. 

Cor. Where? at the senate-house ? 

Sic. There, Coriolauus. 

Cor. May I change these garments ? 

Sic. You may, sir. 

Cor. That I'll straight do; and, knowing myself 
Repair to the senate-house. [again, 

Men. I '11 keep you company. Will you along ? 

Bru. We stay here for the people. 

(S'tc. " Fare you well. 

[Exeunt Coriolnniis and Meneniics. 
He has it now, and by his looks methinks 
'T is warm at 's heart. [weeds. 

Ih-u. With a proud heart he wore his humble 
AVill you dismiss the people? 

He-enter Citizens. 

Sic. How now, my masters ! have you chose this 

First Cit. He has our voices, sir. [man? 

Ilru. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. 

Sec. Cit. Anieu,sir: to my poor unworthy notice, 
He mock'd us when he begg'd om- voices. 

Third Cit. Certainly 

lie Mouted us downright. 

First Cit. No, 't is his kind of speech : he did not 
mock us. [says 

Sec. Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but 
He used us scornfully : he should have sliow'd us 
His marks of merit, wounds received for 's country. 
■ Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 

Citizens. No, no ; no man saw 'em. 

Third Cit. He said he had wounds, which he 
could show in private ; 
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 
' I would be consul,' says he : ' aged custom. 
But by your voices, will not so permit me ; 
Your voices therefore.' When we granted that, 
Ilere was ' I thank you for your voices : thank you l 
Your most sweet voices : now you have left your 

voices, 
I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery? 



Sic. Why either were you ignorant to see 't, 
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
To yield your voices ? 

Bru. Could you not have told him 

As you were lesson 'd, wiien he had no power. 
But was a petty servant to tlie state. 
He was your enemy, ever spake against 
Your liberties and the charters that you bear 
I' the body of the weal ; and now, arriving 
A place of potency and sway o' the state, 
If he should still inaliyiiantly remain 
Fast foe to tlie plebeii. vour voices might 
Be curses to yourselves V You should have said 
That as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature 
AVould think uiion you for your voices and 
Translate Iiis malice towards you into love, 
Standing your friendly lord. 

Sic. " Thus to have said, 

As you were fore-advised, had toui-liM his spirit 
And tried his inclination ; from him pliick'd 
Either his gracious promise, which you might. 
As cause had call'il you up, have held him to; 
Or else it would have galPd his surly nature. 
Which easily endures not article 
Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, 
You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler 
And pass'd him unelected. 

Bru. Did you perceive 

He did solicit you in free contempt 
When he did need your loves, and do you think 
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you. 
When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your 

bodies 
No heart among you? or had you tongues to cry 
Against the rectorship of judgment ? 

Sic. Have you 

Ere now denied the asker ? and now again 
Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow 
Your sued-for tongues ? 

Third Cit. He 's not conflrm'd ; we may deny him 

Sec. Cit. And will deny him: [yet. 

I '11 have five hundred voices of that sound. 

First Cit. I twice five hundred and their friends 
to piece 'em. [friends, 

Bru. Get you hence instantly, and tell those 
They have chose a consul tluit will from them take 
Their liberties: make them of no more voice 
Than dogs that are as often beat tor barking 
As therefore kept to do so. 

Sic. Let them assemble, 

And on a safer judgment all revoke ' 
Your ignorant election ; enforce his pride. 
And his old hate unto you ; besides, forget not 
With what contempt he wore the humble weed. 
How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves. 
Thinking uimn his services, took from you 
The apprehension of his present portance. 
Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion 
After the inveterate hate he bears you. 

Bru. Lay 

A fault on us, your tribunes; that we laboiir'd. 
No impediment between, but that you must 
Cast your election on him. 

Sic. Say, you chose him 

More after our commandment than as guided 
By your own true affections, and that your minds, 
Pre-occuiiied with what you rather must do 
Than what you should, made you against the grain 
To voice him consul : lay the fault on us. 

Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to 
you, 
How youngly he began to serve his country. 
How long continued, and wliat stock he springs of. 
The noble house o' the Man-ians, from whence came 
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; 
547 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCEXE I. 



Of tlie same iKinsc PnMius ami Quintus were, 
Tliat (Hir l>est water ludunlit by conduits hither; 
And [C'eiisoriiius,] iiolily uained so, 
Twice being [by the people chosen] censor, 
Was his great ancestor. 

Sic. One thus descended, 

That luith lieside well in his person wrought 
T(i lie set liigli in place, we did commend 
To your renii'nilirances: but you have found, 
Si-aling liis present bearing with his past. 
That he 's yonr lixeil <'iiemy, and revolie 
Your sudden approbation. 

]iiu. Say, you ne'er had done 't- 

Ilarp on that still — but by our putting on: 



And presently, when you have drawn your number, 
Repair to the Capitol. 

All. We will so : almost all 

Repent in their election. {Exeunt Citizens. 

iJru. Let them go on ; 

This mutiny were better put in liazard. 
Than .stay, past doubt, for greater: 
If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
With their refusal, both observe and answer 
The vantage of his auger. 

Sic. To the Capitol, come: 

We will be there before the stream o' the people ; 
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own. 
Which we have goaded onward. [Exeunt. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I. — Borne. A street. 

CorneU. Enter Corjolanus, Menenius, nil the Gentry, 
Comlnlus, Titus Lartius, and other Senators. 

Cor. Tulhis Aulidius then liad made new head ? 

Lart. Ui^ had, my lord; and that it was which 
Our swifter coiiiiiosition. [caused 

Cor. So then the Volsces stand but as at first. 
Ready when time shall prompt them, to make road 
Upon 's again. 

Com. They are worn, lord consul, so. 

That we shall hardly in our ages see 
Their banners wave again. 

Cor. Saw you Aufidius ? 

Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and did curse 
Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely 
Yielded the town : he is retired to Antium. 

Ciir. Spoke he of meV 

Lnrt. He did, my lord. 

Cor. llow? what? 

Lart. How often he liad met you, sword to sword ; 
That of all things upon the earth he hated 
Your person most , that he would pawn his fortunes 
To ]i()])eless restitution, so he mig'ht 
Be eaird your van(iuisher. 

Cor. At Antium lives he ? 

Lart. At Antium. 

Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there. 
To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
Beliokl, these are the tribunes of the people, [them ; 
Tiie tongues (T the eonnnon mouth: I do despise 
For they do prank them in authority. 
Against all noble sufferance. 

Sic. Pass no further. 

Cor. Ha! what is that? 

Sru. It will 1)6 dangerous to go on : no further. 

Cor. What makes this change? 

Jl/en. The matter? [mon ? 

Co)?i. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the com- 

Sru. Cominius, no. 

Cor. Have I had children's voices ? 

First Sen. Tribunes, give way; he shall to the 
market-place. 

J^rn. The people are incensed against him. 

Sic. Stop, 

Or all will fall in broil. 

Cor. Are these yoin- herd ? 

Jlust these have voices, that can yield them now 
And straight disclaim their tongues? What are 
your offices ? [teeth ? 

Y''ou being their mouths, why rule you not their 
Have you not set them on ? 

Men. Be calm, be calm. 

Cor. It is a purposed thing, and grows by plot. 
To curb the will of the nobilitiy: 
548 



Suffer 't, and live with such as cannot rule 
Nor ever will be ruled. 

Brii. Call 't not a plot : 

The people cry you moek'd them, and of late. 
When corn was given them gratis, you repined ; 
SeaniUird the suppliants for the jieople, call'd them 
Tinie-pleasers, liatterers, foes to nobleness. 

Cor. Why, this was known before. 

Sru. Not to them all. 

Cor. Have you inform 'd them sithence? 

Bru. IIow ! I inform them ! 

Coju. Y'ou are like to do 'such business. 

Bru. Not unlike. 

Each way, to better yours. [clouds, 

Cor. AViiy then should I be consul ? By yond 
Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
Y^our fellow tribune. 

Sic. Y^ou show too much of that 

For which the people stir: if you will pass 
To where you are bound, you must inquire yom' way, 
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, 
( )r never be so noble as a consul. 
Nor yoke with him for tribune. 

Men . Let 's be calm. 

Co);i. The people are abused ; set on. This pal- 
Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus [tering 
Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely 
I' the plain w'ay of his merit. 

Cor. Tell me of corn I 

This was my speech, and I will speak 't again — 

Men. Not now, not now. 

First Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 

Cor. Now, as I live, I will. My nobler friends, 
I crave their jiardous : 

For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
Therein behold themselves : I say again, 
In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition. 
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and 

scatter'd. 
By mingling them with us, the honour'd number, 
W'ho lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
Which they have given to beggars. 

Men. Well, no more. 

First Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 

Cor. How ! no more ! 

As for my country I have shed my blood. 
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
Coin words till their decay against those measles. 
Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
The very way to catch them. 

Bric. You speak o' the people. 

As if you were a god to punish, not 
A man of their infirmity. 

Sic. 'T were well 

We let the people know 't. 



ACT Til. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE I. 



Mm. What, what? hischoler? 

Cor. Choler! 
Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, 
By Jove, 't would be my mind ! 

Sic. It is a miiid 

That shall remain a poison where it is. 
Not poison any fmther. 

Cor. Shall remain! 

Hear you this Triton of the minnows 'i mark you 
His absolute ' shall ' ? 

Com. 'T was from the canon. 

Cor. ' Shall ' ! 

good but most unwise patricians ! why, 
You grave but reckless senators, have you thus 
Given Hydra here to choose an officer, 

That with his peremptory ' sluiH.' beiiit; Init 

The horn and noise o' the monstri"s, wants not spirit 

To say he '11 turn your current in a ditch, 

And make your channel his ? If he have power, 

Then vail your ignorance ; if none, awake 

Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd, 

Be not as common fools ; if you are not. 

Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians. 

If they be senators : and they are no less, 

When, both your voices blended, the great 'st taste 

Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate, 

And such a one as he, who puts his ' shall,' 

His popular ' sliall,' against a graver bench 

Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself! 

It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches 

To know, when two authorities are up. 

Neither supreme, how soon confusion 

Iilay enter 'twixt the gap of both and take 

The one by the other. 

Com. AVell, on to the market-place. 

Cor. Whoever gave tiiat counsel, to give forth 
The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 't was used 
Sometime in Greece, — 

Men. Well, well, no more of that. 

Cor. Though there the people had more absolute 

1 say, they nonrish'd disobedience, fed [power, 
Tlie ruin of the state. 

Bru. Why, shall the people give 

One that speaks thus their voice V 

Cor. I '11 give my reasons, 

More worthier than their voices. They know the 

corn 
Was not our recompense, resting well assured [war. 
That ne'er did service for't: being press 'd to the 
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd. 
They would not thread the gates. Tliiskindof sei-vice 
Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' tlie war. 
Their mutinies and revolts, wlifn-in they show'd 
Most valour, spoke not for tlieni: the accusation 
Which they have often made against the senate, 
All cause imborn, could never Ije the motive 
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then V 
How shall tills bisson multitude digest 
The senate's courtesy ? Let deeds express 
What 's like to be their words : ' We did request it; 
We are the greater poll, and in true fear 
They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase 
The nature of our seats and make the rabble 
Call our cares fears; which will in time 
Break ope the locks o' the senate and bring in 
Tlie crows to peck the eagles. 

Men. Come, enough. 

2iru. Enough, with over-measure. 

< Vir. No. take more : 

Wliat may be sworn by, both divine and human. 
Seal what I end withal! This double worshi)). 
Where one part does disdain with cause, tlie other 
Insult without all reason, wliere gentry, title, wis- 
Cannot coiirliiile but by the yea and no [dom. 

Of general ignDranie. — it must omit 
Ileal necessities, and give way tlie w-liile [lows, 
To unstable slightuess: pm-pose so barr'd, it foi- 



Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech 

You tliat will be less tearful than discreet, [you, — 

That love tlie funtfamental part of state 

Mere than you doubt the change on 't, that prefer 

A mil lie life before a long, and wish 

To jump a body witli a daugerdus physic 

That 's sure of death without it, at once pluck out 

The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick 

The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour 

Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state 

Of that integrity whirh sliduld become 't. 

Not having the "power to do the good it would. 

For the ill which doth control 't. 

Bru. Has said enough. 

S'tc. Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
As traitors do. 

Cor. Thou -ttTetch, despite o'erwhelm thee! 

What should the people do with these bald tribunes? 
On whom depending, their obedience fails 
Tn the greater bench : in a rebellion, 
AVlien what 's not meet, but what must be, was law, 
Then were they chosen: in a better hour. 
Let what is meet be said it must be meet. 
And tlirow tlieir power i' the dust. 

Bru. Manifest treason ! 

Sic. This a consul ? no. 

Bru. The oediles, ho ! 

Enter an .ffldile. 

Let him be aiipreheuded. 
Sic. Go, call the people: [Exit ^^dik] in whose 
name myself 
Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, 
A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee. 
And follow to thine answer. 

Cor. Hence, old goat ! 

Senators, dx. We '11 surety him. 
Com. Aged sir, hands off. 

Cor. Hence, rotten thuig! or I shall shake thy 
Out of thy garments. [bones 

Sic. Help, ye citizens ! 

Enter a rabble o/ Citizens (P/rlirians), with the .^diles. 

3fen. On both sides iiKire respect. 

Sic. Here 's he that would take from you all youri 

Bnc. Seize him, iediles ! [power. 

Citizens. Down with him ! dowii with him ! 

Senators, dc Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 

[They all buMle about Coriolanus, cryincj 
' Tribunes ! ' ' Patricians ! ' Citizens ! ' ' What, ho ! ' 
' Sicinius ! ' ' Brutus ! ' ' Coriolanus ! ' ' Citizens ! ' 
' Peace, peace, peace! ' ' Stay, hold, peace! ' 

M( I). What is about to be ? I am out of breath ; 
Confusion 's near; I cannot spe.ak. You, tribunes 
To the people ! Coriolanus, patience ! 
Speak, good Sicinius. 

Sic. Hear me, people ; peace ! 

Citizens. Let 's hear our tribune : peace! Speak, 
speak, speak. 

Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties : 
Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, 
Whom late you have named for consul. 

Men. Fie, fie, fie! 

This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 

First Sen. To unbuild the eity and to kiyall Hat. 

Sic. What is the city but the people ? 

Citizens. True, 

The people are the city. 

Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd 
The iieopie's magistrates. 

Citizens. You so remain. 

2tin. And so are like to do. 

Com. That is the way to lay the city flat; 
To bring the roof to the foundation. 
And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges. 
In heapsand piles of ruui. 

Sic. This deserves death. 

549 



ACT III. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE I. 



Bru. Or let us stand to our authority, 
Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, 
Upon the part o' tlie people, in whose power , 
"We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy 
Of present death. 

Sic. Therefore lay hold of him ; 

Bear him to the rock Tarpeiau, and from thence 
Into destruction cast him. 

Bru. ^diles, seize him ! 

Citizens. Yield, Marcius, yield ! 

Jl/en. Hear me one \wrd ; 

Beseech you, tribunes, hear me hut a word. 

-dBcZ. Peace, peace ! 

Men. [To Brutus] Be that you seem, truly your 
country's friend, 
And temperately proceed to what you would 
Thus violently redress. 

Bru. Sir, those cold ways. 

That seem like ])rudent helps, are very poisonous 
Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him, 
And bear him to the rock. 

Cor. Jf o, I '11 die here. 

[Drairiny his sicord. 
There 's some anions you have beheld me fighting : 
Come, try upon ynursclves wliat you have seen me. 

Jlied. Down willi that sword! Tribunes, with- 

Bru. Lay hands upon him. [ilraw awhile. 

Com. IIol)) Marcius help, 

You that be noble; help him, youni; and old ! 

Citizens. Down witli him. down with liim ! 

[In this 7nutiny, the Tribunes, the ^lEdiles, and 
the People, are beat in. 

Men. Go, get you to your house ; be gone, away ! 
All will be nauglit else. 

Sec. Sen. Get you gone. 

Com. Stand fast ; 

We liave as many friends as enemies. 

Men. Shall it be put to that ? 

First Sen. The gods forbid! 

I pritliee, noble friend, home to thy house ; 
Leave us to cure this cause. 

Men. For 't is a sore upon us, 

You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you. 

Com. Come, sir, along with us. 

Cor. I would they were barbarians — as they are. 
Though in Home litter'd — not Romans — as they 

are not, 
Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol — 

Men. Begone; 

Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
One time will owe another. 

Cor. On fair gromid 

I could beat forty of them. 

Com. I could myself 

Take up a brace o' the best of tlieni; yea. the two 
I5ut now 't is odds beyomt arilhnu-tio ; " [tribunes : 
And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, 
Bcfiire tlie tag rriurn? whose rage doth rend 
Like interrupted waters and o'erbear 
Wliat they are used to bear. 

Men. Pray you, be gone : 

I "11 try whether my old wit be in request 
With those that have but little : this must be patch 'd 
With cloth of any colour. 

Com. Nay, come away. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus, Com>iuu!<, and others. 

A Patrician. This man lias marr'il tiis fortune. 

Men. His nature is too noble for the world : 
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident. 
Or Jove for 's power to thunder. His heart 's his 

mouth : 
Wliat his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; 
And, being angry, does forget that ever 
He heard tlie name of death. [A noise within. 

Here 's goodly work! 

iS€c. Pat. I would they were a-bed ! 

550 



Men. I would they were in Tiber! Wliat the 
Could he not speak 'em fair ? [vengeance ! 

Re-enter Brutus and Sicinius, witli the rabble. 

Sic. Where is this viper 

That would depopulate the city and 
Be every man himself ? 
Men. You worthy tribunes. — 

<S'«c. He shall be thrown down the Tarjieian rock 
With rigorous hands: he liatli resisted law. 
And therefore law sliall scorn him further trial 
Tlian the severity of the public power 
Wliich he so sets at nought. 

First Cit. He shall well know 

Tlie noble tribunes are the people's mouths, 
And we their hands. 

Citizens. He shall, sure on 't. 
Men. Sir, sir, — 

Sic. Peace! 

3Icn. Do not cry havoc, where you should but 
With modest warrant. [liunt 

Sic. Sir, how comes 't that you 

Have holp to make this rescue i* 

3Ien. Hear me speak: 

As I do know the consul's worthiness, 
So can I name his faults, — 
Sic. Consul ! what consul ? 

Men. The consul Coriolanus. 
Bru. He consul! 

Citizens. No, no, no, no, no. 
Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
people, 
1 may be lieard, I would crave a word or two; 
The which shall turn you to no further harm 
Than so much loss of "time. 

Sic. Speak briefly then ; 

For we are peremptory to dispatch 
This viperous traitor: to eject him hence 
Were but one danger, and to keep him here 
Our certain death : therefore it is decreed 
He dies to-night. 

3[en. Now the good gods forbid 

That our renowned Eoine, wlmse gratitude 
Towards her deserved children is enroird 
In Jove's own book, like an uniiatmal dam 
Should now eat up her own ! 
Sic. He 's a disease that must be cut away. 
Men. O, he 's a limb that has but a disease; 
Mortal, to cut it olf; to cure it, easy. 
AVhat has he done to Rome that 's worthy death ? 
Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost — 
Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath. 
By many an ounce — he droi)pM it tor his country; 
And what is left, to lose it by his Cdniitry, 
Were to us all, that do 't and suffer it, 
A brand to the end o' the world. 
Sic. This is clean kam. 

Bru. Merely awry: when he did love his country, 
It honom'd him. 

Men. The service of tlie foot 

Being once gangrened. Is not then respected 
For what before it was. 

Bru. We '11 hear no more. 

Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence; 
Lest his infection, being of catching nature, 
Spread further. 

Men. One word more, one word. 

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
Tlie harm of luiscann'd swiftness, will too late 
Tie leaden pounds to 's heels. Proceed by process; 
Lest jiart ies, as he is beloved, break out, 
And sack great Rome with Romans. 
Bru. If it were so, — 

Sic. What do ye talk ? 
Have we not liad a taste of his obedience ? 
Our iediles smote V oureelves resisted y Come. 
Men. Consider this: he has been bred i'the wars 



ACT III. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE II. 



Since lie could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
In bolted language; meal and bran together 
He throws without distinction. Give uie leave, 
I '11 go to him, and undertake to bring him 
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
111 pe^ice, to his utmost peril. 

First Sen. Noble tribunes, 

It is the humane way : the other course 
Will prove too bloody, and the end of it 
Unknown to the beginning. 

Sic. Noble Meneuius, 

Be you then as the people's officer. 
Masters, lay down your weapons. 

Bru. Go not home. 

Sic. Meet on the market-place. We '11 attend 
you there : 
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we '11 proceed 
In our first way. 

Men. I '11 bring him to you. 

ITo the Senators] Let me desire your company: he 

must come, 
Or what is worst wOl follow. 

First Sen. Pray you, let 's to him. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.—^ ronm in C')riokinu!i''s house. 

Enter Coriolanus with Patricians. 

Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears, present 
Death on the wheel cr at wild horses' heels, [me 
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, 
That the precipitation might down stretch 
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
Be thus to them. 

A Patrician. You do the nobler. 

Cor. I muse my mother 
Does not approve me further, who was wont 
To call them woollen vassals, things created 
To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads 
In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder, 
When one but of my ordinance stood up 
To speak of peace or war. 

Enter Volumnia. 

I talk of you : 
AVhy did you wish me milder V would you have me 
False to my nature ? Rather say I play 
The man I am. 

Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 

I would have had you put your power well on. 
Before you had worn it out. 

Cor. Let go. 

Vol. You might have been enough the man you 
With striving less to be so : lesser had been [are, 
The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
You had not show'd them how ye were disposed 
Ere they laek'd power to cross you. 

Cor. Let them hang. 

A Patrician. Ay, and burn too. 

Enter Menenius and Senators. 

3Ten. Come, come, you have been too rough, 
something too rough : 
You must return and mend it. 

,First Sen. There 's no remedy ; 

Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
Cleave in the midst, and perish. 

Vol. Pray, be couusell'd : 

I have a heart as little apt as yours. 
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger 
To better vantage. 

Men. Well said, noble woman ! 

Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
The violent tit o' the time craves it as physic 
For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, 
Which I can scarcely bear. 

Cor. What must I do ? 



3Ien. Return to the tribunes. 

Cor. Well, what then ? what then ? 

3{cn. Repent what you have spoke. 

Cor. For them ! I cannot do it to the gods ; 
ilust I then do 't to them V 

Vol. You are too absolute ; 

Though therein you can never be too noble. 
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, 
IIoiKiur and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
I' the war do grow together : grant tliat, and tell me, 
In i)eace what each of them by the other lose. 
That they combine not there. 

Cor. Tush, tush! 

Men. A good demand. 

Vol. If it be honour in your wars to seem 
The same you are not, which, for your best ends. 
You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse. 
That it shall hold companionship in peace 
With honour, as in war, since that to both 
It stands iu like request ? 

Cor. Why force you this ? 

Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
To the people ; not by your own instruction, 
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you. 
But with such words that are but rooted in 
Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables 
Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. 
Now, this no more dishonours you at all 
Than to take in a town with gentle words. 
Which else would put you to yoiur fortune and 
The hazard of nuich blood. 
I would dissemble with my nature where 
My fortunes and my friends at stake required 
I should do so in honour : I am in this, 
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; 
And you will rather show our general louts 
How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em, 
For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard 
Of what that want might ruin. 

Men. Noble lady 1 

Come, go with us ; speak fair : you may salve so, 
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
Of what is past. 

Vol. I prithee now, my son. 

Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; 
And thus far having stretch'd it — here be with 

them — 
Thy knee bussing the stones — for in such business 
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
More learned than the ears — waving thy head. 
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart. 
Now humble as the ripest nmllierry 
That will not bold the liaiidling: or say to them. 
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils 
Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess. 
Were fit for thee to use as they to claim. 
In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame 
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
As tliou hast power and person. 

3fcn. This but done. 

Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours ; 
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
As words to little purpose. 

Vol. ■ Prithee now. 

Go, and be ruled : although I know thou hadst rather 
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf 
Than flatter him in a bower.' Here is Cominius. 

Enter Cominius. 

Com. I have been i' the market-place; ami, sir. 
You make strong party, or defend yourself ["t is fit 
By calmness or by absence : all 's in anger. 

Men. Only fair speech. 

Com. I think 't will serve, if he 

Can thereto frame his spirit. 

Vol. He must, and will. 

Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. 
551 



ACT III. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE III. 



Cnr. Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce ? 
Must I with base tongue give niy noble lieart 
A lie that it must bear ? Well, I will do 't : 
Yet, were there liut this single plot to lose, 
This niduhl lit Mareius. tliey to dust should grind it 
And tluDw't against the wind. To the market- 
place ! 
You have put me now to such a part whicli never 
I shall discharge to the life. 

Com. Come, come, we '11 prompt you. 

Vol. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said 
My praises made thee first a soldier, so. 
To have my praise for this, perform a part 
Thou hast not done before. 

Cor. Well, I must do 't: 

Away, my disposition, and possess me 
Some harlot's spirit ! my throat of war be turn'd, 
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
That babies lulls asleep! the smiles of knaves 
Tent in my cheeks, and schooUxiy's tears take up 
Tlic glasses of my sight ! a beggar's tongue 
ilal;e motion through my lips, iind my arm 'd knees, 
Who bow'd liut in my stirrup, bend like his 
That hatli received an alms! I will not do 't, 
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth 
And by my body's action teach my mind 
A most inherent baseness. 

Vol. At thy choice, then : 

To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour 
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let 
Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear 
Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death 
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
Tliy valiantness wasmine, thou suck'dst it from me, 
But owe thy pride thyself. 

Cor. Pray, be content : 

Mother, I am going to the marliet-place ; 
Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves. 
Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved 
Of all tlie tra<les in lionie. Look, I am going: 
Cnnimend me to my wile. I '11 return consul; 
Or never trust to wliat my tongue can do 
I' the way of flattery furtlier. 

Vol. Do your will. [Exit. 

Com. Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm 
To answer mildly ; for they are prepared [yoiu'self 
With accusations, as I hear, more strong 
Than are upon you yet. 

Cor. The word is ' mildly.' Pray you, let us go : 
Let them accuse me by invention, I 
Will answer in mine honour. 

Men. Ay, but mildly. 

Cor. Well, mildly be it then. Mildly! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The sartie. The Forum. 
Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
Bru. In this point charge him home, that he affects 
Tyrannical power : if he evade us there. 
Enforce him with his envy to the people, 
And that the spoil got on the Antiates 
Was ne'er distributed. 

Enter an MaHe. 
What, will he come ? 

vJJrf. He 's coming. 

Bru. How accompanied ? 

^d. With old Menenius, and those senators 
That always favour'd him. 

Sic. Have you a catalogue 

Of all the voices that we have procured 
Set down by the poll ? 

JEd. I have ; 't Is ready. 

Sic Have you collected them by tribes ? 

^d. I have. 

Sic. Assemble presently the people hither; 
552 



And when they hear me say ' It shall be so 

I' the right and strength o' the commons,' be it 

either 
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them, 
If I say fine, cry 'Fine; ' if death, cry 'Death.' 
Insisting on the old prerogative 
And power i' the tiTith o' the cause. 

^Ed. I shall inform them. 

Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry, 
Let them not cease, but with a din confused 
Enforce the present execution 
Of what we chance to sentence. 

^Ed. Veiy well. 

Sic. Make them be strong and ready for this hint, 
When we shall hap to give 't them. 

Bru. Go about it. [Exit uEdlle. 

Put him to choler straight : he hath been used 
Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
Of contradiction : being once chafed, he cannot 
Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks 
What 's in his heart; and that is there which looks 
Witii us to break his neck. 

Sic. Well, here he comes. 

Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, and Cominius, with 
Senators and Patricians. 

Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. 

Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece 
Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour \1 

gods 
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
Supiilied with worthy men ! itlant love among 's ! 
Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, 
And not our streets with war ! 

First Sen. Amen, amen. 

Men. A noble wish. 

He-enter .SJdile, with Citizens. 

Sic. Draw near, ye peojile. [I say ! 

^Ed. List to your tribunes. Audience! peace. 

Cor. First, hear me speak. 

Both Tri. Well, say. Peace, ho ! 

Cor. Shall I be charged no further than this 
^Must all determine here ^ [present ? 

Sic. I do demand, 

If you submit you to the people's voices, 
Allow their othcers and are content 
To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
As shall be proved upon you ? 

Cnr. I am content. 

Men. Lo, citizens, he says he is content: 
The warlike service he has done, consider; think 
Upon the wounds his body bears, whicli show 
Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 

Cor. Scratches with briers, 

Scars to move laughter only. 

Men. Consider further, 

That when he speaks not like a citizen, 
You find him like a soldier: do not take 
His rougher accents for malicious sounds, ■ 
But, as I say, such as become a soldier. 
Rather thaii envy you. 

Com. Well, well, no more. 

Cor. Wliat is the matter 
That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
I am so dishonour'd that tlie very hour 
You take it off again ? 

Sic. Answer to us. 

Cor. Say, then : 't is true, I ought so. [take 

Sic. We charge you, that you have contrived to 
From Rome all season'd office and to wind 
Yourself into a power tyrannical; 
For which you are a traitor to the people. 

Cor. How! traitor! 

Men. Nay, temperately; your promise. 

Cor. The fires i' the" lowest hell fold-in the people ! 
Call me their traitor ! Thou injurious tribune ! 



ACT IV. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SOENE T. 



Witliiu thine eyes sat twenty tliousand deaths, 
In thy hands clutcli'd as many millions, in 
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say 
'Thou liest ' unto thee with a voice as free 
As I do pray the gods. 

Sic. Mark you this, people ? 

Citizens. To the rock, to the rock with him ! 

Sic. Peace ! 

We need not put new matter to his charge: 
"What you have seen liim do and heard liim speak. 
Beating your Dfhcers, cursing yourselves, 
Opposing laws with strokes and here defying 
Those whose great power must try him; even this, 
So criminal and in such capital kind. 
Deserves the extremes! death. 

Bru. But since he hath 

Served well for Kome, — 

Cor. What do you prate of service V 

Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 

Cm-. YouV 

Men. Is this the promise that you made yoiu' 

Com. Know, I pray you, — [mother V 

Cor. I '11 know no further : 

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeiaa death, 
Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger 
But with a grain a day, I would not" buy 
Their mercy at the price of one fair word ; 
Xor check my courage for what they can. give, 
To have 't with saying 'Good morrow.' 

Sic. For that he has. 

As much as in him lies, from time to time 
Envied against the people, seeking means 
To pluek'away their power, as now at last 
Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence 
Of dreaded just ice, but ou the ministers 
That do distriliute it ; in the name o' the people 
And in the power of us the tribunes, we. 
Even from this instant, banish him our city, 
In peril of precipitation 
From off the rock Tarpeian never more 
To enter our Rome gates: i' the people's name, 
I say it shall be so. 

Citizens. It shall be so, it shall lie so ; let him away : 
He 's banish'd, and it shall be so. 



Com. Hear me, my masters, and my comiuou 
friends, — 

Sic. He 's sentenced ; no more hearing. 

Com. Let me speak : 

I have been consul, and can show for Rome 
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
My country's good with a respect more tender, 
More holy and profound, than mine own life, 
:My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, 
Ai'id treasure of my loins; then if I would 
Speak that, — 

Sic. We know your drift : speak what ? 

lirxi. There 's no more to be said, but he is ban- 
As enemy to the people and his country: [ish'd. 
It shall be so. 

Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so. Piate 

Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath I 
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
As the dead carcasses of unburied men 
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
And here remain with your uncertainty ! 
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! 
Your enemies, with nodding of their jilumes, 
Fan you into despair! Have tlie power still 
To banish your defenders; till at length 
Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, 
^Making not reservation of yourselves. 
Still your own foes, deliver you as most 
Abated captives to some nation 
That won you without blows! Despising, 
For you, the city, thus I turn my back : 
There is a world elsewhere. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Menenitis, 
Senators, and Patricians. 

JEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 

Citizens. Our enemy is banisli'd ! he is gone! 
Hoo ! hoo ! [Shoutiny, and lit rinrliiij vp their caps. 

Sic. Go, see him out at gate.s. ami foll(]w him, 
As he hath follow 'd j'ou, with all despite; 
Give liim deserved vexation. Let a guard 
Attend us through the city. [come. 

Citizens. Come, come; let's see him out at gates; 
The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! Come. 

[Exeunt. 



J^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Rome. Before ei gate of tlie citij. 

Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Mene- 
nius, Cominius, with the yminej Nobility of Home. 
Cor. Come, leave your tears: a brief farewell: 
the beast 
With many heads butts me away, ^ay, mother. 
Where is your ancient courage ? you vvere used 
To say extremity was the trier of spirits; 
That common chances common men could bear: 
That when the sea was calm all boats alike 
Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows. 
When most struck home, being gentle wounded, 

<• raves 
A noble lunning: you were used to load me 
With prece|its that would make invincible 
The heart that conn'd them. 
Vir. O heavens ! O heavens ! 
Cor. Nay, I prithee, woman, — 

Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in 
And occupations perish ! [Rome, 

Cor. What, what, what ! 

I shall be loved when I am lack'd. Nay, mother. 
Resume that spirit, when you were woiit to say. 
If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
Six of his labours you 'Id have done, and saved 
Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, 
Droop not ; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother : 



I '11 do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, 

Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's, 

And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime general, 

I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 

Heart-hardening spectacles; tell tliese sad women 

'T is fond to wail inevitable strokes. 

As 'tis to laugh at "em. My mother, you wot well 

My hazards still have been your solace": and 

Believe 't not lightly — though I go alone, 

Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 

^[akes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen — your 

Will or exceed the common or be caught [son 

With cautelous baits and practice. 

Vol. My first son, 

Whither wilt thou go i* Take good Cominius 
With thee awhile: determine on some course, 
More than a wild exposlure to each chance 
That starts i' the way before thee. 

Cor. O the gods ! 

Com. I '11 follow thee a month, devi.se with thee 
Wliere thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us 
And we of thee: so if the time thrust forth 
A cause for thy rejieal, we shall not send 
O'er the vast world to seek a single man, 
And lo.se advantage, which doth ever cool 
I' the absence of the ueeder. 

Cor. Fare ye well : 

Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too fuU 
553 



ACT IV, 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE III, 



Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one 
That 's yet unbruised : bring me but out at gate. 
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest motlier, and 
My friends of noble touch, when I am forth. 
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
While I remain above the ground, you shall 
Hear from me still, and never of me aught 
But what is like me formerly. 

Meyi. That 's worthily 

As any ear can hear. Come, let 's not weep. 
If I could shake off but one seven years 
From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
I 'Id with thee every foot. 

Cor. Give me thy hand : 

Come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. A street near the gate. 
Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an iEdile. 

Sic. Bid them all home ; he 's gone, and we '11 no 
further. 
The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided 
In his behalf. 

Brii. Now we have shown our power. 

Let us seem humbler after it is done 
Than when it was a-doing. 

Sic. Bid them home : 

Say their great enemy is gone, and they 
Stand in their ancient strength. 

Bru. Dismiss them home. [Exit JEdile. 

Here comes his mother. 

Sic. Let 's not meet her. 

Bru. "VVliy ? 

Sic. They say she 's mad. [way. 

Bru. Tlieyhave ta'en note of us: keep on your 

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. 

Vol. O, ye 're well ijiet : the hoarded plague o' the 
Eequite yoiu' love ! [gods 

Men. Peace, peace; be not so loud. 

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you shoiUd hear,— 
Nay, and you shall hear some. [To Brutus] Will 
y(.iu be Li'diu'V 

Vir. I'J'n ,s/.;i,;/rs] You shall stay too: I would I 
had the luiwer 
To say so to my husband. 

Sic. Are you mankind ? 

Vol. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this fool. 
Was not a man my father V Hadst thou foxship 
To Ijunish liini that struck more blows for Konie 
Than thou hast spoken words ? 

Sic. O blessed heavens ! 

Vol. More noble blows than ever thou wise words ; 
And for Rome's good. I '11 tell thee what ; yet go : 
Nay, but thou shalt stay too : I would my sou 
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, 
His good sword in his hand. 

Sic. What then ? 

Vir. What then! 

He 'Id make an end of thy posterity. 

Vol. Bastards and all. 
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome ! 

Men. Come, come, peace. 

Sic. I would he had continued to Ins country 
As he began, and not unknit himself 
The noble knot he made. 

Bru. I would he had. 

Vol. ' I would he had ' ! 'T was you incensed the 
rabble : 
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth 
As I can of those mysteries which lieaven 
Will not have earth to know. 

-B»'t(. Pray, let us go. 

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone : [this : — 

You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear 
As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son — 
554 



This lady's husband here, this, do you see— 
Whom you have banish 'd, does exceed you all. 

Bru. Well, well, we '11 leave you. 

Sjp- Why stay we to be baited 

With one that wants her wits ? 

Vol. Take my prayers with you. 

^ , . ' [Exeunt Tribunes. 

I would the gods had nothing else to do 
But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet 'em 
But once a-day, it would unclog my heart 
Of what lies heavy to 't. 

Men. You have told them home; 

And, by my troth, you have cause.- You'll sup 
with meV 

Vol. Anger 's my meat ; I sup upon myself. 
And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let 's go : 
Leave this faint puling and lament as I do. 
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 

Men. Fie, fie, tie! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ highieay between Borne andAntium. 
Enter a Boman and a Volsce, meeting. 

Bom. 1 know you well, sir, and you know me : 
your name, I thiirk, is Adrian. 

Vols. It IS so, sir; truly, I have forgot you. 

Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are, as you 
are, against 'em : know you me yet i* 

Vols. Nieanor? no. 

Bom. The same, sir. 

Vols. You had more beard when I last saw you; 
but your favour is well approved by your tongue. 
What 's the news in Rome ? I have a note from the 
Volscian state, to find you out there : you have well 
saved me a day's Journey. 

Bom. There hath been in Rome strange insur- 
rections; the people against the senators, patri- 
cians, and nobles. 

Vols. Hath been! is it ended, then? Our state 
tliiuks not so: they are in a most warlike prepara- 
11(111, and hope to come upon them in the heat of 
their division. 

Bom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small 
thing would make it flame again: for the nobles 
receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy 
Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness to take 
all power from the people and to pluck from them 
their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can 
tell you, and is almost mature for the violent break- 
ing out. 

Vols. Coriolanus banished ! 

Bom. Banished, sir. [Nieanor. 

Vols. You will be welcome with this intelligence'. 

Bom.. The day serves well for them now. I have 
heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's 
wife is when she 's fallen out with her husband. 
Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in 
these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being 
now in no request of his country. 

Vols. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, 
thus accidentally to encounter you : you have ended 
my business, and I will merrily accompany you 
home. 

Bom. I shall, between this and supper, tell vou 
most strange things from Rome; all tending to'the 
good of theii- adversaries. Have you an army ready, 
say you ? 

Vols. A most royal one ; the centurions and their 
charges, distinctly billeted, already in the enter- 
tainment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. 

Bom. 1 am joyful to hear of their readiness, and 
am the man, I think, that shall set them in present 
action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad 
of your company. 

Vols. You take my part from me, sir; I have the 
most cause to lie glad of yours. 

Bom. Well, let us go together. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE V. 



SCENE IV. — Antiuin. Before Aufidhis's house. 

Enter Coriolanus in mean apparel, disguised and 
muffled. 
Cor. A goodly city is tliis Antium. City, 
'T is I that made thy widows : many an heir 
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
Have I lieard groan and drop: then know me not, 
Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones 
In puny battle slay me. 

Enter a Citizen. 

Save you, sir. 

Cit. And you. 

Cut. Direct me, if it be your will, 

Where great Aufldius lies : is he in Antium ? 

Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state 
At his house this night. 

Cor. Whicli is his house, beseech you ? 

Cit. This, here before you. 

Cor. Thank you, sir : farewell. 

[Exit Citizen. 

world,thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn. 
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
AVhose house, whose bt-il, whose meal, and exercise. 
Are still together, wlio twin, as 't were, in love 
Unseparable, shall within this hour. 

On a dissension of a doit, break out 
To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes, 
AVhose passions and whose plots have broke their 
To take the one the other, by some chance, [sleep 
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear 
And interjoin their issues. So with me: [friends 
My birth-place hate I, and my love 's upon 
This enemy town. I '11 enter: if he slay me. 
He does fair justice; if lie give me way, 

1 '11 do Ills country service. [Exit. 

SCENE V. — The same. A hall in AufidiHS''s house, 
llmic within. Enter a Serringman. 
First Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is 
here ! I think our fellows are asleep. [E.cit. 

Enter a second Serving-man. 
Sec. Serv. Where 's Cotus ? my master calls for 
him. Cotus! „ ^ . [Exit. 

Enter Coriolanus. 

Cor. A goodly house: the feast smells well; 
Appear not like a guest. [But I 

Re-enter the first Serving-man. 

First Serv. What would you have, friend ? whence 
are you ? Here 's no place for you : pray, go to the 
door. [Exit. 

Cur. I have deserved no better entertainment, 
In being Coriolanus. 

Re-enter second Sennngman. 

Sec. Serv. Whence are you, sir ? Has the porter 
his ej'es in his head, tliat"he gives entrance to such 
companions? Pray, get you out. 

Cor. Away! 

Sec. Serv. Away! get you away. 

Cpr. Now thou 'rt troublesome. 

Sec. Serv. Are you so brave V I '11 have you talked 
■with anon. 

Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him. 

Tliird Serv. Wliat fellow 's this ? 

First Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on : 
I cannot get him out o' the house : prithee, call 
my master to him. [Retires. 

Third Serr. AVhat have you to do here, fellow? 
Pray you, avoid the house. [hearth. 

'Vii-. Let me liut stand; I will not hurt your 

Third Serv. What are you ? 



Cor. A gentleman. 

Third Serv. A marvellous poor one. 

Cor. True, so I am. 

Third Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up 
some other station; here 's no place for you; pray 
you, avoid : come. 

Cor. Follow your function, go, and batten on 
cold bits. [Pushes him awri'i. 

Tliird Serv. What, you will not ? Pritliee, tell 
my master what a strange guest he has liere. 

Sec. Serv. And I shall. [Exit. 

Third Serv. AVhere dwellest thou? 

Cor. Under the canopy. 

Third Serv. Under the canopy ! 

Cor. Ay. 

Third Serv. Where 's that ? 

Cor. V the city of kites and crows. 

Third Serv. I' the city of kites and crov,"S ! What 
an ass it is ! Then thou dwellest with daws too ? 

Cor. No, I serve not thy master. [master ? 

Third Serv. How, sir! do you meddle with my 

Cor. Ay ; 't is an honester service than to meddle 

with thy mistress. [hence! 

Thou pratest, and pratest ; serve with thy trencher, 

[Beats him away. Exit third Servinijman. 

Enter Aufldius with the second Servingman. 

Auf. Where is this fellow? 

Sec. Serv. Here, sir: I 'Id have beaten him like a 
dog, but for disturbing the lords within. [Eetircs. 

Auf. Whence comest thou? what-wouldst thou? 
thy name ? 
Why speak'st not ? speak, man : what 's thy name ? 

Cor. If, Tullus, [Unihuifliiig. 

Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, dost not 
Think me for the man I am, necessity 
Commands me name myself. 

Aif. AVhat is thy name ? 

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears. 
And harsh in sound to thine. 

Auf. Say, what 's thy name ? 

Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
Bears a command in 't ; though thy tackle 's torn, 
Thou show'st a noble vessel : what 's thy name ? 

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown : know'st thou 

Auf. I know thee not : thy name ? [me yet ? 

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done 
To tliee particularly and to all the Volsces 
Great hiurt and mischief; thereto witness may 
jNIy surname, Coriolanus: the painful service, 
The extreme dangers and the drops of blood 
Shed for my thankless country are requited 
But witli that surname ; a good memory. 
And witness of the malice and displeasure 
AVhich tliou shouldst bear nie: only that name re- 
The cruelty and envy of the people, [mains ; 

Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; 
And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be 
AVhooi)'d out of Rome. Now this extremity 
Hath lirought me to thy hearth ; not out of hope — 
^listake me not — to save my life, for if 
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite, 
To be full quit of those my banishers. 
Stand I before thee here. "Then if thou hast 
A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge 
Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims 
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee 

straight. 
And make "my misery serve thy turn : so use it 
That my revengeful services may prove 
As benefits to thee, for I will fight 
Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
Of all the under fiends. But if so be 
Thou darest not tliis and that to prove more fortunes 
Thou 'rt tired, then, in a word, I also am 



ACT IV. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCEXE r. 



Longer to live most weary, and present 

Jly throat to tliee and to tliy ancient malice ; 

Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, 

Since I Iiave ever follow'd thee with hate, 

Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, 

And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 

It be to do thee service. 

Avf. O Marcius, Marcius! 

Eacli word thou hast spoke hatli weedtid from my 
A root of ancient envy. If .hijiitrr [heart 

Sliould from yond cloud speak ilivine things. 
And say ' 'T is true,' I 'Id not believe them more 
Than tliee, all nnlile Marcius. Let me twine 
Mine arms aliout tliat body, where against 
!^[y grained ash an hundred limes liath broke, 
And searr'd the hickiu witli siilinlers: here I clip 
The anvil of my sword, and do i-ontest 
As hotly and as nobly with thy love 
As ever in ambitious strength I did 
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, 
I loved the maid I married; never man 
Sigh'd truer lireatli : liut that I see thee here. 
Thou nolde thing! more dances my rapt heart 
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
Bestride mythreshold. Wiiy, thou Mars! Itellthee, 
We have a power on foot ; and I liad iiuriiose 
Once more to hew thy target from tliy brawn. 
Or lose mine arm for 't: thou hast lieat me out 
Twelve several times, and I have niglitly since 
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt tliyself an(i me; 
We have been down together in my sleej), 
Unbuckling helms, listing each otiier's tlu'oat, 
And waked half dead witli nothing. Worthy Mar- 
Ilad we no quarrel else to Rome, but that [cius, 
Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all 
From twelve to seventy, and pouring war 
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
Like a liold ilood o"cr-liear. O, come, go in. 
And take our friendly senators by the hands; 
Who now arc licrc, lalving their leaves of me, 
Who am prejiared against your territories, 
Thougli not for Rome itself. 

Cor. You bless me, gods ! 

Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt 
The leading of thine own revenges, take [have 

The one half of my commission ; and set down- 
As best thou art experienced, since thou know'st 
Thy country's strength and weakness, — thhie own 

ways ; 
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, 
Or rudely visit them in parts remote. 
To fright them, ere destroy. Bvit come in : 
Let me commend thee first to tliose tluit shall 
Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! 
And more a friend than e'er an enemy ; 
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most 
welcome ! 
\_Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius. The twn 
Servingmen come forward. 

First Serv. Here 's a strange alteration ! 

Sec. Scrv. By my hand, I liad thought to have 
strucken him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave 
me his clothes made a false report of him. 

Fird Scrv. What an arm he has ! he turned me 
about with his finger and his thumb, as one would 
set up a top. 

Sec. Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was 
something in him: he had, sir, a kind of face, me- 
thought, — I cannot tell how to term it. 

First Serv. He had so; looking as it were — would 
I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him 
than I could think. 

Sec. Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn: he is simply 
the rarest man i' the world. 

First Serv. I think he is: but a greater soldier 
than he you wot on. 

Sec. Serv. Who, my master ? 
550 



First Serv. Nay, it 's no matter for that. 

Sec. Serv. Worth six on him. 

First Serv. Nay, not so neither : but I take him 
to be the greater soldier. 

6Vc. Serv. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how 
to say that : for the defence of a town, our general 
is excellent. 

First Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 

Ee-enter third Serving-man. 

Tliird Serv. O slaves, I can tell you news, — news, 
you rascals! [take. 

First and Sec. Serv. What, what, what ? let 's par- 

Third. Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all na- 
tions; I had as lieve be a condemned man. 

Fi rst and Sec. Serv. Wherefore? wherefore i* 

Third Scrv. Why, here "s lie that was wout to 
thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 

First Serv. Wliy do you say 'thwack our general ' ? 

Third Serv. 1 do not say 'thwack our general;' 
but he was always good enough for him. 

Sec. Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends: he 
was ever too hard for him ; I have heard him say 
so himself. 

First Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to 
say the troth on 't: before Corioli he scotched him 
and notched him like a carbonado. 

Sec. Scrv. An he had been caunibally given, he 
might have broiled and eaten him too. 

First Serv. But, more of thy news? 

Third Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, 
as if he were son and heir to Mars ; set at upper end 
o' the tal)le; no <puJstion asked him by any of the 
senators, but they stand liald before him: our gen- 
eral himself makes a mistress of him; sanctifies 
liimself with "s hand and turns up the white o' the 
eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news 
is, our general is cut i' the middle and but one half 
of wliat he was yesterday; for (he othn- has half, 
by the entreaty and grant of the wliole table. He "11 
go, he says, and sowl tlie porter of Rome gates by 
the ears : he will ukjw all down before him, and 
leave his passage polled. 

Sec. Serv. And he 's as like to do 't as any man I 
can imagine. 

Third Serv. Do 't I he will do 't ; for, look you, 
sir, he has as many friends as enemies; which 
friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, show 
themselves, as we term it, his friends whilst he 's in 
directitude. 

First Scrv. Directitude! what's that? 

Third Scrv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest 
up again, and the man in blood, they will out of 
their" burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all 
with him. 

First Serv. But when goes this forward ? 

Tliird Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently; you 
shall have the drum struck up this afternoon : 't is, 
as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed 
ere they wipe their lips. 

Sec. Serv. Why, tlien we shall have a stirring 
world again. This peace is notliing, but to rust 
iron, incTcase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 

First Srrr. I^et me have war, say I ; it exceeds 
peace as tar as day does night ; it 's siiritely, waking, 
audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, 
lethargy; mulled, deaf,sleeiiy,insensil)le; a getter of 
more bastard children than war "s a destroyer of men. 

Sec. Scrv. 'Tisso: and as war, in some sort, may 
be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but 
peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 

First Scrv. Ay , and it makes men hate one another. 

Third Serv. Reason ; because they tlien less need 
one another. The wars for my money. I hope to 
see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, 
they are rising. 

All. In, in, in, in I [-Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE VT. 



SCENE VT. — Rome. A public jjlace. 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 

Sic. AVe hear not of liini, neither need we fear him ; 
His remedies are tame i' tlie present peace 
And quietness of the people, which before 
Were in wild hurry. Here do we nijdie his friends 
Blush that the world goes well, who rather had, 
Though they themselves did suffer by 't, behold 
iJissentious numbers pestering streets than see 
Our tradesmen singing in their shops and going 
About their functions friendly. 

Bru. We stood to 't in good time. [Enter Mene- 
nius.'\ Is this Menenius ? 

Sic. 'T is he, 't is he : O, he is grown most kind of 

Both Tri. Hail, sir ! [late. 

Men. Hail to you both ! 

Sic. Your Coriolanus 

Is not much miss'd, but with his friends: 
The conuuonwealth doth stand, and so would do, 
AVere he more angry at it. 

Men. All's well; and might have been much bet- 
He could have temporized. [ter, if 

Sic. Where is he, hear you V 

Men. Xay, I hear nothing: his mother and his 
Hear nothing from him. [wife 

Enter three or four Citizens. 

Citizens. The gods preserve you both ! 

Sic. God-den, our neighbours. 

Bru. God-den to you all, god-den to you ail. 

First Cit. Ourselves, our wives and children, on 
Are bound to pray for you both. [our knees^ 

Sic. Live, and thrive! 

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours: we wish'd Co- 
Had loved you as we did. [riolanus 

Citizens. jSTow tlie gods keep you ! 

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. 

Sic. This is a happier and more comely time 
Than when these fellows ran about the streets, 
Crying confusion. 

Bru. Caius Marcius was 

A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent, 
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
Self-loving, — 

Sic. And affecting one sole throne. 

Without assistance. 

Men. I think not so. 

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation. 
If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 

Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 
Sits safe and still without him. 

Filter an .ffidlle. 

^(l. Worthy tribunes. 

There is a slave, whom we have put in iirison, 
Keports, the Volsces with two several powers 
Are entfr'd in the Roman territories. 
And with the deepest malice of the war 
Destroy what lies before 'em. 

Men. 'Tis Aufidius, 

Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment. 
Thrusts forth his horns again into tlie world ; 
Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, 
And_ durst not once peep out. 

Sic. Come, what talk you 

Of Marcius ? 

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipped. It 

The Volsces dare break with us. [cannot be 

Men. Cannot be! 

We have record that very well it can. 
And three examines of the like have been 
Within my age. But reason with the fellow. 
Before you punish him, where he heard this, 
Le,st you shall chance to whip yoiu- information 
And beat the messenger who bids beware 
Of what is to be dreaded. 



Sic. 
I know this cannot be. 
Bru. 



Tell not me : 
Not possible. 



Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The nobles in great earnestness are going 
All to the senate-house : some news is come 
That tm'ns their countenances. 

Sic. 'T is this slave ; — 

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes: — his raising; 
Nothing but his report. 

Mess. Yes, worthy sir. 

The slave's report is seconded ; and more, 
More fearful, is deliver 'd. 

Sic. What more fearful '? 

Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths — 
How probable 1 do not know —that Marcius, 
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, 
And vows revenge as spacious as between 
The young'st and oldest thing. 

Sic. This is most likely ! 

Bru. Raised only, that the weaker sort may wish 
Good Marcius home again. 

Sic. The very trick on 't. 

2Ien. This is unlikely: 
He and Aufidius can no more atone 
Than violentest contrariety. 

Enter a second Messenger. 
Sec. 3Iess. You are sent for to the senate: 
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius 
Associated with Aufidius, rages 
Upon our territories ; and have already 
O'erborne their way, consumed with fire, and took 
What lay before them. 

Enter Cominius. 

Cenn. O, you have made good work ! 

Men. What news ? what news ? 

Com. You have holp to ravish your own daugh- 
To melt the city leads upon your pates, [ters and 
To see your wives dishonoured to your noses, — 

3Ien. What "s the news? what 's the news? 

Com. Yt>ur temples burned in their cement, and 
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined 
Into an auger's bore. 

3Ien. Pray now, your news '? 

You have made fair work, I fear me. — Pray, your 

news 'if — 
If Marcius should be joined with Volscians, — 

Com. If! 

He is their god : he leads them like a thing 
Made by some other deity than nature, 
That shapes man better; and they follow him, 
Against us brats, with no less confidence 
Tiian boys imrsuing summer butterflies, 
Or butcliers killing Hies. 

3Icn. You have made good work. 

You and your apron-men ; you that stood so much 
Upon the\'oice of occupation and 
The breath of garlic-eaters ! 

Com. He will shake 

Your Rome about your ears. 

Men. As Hercules 

Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair 

Bru. But is this true, sir ? [work ! 

Com. Ay ; and you '11 look pale 

Before you find it other. All the regions 
Do smilingly revolt ; and who resist 
Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, [liim ? 

And perish constant fools. Who is 't can blame 
Your enemies and his find something in him. 

Men. We are all undone, unless 
The noble man have mercy. 

Com. Who shall ask it ? 

The tribunes cannot do 't for shame ; the people 
Deserve such pity of him as the wolf 
557 



ACT V. 



CORIOLANUS. 



Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they 
Should say ' Be good to Rome,' tliey charged him even 
As those sliould do that had deserved his hate, 
And therein show'd lilse enemies. 

Men. 'T is true: 

If lie were putting to my house the brand 
That should consume it, I have not the face 
To say ' Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair 

hands. 
You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair! 

Com. You have brought 

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
So incapable of help. 

Biith Tii. Say not we brought it. 

Men. IIow! Was it we? we loved him; but, 
like beasts 
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, 
Who did hoot him out o' the city. 

Com. But I fear 

They '11 roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, 
The second name of men, obeys his points 
As if he were his officer: desperation 
Is all the policy, strength and defence, 
That Rome can make against tliem. 

Eater a troop of Citizens. 

Men. Here come the clusters. 

And is Aufidius with him ? You are they 
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at 
Coriolamis' exile. Now he 's coming; 
And not a. hair upon a soldier's head 
Whicli will not prove a whip: as many coxcombs 
As you threw caps up will he tumble down, 
And pay you for your voices. 'T is no matter ; 
If he could burn us all into one coal, 
We have deserved it. 

Ciiizens. Faith, we hear fearful news. 

First Cit. Por mine own part, 

When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 

Sec. Cit. And so did I. 

Third Cit. And so did I ; and, to say the truth, 
so did very many of us: that we did, we did for 
the best ; and though we willingly consented to his 
banishment, yet it was against our will. 

Com. Ye 're goodly things, you voices ! 

Men. You have made 

Good work, you and your cry ! Shall 's to the Cap- 
Corn. O, ay, what else ? [itol ? 
[Exeunt Cominius and Menenius. 

Sic. Go, masters, get you home ; be not dismay 'd : 
These are a side that would be glad to have 
This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, 
And show no sign of fear. 

First Cit. The gods be good to us ! Come, mas- 
ters, let 's home. I ever said we were i' the wrong 
when we banished him. 

Sec. Cit. So did we all. But, come, let 's home. 
[Exeunt Citizens. 

Bru. I do not like this news. 

Sic. jSTor I. 

Bru. Let 's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth 
Would buy this for a lie ! 

Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt. 



SCENE VII. — A camp, at a small distance from 
Home. 

Enter Aufidius and his Lieutenant. 

Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman ? 

Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but 
Your soldiers use him as tlie grace 'fore meat, 
Their talk at table, and tlii.ir thanks at end; 
And you are darken'd in this action, sir, 
Even by your own. 

Auf. I cannot help it now. 

Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
Of our design. He bears liinisclf more proudlier, 
Even to my person, than I thought he would 
When first I did embrace him : yet his nature 
In that 's no changeling; and 1 must excuse 
What cannot be amended. 

Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, — 

I mean for your particular, — you had not 
,Toin"d in commission vs'ith him ; but either 
Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
To him liad left it solely. 

Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou sure, 
Wlieu he sljall come to his account, he knows not 
Wliat I can urge against him. Although it seems, 
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
To the vulgar eye, tliat lie bears all things fairly, 
Anil shows good liiisbandry for the Volscian state, 
Fights dragon-like, and docs arhieve as soon 
As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone 
That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, 
Whene'er we come to our account. [Rome ? 

Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry 

Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits dovra; 
And the nobility of Rimie are his : 
The senators and patricians love him too : 
The tribunes ai"e no soldiers; and their people 
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
To expel him thence. I think he '11 be to Rome 
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
By sovereignty of nature. First he was 
A noble servant to them; but he could not 
('arry his honours even : whether 't was pride, 
Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
The hap]iy man ; whether defect of judgment, 
To fail in the disposing of tliose chances 
Which he was lonl of; or whether nature. 
Not to be otlier than one thing, not moving 
From tlie casque to the cushion, but commanding 
Even with the same austerity and garb Qjeace 

As he controll'd the war; but one of these — 
As he hath spices of them all, not all. 
For I dare so far free him — made him fear'd, 
So hated, and so banish 'd : but he has a merit, 
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
Lie in the interpretation of the time: 
And power, unto itself most commendable, 
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
To extol what it hath done. 
One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; 
Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths dp fail. 
Come, let 's away. AVhen, Cains, Ronie is thine, , 
Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou mine. ; 

[Exeunt. 



.ACT '\r. 



SCENE I. — Borne. A public place. 

Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, 

and others. 

Men. No, I '11 not go : you hear what he hath said 

Which was sometime his general ; who loved him 

In a most dear particular. He call'd me father: 

558 



But what o' that ? Go, you that banish 'd him; 
A mile before liis tent fall down, and knee 
The way into his mercy; nay, if he coy'd 
To hear Cominius speak, I '11 keep at home. 

Com. He would not seem to know me. 

Men. Do you hear? 

Coju. Yet one time he did call me by my name : 



ACT V. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE II. 



I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops 
That we have bled together. C'oriolanus 
He would not answer to: forbad all names; 
He was a kind of nothing, titleless, 
Till he had fiii'ged himself a name o' the fire 
Of burning limue. 

Ml n. Why, so : you have made good work ! 

A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
To make coals cheap,— a noble memory ! 

Com. I minded him how royal 't was to pardon 
When it was less expected : he replied, 
It was a bare petition of a state 
To one whom they had puuish'd. 

Men. Very well : 

Could he say lessV 

Colli,. I offer'd to awaken his regard 

For 's private friends: his answer to me was, 
He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
Of noisome musty chaff : he said 't was folly, 
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, 
And still to nose the offence. 

Men. For one poor grain or two ! 

I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child, 
And this brave fellow too, we are the grains: 
You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt 
Above the moon : we must be burnt for you. 

Sic. Nay, pray, be patient : if you refuse your aid 
In this so never-needed help, yet do not 
IJpbraid 's with our distress. But, sure, if you 
Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue, 
More than the instant army we can make, 
Might stop our countryman. 

Men. No, I '11 not meddle. 

Sic. Pray you, go to him. . 

Men. What should I do ? 

Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 
For Rome, towards Marcius. 

it/cn. Well, and say that Marcius 

Return me, as Cominius is return'd. 
Unheard ; what then ? 
But as a discontented friend, grief -shot 
Witli his unkindness ? say 't be so ? 

Sic. Yet your good will 

!Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure 
As you intended well. 

Men. I '11 undertake 't : 

I think he '11 hear me. Yet, to bite his lip 
And lium at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
He was not taken well ; he had not dined : 
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff 'd 
These pipes and these conveyances of our blood 
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
Thau in our priest-like fasts: therefore I '11 watch 
Till he be dieted to my request, [him 

And then I '11 set upon him. 

Bru. You know the very road into his kindness, 
And cannot lose your way. 

Men. Good faith, I '11 prove him. 

Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge 
Of my success. [Exit. 

Com. He '11 never hear him. 

Sic. Not ? 

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
Red as 't would burn Rome ; and his injury 
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him ; 
'T was very faintly he said ' Rise; ' dismissed me 
Tlius, with his speechless hand : what he would do. 
He sent in \^Titing after me; what he would not, 
Bound with an nath to yield to his conditions: 
So that all hoi)e is vain. 
Unless his noble mother, and his wife; 
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
For mercy to his country. Therefore, let 's hence. 
And with our fair entreaties haste them on. 

[Exeunt. 



SOENE II. — Entrance of the Vohcian camp before 
Home. Two Sentinels on guard. 

Enter to them, Menenius. 

First Sen. Stay : whence are you V 

Sec. Sen. Stand, and go back. 

Jli II . You guard like men ; 't is well ; but, by your 
I am an othcer of state, and come [leave. 

To speak with Coriolanus. 

First Sen. From whence ? 

Men. From Rome. 

First Sen. You may not pass, you must return : 
our general 
Will no more hear from thence. 

Sec. Sen. You '11 see your Rome embraced with 
fire before 
You '11 speak with Coriolanus. 

Men. Good my friends. 

If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, 
My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius. 

First Sen. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of your 
name 
Is not here passable. 

Men. I tell thee, fellow. 

Thy general is my lover : I have been 
The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
His fame unparallel'd, haply amplified; 
For I have ever verified my friends. 
Of whom he 's chief, with all the size that verity 
Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes. 
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, 
I have tumljled past the throw; and in his praise 
Have almost stamp'd the leasing : therefore, fellow, 
I must have leave to pass. 

First Sen. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies 
in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, 
you should not pass here ; no, though it were as vrr- 
tuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Prithee, fellow, rememlier my name is Mene- 
nius, always factionary on the party of your general. 

Sec. Sen. Howsoever you have been his'liar, as 
you say you have, I am one that, telling true under 
him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. 

3len. Has he dined, canst thou tell ? tor I would 
not speak with him till after dinner. 

First Sen. You are a Roman, are you ? 

3Ien. I am, as thy general is. 

First Sen. Then 50U should hate Rome, as he does. 
Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the 
very defender of them, and, in a violent popular ig- 
n(U'ance,givenyourenemy your shield, think to front 
his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the 
virginal palmsof your daughters, or with the palsied 
intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem 
to be? Can you think to blow out tlie intemled fire 
your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath 
as this? No, you are deceived; therefore, back to 
Rome, and prepare for your execution : you are con- 
demned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve 
and pardon. 

Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he 
would use me with estimation. 

Sec. 6'en. Come, my captain knows you not. 

3fen. I mean, thy general. 

First Sen. My general cares not for you. Back, 
I say, go ; lest I let forth your half-pint of blood; 
back, — that 's the 'utmost of your having : back. 

Men. Nay, but, fellow, fellow, — 

Enter Coriolanus and Aufldius. 
Cor. What 's the matter ? 

Men. Now, you companion, I '11 say an errand for 
you : you shall know now that I am in estimation ; 
you shall perceive that a .Jack guardant cannot 
"office me from my son Coriolanus : guess, but by my 
entertainment with him, if thou standest not i' the 
559 



ACT V. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE IIT. 



state of hanging, or of some death more long in 
spectatorsliip, and crueller in suffering ; behold 
now presently, and swoon for what 's to come upon 
thee. [To Cor.] The glorious gods sit in hourly 
synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee 
no worse tlian thy old father Menenius does ! O 
my son, my son! tliou art preparing Are for us; 
look thee, here 's water to quench it. I was hardly 
moved to come to thee ; but being assured none but 
myself could move thee, I have been blown out of 
your gates with sighs ; and conjure thee to pardon 
Korae, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good 
gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it 
upon this varlet here, — this, who, like a block, hath 
denied my access to thee. 

Cor. Away! 

Men. How! away! 

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs 
Are servanted to others: tlmugh I owe 
My revenge properly, niy remission lies 
In Volsciau lin-asts. That we have been familiar, 
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
Tlian pity note how much. Therefore, be gone. 
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than 
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee. 
Take this along ; I writ it for thy sake, 

[Gives a letter. 
And would have sent it. Another word, ^Menenius, 
I will mil licar tliee speak. This man, Aulidius, 
"VVas uiy beloved in Rome: yet thou beliuld'st! 

Auj. You keep a constant temper. 

{Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

First Sen. Now, sir, is your name Menenius V 

Sec. Sen. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: 
j'Ou know the way home again. 

First Sen. Do you hear how we are slient for 
keeping your greatness back V 

Sec. Sen. What cause, do you think, I have to 
swoon y 

Men. I neither care for the world nor your gen- 
eral: for such things as you, I can scarce think 
there 's any, ye 're so slight. He that hath a will 
to die by himself fears it not from another: let 
your general do his worst. For you, be that you 
are, long ; and your misery increase with your age ! 
I say to you, as I was said to. Away ! [Exit. 

First Sen. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 

Sec. Sen. The worthy fellow is our general : he 's 
the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [ExewU. 

SCENE III.— The tent of Coriolwms. 

Enter Coriolanus, Aufldius, and others. 

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow 
Set down our host. My p;irtner in tliis action. 
You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly 
I have borne this business. 

Aiif. Only their ends 

You'have respected; stopped your ears against 
The general suit of Rome; never admitted 
A private whisper, no, not with such friends 
That thought them sure of you. 

Cor. This last old man. 

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
Loved me above the measure of a father; 
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
AVas to send liim ; for whose old love I have. 
Though I show'd sourly to liim,"once more offer'd 
The first conditions, which they did refuse 
And cannot now accept; to grace lum only 
That thought he could do more, a very little 
I liave yielded to : fresh embassies and suits, 
Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter 
Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is thisi' 

[Shout within. 
Shall T be tempted to Infringe my vow 
In the same time 't is made 'f I will not. 
560 



Enter, inmmirninghahits,'Virgilia,,'Volumnia,, lead- 
ing young Marcius, Valeria, and Attendants. 

My wife comes foremost ; then the lionour'd mould 

Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand 

The grandrliild tc. licr lilood. Rut, out, affection ! 

All bond and iirivilegc of nature, break! 

Let it lie virtumis to be obstinate. 

Wliat is that i-urfsy wortli V or those doves' eyes. 

Which can make gods forsworn y I melt, and am 

not 
Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows; 
As if Olymiuis to a nioleliill sliould 
In suppliratidu ncid : and my VdUiig boy 
Hath an asjiect of intercession, which 
Great nature cries ' Deny not.' Let the Volsces 
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy: I '11 never 
Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, 
As if a man were author of himself 
And knew no other kin. 

Vir. My lord and husband ! 

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 

Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus changed 
Makes you think so. 

Cor. Like a dull actor now, 

I have forgot my part, and I am out. 
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say 
For that ' Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss 
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
Now, liy the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
I carried fmni thee, dear; and my true lip 
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate*, 
And the most noble mother of the world 
Leave unsa luted: sink.mYknee,i' the earth; [Kncds. 
Of thy deep duty more impression show 
Than that of common sons. 

Vol. O, stand up blest ! 

Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, 
I kneel before thee ; and unproperly 
Show duty, as mistaken all tliis while 
Between the child and parent. [Kneels. 

Cor. What is this? 

Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ? 
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds 
Strike the jiroud ce(l:irs 'gainst the flery sun ; 
Murdering impnssiliility, to make 
What cannot be, slight work. 

Vol. Thou art my warrior; 

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady ? 

Cnr. The noble sister of Publicola, 
The moon of Rome, cliaste as the icicle 
That 's curdled by the frost from purest snow 
And hangs on Dian's teni]ile: dear Valeria! 

Vol. This is a pimr ejiitdnie of yours. 
Which by the iuterprclation of full time 
May show like all yourself. 

Cor. The god of soldiers. 

With the consent of supreme .Jove, inform 
Thy thoughts with ufil ileness; that thou mayst prove 
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' tlie wars 
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
And saving those that eye thee ! 

Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 

Cor. That 's my brave boy ! 

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself. 
Are suitors to you. 

Cor. I beseech you, peace: 

Or, if J'OU 'Id ask, remember this before : 
The thing I have forsworn to grant may never 
Be held by your denials. Do not bid me 
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
Again with Rome's mechanics: tell me not 
Wherein I seem unnatural : desire not 
To allay my rages and revenges with 
Your colder reasons. 



ACT V. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE IV. 



Vol. O, no more, no more ! 

You have said you will not grant us any thing ; 
For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
Which you deny already: yet we will ask; 
That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
May liang upon your hardness : therefore hear us. 

Cor. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll 
Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request V 

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment 
And state of bodies would bewray what life 
"NVe have led since thy exile. Think witli thyself 
How more luifortuuate than all living women 
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which 
should [comforts, 

Make our eyes flow with .joy, hearts dance with 
Constrains tiiem weep and shal'ie with fear and sor- 
Makiiigthe mother, wife and i-hild to see [row; 
The son, the husband and the father tearing 
His country's bowels out. And to poor we 
Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st ns 
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
That all but we enjoy ; for how can we, 
Alas, how can we for our country pray, 
"Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, 
Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose 
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, 
Our comfort in the country. We must find 
An evident calamity, though we had 
Om- wish, which side should win : for either thou 
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
With manacles thorough our streets, or else 
Triuniphanlly tread on thy country's ruin, 
And bear the palm lor having bravely shed 
Thy wife and children's l)lood. For myself, son, 
I purpose not to wait on fortune till 
Tliese wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 
Kather to show a noble grace to both parts 
Tliau seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
March to assault thy country than to tread — 
Trust to 't,thou shalt not — bu thy mother's womb, 
That brought thee to this world. 

Vir. Ay, and mine, 

That brougli^ you forth this boy, to keep your name 
Living to time. 

Yoiincj Mar. A' shall not tread on me; 
I '11 run away till I am bigger, but then I '11 fight. 

Cor. Not of a woman 's'tenderness to be. 
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
I have sat too long. [Bisinxj. 

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 

If it were so that our request did tend 
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy [us, 

The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn 
As poisonous of j'our honour : no ; our suit 
Is, that you reconcile them : while the Volsces 
May say"' Tiiis mercy we have show'd ; ' the Romans, 
' This we received; ' and each in eitlier side 
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry ' Be blest [son, 
For making up this peace! ' Thou know'st, great 
The end of war 's uncertain, but this certain, 
Tliat, if thou conquer Uouie, the benefit 
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name, 
Wliose repetition will be dogg'd with-ciu'ses; 
Whose chronicle thus writ: ' The man was noble, 
Bijt with his last attempt he wii)ed it out ; 
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains 
To the ensuhig age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son : 
Tliou hast affected the fine strains of honour. 
To imitate the graces of the gods; 
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air. 
And yet to charge thy suljihur with a bolt 
Thatsliould but rive'an oak. Why dost not speak ? 
Thirdv'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
Still to remember wrongs ? Daughter, speak you : 
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy : 
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
Than can our reasons. There 's no man in the world 
36 



More bound to 's mother ; yet here he lets me prate 
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy. 
When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood. 
Has cluck'd thee to the wars and safely home, 
Loaden with honour. Say my request 's unjust, 
And spurn me back: but if it be not so. 
Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee, 
That tliou restrain'st from me the duty which 
To a mother's part belongs. He turns away : 
Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride 
Than pity to our prayers. Down : an end ; 
This is the last : so we will home to Rome, 
And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold 's ; 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
But kneels and hidds up hands for fellowship. 
Does reason our petition with more strength 
Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go : 
This fellow liad a Volscian to his mother; 
His wife is in Corioli and his child 
Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: 
I am hush'd until our city 13e a-fire, 
Aud then 1 'U speak a little. \_He holds her hi/ the 

hand, silent. 

Cor. 'O mother, mother! 

What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, 
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! 
You have won a happy victory to Rome ; 
But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it. 
Most dangerously yon have with him prevail'd, 
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come. 
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
I '11 frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
Were you in my stead, would you have heard 
A mother less V or granted less, Aufidius ? 

Aiif. I was moved withal. 

Cor. I dare be sworn you were : 

And, sir, it is no little thing to make 
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, 
What peace you '11 make, advise me: for my part, 
I '11 not to Rome, I '11 back with you ; and pray you, 
Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife ! 

Auf. [Aside] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy 
and thy honour 
At difference in thee : out of that I '11 work 
Myself a former fortune. 

[Tfie Ladies make signs to Coriolanus. 

Cor. Ay, by and by ; 

[To Volumnia, Virgilia, &c. 
But we will drink together ; and you shall bear 
A better witness back than words, which we, 
On like conditions, will have counter-seal 'd. 
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
To have a temple built you : all the swords 
In Italy, and her confederate arms. 
Could not ha\e made this peace. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Rome. A pnUic xAace. 
Enter Menenius and Sicinius. 

Men. See you yond coign o' the Capitol, yond 
corner-stone? 

Sic. AVliy, what of that? 

Men. If it be possible for yon to displace it with 
your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of 
Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. 
But I say there is no hope in 't : oiur throats are sen- 
tenced and stay upon execution. 

Hie. Is 't possible that so short a time can alter 
the condition of a man ? 

Men. There is differency between a grub and a 
butterfly ; yet your buttertiy was a grub. Tliis Mar- 
cius is grown from man to dragon : he has wings ; 
he 's more than a creeping thing. 

Sic. He loved his mother dearly. ^ 

561 



ACT V. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE VI. 



Men. So did he me : and he no more rememhers 
liis mother now than an eight-year-okl liorse. The 
tartness of his face sours ripe grapes : when he walks, 
lie moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks 
before liis treading: he is able to pierce a corslet 
with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a 
battery. He sits in his state, as a tiling made for 
Alexander. What he bids tie dnnc is tiiiislied with 
his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eter- 
nity and aheaven to throne in. 

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 

Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what 
mercy his mother shall bring from him : there is no 
more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger ; 
that shall our poor city find : and all this is long of 

Sic. Tlie gods be good unto us! [you. 

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good 
unto us. When we banished him, we respected not 
them; and, he returning to break our necks, tliey 
respect not us. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Sir, if you 'Id save your life, fly to your 
house ; 
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune 
And hale him up and down, all swearing, if 
The Roman ladies bring not comfort hoine, 
They '11 give him death by inches. 

Enter a second Messenger. 

Sic. What 's the news ? 

Sec. Mess. Good news, good news; the ladies have 
prevail'd. 
The Volscians are dislodged, and Mareius gone: 
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 

Sic. Friend, 

Art thou certain this is true ? is it most certain ? 

Sec. Mess. As certain as I know the sun is th'e: 
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it ? 
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide. 
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark 
you! [IVumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all 

tngether. 
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes. 
Tabors and cymbals and the shouting Romans, 
Make the sun dance. Hark you ! [^1 shout within. 

Men. This is good news : 

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
A city full; of tribunes, such as you, 
A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day: 
This morning for ten thousand of your throats 
I 'Id not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy ! 
[Music still, with shouts. 

Sic. First, the gods bless you for yoiu- tidings; 
Accept my thankfulness. [next. 

Sec. 3Iess. Sir, we have all 

Great cause to give great thanks. 

Sic. They are near the city ? 

Sec. 3Iess. Almost at point to enter. 

Sic. We will meet them. 

And help the joy. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The same. A street near the gate. 

Enter two Senators with Volumnia, Virgilia, Valeria, 
&c., ptissing over the stage, Jotiowed by Patricians, and 
others. 

First Sen. Beliold our patroness, the life of Rome ! 
Call all your trilies together, praise the gods. 
And make triinnpliant lires; strew flowers before 
Uushout the nuise that banish'd Mareius, [them: 
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; 
Cry ' Welcome, ladies, welcome! ' 

All. Welcome, ladies, 

Welcome ! [A flourish with drums and truynpets. 

[Exeunt. 
562 



SCENE VI. — Antium. A public place. 
Enter TuUus Aufidius, loith Attendants. 
Auf. Go tell the lords o' tlie city I am here: 
Deliver them this paper: having re;'d it. 
Bid them repair to the market-place; wliere I, 
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears. 
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse 
The city ports by tliis hath enter'd and 
Intends to apjiear before the people, hoping 
To purge himself with words: dispatch. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius' 

faction. 
Most welcome ! 

First Con. How is it with our general ? 

A^if. Even so 

As with a man by his own alms empoison 'd, 
And with his charity slain. 

Sec. Con. Most noble sir, 

If you do hold the same intent wherein 
You wish'd us parties, we '11 deliver you 
Of your great danger. 

Auf. Sir, I cannot tell : 

We must proceed as we do find the peoiile. 

r/ticcZ Co?!.. The people will remain uncertain wliilst 
'T wixt you there 's difference ; but the tall of either 
ilakes the survivor heir of all. 

Auf. I know it ; 

And my pretext to strike at him admits 
A good construction. I raised him, and I pa\jfn'd 
Mine honour for his truth : wlio being so lieighten'd, 
He waterxl his new plants with dews of flattery, 
Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, 
He bow'd his nature, ne^•er known before 
But to be rough, unswayalile and free. 

Third Con. Sir, his stoutness 
When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
By lack of stooping, — 

Aif. That I would have spoke of: 

Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth ; 
Presented to my knife his throat: I took him ; 
Made him joint-servant with me ; gave him way 
In all his own desires; nay, let him choose 
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, 
My best and freshest men ; served his designments 
In mine own person ; liolp to reap the fame 
Which he did end all his; and took some pride 
To do myself tliis wrong: till, at the last, 
I seeniM liis fcillowcr. nut iiartner, and 
He waged nie with his countenance, as if 
I had been mercenary. 

First Con. So he did, my lord : 

The army marvell'd at it. and, in the last, 
When he had carried Rome and that we look'd 
For no less spoil than glory, — 

Auf. There was it : 

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
Of our great action: therefore shall he die. 
And I '11 renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 

[Drums and trumpets sound, witli great shouts 
of the People. 

First Con. Your native town you enter'd like a 
And had no welcomes home ; but he returns, [post , 
Splitting the air with noise. 

Sec. Con. And patient fools. 

Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear 
With giving him glory. 

Third Con. ' Therefore, at your vantage, 

Ere he express himself, or move the people 
AVith what he would say, let him feel ycmr sword, 
Which we will second. When hi^ lies almig, 
After your way his tale pronounced shall bury 
His reasons with his body. 



CORIOLANUS. 



SCENE TT. 



Auf. 
Here come the lords. 



Say uo more ; 



Enter the Lords of the city. 

All the Lords. You are most welcome home. 

Auf. I have not deserved it. 

But, "worthy lords, have you with heed perused 
What I have written to you? 

Lords. We have. 

First Lord. And grieve to hear 't. 

What faults he made before the last, I think 
Might have found easy fines : but there to end 
"Where he was to begin and give away 
Tlie benefit of our levies, answering us 
"With our own charge, making a treaty where 
There was a yielding, — this admits no excuse. 

Auf. He approaches : you shall hear him. 

Enter Coriolanus, marching with drum and colours; 
Commoners being with him. 

Cor. Hail, lords! I am returned your soldier, 
Xo more infected with my country's love 
Tiian when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
Under yoiu' great command. You are to know 
That iii-doiit-rously I have attempted and 
Witli bloDily passage led your wars even to 
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought 

home 
Do more than counterpoise a full third part 
The charges of the action. We have made peace 
With no less honour to the Antiates 
Thau sJmnie to the Romans: and we here deliver. 
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians. 
Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
We have compounded on. 

. Auf. Read it not, noble lords ; 

But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree 
He hath abused your powers. 

Cor. Traitor ! how now ! 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius ! 

Cor. Marcius ! 

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius JIarcius : dost thou think 
I '11 grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name 
Coriolanus in Corioli ? 

You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously 
He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, 
I say ' your city,' to his wife and mother; 
Breaking his oath and resolution like 
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting 
Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears 
He whined and roar'd away your victory, 
That pages lilush'd at him and men of heart 
Look'd wondering each at other. 

Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars ? 

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears! 

Cor. Ha! 

Auf. No more. 

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contams it. Boy ! O slave! 
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 
I was forced to scold. Yom- judgments, my grave 
lords, 



Must give this cur the lie : and his o\\ni notion — 
"Who wears my stripes rmpress'd upon him ; that 
Must bear my beating to his grave — shall join 
To thrust the lie unto him. 
First Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. 
Cor. Cut me to pieces, "V'olsces: men and lads, 
Stain all your edges on me. Boy ! false hound 1 
If you have writ your annals true, 't is there, 
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
Flutter 'd your Volscians in Corioli: 
Alone I did it. Boy ! 

Auf. Why, noble lords, 

Will'you be put in mind of his blind fortune, 
Which was your shame, by this mdioly braggart, 
'Fore your own eyes and ears ? 
All ConsiJ. Let him die for 't. 

All the people. 'Tear him to pieces.' ' Do it pres- 
ently.' 'He killed my son.' ' My daughter.' 'He 
killed my cousin Marcus.' ' He killed my father.' 

Sec. Lord. Peace, ho! no outrage: peace! 
The man is noble and his fame folds-in 
This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us 
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, 
And trouble not the peace. 

Cor. O that I had him, 

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, 
To use my lawful sword ! 
Auf. Insolent villain! 

All Consp. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him ! 

[The Conspirators draw, and kill Coriolanus : 
Aufidius stands on his bodij. 
Lords. ' Hold, hold, hold, hold ! 

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 
First Lord. O Tullus,— 

Sec. Lord. Thou hast done a^deed whereat valour 

will weep. 
Third Lord. Tread not upon him. Jilasters all, 
be quiet ; 
Put up your swords. [rage, 

Atif. My lords, when you shall know — as in this 
Provoked by him, you cannot — the great danger 
AVhich this man's life did owe you, you '11 rejoice 
That he is thus cut off. Please it yom- honours 
To call me to your senate, I 'U deliver 
Myself your loyal servant, or endure 
Your heaviest censure. 

First Lord. Bear from hence his body ; 

And mourn you for him : let him be regarded 
As the most noble corse that ever herald 
Did follow to his urn. 

See. Lord. His own impatience 

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. 
Let 's make the best of it. 

Auf. My rage is gone ; 

And'I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. 
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers ; I '11 be one. 
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: 
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he 
Ilath widow'd and unchilded many a one. 
Which to this hour bewail the injury. 
Yet he shall have a noble memory. 
Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of Corio- 

lanus. A dead march hounded. 
563 





TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



Saturninus, son to the late Emperor of Rome, and 

afterwarils declared Emperor. 
Bassianus, brother to Saturninus; in love with 

Laviuia. 
Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, Genera! 

against the Goths. 
Marcus Andronicus, tribune of the peoi)le, and 

brother to Titus. 
Lucius, 1 
Quintus, 
Martius. 
Mutius, J 

Young Lucius, a boy, sou to Lucius. 
Publius, sou to Marcus the Tribune. 
Seiupronius, ^ 

Caius, > kinsmen to Titus. 

Valentine, ) 

[For an Analysis of the PI 



I. SOUS to Titus Andronicus. 



.ffimUius, a noble Roman." 
Alarbus, 1 

Demetrius, \ sous to Tamora. 
Chiron, ) 

Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. 
A Captain, Tribune, Jlessenger, aud Clown ; Ro- 
mans. 
Goths and Romans. 
Tamora, Queen of the Goths. 
Lavinia, daughter to Titus Andronicus. 
A Nurse. 

Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants. 

SCENE — Rome, and the country near it. 



Page LX.] 



^VCT I. 



SCENE I. — Borne. Before the Capitol. 

The tomb of the Andronici appearing ; the Tribunes and 
Senators a/nf/. Enter, below, from one side, Saturni- 
nus iiud /lis Followers; and, from the other side, Bassi- 
anus and his Followers; with drnm and colours. 

Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
Defend the justice of my cause with arms, 
And, countrymen, my loviu'.^' followers, 
Plead my successive title wilh vdiir swords: 
I am his Hrst-born son, thai was the last 
That wore the imperial diadem of Home; 
Then let my fatlier's honours live in me, 
Kor wrong mine age with this indignity. 

Bas. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my 
If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, [right. 

Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
Keep then this passage to the Capitol 
And suffer not dishonour to aiipro;ich 
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate. 
To justice, continence and nobility; 
But let desert in pure election shine, 
And, Romans, tight for freedom in your choice. 

Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the crown. 
Marc. Princes, that strive by factions and by 
Ambitiously for rule and emjiery, [friends 

Know that the people of Rome, for wliom we stand 
A special party, have, by coumion voice, 
In election fen- the IJoman emi)ery, 
Chosen Andidiiicus, sunuuncd Pius 
For many good and great deserts to Rome: 
A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
Lives not this day within the city walls: 
He by the senate is accited home 
Frorn weary wars against the barbarous Goths ; 
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 
Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms. 
Ten years are spent since tirst he luidertook 
This c8(Rse of Rome and chastised with arms 
Our enemies' pride : five times he hath return 'd 
664 



Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
In coffins from the field; 
xVnd now at last, laden with honour's spoils, 
Returns the good Andiiinicus to Rome, 
Renowned Titus, nourishing in arms. 
I>et us entreat, by honour of his name. 
Whom worthily you would have now succeed, 
And in the Capitol and senate's right. 
Whom you pretend to honour and adore. 
That you withdraw you and abate your strength; 
Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, 
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 

Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my 

Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do alfy [thoughts'! 
In thy uprightness and integrity. 
And so 1 lo\e and lionour tliee "and thine. 
Thy noble brother Titus aud his sons. 
And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all. 
Gracious Lavinia, lionie's rich ornament, 
That I will here dismiss my loving friends. 
And to my fortunes and the people's favour 
Commit my cause in balance to be weigli'd. 

[Exiuitt the Fiiihnrcrs of Basxiamis. 

Sid. Friends, that liaAc been thus forward in my 
I tliank you all and here dismiss yon all, [right. 
And to the love and favour of my ct)untry 
Commit myself, my person and the cause. 

[Exeunt the Followers of Saturninus. 
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me 
As I am confident and kind to thee. 
Open the gates, and let me in. 

JjVis. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. 
[Flourish. Saturninus and Bassianus ijo up into 
the Capitol. 
Enter a Captain. 

Cap. Romans, make way : the good Andronicus, 
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion. 
Successful in tlie battles that he fights. 
With honour and with fortune is return 'd 
From where he eircmns<-ribed with his sword, 
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Dnonn and tmmpets sounded. Enter Martlus and Mu- 
tius; after them, two Men bcarinei a eoffin ^overed with 
li'.iek; t/ien Lucius and Quintus. After them, Titus 
Andronicus ; mnl then Ta.mora,, with Alarbus, De- 
metrius, Chiron, Aaron, <iii<l other Gotlis, prisaners ; 
Soldiers and People futluwimj. The Bearers set down 
the eoffin, and Titus speaks. 

Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in tliy mourning 
weeils ! 
Lo, as the liarli, tliat hath ilisi'liara:e(l her fraught, 
lleturns with pieridiis lading- In tli;' bay 
From wlience at Hrst she weiijhM her anchorage, 
Cometh Andronicus, Ijound witli laurel boughs. 
To re-salute his country with his tears, 
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. 
Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
Stand gracious to the rites tliat we intend I 
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons. 
Half of the number that King Priam had, 
Beliold the jioor remains, alive and dead ! 
Tliese that survive let Rome reward witli love; 
These that I bring unto tlieir latest home, 
Witli burial amongst their ancestors : 
Here Gotlis have given me leave to sheathe my sword. 
Titus, unliind and careless of tliine own, 
"Wliy suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx y 
Make way to lay them by their brethren. 

[ Tlie tomb is opened. 
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont. 
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 
O sacred receptacle of my joys. 
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility. 
How many sons of mine liast thou in store, 
Tliat thou wilt never render to me more ! 

Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, 
Tliat we may hew his limbs, and on a pile 
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, 
Refore this earthy prison of their bones ; 
That so the shadows be not imapiteased, 
Nor we disturb'd with iirodigics mi earth. 

Tit. I give him you, the nnVilest that survives, 
Tlie eldest son of this distressed queen. 

Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious con- 
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, [queror, 
A mother's tears in passion for her son : 
And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
O, think my son to be as dear to me ! 
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, 
To beautify thy triumphs and return. 
Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke. 
But must my sons be slaugliter'd in the streets. 
For valiant doings in their country's cause ? 
O, if to fight for king and commonweal 
Were piety in thine, it is in tliese. 
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: 
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? 
Draw near them then in being merciful : 
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge: 
Thrice noble Titus, spare my lirst-born son. 

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, aii<l pardon me. 
Tliese are tlieir lirelliren, whom you Gotlis beheld 
Alive anil dead, and for their bretliren slain 
Religiously they ask a sacrifice : 
To. this your son is mark'd, and die he must. 
To" appease their groaning shadows that are gone. 

Luc. Away witli him! and make a firo straight; 
And with our swords, upon a iiile of wood, 
Let's hew his limbs till they lie clean i-iuisumed. 

[Lxennt Lucius, (Quintus, Alartius, cmd 
3Iutius, with Alarbus. 

Tnm. O cruel, irreligious piety ! 

Chi. Was ever Scythia half so liarbarous? 

Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
A^larbus goes to rest; and we survive 
T'o tremble under Titus' threatening looks. 
Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal 



The self-same goils that arm'd the Queen of Troy 
With o]iiiiirtuiiity of sharp revenge 
Upon tlie Tliraeiaii tyrant in his tent, 
Jlay favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths — 
When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen — 
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 

Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius, 
unlh tlieir swords blood;/. 
Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perforin 'd 
Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd. 
And entrails feed the saerilii'ing fire, 
Wliose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
Reniaiiielh nouglit, but to inter our brethren. 
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 

Tit. Let it be so; and let Andronicus 
Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 

[Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb. 
In peace and hmiour rest you here, my sons; 
Rome's readiest clianipions, repose you here in rest, 
Secui'e from worldly chances and mishaps! 
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells. 
Here grow no danineil grudges ; here are no storms, 
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: 
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ! 

Enter Lavinia. 

iftr. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; 
My noble lord and father, live in fame! 
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears 
I render, for my brethren's obsequies; 
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy. 
Shed on tlie earth, for thy return to Rome: 
O, bless me liere with thy victorious hand. 
Whose fortiuies Rome's best citizens applaud! 

Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved 
The cordial of mine age to glad my lieart! 
Lavinia, live; outlivethy father's days. 
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! 

Enter, below, Ma,rcus Andronicus and Tribunes ; 

re-enter Saturninus and Bassianus, attended. 

Marc. Long live Lord Titus, my lieloved brother. 
Gracious triumplier in the eyes of Rome! 

Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Mar- 
cus, [wars, 

3[arr. And welcome, nephews, from successful 
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame ! 
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all. 
That in your country's service drew your swords: 
But safer triuiiiiih is this funeral pomp, 
That liath aspired to Solon's happiness 
And triuniplis over chance in honour's bed. 
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
Whose friend in justice thou bast ever been. 
Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, 
This iialliaiiient of white and spotless hue; 
And name thee in election for the empire, 
AVith these our late-deceased emperor's sons: 
Be candidatus then, and put it on. 
And help to set a head on headless Rome. 

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits 
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: 
What sliould I don this robe, and trouble you? 
Be chosen with in'oclamations to-day. 
To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, 
And set abroad new Imsiiiess for you all ? 

Rome, I have 1 n thy soldier forly years, 

And led my country's strength successfully. 

And buried one and twenty valiant sons, 

Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms. 

In riglit and service of their nolile country: 

Give me a staff of honour for mine age. 

But not a sceptre to control the world : 

Upright he held it, lords, that lield it last. [pery. 

Marc. Titus, tlioii shall obtain and ask the em- 

ISat. Proud and ambitious tribune, cans^hou tell 'i 
- 5G5 



ACT T. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE T. 



Tit. Patience, Prince Saturninns. 
Sat. , Romans, do me right : 

Patricians, draw your swords, and slieathe tliem 

not 
Till Saturninns be Rome's emperor. 
Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell. 
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! 

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
That noble-minded Titus means to thee! 

Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to thee 
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. 

Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee. 
But honour thee, and will do till I die: 
My faction if thou strengtlien witli tliy friends, 
I will most thankful be; and thanks to men 
Of noble minds is honourable meed. 

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, 
I ask your voices and your suffrages : 
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus ? 

Tribunes. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 
The people will accept whom he admits. 

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit I make. 
That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope. 
Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth. 
And ripen justice in this commonweal: 
Then, if you will elect by my advice. 
Crown him, and say ' Long live our emperor! ' 

Marc. With voices and applause of every sort, 
Patrii-ians and plebeians, we create 
Lord Saturniiuis Rome's great emperor, 
And say ' Long live our Emperor Saturnine ! ' 

[^1 lowj flourish till they come clown. 

Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done 
To us in our election this day, 
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts. 
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness : 
And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
Thy name and honourable family, 
Lavniia will I make my empress, 
Rome's royal. mistress, mistress of my heart,' 
And in the sacred Pantheon her esiwuse: 
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee ? 

Tit. It doth, my wortliy lord; and in this match 
I hold me highly Iionour'd of your grace: 
And here in siglit of Rome to Saturnine, 
King and commander of our connnonweal, 
The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate 
My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; 
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: 
Receive them then, the trilnite that I owe. 
Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 

Sat. Thanks, notile Titus, father of my life! 
How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts 
Rome shall record, and when I do forget 
The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
Romans, forget your fealty to me. 

Kt. [Tb Tamora] Now, madam, are you prisoner 
to an emperor ; 
To him tliat, for your honour and your state, 
Will use you nciliiy and yoiu' followers. 

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue 
That I would choose, were I to choose anew. 
Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy coiuitenance : 
Though chance of war hath wrought this change 

of cheer. 
Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome : 
Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
Daunt all your hopes: madam, lie comforts you 
Can make you greater tlian the (^)ueen of Goths. 
Lavinia, you are not displeased with this'i* 

Lav. Not I, my lord ; sitii true noViility 
Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 

Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go : 
Ransomipss here we set our prisoners free: 
566 



Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. 

[Flourish^ Satiirninus courts Tamora in dumb show. 

Las. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. 

[Seizing Lavinia. 

Tit. How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord'^ 

Las. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolved withal 

To do myself this reason and this right. 

Marc. ' Snum cuique' is our Roman justice : 
This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 
Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. 
Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's 
Treason, my lord ! Lavinia is surprised 1 [guard ? 
Sat. Surprised ! by whom ? 
Las. By him that justly may 

Bear his betroth 'd from all the world away. 

[E.i:eunt Bassianus and Marcus ivith Lavinia^ 
Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, 
And with my sword I '11 keep this door safe. 

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus., and Martius, 
Tit. Follow, my lord, anil I "11 soon bring her back. 
Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 
Tit. What, villain boy! 

Barr'st me my way in Rome? [Stahbiny 3futius. 
Mut. Help, Lucius, help! [Dies. 

[During the fray, Saturninus, Tamora, Deme- 
trius, Chiron and Aaron go out and re-enter, 
above. ^ 

He-enter Lucius. 

Lw. My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so, 
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine ; 
My sons would never so dishonour me : 
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 

Luc. Dead, if you will ; but not to be his wife, 
That is another 's'lawful promised love. [Exit. 

Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her not, 
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 
I '11 trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ; 
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sous. 
Confederates all thus to dishonour me. 
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, 
But Saturnine ? Full well, Andronicus, 
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 

Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are 
these '{ [piece 

Sat. But go thy ways; go, give that changing 
To him that flourish 'd for her with his sword: 
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; 
One tit to bandy with thy lawless sons. 
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. 

Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora,Queen of Goths, 
That like the stately Phcebe 'mongst her nymphs 
Dost overshine the gallant 'st dames of Rome, 
If thou lie pleased with this my sudden choice, 
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride. 
And will create thee empress of Rome. 
Speak,Queenof Gotlis.dost tliouaiipland my choice? 
And here I swear by all the Roman gods, 
Sith priest and holy water are so near 
And tapers burn so bright and every thing 
In readiness for Ilymenieus stand, 
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
I lead espoused my bride along with me. 

Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I 
If Saturnine advance the (^ueen of Goths, [swear, 
She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth, [company 

Sat. Ascend, fair queen. Pantheon. Lords, ac- 
Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, 
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, 
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered; 
There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 

[Exeunt all hut Titus. 

Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. 



ACT T. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE I. 



Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
Dishouour'd thus, and challenged of WFOugs ? 

Jie-etiter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 

Mure. O Titus, see, O, see what tliou Iiast done ! 
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 

Tit. Xo, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine, 
Nor tliou, nor these, confederates in the deed 
Tliat luith dislionour'd all oiu- family ; 
Unworlliy brotlier, and unworthy sons! 

Liir. IJut let us give him burial, as becomes; 
Give JIutius burial with our brethren. 

Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb: 
This monument five hundred years hath stood. 
Which I have sumptuously re-editied: 
Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors 
Rppose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls : 
Bury liim where you can; he comes not here. 

Mifrr. My lord, this is iniiucty in you: 
My nephew Mntius' deeds do plead for him; 
He must be buried with his brethren. 

Mt'rt I ^'"-^ shall, or him we will accompany. 

Tit. ' And shall ! ' what villain was it spake that 
word ? [here. 

Qidn. He that would vouch it in any place but 

Tit. What, would y<iu bury him in my despite i* 

Marc. Xo, noble Titus, but entreat of thee 
To pardon Mutius and to bury him. 

Til. Marcus, even tliou hast struck upon my crest. 
And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast 
My foes I do repute you every one ; [wounded : 

So, trouble me no more, "but get you gone. 

Mart. He is not with himself ; let us withdraw. 

Quill. Kot I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 

[Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel. 

Marc. Brother, for in that name doth nature 
plead, — [speak, — 

Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature 

Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. 

Marc. Renoi;\nied Titus, more than half my soul, — 

Luc. Dear fatlier, soul and substance of us all, — 

Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, 
That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. 
Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous: 
The Greeks ujjon advice did buiy Ajax 
That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son 
Did graciously jilcail for his funerals: 
Let not young ^Mutius, then, that was thy joy. 
Be baiT'd his entrance here. 

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise. 

The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, 
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome! 
Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 

[3Iutius is put into the tomh. 

Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with 
thy friends. 
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. 

All. [Kneelimi] No man shed tears for noble Mu- 
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause, [tius ; 

Marc. My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps, 
How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths 
Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome ? 

.Tit. I know not, Marcus; but I know it is : 
Wliether by device or no, the heavens can tell: 
Is she not then beholduig to the man 
That 1 irought her for this high good turn so far y 
Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. 

Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, Satuminus attended, 

Tamora, Demetrius, CMron, and Aaron ; from tlie 

oilier, Bassianus, Lavinia, and others. 

Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize : 
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride ! 

Bas. And you of yours, my lord ! I say no more. 
Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave. 



Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, 
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 

7j((.s. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my owii, 
IMy truth-betrothed love and now my wife? 
But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
]\Ieauwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. 

Sat. 'T is good, sir : you are very short with us; 
But, if we live, we '11 he as sharp with you. 

Has. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, 
Answer I must and shall do with my life. 
Only thus much I give your grace to know : 
By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
This noble gentleman. Lord Titus here, 
Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd; 
That in the rescue of I^avinia 
With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 
In zeal to you and liiglily moved to wrath 
To be controird in that he frankly gave: 
Receive him, then, to favour. Saturnine, 
That hath express'd himself in all Ins deeds 
A father and a friend to thee and llouie. 

lit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: 
'T is thou and those that have dishonour'd me. 
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, 
How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine ! 

2\im. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
Tlien hear me speak indifferently for all; 
And at my suit, sweet, iiard(in what is past. 

Sat. Wiiat, niadaui! be dishonour'd openly, 
And basely put it up without revenge ? 

Tarn. Not so, my lord ; the gods of Rome forfend 
I should be author to dishonour you ! 
But on mine honour dare I undertake 
For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; 
Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs : 
Tlien, at my suit, look graciously on him ; 
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, 
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. 
[^Ls/(7(? to Sat.] My lord, be ruled by me, be won at 
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : [last ; 
You are but newly planted in your throne; 
Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, 
Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
And so supplant you for ingratitude, 
Wliicli Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, 
Yield at entreats; and then let me alone: 
I "11 tind a day to massacre them all 
And raze tiieir faction and their family, 
Tlie cruel father and his traitorous sons, 
To wlioni I sued for my dear son's life. 
And make them know what 't is to let a queen 
Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. 

Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus ; 
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart . 
Tliat dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 

Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath prevail'd. 

2%. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord : 
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. 

Tain. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
A Roman now adopted happily. 
And must advise the emperor for his good. 
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; 
And let it be mine honour, good my lord, 
Tliat I have reconciled your friends and you. 
For you. Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
My word and promise to the emperor. 
That you will be more mild and tractable. 
And fear not, lords, and you, Lavinia; 
By my advice, all liumbled on your knees. 
You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 

Luc. We do, and vow to heaven apd to his liiglr- 
ness. 
That what we did was mildly as we might. 
Tendering our sister's honour and our own. 

Marc. That, on mine honour, here I da-protest. 
567 



ACT II. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE I. 



Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no more. 

Tmn. Kay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be 
friends : 
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; 
I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back. 

Sat. Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here. 
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
I do remit these young men's heinous faults : 
Stand up. 
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl. 



I found a friend, and sure as death I swore i 

I would not part a bachelor from the priest. ' 

Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, 
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. i 

This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 

Tit. To-morrow, an it please ynnr majesty '. 

To hunt the panther ami the hart witli nie, ; 

With horn and hound we "11 give your grace bonjour. 

Sat. Be it so, Titus, and granjercy too. 

[Flourish. Exeunt, i 



^CT II. 



SCENE I. — Borne. Before the palace. 
Enter Aaron. 
Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, 
Safe out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloft. 
Secure of thimder's crack or lightning flash ; 
Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. 
As wlien tlie golden sun salutes the morn. 
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, 
Gallops tlie z(i(liac in his glistering coach, 
And overlooks the highest peering hills ; 
So Tamora : 

Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, 
And virtue stoops and treniljles at her frown. 
Then, Aaron, arm thy lieart, and lit tliy thoughts. 
To mount alDlt with thy imperial mistress. 
And mount her pitch, wliom thou in triumph long 
Ilast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains 
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes 
Than is I'rometheus tied to Caucasus. 
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts I 
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
To wait upon tliis new-made empress. 
To wait, saiil 1 V to wanton with tliis queen. 
This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph. 
This siren, tliat will charm Rome's Satuniine, 
And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. 
Holloa ! what storm is this V 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, hraving. 

Bern. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants 
edge. 
And manners, to intrude where I am graced; 
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. 

Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over- ween in all ; 
And so in tliis, to bear me down with braves. 
'T is not the difference of a year or two 
Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate : 
I am as able and as fit as thou 
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; 
And that my sword upon thee shall approve, 
And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. 

Aar. [Aside] Clubs, clubs ! these lovers will not 
keep tlie peace. 

Bern. Why, boy. although our mother, unadvised. 
Gave you a claneing rapier by your side, 
Are 5'ou sodesiierate grown, to threat your friends ? 
Go to; liave your lath gUied within vour sheath 
Till you l<iiow lietter how to liamlle it. 

Chi. Meanwliile, sir, witli the little skill I have, 
Full well sli:iU thou perec^ive how much I dare. 

iJi III. Ay, lioy, gmw ye so brave? [Then draw. 

Aiir. \( 'iiiiiiinifnnninl] A\liy, how now, lords! 
So near the emperor's pahiee dare you draw, 
And maintain sueli a (piarrel openly V 
Full well 1 wot the ground of all this grudge: 
I would not f(n- a million of gold 
The cause were known to them it most concerns ; 
Nor would your noble mother for much more 
Be so dishohour'd in the court of Rome. 
For shame, put up. 

56S 



Bern. Not I, till I have sheathed 

My rapier in his bosom and withal 
Tlirust these reproachful speeches down his throat 
That he hath Ijreatlied in my dishonour here. 

('hi. For that I am prejiared and full resolved. 
Foul-spoken coward, that tliunder'st with thy 

tongue. 
And with thy weapon nothing darest perform ! 

^lar. Away, I say ! 
Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, 
This petty braVible will undo us all. 
Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous 
It is to jet upon a iirinc'e's right '? 
What, is Lavinia then become so loose. 
Or Bassianus so degenerate. 
That for lier love such (piarrels may be broach 'd 
Without controlnient, justice, or revenge V 
Young lords, beware! an shoulil the empress know 
This discord's ground, the music would not please. 

Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the world : 
I love Lavinia more than all the world. [choice : 

Bern. Yovmgling, learn thou to make some meaner 
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 

.lac Why, are ye mad V fir know ye not, in Rome 
How furious and impatient they lie. 
And cannot brook competitors in love? 
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
By this device. 

Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 

Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. 

Aar. To achieve her ! how ? 

Bern. Why makest thou it so strange ? 

She is a woman, thereiore may be woo'd; 
She is a woman, therefore may be won; 
She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. 
What, man! more water glideth by the mill 
Than wots the miller of; and easy it is 
Of a cut loaf to steal a sliive, we know : 
Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother. 
Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. 

Aar. [A.'iiik'] Ay, and as good as Saturninusmay. 

Belli. Then why sliouM he despair that knows to 
Witli words, fair looks and lilierality V [court it 
What, liast not thou full often struck a doe^ 
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose .■' [so 

Aar. Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or 
Would serve your turns. 

Chi. Ay, so the turn were served. 

Bern. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 

Aar. Would you had hit it too ! 

Then should not we be tired with this ado. 
Why, hark ye, hark ye ! and are yon such fools 
To square for this ? would it offend you, then, 
Tliat both should speed? 

Chi. Faith, not me. 

Bern. Nor me, so I were one. 

^lar. For shame, be ft-iends, and join for that you 
'T is policy and stratagem must do [jar : 

That you affect ; and so must you resolve, 
Tliat what you cannot as you would acliieve, 
You must perforce accomplish as you may. 



ACT II. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE III. 



Take this of me : Lucrece was not more chaste 

Tlian this Laviiiia, Bassianiis' love. 

A speedier course than lingerins; laiiguishment 

!Must we pursue, and I have found tlie path. 

My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ; 

There will the lovely Roman la<lies txoop: 

Tlie forest wall<s are wide and spacious; 

And many unfrequented plots I here are 

Fitted by kind for rape and villany : 

Single you thitlier tlien tliis dainty doe, 

Anil strilje her liome by force, if not by words: 

Tins way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 

Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit 

To villany and vengeance consecrate, 

AVill we acquaint witli all that we intend : 

And slie shall file our engines with advice, 

Tliat will not suffer you to squai'e yourselves. 

But to your wislies' height advance you both. 

The emperor's court is like the house of Fame, 

The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears : 

Tlie woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ; 

Tliere speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your 

turns ; 
Tliere serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye. 
And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 

(Jhi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. 

Dan. Sit fas aut iiefas, till I find the stream 
To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, 
Per Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A forest near Rome. Horns and cry 
of hounds heard. 

Enter Titus Andronicus, with Hunters, &c., Mar- 
cus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 
Tit. Tlie hunt is up, the morn is liriglit and grey, 
Tlie fields are fragrant and the woods are green : 
Uncouple here and let us make a bay 
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride 
And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal, 
That all the court may echo with the noise. 
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours. 
To attend the emperor's person carefully : 
I have been troubled in my sleep this niglit, 
But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. 

A crji of hounds, and horns winded in a peal. Knter Sat- 
urninus, Tamora, Bassianus, Lavinia, Demetrius, 
Chiron, and Attendants. 

Many good morrows to your majesty ; 
iladam, to you as many" and as good: 
I jiromised your grace a hunter's peal. 

Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lord ; 
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 

llns. Lavinia, how say you? 

Lai\ I say, no ; 

I liave been broad awake two hours and more. 

Sat. Come on, then ; horse and chariots let us have, 
And to our sport. {To Tamora} Madam, now shall 
Our Roman hunting. [ye see 

Mnrc. I have do^s, my lord. 

Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, 
And climb the highest promontory top. 

Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game 
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 

Bcni. CIdron, we hunt not, we, witli horse nor 
hound. 
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — ^ lonely part of the forest. 
Enter Aaron, loith a bag of gold. 
Anr. lie that had wit would think that I had none, 
To bury so nnidi gold under a tree. 
And never after to inlierit it. 
Let him tliat thinks of me so abjectly 
Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, 



Which, cunningly eiiected, will beget 

A very excellent piece of villany : 

And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest 

[Hides the gold. 
That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 

Enter Tamora. 

Tarn. My lovely Aaron , wherefore look'st thou sad, 
When everything doth make a gleeful boast '( 
Tlie birds chant melody on every bush, 
Tlie snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun. 
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind 
And make a cliequer'd shadow on the ground : 
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit. 
And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, 
Ri>]ilying shrilly to the well-tuned horns. 
As if a double hunt were heard at once. 
Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; 
And, after conlliet such as was supposed 
The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd. 
When with a iiappy storm they were surprised 
And cnrtain'd with a counsel-keeiiing cave, 
We may, each wreathed in the otiier's arms. 
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slmnlier; 
Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds 
Be unto us as is a nurse's song 
Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. 

Aiu-. Madam, tliongh Venus govern your desires, 
Saturn is doininator over mine: 
AVliat signifies my deadly-standing eye. 
My silence and my rloiidy melancholy, 
]My fieece of wocdly hair that now uncurls 
Even as an adder when she doth unroll 
To do some fatal execution y 
No, madam, these are no venereal signs: 
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. 
Blood and revenge are hammering in "my head. 
Ilark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, 
AVhich never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, 
Tliis is the day of doom for Bassianus: 
His I'hiloniel must lose her tongue to-day, 
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity 
And wash their hands in Bassianns""liIood. 
Seest thou this letter'::' take it up, I pray thee, 
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll. 
Now (pustion me no more ; we are espied; 
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, 
AVhich dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 

Tarn. Ah, my sw'eet Moor, sweeter to me than life! 

Aar. No more, great empress; Bassianus comes: 
Be cross -with him; and I '11 go fetch thy sons 
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit. 

Enter Bassianus and Lavinia. 

Bas. AVIio have we here V Rome's royal empress, 
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop ? 
Or is it Dian, habited like her, 
Who hath abandoned her holy groves 
To see the general hunting in this forest'? 

Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps! 
Had I the power that some say Liaii had. 
Thy temples should be planted presently 
AVith horns, as was Actwon's; and the hounds 
Sliould drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, 
Unmannerly intruder as thou art! 

lyitr. Under your patience, gentle empress, 
"T is thought you have a goodly gift in horning; 
And to be doubted that your AIoiu- and you 
Are singled forth to try experiments : 
.love shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 
'T is pity tliey should take him for a stag. 

Has. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian 
Doth nial'ie vonr honour of 'his Ixidy's liue, 
Spotted, detested, and aboiuinable. 
AV'liy are you seqnester'd from all your train. 
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. 
And waiider'd hither to an obscure plot, 
509 



ACT II, 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE III. 



Accompanied but with a barbarous Jloor, 
If foul desire had not conducted you ? 

Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, 
Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, 
And let her joy her raven-colour'd love ; 
This valley fits tlie purjiose passing; well. 

Bus. Tliekiiii;- in\- ))rothcr shall liave note of this. 

Lav. Ay , for these slips have made him noted long : 
Good kinff, to be so mightily abused ! 

Tarn. Why have I patience to endure all this ? 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron. 

Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious 
mother ! 
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan ? 

Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale ? 
These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: 
A barren detested vale, you see it is; 
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
O'ercome witli moss and baleful mistletoe: 
Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, 
Unless the niglitly owl or fatal raven : 
And when they showM uie tliis abhorred pit. 
They told me, here, at dead time of tlie night, 
A tliousaiid lionls, a thousand liissiug snakes. 
Ten thonsanil swelling toads, as many urchins, 
Would make such fearful and confused cries 
As any mortal body hearing it 
Slioukl straiglit fall mad, or else die suddenly. 
Ko sooner had they told this liellish tale, 
But straiglit they told me they would bind me here 
Unto tlie body of a dismal yew. 
And leave me to tliis miserable death: 
And then they call'd nic foul adulteress. 
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
That ever ear did hear to such effect : 
And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, 
Tliis vengeance on me had they executed. 
Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, 
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 

Bcm. This is a witness that I am thy son. 

[Slabs Bassianus. 

Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my 
strength. [Also stabs Bo-ssianus, w/io dies. 

Lm\ Ay, come, Semiraniis, nay, barbarous Ta- 
For no name fits thy nal nre liut thy own ! [mora. 

Tarn. Give me thj' poniard ; you shall know, my 
boys. 
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's 
wrong. 

Bcm. Stay, madam ; here is more belongs to her ; 
First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: 
This minion stood upon her chastity, 
Upon her luiiitial vow, her loyalty. 
And with that painted lioi* braves your mightiness: 
And shall she carry this unto Iier grave 'i* 

Chi. An if she do, I would I wese an eunuch. 
Drag hence her hnsbanil to some secret hole. 
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 

Tarn. But when ye have the lioncy ye desire. 
Let not this wasp outlive, us both to st ing. 

Chi. I warrant you, madam, wi' will make that 
Come, mistress, now jicrrorce we will enjoy [sure. 
That nice-preserved hoiii'sty of yours. 

Lav. O Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's face, — 

Tarn. I will not hear her sjieak; away with her! 

Lav. Sweet lonls, entreat her hear me but a word. 

Bern. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory 
To see her tears ; but be your lieart to them 
As unrelenting Hint to drops of rain. [dam ? 

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the 
O, do not learn her wrath : she taught it thee; 
The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble ; 
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. 
Yet every mother breeds not sons" alike : 
{To Chiron] Do thou entreat her sho'wa \\oman pity. 
570 



Clii. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself 
a bastard V < 

Lav. 'T is true ; the raven doth not hatch a lark : 
Yet have I heard, — O, could 1 find it nowl — 
The lion moved with pity did endure 
To have his princely paws pared all away: 
Some say that ravens foster forlorn chiklren, 
The wliilst their o\to birds famish in their uests: 
O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, 
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful ! 

Tarn. I know not what it means ; away with her! 

Lav. O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake. 
That gave thee life, when well he might have slaiu 
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. [thee, 

Tarn. Hadst thou in i)erson ne'er offended me. 
Even for his sake am I pitiless. 
Remember, boys, I ponr'd forth tears in vain. 
To save your brother from the sacrifice; 
But fierce Andronicus would not relent : 
Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will. 
The worse to her, tl.e better loved of me. 

Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen. 
And with thine own hands kill me in this place! 
For 'tis not life that I liave begg'd so long; 
Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. [me go. 

Tarn. What begg'st thou, then V fond woman, let 

Lav. 'Tis present death I Ix'g; and one thing 
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: [more 
O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
And tumljle me into some loathsome pit, 
Wliere never man 's eye may behold my body: 
Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 

Tain. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: 
No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 

Be7n. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. 

Lav. Nograce';* no womanhood? Ah, beastly crea- 
The blot and enemy to oiu: general name ! [ture ! 
Confusion fall — 

Chi. Nay, then I '11 stop your mouth. Bring thou 
her husband : 
This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 

[Bcrnctrius throivs the bady of Bassianus into the 
jtit; then exeunt Bernetrius and Chiron, drag- 
ginej ojl' Liirinia. 

Tant. Farewell, my sons: see that you make her 
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, [sure. 
Till all the Andronici be made away. 
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Jloor, 
And let my spleenful sons tiiis trull deflour. [TSxit. 

lie-enter Aaron, ivilh Quintus and Martius. 

Aar. Come on, my lords, the better foot before: 
Straight will I biing yi'u to the loathsome pit 
Where I esjiied the jianther fast asleep. 

Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 

Mart. And mine, I iiromise you; were 't not for 

Well could 1 leave our sport to s'leej) awhile, [shame, 

[Fcdls into the pit. 

Quin. What, art thou faH'u ? What subtle hole 
is this, 
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers. 
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood 
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on llowers'r' 
A very fatal jilace it seems to me. 
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall ? 

3Iart. O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt 
That ever eye with sight made heart lament ! 

Aar. [Aside] Now will I fetch the kmg to find 
them here. 
That he thereby may give a likely guess 
How these were they that made away his brother. 

[E.cit. 

Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help nie out 
From this unhallowcil and blood-stained hole'r* 

Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear: 
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints: 
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 



ACT II. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE IV. 



Mart. To prove tliou hast a true-diviuing heart, 
Aaron ami thou look down into tliis den, 
And see a tearful sight of blood and death. 

(^iiiiii. Aaron is gone; and my compassionate 
AVill not permit mme eyes once to behold [heart 
The tiling whereat it trembles by surmise: 
O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now 
Was [ a cliild to fear I know not what. 

Mart. Lord IJassianus lies end ire wed here, 
All on a heap, like to a slaughtcr'd lamli, 
In this detested, dark, blood-driiddng pit. 

Qi(i)i. If il be dark, how dost thou know 't is he ? 

Miirt. Upon Ids l)loody linger lie doth wear 
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, 
Wldeli, like a taper in some monument. 
Doth sliine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, 
And sliows the ragged entrails of the pit: 
Sd pale did shine the moon on Pyramus 
■\Vhfii lie liy iiiglit lay lathed in niaidpii blood. 

brother, help me with tliy fainting hand — 
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath — 
Out of this fell devouring receptacle. 

As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. [out; 

Quin. Iteach me thy hand, that I may help thee 
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 

1 may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb 
Of tliis deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 

I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 
3Iart. Nor I no strength to climb witliout thy help. 
(Jain. Thy hand once more ; I will not loose again, 
Till thou art here aloft, or I below; 
Tliou canst not come to me : I come to thee. 

[Falls in. 
Enter Saturninus wttli Aaron. 

Sat. Along with me : I "II see what hole is here. 
And what he is that now is leaji'd into it. 
iSay, who art thou that lately didst descend 
Into this gajiing hiiUow of the earth y ^ 

Mart. Tlu' uiihaiipy son of old Andronicus; 
Brought hither in a liiost unlucky hour. 
To lind thy brotlier Bassianus dead. 

.S(((. :My'laiither dead ! I know thou dost but jest : 
He and liis lady both are at the lodge 
Uixm the north side of this pleasant chase; 
'T is not an hour since I left him there. 

Mart. We know not where you left him all alive ; 
But, out, alas! here have we found him dead. 

lie-enter Tamora, tnth Attendants ; Titus An- 
dronicus, and Lucius. 

Tarn. Where is my lord the king ? [grief. 

Sat. Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing 

Turn. Where is thy brother Bassianus V 

Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my 
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. [wound : 

Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ. 
The complot of this timeless tragedy; 
And wonder greatly that man's lace can fold 
In pleasmg smiles such murilemus tyranny. 

[Slic yicctit Saturnine a letter. 

Sat. [Reads] ' An if we miss to meet him hand- 
somely — 
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 't is w^e mean — 
Do thou so much as clig the grave for him : 
Thou know'st our meaning." Look for thy reward 
Among the nettles at the elder-tree 
Which ovitsIkiiIi'S the mouth of that same pit 
Where we iIim ind to bury Bassianus. 
Do this, and purchase ns thy lasting friends.' 
O Tamora! was ever heard the like? 
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. 
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out 
That should have murder'd Bassianus here. 

Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 

*V((. [To Titus] Two of thy whelps, tell curs of 
bloody kind, 
Have here bereft my brother of his life. 



Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison : 
There let tliem bide until we liave devised 
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 

Tarn. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous 
How easily murder is discovered ! [thing ! 

Til. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
That this fell fault of my accursed sons. 
Accursed, if the fault be proved in them, — 

Sat. If it be proved ! you see it is apparent. 
Who found this letter ? Tamora, was it you ? 

Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up. 

2'it. I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail; 
For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow 
They shall be ready at your highness' will 
To answer their suspicion with their lives. 

Sat. Tlioushalt not bail them : see thou followme. 
Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: 
Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; 
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, 
That end upon them should be executed. 

2\un. Andronicus, I will entreat the king: 
Fear not thy sons ; they sliall do well enough. 

Tit. Come, Lucius, come ; stay not to talk with 
them. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another part of the forest. 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, iviih Lavinia, ravished ; 

her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. 

Bern. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, 

Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish 'd thee! 

Clii. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning 

An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe, [so, 

Bern. See, how with signs and tokens she can 

scrowl. [hands. 

Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, vv'ash thy 

Bern. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to 

And so let 's leave her to her silent walks, [wash ; 

Chi. An 't were my case, I should go liang myself. 

IJe^n. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the 

cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Cliiron. 

Enter Marcus. 
Mar. Wlio is this? my niece, that flies away so 
Cousin, a word : where is your husband ? [fast ! 
If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me ! 
If I do wake, some planet strike me down. 
That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! 
Speak, gentle niece, what stern imgrntle hands 
Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare 
Of her two Viranches, those sweet ornaments. 
Whose ciiiling shadows kings have sought to sleep 
And might not gain so great a happiness [in, 

As have thy love V Why dost not speak to me V 
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood. 
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, 
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, 
Coming and going with tliy honey breath. 
But, sure, some Tereus hath dellowered thee. 
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. 
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! 
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood. 
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, 
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face 
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
Shall I speak for thee 'i shall I say 't is so ? 
O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, 
That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! 
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, 
Dotli burn tliv' heart to cinders where it is. 
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue. 
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind : 
lint, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; 
A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met. 
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off. 
That could have better sew'd than PhilomeL 
571 



ACT iir. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE I. 



O, had the monster seen those lily hands 

Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute, 

And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, 

lie would not then have tiiuch'd them for his lite! 

Or, had lie heard the heavenly harmony 

Which tliat sweet tongue hath made, 

He would have dropp'd his Imife, and fell asleep 



As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. 

Come, let us go, and make thy father blind ; 

For such a sight will blind a father's eye : 

One hour's storm will drown tlie fragrant meads ; 

What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes':* 

Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee : 

O, could our mouining ease thy misery! \^Excurtt. 



^CT III. 



SCENE 1.— Borne. A street. 

Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with Martius 
and Quintus, hmi ml, passliKj on to the place of exccntiun ; 
Titus ijoitig bi'fon; pletulinrj. 

Tit. Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay ! 
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
In dangerous wars, wliil^t you securely slept ; 
For all my blood in llonie's great (luairel slied; 
For all the frosty nights that I liave watch'd ; 
And for tliese bitter tears, which now you see 
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks"; 
Be pitiful ti) my cdiKk'nuied sons, 
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. 
For two and twenty sons I never wept, 
Because they died in honour's lofty bed. 

\Lieth down; the Judges, tfcc. petss hij him, 
and lixeimt. 
For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write 
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears : 
Let my tears stanch the eartlTsdry apjietite; 
My sons' sweet lilood will make it shame and blush. 
O earth, I will iH-iricnd thee mure with rain. 
That shall distil Ircmi these two ancient urns, 
Than youthful April shall with all his showers: 
In summer's drought I "11 dmii upon thee still ; 
In winter with warm tears I "11 melt the snow, 
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face. 
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 

Enter Lucius, with his sioord drawn. 
O reverend tribunes ! O gentle, aged men I 
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death ; 
And let me say, that never wept before. 
My tears are now prevailing orators. 

Luc. O uoble fatlier, you lament in vain : 
The tribunes hear you liot ; no man is by ; 
And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 

Til. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. 
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you, — 

Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. 

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did hear, 
They would not mark me, or if they did mark, 
They would not- pity me, yet plead I must ; 
And bootless unto them . . . 
Therefore I tell my sorrows to tlie stones; 
AVho, though they cannot answer my distress, 
Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes. 
For that they will nut intercept my tale: 
When I do weep, they humbly at liiy feet 
Receive my tears and seem to weep "with me; 
And, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
Rome could alford no tribiuie like to these. 
A stone is soft as wax, — tribunes more hard than 
A stone is silent, and offendeth not, [stones; 

And tribunes with their tongues doom men to 
death. [Rises. 

But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon 
drawn 'i 

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death : 
For which attempt the judges have pronounced 
My everlasting doom of banishment. 

Tit. O happy man ! they have befriended thee. 
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive 
672 



That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? 
Tigers nuist prey, and Rome affords no prey 
But me and mine: liow haiijiy art thou, then, 
From these devourers to l)e banished! 
But who comes with our brother Marcus liere ? 

Enter Marcus and Lavinia. 
Marc. Titits, prejiare thy aged eyes to weep; 
Or, if not so, thy nuble heart to break: 
1 bring consunung sorrow to thine age. 

Tit. Will it consume me '? let me see it, then. 
Marc. This was thy daughter. 
Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. 

Luc. Ay me, tlds object kills me ! 
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. 
Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand 
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? 
What fool hath added water to" the sea. 
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? 
My grief was at the height before thou camest, 
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. 
Give me a sword, I '11 chop off my hands too; 
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain ; 
And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life; 
In bootless prayer have they been held up. 
And they have served me to effectless use : 
Now all the service I require of them 
Is that the one will help to cut the other. 
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; 
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 
Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd 

thee y 
Marc. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, 
That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, 
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage. 
Where, like a sweet melddious bird, it sung 
Sweet varied nutes, enchanting every ear! 
X)(c. O, say tliuu tV>r her, who hath done this deed ? 
Marc. O, thus I found her, straying in the park, 
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer 
That hath received some unrecuring woimd. 

Tit. It was my deer ; and he that wounded her 
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead : 
For now I stand as one upon a rock 
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea. 
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 
Expecting ever when some envious surge 
Will in Ids liriinsh bowels swallow him. 
This way to death my wretched sons are gone; 
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man, 
And here my brother, weeping at my woes: 
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn. 
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. 
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, 
It would have madded me : what shall I do 
Now I behold thy lively body so ? 
Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ; 
Nor tongue, to tell me who liath inar'tyr'il thee: 
Thy husband he is dead ; and for his death 
Thy brothers are condemn 'd, and dead by this. 
Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! 
When I did name her brothers, then fresli tears 
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew 
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 



ACT III. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE I. 



Marc. Perchance she weeps because they kilFd 
her husband ; 
Perchance because she knows them innocent. 

Tit. If tln-y did kill thy husband, then be joyful, 
Because the law liath ta'en revenge on them. 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. 
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : 
Sliall thy good uncle, and thy Ijrotlier Lucius, 
And thou', and I, sit round aliout some fountain, 
JjOfiking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
How tliey are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, 
■Willi miry slime left on them by a Hood '? 
Anil in tlie fountain shall we gaze so long 
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears V 
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine V 
Or shall we bite ourtongues, and in dumb shows 
Pass tlie remainder of our hateful days? 
AVliat shall we do 'f let us, that have "our tongues, 
I'lot some device of further misery. 
To make us wonder'd at in time to come. [grief, 

Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for, at jour 
See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 

Marc. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine 
eyes. 

Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot 
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, 
For thou, poor man, liast drown 'd it with thine own. 

Lur. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. 

Tit. ISIark, Marcus, mark ! I uiiderstaiid hersigus: 
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
That to her brother which I said to thee : 
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet. 
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
O, what a sympatliy of woe is this. 
As far from help as Limbo is from bliss ! 

Enter Aaron. 

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor 
Sends thee this word, — that, if thou love thy sous, 
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
Or any one of you, chop off your hand. 
And send it to the king: he for the same 
"Will send thee hitlier lioth thy sons alive; 
And that sliall lie the ransom for their fault. 

Tit. O gracious emperor ! O gentle Aaron ! 
Did ever raven sing so like a lark. 
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? 
With all my heart, I '11 send the emperor 
My hand : 
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off ? 

Lac. Stay, father! for that noVile hand of thine. 
That hatli thrown down so many enemies. 
Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn : 
My youth can better spare my lilndd than you ; 
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 

Marc. Which of your hands hath not defended 
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, [Rome, 

Writing destruction on the enemy's castle":' 
O, none of both but are of Iiigh desert : 
>[y hand hath been but idle;" let it serve 
To ransom my two neijhews from their death ; 
TJien have I kept it to a wurthy end. 

Aar. Xuy,come, agree wliose hand shall go along, 
For fear tliey die before their pardon come. 

Marc. My hand shall go. 

Lite. By heaven, it shall not go ! 

Tit. Sirs, strive no more : such wither'd herbs as 
these 
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 

Ltic. Sweet father, if I shall lie thought thy son. 
Let me redeem my brothers l)oth lYom death. 

Marc. And, for our father's sake uud mother's 
care. 
Now let me show a brother's love to thee. 



Tit. Agree between you ; I will spare my hand. 
Luc. Then I '11 go fetch an axe. 
Marc. But I will use the axe. 

[Exeunt Lucius and 3farcus. 
Tit. Come hither, Aaron; I '11 deceive them both: 
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 
Aar. [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be 
honest. 
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: 
But I '11 deceive you in another sort. 
And that you '11 say, ere half an hour pass. 

[Cuts njf' Titus's hand. 

Re-enter Lucius and Marcus. 

Tit. Now stay your strife : what shall be is dis- 
Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand : [patch'd. 
Tell him it was a band that wanted Iiim 
From thousand dangers; bid him bury it; 
More hath it merited; that let it luive. 
As for my sons, say I account of them 
As jewels purchased at an easy price ; 
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. 

Aar. I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand 
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. 
[.l.sWf] Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany 
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it 1 
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit. 

Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, 
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: 
If any power pities wretched tears, [me ? 

To that I call! [To Lav.] What, wilt thou kneel witli 
Do, then, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear our 

prayers ; 
Or with our sighs we '11 breathe the welkin dim. 
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds 
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 

Marc. O brother, speak with possil.iilities. 
And do not break into these deep extremes. 

Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? 
Then be my passions bottomless with them. 

Marc. But yet let reason govern thy lament. 

Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, 
Then into limits could I bind my woes: 
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow!' 
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
Tlireatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? 
And wilt tliou have a reason for this coilV 
I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow I 
She is the weeping welkin, 1 the earth: 
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; 
Then must my earth with her continualtears 
Become a deluge, overtlow'd and drown'd; 
For why my bowels cannot hide lier woes, 
But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
Then give me leave, for losers will have leave 
To ease their stomachs with theiu bitter tongues. 

Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand. 

Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
For that good hand thou senfst the emperor. 
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
And here 's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back ; 
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; 
That woe is me to think upon tliy woes 
More than remembrance of my father's death. [E.cit. 

Marc. Now let hot aEtna cool in Sicily, 
And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
These miseries are more than may be borne. 
To weep with them that wee]> doth ease some deal; 
But sorrow flouted at is double death. 

Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a 
wound. 
And yet detested life not shrink thereat! 
Tliatever death should let life bear his name. 
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! 
[Lavinia kisses Titus. 
673 



ACT III. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE ir. 



Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless 
As frozen water to a starved snake. 

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end V 

Marc. Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronieus ; 
Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons" heads, 
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; 
Thy other banisli'd son, with this dear sight 
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, 
Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: 
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight 
The closing ui> of our most wretched eyes : 
Kow is a time to storm; why art thou still? 

Tit. Ila, ha,ha! 

Marc. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this 
hour. 

Tit. AVhy, I have not another tear to shed : 
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
And would usurp ujion my watery eyes, 
And make them bljnd with tributary tears: 
Then which way shall I tind Revenge's cave? 
For these two lieads do seem to speak to me, 
And threat me I shall never come to bliss 
Till all these mischiefs be returned again 
Even in their throats that have committed them. 
Come, let me see what task I have to do. 
You heavy people, circle me about, 
That I may turn me to each one of you, 
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; 
And in this hand the otlierwill I bear. 
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed: these arms! 
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy 

teeth. 
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; 
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: 
And, if you love me, as 1 think you do. 
Let "s kiss and part, for we have much to do. 

[Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia. 

Luc. Farewell, Andronieus, my noble father. 
The wofull'st man that ever lived in Rome: 
Farewell, proud Rome ; till Lucius come again. 
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life: 
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; 
O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! 
But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives 
But in oblivion and hateful griefs. 
If Lucius live, he will re(iuite your wrongs; 
And make jiroud Saturnine and his empress 
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
To be revenged ou Rome and Saturnine. [E.cit. 

SCENE II. — A room in Titus^s house. A banquet 
set out. 

Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and younyljUcixiB, 
a Boy. 
Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look you eat no more 
Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours, 
ilarcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot : 
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, 
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
AVith bdded arms. This jioor right hand of mine 
Is left to tyran)iize upon my breast; 
Who, wlie'u my lieart, all niad with misery. 
Beats in this liolknv prison of my flesh. 
Then thus I thump it down. 
[To Lavinia.] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk 

in signs ! 
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating. 
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; 
574 



Or get some little knife between thy teeth. 
And just against thy heart make thou a hole: 
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall 
May run into that sink, and soakmg in 
Urown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 

Marc. Fie, brother, fle! teach lier not thus to lay 
Such violent hands upon her tender life. 

Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already? 
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
What violent hands can she lay on her life ? 
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; 
To bid .lEneas tell the tale twice o'er. 
How Troy was Imrnt and he made miserable? 
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands. 
Lest we rememlier still tliat we have none. 
Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, 
As if we should forget we had no hands. 
If Marcus did not name the word of hands! 
Come, let "s fall to ; and, gentle girl, eat this : 
Here is no drink ! Hark, Marcus, what she says ; 
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ; 
Slie says she drinks no other drink but tears, 
Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks: 
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought ; 
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect 
As begging hermits in their holy prayers: 
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 
Nor wmk, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, 
But I of these will wrest an alphabet 
And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. 

Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep 
laments: 
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 

Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved, 
Doth weep to see his graudsire's heaviness. 

Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears. 
And tears will quickly melt thy life away. 

[Marcus strikes tlu dish uith a knife. 
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife ? 

Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. 

Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart ; 
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: 
A deed of death done on the innocent 
Becomes not Titus' brother: get thee gone; 
I see thou art not for my company. 

Marc. Alas, my lord, I have biit kill'd a fly. 

Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother ? 
How would he liang his slender gilded wings, 
And buz/, lanienting doings in the air! 
Poor harmless fly. 

That, with his pretty buzzing melody. 
Came here to make us merry! and thou hast kill'd 
him. 

Marc. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd 

fly, 

Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. 

Tit. O, O, O, 
Then pardon me for reprehending thee. 
For thou hast done a cliaritable deed. 
Give me thy knife. I will insult on him; 
Flattering "myself, as if it were the Moor 
Come hither i)uri)Osely to poison me. — 
There 's for tliyself , and that 's for Tamora. 
Ah, sirrah ! 

Yet, I think, we are not brought so low. 
But that between us we can kill a fly 
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 

3Iarc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought on 
hkn. 
He takes false shadows for true substances. 

Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me : 
I '11 to thy closet ; and go read with thee 
Sad stories chanced in the times of old. 
Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is young, 
And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. 

[Exeunt. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE I. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Jtmnc. Titus''s garden. 

Enter young Lucius, and Lavinia running after him, and 
the boji jiici from herewith books under Ais arm. Thin 
enter Titus and Marcus. 

Young Lnji. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt 
Lavinia 
Follows me every where, I know not why : 
Good uncle Jtlarcus, see how swift she co'mes. 
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 

Marc. Stand by me, Lucius; do" not fear thine 

aunt. 
^/J. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 

Young Luc. Ay, wlien my father was in Home 
slie did. [signs'? 

irare. What means my niece Lavinia by these 

l\t. Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth she 
me<\n : 
See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee : 
Somewhither would slie have thee go with her. 
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
Read to her sons than she hath read to thee 
Sweet poetry and TuUy's Orator. 

Marc. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies 
thee thus ? [guess. 

Young Luc. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I 
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her : 
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft. 
Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 
Kan mad through sorrow : that made me to fear ; 
Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt 
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did. 
And would not, but in fury, fright my }'outh : 
AVhich made me down to t luow my Viooks, and fly, — 
Causeless, perhaps. But pardnn me, sweet aunt: 
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 

Marc. Lucius, I will. 

[Lacinia turns over with her stumps the hooks 
rchich Lucius lias let fall. 

Tit. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means 
Some book there is that she desires to see. [this ? 
Which is it, girl, of these '•' Open them, boy. 
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd: 
Come, and take choice of all my lilirary, 
And so beguile thy sorrow, till tlie lieavens 
Keveal the damn'd contrivft- of tliis deed. 
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? 

Marc. I think she means that there was more 
than one 
Confederate in the fact : ay, more there was; 
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 

Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? 

Young Luc. Grandsire, 't is Ovid's Metamorpho- 
ily mother gave it me. [ses ; 

Marc. For love of her that 's gone. 

Perhaps she cidl'd it from among the rest. 

Tit. Soft ! see how busily she turns the leaves ! 

[Helping her. 
What would she find ? Lavinia, shall I read V 
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape; 
And rape, I fear, was root of tliine annoy. 

Marc. See, brother, see; note how she quotes the 
leaves. • [girl. 

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet 
Ravish 'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was. 
Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods ? 
See, see ! 

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt — 
O, liad we never, never hunted tliere ! — 
Pattem'd by that the poet here describes. 
By miture liiade for murders and for rapes. 



Marc. O, why should nature build so foul a den. 
Unless the gods delight in tragedies ? [fi lends. 

Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but 
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed: 
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
Tliat left tlie camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? 

Marc. Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit down 
Apollo, Pallas, .Jove, or IMercury, [by me. 

Inspire me, tliat I may this treason find ! 
My Imxl, look here: look here, Lavinia: 
Tliis sandy jilot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, 
Tills after nie, when I have writ my name 
AVithout the help of any hand at all. 

[He ivrites his name with his staff, and guides it 
with feet ana mouth. 
Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift ! 
Write thou, good niece ; and here display, at last. 
What God will have discover'd for revenge : 
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain. 
That we may know the traitors and the truth ! 

[She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with 
her stu'nq)S, and icritcs. 

Tit. O, do ye read, my lord, wliat she hath writ ? 
'Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.' 

Marc. AVhat, what ! the lustful sons of Tamora 
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? 

Tit. Magni Dominator poll. 
Tarn lentus andis scelera V tarn lentns vides ? 

Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord ; although I know 
There is enougli written iii:on this earth 
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts 
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel ; 
And kneel, sweet boy, tlie Homan Hector's hope; 
And swear witli me, as, witli tlie woful fere 
And fatlier of that eliaste disluuiour'd dame. 
Lord .Junius Brutus sware tor Lucrece' rape, 
Tliat we will prosecute by good advice 
Mortal ri'venge upon tliese traitorous Goths, 
And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 

Tit. 'T is sure enough, an you knew how. 
But if you hunt these bear-whelps, tlien beware: 
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once, 
She 's with the lion deeply still in league. 
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, 
And when he sleeps will she do what she list. 
You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone; 
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass. 
And with a gad of steel will write tliese words, 
And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad. 
And Where's your lesson, then? Boy, what say 
you ? 

Young Luc. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, 
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 

Marc. Ay, that 's my boy ! thy father hath full oft 
For his ungrateful country done the like. 

Young Luc. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. 

'Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury ; 
Lucius, I '11 fit thee; and witlial, my boy, 
Shalt carry from me to tlie empress' sous 
Presents that I intend to send lliem both; 
Come, come ; thou 'It do thy message, wilt thou not ? 

Young Luc. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, 
grandsire. [course. 

Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another 
Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house : 
Lucius and I '11 go brave it at the court ; 
Ay, marry, will we, sir ; and we '11 be waited on. 

[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Young Luc. 

Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good mau groan, 
And not relent, or not compassion him ? 
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, 
575 



ACT IV. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



BCEJTE IT. 



Tliat hath more scars of sorrow in his heart 
Than foemeu's marks upon his batter "d shield; 
But yet so just that he will not revenge. 
Revenge, ye heavens, for old xVudronicus! \_Exit. 

SCENE II. — The same. A room in the palace. 

Enter, from one side, Aaron, Demetrius, ami Chiron; 
frum'lhe other side, yoiuKj Lucius, and an Attendant, 
with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them. 

Chi. Demetrius, here 's tlie son of Lucius ; 
He hath some message to deliver us. 

Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand- 
father, [may, 

Youmj Luc. My lords, with all the humbleness I 
I greet your honours from Andronicus. [both ! 

[Aside'] And pray the I'uinian gods confoimd you 

Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius : what 's the news ? 

Young Luc. [Aside] That you are both decipher'd, 
tliat 's the news, 
For villains luark'd with rape. — May it please you, 
My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me 
The goodliest weapons of his armoury 
To gratify your lionourable youth. 
The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say ; 
And so 1 do, and with his gifls ini-sent 
Your lordships, that, wheufver you liave need. 
You may be armed and ajipninted well : * ' 

And so I leave you both : [.In/Jj] likelilniidy \-illaius. 
{E.ceunt 'joatnj Liirins uiid Alli luliiiU. 

Dem. What 's here 'i A scroll ; and written 
round about y 
Let 's see : 
[Reads] ' Integer vit;e, scelerisque purus, 

Non eget JIauri jaculis, nee arcu.' 

Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well: 
I read it in the grannnar long ago. 

Aar. Ay, just ; a verse in itorace ; right, you have 
[Aside] Novi', what a thing it is to be an ass! [it. 
llere 's no sound jest ! the old man hath found their 

guilt ; 
And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with lines, 
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. 
But were our witty empress well afoot, 
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit : 
But let her rest m her unrest awhile. 

And now, young lords, was't not a happy star 
Led us to Kome, strangers, and more tlian so, 
Captives, to be advanced tn this height':' 
It did me good, before the palace gate 
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 

Ltcm. But me more good, to see so great a lord 
Basely insinuate and send us gifts. 

Aar. Had he not reason. Lord Demetrius? 
Did you not use his daughter very friendly ? 

Dem. I would we had a thousand Roman dames 
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 

Chi. A charital)le wish and full of love. 

Aar. Here lacks Init ynur niotlicr fur to say amen. 

Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand 
more. 

Dem. Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods 
For our beloved mother in her pains. 

Aar. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the goils have 
given us over. [Trurninta snimd icilhin. 

-Z>e9». Why do tlie emperor's trumpets nourish thusV 

Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a sou. 

Dem. Soft ! who comes here V 

Enter a Nurse, tinth a blackamoor Child in her arms. 

JS'ur. Good morrow, lords : 

O, tell me, did you see Aaron the MoorV 

Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all. 
Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now V 

Nut. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! 
Kow help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 
576 



Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! 
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms 't 

JViO'. O, that which I woidd hide from heaven's 
eye, 
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace! 
She is deliver'd, lords; she is deliver'd. 

Aar. To whom ? 

JVwr. I mean, she is brought a-bed. 

Aar. Well, God give her good rest ! What hatli 
he .sent her ? 

Nur. A devil. [issue. 

Aar. Why, then she is the devil's dam; a joylul 

A'iH-. A joyless, dismal, black, ;inil sorrowful issue: 
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
Amongst the fairest breeders «{ dur clime: 
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, / 
And bids tliee christen it witii thy dagger's point. 

Aar. 'Zdunds, ye whore! is black so base a hue'? 
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 

Dem. Villain, what hast thou done^ 

Aar. That which thou canst not undo. 

Chi. Thou hast undone our niollier. 

Aar. Villain, I liave done tliy mother. 

Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. 
Woe to her chance, and damn'd !ier loathed choice! 
Accursed the offspring of so foul a hend ! 

Clii. it shall not live. 

Aar. It shall not die. 

Kw. Aaron, it must ; tlie mother wills it so. 

Aar. What, must it, nurse ? then let uo man but 1 
Do execution on my flesh and blood. 

Dem. I '1! broach the tad[Kilc on my rapier's point : 
Nurse, give il me; my swcrd shall s"<Min dispatch it. 

Aar. Sooner tills sword shall plough thy bowels up. 
[Takes the child from the Nurse, and dratrs. 
Stay, murderous villains ! will j ou kill your brother'? 
Now, by the biu-ning tapers of the sky. 
That shone so brightly Avliezi tliis boy was got. 
He dies ujion niy scimitar's sliari) point 
That touches this my tirst-lmni son and heir! 
I tell you, younglings, not Enci-lailus, 
With all his threatening liand ut Typlion's brood, 
Xor great Alcides, nor the god of war, 
Shall seize this jirey out of his father's hands. 
What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! 
Ye white-limed walls! ye alehouse painted signs! 
Coal-black is better than another hue, 
In that it scorns to bear another hue ; 
For all the water in tlie ocean 
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, 
Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 
Tell the empress from me, I am of age 
To keep mine own, excuse it how she can. 

Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus ? 

Aar. My mistress is my mistress ; this myself, 
The vigour and the [licture of my youth: 
This before all the world do I prefer; 
This maugre all the «dild will I keep safe, 
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 

Dim. ]>y this our mother is for ever shamed. 

Chi. l{ome will despise her for this foul escape. 

jVitr. The emiieror,in his rage, -will doom her death. 

Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 

Aar. Why, there 's the privilege yourbeautybeai-s: 
Fie, treacherous hue, that will iietray with blushing 
The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
Here 's a young lad framed of another leer: 
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father. 
As wlio Khould say ' Old lad, I am thine own.' 
He is vour lirother, lords, sensibly fed 
Of tliat sell'-lilood that tirst gave life to you, 
And from that womb where you iniprisou'tl were 
He is enfrauchised and come to light : 
Kay, he is your brother by tlie sui-er side, 
Although my seal be stamped in his face. 

jSlir. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress? 

Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be doue, 



ACT IV. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



And we will all subscribe to thy advice : 
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 

Aar. Theu sit we down, and let us all consult, i^ 
My son and I will have the wind of you : 
Keep there : now talk at pleasure of your safety. 

[Thcji sit. 

Don. How many women saw this child of his '? 

An r. AVhy, so, brave lords! when we join iu league, 
I am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor, 
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, 
Tlie ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. 
But say, ajfain, how many saw t!ie child ? 

JS'itr. Cornelia the midwife and myself; 
And no one else but the deliver'd eniiiress. 

Aar. The empress, tlie midwife, and yourself: 
Two may keep counsel when the third 's away : 
Go to the empress, tell her thLs I said 



\]) Tell him, it is for justice and for aid, 
And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. 
Ah, Rome ! Well, well ; I made thee miserable 
What time I threw the people's suffrages 
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. 
iGo, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, 
•^nd leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd: 
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence; 
Vj^And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 
^ 3/ftcc. O Fublius, is not this a heavy case, 
•>To see thy noble uncle thus distract':' 
. Pub. Therefore, my hird, it highly us concerns 
tfBy day and night to attend him carefully, 
'.And feed his humour kindly as we may, 
•Till time beget some careful remedy. 

Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are jiast remedy. 



Weke, weke ! so cries a pig prepared 

JJcin. What mean'st thou, Aaron'!* wherefore 
didst thou tills ? 

Aar. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy: 
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours, 
A long-tongued babbling gossip ? no, lords, no : 
And now be it known to you my full intent. 
Kot far, one Muli lives, my countryman; 
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; 
His cliild is like to lier, fair as j'ou are: 
Gil pack witli him, and give the mother gold, 
And tell them l.ioth tlie circumstance of all ; 
And how by this tlieir child shall be advanced, 
And be received for the emperor's heir, 
And substituted in the place of mine, 
To calm this tempest whirling in the court; 
And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
Hark ye, lords; ye see I have given her pliysic, 

[Pointing to the nurse. 
And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms: 
Tliis done, see that you take no longer days. 
But send the midwife presently to me. 
Tlie midwife and the nurse well made away, 
Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 

(.'hi. Aarcui, I see thou wilt not trust the air 
With secrets. 

Dem. For this care of Taniora, 

Herself and hers are highly Ijouiid to thee. 
[E.ceunt Dem. and Clii. htarimj off the Xurse^s hodij. 

Aar. Xow to the Goths, as "swift as swallow tlies ; 
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, 
And secretly to greet the empress" friends. 
Come on, you tliick-lipp'd slave, 1 '11 bear you hence ; 
For it is you tliat puts us to our shifts : 
I '11 make you feed on berries and on roots, 
And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
And cabin in a cave, and bring you up 
To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit. 

SCENE 111.— The same. A jndAic xjlace. 

EnterlitMS, henrinq arrows icilh Irtfrrs nt the emh vf them ; 
with him, Marcus, ynntut Lucius, Publius, Sempro- 
nius, Caius, und other Gentlemen, with bows. 

Tit. Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is the 
Sir boy, now let me see your archery ; [vi'ay. 

Look ye draw home enough, and 't is there straight. 
Terras Astrsea reliquit: 

Be you remember 'd, Marcus, she 's gone, she 's fled. 
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets; 
Happily you may catch her in the sea; 
Yet tliere 's as little justice as at land : 
No; Publius and Seniproniiis, you must do it; 
'T is you must dig willi mattiick and witli spade. 
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth: 
Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
I iiray you, deliver him this petition ; 
37 



said. <.i Marc. Kinsmen, liis sorrows are past remea 

[J/e kills the nurse. jiloin with the Goths; and witli revengeful wa: 
ired to the spit. ' Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude. 



And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 
" Tit. Publius, how now ! how now, my masters! 
Wliat, have you met with her';' [word, 

Pidj. No, "my good lord ; but Pluto sends you 
If you will liave Revenge from hell, you shall: 
Slurry, for .Justice, she is so employ'd, 
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, 
So that perforce you must needs stay a time. 

Tit. lie doth me wrong to feed me. with delays. 
I '11 dive into the burning lake below. 
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. 
Marcus, we are liut shrubs, no cedars we, 
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size; 
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, [bear: 
Yet wrung witli wrongs more than our backs can 
And, sitli there 's no justice in earth nor hell. 
We will solicit heaven and move the gods 
To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs. 
£!ome, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus ; 
^ [He gives them the arroics. 

'Ad .Jovem,' that 's for j'ou : here, ' Ad Apollinem : ' 
'Ad Martem,' that 's for myself: 
Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury: 
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine; 
You were as good to shoot against the wind. 
To it, boy! Alarcus, loose when I bid. 
Of my word, I liave written to effect ; 
There 's not a god left unsolicited. [court : 

3Iarc. Kinsmen, shoot all y ur shafts into the 
We will afflict the empero" in ins pride. 

Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well 
said, Lucius ! 
Good boy, in Virgo's laji; give it Pallas. 

-il/«)-c. My lord, I aim ;, mile beyond the moon; 
Your letter is with Jupiter bv tliis. 

Tit. Ha, ha! 
Publius, Publius, what hast thou done ? 
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 

Marc. This was the sport, my lord: when Pub- 
lius shot. 
The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock 
That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court ; 
And who should liml tlieiii but the empress' vilhiin ':* 
Shelaugird,uiid told the Moor he should not choose 
But give them to his master for a present. [joy ! 

Tit. Why, there it goes: God give his lordship 

Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons in it. 
News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is come. 
Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters 'r* 
Shall I have justice ? what says Jupiter '? 

Clo. O, the gibbet-maker! he sa5's tliat he hath 
taken them down again, for the man must not be 
hanged till the next week. 

Tit. But what says Juiiiter, I ask thee ? 

Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank 
with him in all my life. 

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? 
577 



ACT IV. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE IV. 



Clo. xV)', of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. 

Tit. AVliy, didst tiiou not come from heaven ? 

C7o. From heaven ! alas, sir, I never came there: 
God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven 
in my young days. Why, I am going with my 
piseons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter 
of brawl betwixt my uucle and one of the emperial's 
men. 

Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve 
for your oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons 
to tlie emperor from you. 

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the 
emperor with a grace y 

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in 
all my life. 

Tit. Sirrah-, come hither: make no more ado, 
But give your pigeons to the emperor: 
By me thou shalt have-justice at his hands. 
Hold, hold ; meanwhile here 's money for thy 

charges. 
Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace 
deliver a supplication ? 

Clo. Ay, sir. 

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And 
when you come to him, at the tirst approach you 
must kneel, then kiss his foot, then deliver up your 
pigeons, and then look for your reward. I '11 be at 
hand, sir; see you do it bravely. 

Clo. I warrant you, sir, let me alone. • 

Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knifed come, let me see 
Hen^ ]\Iarcus, fold it in the oration ; [it. 

For thiiu hast uiailu it like an humble suppliant. 
And when thou hast given it the emperor, 
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 

Clo. God be with you, sir; I will. 

Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow 
me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE TV. —The same. Before the palace. 

Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron, Lords, 

irnd others; Saturninus with t/ie arrows in his hand 
that Titus shot. 

Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! v>'as 
ever seen 
An emperor in Rome thus overborne. 
Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent 
Ot egal justice, used in such contempt':' 
My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, 
However these disturbers of our peace 
Buz iu the peoi)le's ears, there nought hath pass'd. 
But even with law, against the wilful sons 
Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
His sorrows liave so overwhelm'd his wits, 
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks. 
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness V 
And now he writes to heaven for his redress: 
See, here 's to .Tove, and this to Mercury; 
This to Aiiollo; this to the god of war; 
Sweet scrolls to ily about tlie streets of Rome! 
What 's this luif lilielliiig against the senate, 
And Itlazoiiiiig our injustice every where? 
A goiidly huuiour, is it not, my lords? 
As who would say, in Rome no justice were. 
But if I live, his feigned ecstasies 
Shall be no shelter to these outrages: 
But he and his shall know tliat justice lives 
In Saturninus' health, whom, if she sleep, 
He '11 so awake as she in fury shall 
Cut off the proud 'st conspirator that lives. 

Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, 
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, 
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons. 
Whose loss hath pierced liim deep and scarr'd his 
And rather comfort his distressed plight [lieart; 
Thau prosecute the meanest or the best 
578 



For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall 
1 1 igh-witted Tamora to gloze with all : [become 
But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick, 
Thy life-blood out : if Aaron now be wise, 
Then is all safe, the anchor 's in the port. 

Enter Clown. 
How now, good fellow ! wouldst thou speak with us? 

Clo. Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be em-, 
perial. 

Tain. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. 

Clo. 'T is he. God and Saint Stephen give you 
good-den : I have brought you a letter auda couple 
of pigeons hei'e. [Satumiims rimh tin Idler. 

Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 

Clo. How mucli money must I have ? 

Ihm. Come, sirrah, you must be hanged. 

Clo. Hanged! by 'r lady, then I have brought up 
a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guardtd. 

Sal. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs I 
Shall I endure this monstrous villany ? 
I know from whence this same device proceeds: 
May this be borne? — as if his traitorous sons, 
Tliat died by law for murder of our brother, 
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully ! 
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair; 
Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege: 
For this proud mock I '11 be thy slaughterman; 
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 

Enter .lEmilius. 
What news with thee, ^milius? 

^Einil. Arm, arm, my lord; — Rome never had 
more cause. 
The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a power 
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil. 
They hither march auiain. under conduct 
Of iiUeius, son to old Andronicus: 
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
As much as ever Coriolanus did. 

Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ? 
These tidings nip me, and I hang the head 
As flowers with frost or grass beat down with 
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : [storms : 
'Tis he tlie common people love so much; 
^Myself hath often over-heard them say, 
When I liave walked like a private man. 
That Lucius' bainshment was wrongfully, 
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their em- 
peror. 

Tarn. Why should you fear? isnotyourcitystrong? 

Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour "Lucius, 
And will revolt from me to succour him. [name. 

Tarn. King. Vie thy tlioughts imperious, like thy 
Is the sun dinini'd, tliat gnats do fly in it? 
The eagle sutlers little birds to sing. 
And is not careful what they mean thereby. 
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings 
He can at pleasure stint their melody: 
Even so niayst thou the giddy men of Rome. 
Then cheer tliy spirit : for know, thou emperor, 
I will eneliant the old Andronicus 
AVith wends more sweet, and yet more dangerous, 
Than baits to fish, or honej'-stalks to sheep, 
AVhen as the one is wounded with the bait, 
The other rotted with delicious feed. 

Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 

Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: 
For I can smooth and hll his aged ear 
With golden promises; that, were his heart 
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf. 
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. 
[To uEuiilius] Go thou before, be our ambassador: 
Say that the emperor requests a parley 
Ot warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting 
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 



ACT V. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE I. 



Sat. ^milius, do this message honourablj' : 
And if lie staud on liostage for Ins safety, 
liid him demand what pledge will please him best. 

^Endl. Your bidding shall I do effectually. 

{Exit. 

Tarn. Xow will I to that old Andronicus, 



And temper him with all the art I have, 
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
And now, sweet emperor, Ije blithe again, 
And bury all thy fear in my devices. 
Sat. Then go successantly, and plead to him. 

[Exeunt. 



J^CT V 



SCENE I. — Plains near Home. 



Enter Lucius with an army of Goths, icith drum 
and colours. 

Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, 
I have received letters from great Rome, 
■\Vhich signify what hate they bear their emperor 
And how desirous of our sight they are. 
Tiierefore, great lords, be, as your "titles w'itness. 
Imperious and impatient of your wrongs. 
And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, 
Let him make treble satisfaction. 

Inrst Qoth. Brave slip, sprung from the great 

. Andronicus, 
Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort ; 
Whose liigh exploits and honouraljle deeds 
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt. 
Be" bold in us: we '11 follow wliere thou lead'st. 
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day 
Led by their master to the flowered fields, 
And be avenged on cursed Tamora. [liim. 

All the Oolhs. And as he saith, so say we all with 

Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. 
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth V 

Enter a Goth, leading Aaron toith his Child in his 
arms. 

Sec. Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I 
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; [stray 'd 

And, as I earnestly did Hx mine eye 
Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
1 heard a child cry underneath a wall. 
I n)ade unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
The crying babe controll'd with this discourse : 
' Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam ! 
Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art. 
Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, 
Vihain, thou mightst have been an emperor: 
But where the bull and cow are both milk-white. 
They never do beget a coal-black calf. 
Peace, villain, peace!' — even thus he rates the babe, — 
'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth; 
Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe, 
AVill hcilil thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' 
"With this, my weapon drawn, I rnsh'd upon him. 
Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither, 
To use as you think needful of the man. 

Luc. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil 
That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand; 
This is the pearl that pleased your empress' eye. 
And here 's the l.iase fruit of his liurning lust. 
Say, wah-eyed slave, whither wonldst thou convey 
Tins growing image of thy iiend-l ike face? 
AVhy dost not speak'? what, deaf':' not a word? 
A halter, soldiers! hang him on this tree. 
And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 

^lar. Touch not the boy; he is of royal blood. 

Lice. Too like the sire for ever being good. 
First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl; 
A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
Get me a ladder. 

[A ladder brought, which Aaron is mrtde to ascend. 

Aar. Lucius, save the child. 

And bear it from me to the empress. 
If thou do this, I '11 show thee wondrous things, 



That highly may advantage thee to hear: 

If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 

I '11 speak no more but ' Vengeance rot you all ! ' 

i(«.-. Say on : an if it please me which thou speak 'st. 
Thy cliild shall live, and I will see it nourish 'd. 

Aar. An if it please thee ! why, assure thee, Lu- 
cius, 
'T will vex thy soul to hear wdiat I shall speak ; 
For I must talk of murders, rapes and massacres, 
Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
Complots of mischief, treafson, villanies 
Ruthful to hear, yet iiiteously perform 'd: 
And this shall all be buried by my death. 
Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. 

Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say thy child shall live. 

Aar. Swear that he shall, aiid then I will begin. 

Luc. Who should I swear by ? thou believest no 
god: 
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 

Aar. What if I do not '? as, indeed, I do not ; 
Yet, for I know thou art religious 
And hast a thing within thee called conscience, 
With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies. 
Which I have seen thee careful to dliserve, 
Therefore I urge thy oath ; for that 1 know 
An idiot holds ills bauble for a god 
And keeps the oath whii.'h Ijy that god he swears, 
To that I "11 urge liini : therefore thou shalt vow 
By that same god, what god soe'er it be. 
That thou adorest and hast in reverence. 
To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up ; 
Or else I will discover nought to thee. 

Luc. Even by mv god I swear to thee I will. 

Aar. First know thou, I begot him on the em- 
press. 

Luc. O most insatiate and-luxurious woman ! 

Aai-. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of cliarity 
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 
'T was her two sons that murder'd Bassianus; 
They cut thy sister's tongue and ravish 'd her 
And cut her'hands and trimm'd her as thou saw'st. 

Luc. O detestable villain ! call'st thou that trim- 
ming? 

Aar. Why, she was wash'd and cut and trimm'd, 
and 't was 
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 

Luc. O barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself! 

Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them: 
That codding spirit had they from their mother. 
As sure a card as ever won the set ; 
That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, 
As true a dog as ever fought at head. 
AVell, let my deeds be witness of my worth.. 
I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole 
AVhere the dead corpse of Bassianus lay: 
I wrote the letter that thy father found 
And hid the gold within the letter mention'd, 
Confederate with the queen a\id her two sons : 
And what not done, that tliou hasl cause to rue. 
Wherein I had no stroke of niisrhict in it ? 
I play'd the cheater for thy falliri's IkukI, 
And, when I had it, drew niyscll iipart 
And almost broke ni\ hr;irt willi extreme laughter: 
I prv'd me through the civn ice ot a, wall 
When, tor his hand, he had his two sons' heads; 
579 



ACT V. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE IT. 



Beheld his tears, and l.iugli'd so heartily. 
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his : 
And when I told the empress of this sport, 
.She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, 
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. 

First Golh. >Vliat, canst thou say all this, and 
never blush V 

Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 

Luc. Art thou not sorry tor tliese heinous deeds? 

Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. 
Even now I curse the day — and yet, I think, 
Few come within the compass of my curse — 
Wherein I did not some notorious ill, 
As kill a man, or else devise his death. 
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, 
Accuse some innocent and forswear myself. 
Set deadly enmity between two friends. 
Make, poor meiTs catlle break tlieir necks; 
Set lire on barns and liay-staeks in the niglit. 
And bid tlie owners (]iir"nch them witli tlieir tears. 
Oft have I (liggM up dead men from their graves. 
And set tliem upriglit at their dear trii-nds' doors, 
Even when their sorrows alnmst were forgot; 
And on tlieir skins, as on tlie l.iark of ti'ees. 
Have with my knife carved in Koman k'tters, 
' Let not your sorrow die, tlioiigh I am dead.' 
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things 
As wi'llingly as one would kill a lly. 
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed 
But tliat I cannot do ten tliousand more. 

Lui:. Bring down the devil : for he must not die 
So sweet a death as hanging presently. 

Aar. If tliere be devils, ^^'ould I were a devil, 
To live and burn in everlasting fire, 
80 I might liave your company in hell, 
But to torment you witli my bitter tongue ! [more. 

Lua:. Sirs, stop his moutli, and let liim speak no 

Enter a Goth. 
Tlnrd Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from 
Desires to be admitted to your presence. [Home 
Luc. Let him come near. 

Enter .^milius. 
Welcome, iEmilius : what "s the news from Rome ? 

JEmil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths, 
The Roman emiieror greets you all by me; 
And, for lie understands you are in arms. 
He craves a parley at your father's house. 
Willing you to demand your hostages. 
Anil they shall be innnediately deliver'd. 

Firxt Giith. What says our general? 

Luc. ^T'liiilius, let tlie em|)eror give his pledges 
Unto my father and my un<-le Marcus, 
And we will come. ^March away. [Emunt. 

SCENE ll.~Bome. Before Titus's house. 

Enter Tamora, Demetrius, and Chiron, disijuiscd. 
Turn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, 
I will encounter with Andronicus, 
And say I am Revenge, sent from below 
To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. 
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keepsj 
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; 
Tel! him Revenge is come to join with him. 
And work confusion on his enemies. [2'liei/ knock. 

Enter Titus, above. 

Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation? 
Is it your trick to make me ope the door. 
That so my sad decrees mav llv away. 
And all my study be to no eltect ? 
You are deceived : for what I mean to do 
See here in bloo<Iy lines I have set down ; 
And what is written sliall lie executed. 

Tarn. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. 
580 



Tit. No, not a word; how can I grace my talk, 
Wanting a hand to give it action ? 
Thou liast tlie odds of me; therefore no more. 

Tain. It thou didst know me, thou wouldest talk 
with me. 

Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : 
Witness this wretched stump, witness these crim- 
son lines ; 
Witness these trenches made by grief and care; 
Witness the tiring day and heavy night; 
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora: 
Is not thy coming for my other hand ? 

Tarn. Know, thou sad man, I am not Tamora; 
She is thy enemy, and I thy friend: 
I am Revenge; sent from the infernal kingdom. 
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, 
By working wreaktul vengeance on thy foes. 
Come down, and welcome me to this world's light; 
Coultr witli mc ot murder and of death : 
There 's not a liollow cave or lurking-place, 
Ko vast obscmily or misty vale, 
AVhcre bloody murder or detested rape 
fan couch for fear, but 1 will tiud them out; 
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, 
Revenge, which makes the foul offender ipiake. . 

Tit. Art thou Revenge y and art thou sent to me. 
To be a torment to mine enemies? [me. 

Tain. I am; therefore come down, and welcome 

Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. 
Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands ; 
jSi'ow give some surance that thou art Revenge, 
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels; 
And then I '11 come and be thy waggoner. 
Anil whirl along with thee about the globe. < 
Provide thee two proper |iuU'reys, black as jet, 
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 
x\.nd find out niurdciers in their guilty caves: 
And when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
1 will disiiiouiit, anil by Mie waggoii-wlieel 
Trot, like a servile footman, all day long. 
Even troni Hyperion's rising in tlie east 
Until his very downfall in the sea: 
And day by day I "II do this heavy task. 
So thou destroy liaiiine and Murder there. 

Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 

Tit. Are these thy ministers ? what are they 
call'd? 

Tarn. Rapine and Murder; therefore called so, 
Cau.se they take vengeance of such kind of men. 

Tit. Good Lord, how like the empress' sons they 
And you, the empress! but we worldly men [are! 
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 

sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee ; 

Anil, if one arm's enibracement will content thee, 

1 will embrace thee in it by and by. [Exit above. 

Turn. This closing with him fits his lunacy: 
Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits. 
Do you uiihold and maintain in your speeches. 
For now lie liniily takes me for ilevenge; 
And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
I '11 make him send lor Lucius his son; 
And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
I '11 find some cunning inactici' out of hand. 
To scatter and disiierse the giddy Goths, 
Or, at the least, make tlieni his enemies. 
See, here he comes, and 1 must ply my theme. 

Enter Titus below. 
Tit. Long have I been fm-lorn, and all for thee: 
Welcome, dread Fury, to my woful house: 
r.apine and INIurder, you are welcome too. 
How like the empress and her sons you are! 
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor; 
Could not all hell afford you such a devil? 
For well I wot the empress never wags 
But in her company there is a Moor; 



ACT V. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE III, 



And, would you represent our queen aright, 
It were convenient you had such a devil; 
But welcome, as you are. Wluit sliall we do i* 

2'um. AVhat wouldst tliou have us dn, Amh-onicus ? 

Dem. Show me a murderer, I "11 deal with liim. 

Chi. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, 
And I am sent to be revenged on him. [wrong, 

Tniii. SliDwmea thousand that have done thee 
And I will be revenged on them all. [Rome; 

Tit. Loiik round about the wicked streets of 
And when tlion lind'st a man that 's like thyself. 
Good MnnltT. stall him; he 's a murderer. 
Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap 
To lind another tliat is like to thee, 
Goi)d Ihipiue, stab him ; he's a ravisher. 
Go thou with them : and in tlie emi)eror's court 
There is a queen, attended by a Miku-; 
Well mayst thou know her by thy own proportion. 
For up and down she doth rcsemlile thee : 
I pray thee, do on them some violent death; 
They have been violent to me and mine. [do. 

Tarn. Well hast thou lesson 'd us; this shall we 
But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son. 
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, 
And bid him come and banquet at thy house; 
AVhen he is here, even at thy solenm feast, 
I will bring in the empress and her sons. 
The emperor himself and all thy foes; 
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, 
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
What says Andronicus to this device ? 

Tit. Marcus, my brother ! 't is sad Titus calls. 

Enter Marcus. 
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ; ! 

Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths: 
Bid him repair to me. and bring with him 
Some of the chiefVst ininres of the (ioths; 
Bid liini encamp liis soldiers wliere they are: 
Tell him the emperor and tlie empress too 
Feast at my house, ami he shall feast with them. 
This do thou for my love; and so let him. 
As he regards hi.s aged father's life. 

Marc. This will I do, and soon retm-n again. 

[Exit. 

Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
And take my ministers along with me. 

Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me; 
Or else I '11 call my brother back again. 
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 

Tarii. [Aside to her fana] What say you, boys ? will 
you bide with him. 
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor 
How I have govern'd our determined jest ? 
Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair. 
And tarry with him till I turn again. 

Til. [Asidel I know them all, though they sup- 
pose me mad. 
And will o'erreach them in their own devices: 
A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam ! 

Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here. 

Tani. Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goes 
.To lay a compU)t to betray thy foes. 

Tit. I know thou dost ; and, sweet Revenge, fare- 
well. [Exit Tamnra. 

Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ 'd V 

Tit. Tut, I have work enough f(U- you to do." 
Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine ! 

Eiter Publius and others. 

Pub. What is your will V 

7'it. Know you these two? 

Pub. The empress' sons, I take them, Chiron and 
Demetrius. 

Tit.' Fie, Publius, fie I thou art too much deceived ; 
The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name ; 



And therefore bind them, gentle Publius. 
Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them. 
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, 
And now I find it; therefore bind them sure. 
And stop their mouths, if tliey begin to cry. [Exit. 
[Publius, ttc. lai/ hold on Chiron and Demetrius. 

Chi. Villains, forbear! we are the empress' sons. 

Pub. And therefore do we what we are com- 
manded. 
Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word. 
Is he sure bound? look that you bind them fast. 

He-enter Titus, ivith Lavinia ; he bearing a knife, 
and she a basin. 
Tit. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are 
bound. 
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me ; 
But let them hear what fearful words I utter. 

villains, Chiron and Demetrius! [mud, 
Here stands tlie spring whom you have stain'd with 
This goodly sununcr with your winter mix'd. 
You kill'd her husliaud, and for tliat vile fault 
Two of her Virothers were condemn "d to death. 
My hand cut otf anil made a merry jest; [dear 
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more 
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity. 
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forced. 
What would you say, if I should let you speak ? 
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
Hark, wretches ! how I mean to martyr you. 
This one hand yet is left to cut your tliroats, 
Whilst that Laviiua 'tween her stumps doth hold 
The basin that receives your guilty blood. 

You know yoiu' mother means to feast with me, 
And calls lierself Revenge, and thinks me mad: 
Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust 
And with your blood and it 1 '11 make a paste, 
And of tlie paste a coffin I will rear 
And make two pasties of your shameful heads, 
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, 
Like to the earth swallow her own increase. 
This is the feast that 1 have lad lier to. 
And this the bani[uet she shall surfeit on; 
For worse than Philomel you used my daughter, 
And worse than I'rogne I will be revenged : 
And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come, 

[He ads their throats. 
Receive the blood : and when that they are dead, 
Let me go grind their liones to powder small 
And with this hateful liquor temper it; 
And in that paste let their vile heads be baked. 
Cijrne, come, be every one officious 
To make this banquet ; which I wish may prove 
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
So, now bring them in, for I '11 play the cook. 
And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 

[Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies. 

SCENE III. — Court of Titus''s house. A banquet 
set out. 

Enter Tjacius, Marcus, and Goths, wrt/i Aaron 
2nisoner. 
Luc. Uncle Marcus, since it is my father's mind 
That I repair to Rome, I am content. 
First Goth. And ours with thine, befall what 
fortune will. [Moor, 

Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous 
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him. 
Till he be brought unto the empress' face. 
For testimony of her foul proceedings : 
And see the ambush of our friends be strong ; 

1 fear the emperor means no good to us. 
^-Irir. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear. 

And iirompt me, that my tongue may utter forth 
The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 
5S1 



ACT V. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE ITT. 



Luc. Away, inhuman clog ! unliallow'il slave ! 
Sirs, help our untie to convey him in. 

[Exetiut Goths, icith Aaron. Floitrish icithin. 
Tlie trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 

Enter Saturninus and Tamora, with .ffimilius, 

Tribunes, Senators, and others. 
Sat. What, hath tlie firmament more suns than 

one ? 
Lne. Wliat boots it thee to call thyself a sun ? 
Marc Home's emperor, and nephew, break the 
These quarrels must be quietly debated. Qmrle ; 
The feast is ready, which the careful Titus 
Hath ordain'd to an honourable end. 
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome : 
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your 
Sat. Marcus, we will. [places. 

[Hautboys sound. The Company sit doion at table. 

Enter Titus dressed like a Cook, Lavinia veiled, younr/ Lu- 
cius, and others. Titus places the Jishes on the table. 

Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord ; welcome, dread 
queen : 
Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; 
And welcome, all : although the cheer be poor, 
'T will fill your stomachs: please you eat of it. 

Sat. Why art thou tlnis attired, AndronicusV 

Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well. 
To entertain your highness and your empress. 

Tain. We are beholding to you, good Andrunicus. 

Tit. An if your higlmess knew my heart , you were. 
!My lord the emperor, resolve me this: 
Was it well done of rash Virginias 
To slay his daughter with his own right hand. 
Because she was enforced, stain 'd, and detlower'd ? 

S<it. It was, Audronicus. 

Tit. Your reason, miglity lord? [shame, 

Sat. Because the girl should not survive her 
And by her i)resenee still renew his sorrows. 

Til. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual ; 
A inUtern, pvecfdi'iit, and lively warrant. 
For me, most wri'tched, to perform the like. 
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee : 

[Kills Lavinia. 
And, with thy sliame, thy father's sorrow die! 

.SV((. What hast tliou(U)ne, unnatural and unkind? 

2'it. KiU'd her, for wliom my tears have made me 
I am as wotul as Virginius was, [lilind. 

And have a thousand times more cause than he 
To do this outrage : and it now is done. 

S<tt. What, was she ravish 'd? tell who did the deed. 

Tit. Wiirt [ilcase you eat? will't please your 
higluKss tVe.d? [thus? 

Tani. Wliy iiast thou slain thine only daughter 

Tit. jSTot I ; 't was Chiron and Demetrius ; 
They ravisli'd her, and i-ut away lier tongue : 
And they, 'twas tliey, tiiat did her all this wrong. 

Sat. Go fetcli them hitlier to us preseiitlv. 

Tit. Why, thi're they are both, bakt-d in that pie ; 
Whereof tlicir motlu-r daintily liatli fed. 
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
'T is true, 't fs true ; witness my knife's sharp point. 
[Kills Tamora. 

Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed ! 
[Kills Titus. 

Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed ? 
There 's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed! 

[Kills Saturni}(u.'(. A yreut titniult. Lucius, 
Marcus, and others go up into the halconi/. 

Marc. You sad-faced men, jieoiile and sons of 
By uproar severM, like a lUght of fowl [Rome, 

Scatter'd by winds and higli teuijiestuous gusts, 
O, let me teach you liow to knit again 
This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, 
These broken limbs again into one body ; 
I.,est Rome herself be bane unto herself. 
And she whom mighty kingdoms court 'sy to, 
5S2 



Like a forlorn and desperate Ciistaway, 

Do shameful execution on herself. 

But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 

Grave witnesses of tiiie experience. 

Cannot induce you to attend my words, [ancestor, 

[To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our 

Wlien witli his soknuu tongue he did discom-se 

To love-sick Dido's .sad attending ear 

Tlie story of tliat baleful Vmrning night 

When sulitle Greeks surprised King Priam's Troy, 

Tell us what Sinon hath bewiteh'il our ears, 

Or who liatli brought the fatal engine in 

That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil woiuid. 

iVIy heart is not conijiact of tlmt nor steel; 

Nor can I utter all our bitter gi'ief. 

But floods of tears will drown my oratoiy. 

And break my utterance, even in the time 

When it should move you to attend me most. 

Lending your kind commiseration. 

Here isa captain, let him tell tlie tale; 

Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 

Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you, 
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
Were they that murdered our emperor's brother; 
And they it were that ravished our sister : 
For tlieir fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; 
Our father's tears despised, and basely cozen 'd 
Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out, 
xVnd sent her i-iieinies unto the grave. 
Lastly, myself unkindly banished. 
The gatesskut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
To beg relief among Rome's enemies; 
Who drowii'd tlieir enmity in my true teal's, 
And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend. 
I am the turned forth, be it known to you. 
That have preserved her welfare in my blood; 
And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
■Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body. 
xVlas, you know I am no vaunter, I ; 
]My scars can witness, dumb although they are. 
That my report is just and full of tijith. 
But, soft ! methinks I do digress too much. 
Citing my wortliless praise: O, pardon me; 
For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 

Marc. Nowismyturntosi>eak. Behold this child: 
[PoiiiliiKltolhc (Jhild in tliearmsofan ^Lttcndaid. 
Of this was Tamora delivered; 
The issue of an irreligious Moor, 
Chief architect and plotter of these woes: 
The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
And as he is, to witness this is true. 
Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge 
These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience. 
Or more than any living man could bear, [mans? 
Now you have lieard the truth, what say you, Ro^ 
Have we done anglit amiss, — sliow us wherein, 
And, from the i>lace where you behold us now. 
The poor remainder of Andronici 
Will, hand in haml, all headlong cast us down. 
And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains. 
And make a mutual closure of our house. 
Speak, Uomaiis, speak ; and if you say we shall, 
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and 1 will fall. 

uKnril. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, 
And bring our emperor gently in thy baud, 
Lucius our emperor ; for well 1 know 
The common voice do cry it shall be so. 

All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's roj'al emperor! 

Jlfctrc. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house, 

[To Attendants. 
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
To be adjudged some direful slaughtering deatli, 
As punishment for his most wicked life. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

Lucius, Marcus, and the others descend. 
All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor! 



ACT V. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



SCENE III. 



Luc. Tlianks, gentle Romans : may I govern so, 
To heal Home's barms, and wipe away Ler woe ! 
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, 
For nature puts me to a heavy task : 
Stand all aloof: Ijut, micle, draw you near. 
To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. 
O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 

[Kissing Titus. 
Tliese sorrowful drops upon thy blood-staiu'd face, 
Tlie last true duties of thy noble son ! 

Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, 
Thy brotlier Marcus tenders on tliy lips: 
O. were tlie sum of these that I slionid pay 
Countless and infinite, j'et would I pay them! 

ittc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn 
of us 
To melt in showers : thy gi-andsire loved thee well : 
Many a time he danced" thee on his knee. 
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; 
Many a matter hatli lie told to thee, 
Meet and agreeing with tliine infancy; 
In tliat respect, then, like a loving cl'iild, 
Slied yet some small (hups IVoin thy tender spring. 
Because kind nature ddtli ri'ipiire it so: 
Friends should associate friends in grief and woe: 
Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; 
Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 

Younfi Luc. O grandsire, grandsire! even with 
all my heart 
Would I were dead, so you did live again! 
O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping : 
My tears wiU choke me, if I ope my mouth. 



Be-enter Attendants with Aaron. 

^m. You sad Andronici, liave done with woes: 
Give sentence on this fxeerable wretch, 
That hath been breeder of these dire events. 

Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish 
him: 
There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food : 
If any one relieves or pities him. 
For the otfence he dies. This is our doom : 
Some stay to see him fasteu"d in the earth. 

^lar. O, why should wratli be mute, and fury 
I am no baby, I, tliat witli base prayers [dumb V 
I shoidd re] lent the evils I have done ; 
Ten thousand worse tlian ever yet I did 
Would I perform, if I might have my wiU: 
If one good deed in all my life I did, 
I do repent it from my very soul. [lience, 

Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor 
And give him burial in his father's grave: 
!My father and Lavinia shall forthwith 
Be closed in our household's monument. 
As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weeds. 
No mournful bell shall ring lier burial ; 
But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey : 
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity; 
And, being so, shall have like want of pity- 
See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
By whom our heavy Iiaps had their beginumg: 
Tlien, afterwards, io order well the state, 
That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt. 




Titus.— When wiU this fearful slumber have an eud? 

Marcus.— t!ow, farewell, flattery : die, .\ndronicus ; 
Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads. 
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; 
Thy other banish'd son. with this dear sight 
Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, 
Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: 
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal sight 
The closing up of our most wretched eyes : 
Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still ? 

Titus.— Ub., ha, ha ! 

iforciis.— Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. 

Act III., .Scene i. 



583 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



DBAMATIS PERSON.S. 



Escalus, Prince of Verona. 

Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the prince. 

Montague, ) lieatlsof two houses at variance with 

Capulet, J each other. 

An old man, cousin to Capulet. 

Borneo, son to Montague. 

Mercutio, kinsman to the prince, and friend to 

Eomeo. 
Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to 

Romeo. 
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 
Friar Laurence, 1 _, 
Friar John, \ Franciscans. 

Balthasar, servant to Eomeo. 
Sampson, | 
Gregory, J ^^fvants to Capulet. 



Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse. 

Abraham, servant to Montague. 

An Apothecary. 

Three Musicians. 

Page to Paris ; another Page ; an Officer. 

Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 

Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 

Juliet, daughter to Capulet. 

Nurse to Juliet. 

Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Women, re- 
lations to both houses ; Maskers, Guards, Watch- 
men, and Attendants. 



[Fo 



SCENE — Verona : Mantua. 
Page LX.J 



moLoauE. 



Two hoiisehokls, botli alike in dignitj', 

111 fair Verona, wliere we lay our scene, 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, 

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 

A iiair of star-eross"d lovers take their life; 
Whose niisadventureil piteiuis overthrow.s 

Do with their death bury their parents' strife. 



The fearful passage of their death-mark Vl love, 
And the continuance of their parents' rage, 

Which, but their children's end, nought could re- 
move, 
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage ; 

The which if yon with patient ears attend, 

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. 



^CT I. 



SCENE I. — Verona. A puhlic place. 

Enter Sampson and Gregory, of the house of Cap- 
ulet, armed with sii;ords and bucklers. 

Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we "11 not carry coals. 

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 

Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we '11 draw. 

Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' 
the collar. 

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. 

Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to 
stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runu'st 
away. 

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand : 
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Mon- 
tague's. 

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the 
weakest goes to the wall. 

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the 
weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: there- 
fore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and 
thru.st his maids to the wall. 

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and us 
their men. 

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: 
5S4 



when I have fought w-ith the men, I will be cruel 
with the maids, and cut off their heads. 

Gre. The heads of tin- maids? 

Sam. Ay, the heads (if the maids, or their maiden- 
heads; take it in what sense thou wilt. 

Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. 

6Von. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand : 
and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of Hesh. 

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, 
thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool ; here 
comes two of the liouse of the Montagues. 

Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will 
back thee. 

Gre. How ! turn thy back and run ? 

Sam. Fear me not. 

Gre. No, marry ; I fear thee ! 

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them 
begin. 

Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take 
it as they list. 

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at 
them ; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. 

Enter Abraham and Balthasar. 
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ? 
Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ? 



ACT I. 



R03IE0 AND JULIET. 



SCENE I. 



Sam. \_Aiikle lo G'jt.] Is the law of our side, if I 
say ay ? 

Gre. Na 

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, 
but I bite my tliumb, sir. 

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir V 

Ahr. Quarrel, sir! no, sir. 

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you : I serve as good 
a man as you. 

Ahr. No better. 

Sam. Well, sir. 

Gre. Say ' better : ' here comes one of my master's 

Sam. Yes, better, sir. [kinsmen. 

Ahr. You lie. 

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember 
thy swashing blow. [Tliey fiijlil. 

Enter Benvolio. 
Ben. Part, fools! 
Put up your swords ; you know not what you do. 
[i'eais domn their swords. 

Enter Tybalt. 
Tijh. What, art thou drawn among these heart- 
less liiuds? 
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy de;ith. 

Ben. I do but keep the peace: piit up thy sword, 
Or manage it to part tliese wen with me. 

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate 
the word. 
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: 
Have at thee, coward ! [They fight. 

Enter several of both hov^es, who join the fray ; then enter 
Citizens, with clubs. 

First Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans ! strike ! beat 

them down ! [tagues ! 

Down with the Capulets! down with tlie Mon- 

Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet. 
Cap. What noise is this i* Give me my long sword, 
ho ! [sword V 

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! why call you for a 
(.'ap. My sword, I say ! Old Montague is come, 
And flourishes his blade in spite of me. 

Enter Montague and Lady Montague. 
Mon. Tliou villain Capulet,— Hold me not, let 

me go. 
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. 

Enter Prince, with Attendants. 
Prin. Kebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
Profaners of th is neighbour-stained steel, — [beasts, 
Will tliey not heary What, ho! you men, you 
That qnencli the lire of your pernicious rage 
With purple fountains issuing fnim your veins. 
On pain of torture, from those lilnody hands 
Throw your mistemper'il wcapcins to the gromid, 
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. 
Three civil lirawls, bred of an airy word. 
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, 
Have thrice disturb'd the ijuiet of our streets, 
And made Verona's ancient citizens 
Cast by tlieir grave Ijeseeming ornaments, 
To wield old partisans, in haiids as old, 
Canker'd with iieace, to part your cauker'd hate: 
If ever you disturb oiu' streets again. 
Your lives sliall iiay tlie forfeit tjf the peace. 
For this time, all the rest depart away : 
You, Capulet, shall go along witli me : 
And, Montague, come yon tliis afternoon. 
To know our further pleasure in this case. 
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. 
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 

\_Exeunl all bat Montague, Luily Muntaguc, 
and Btnrolio. 



Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ? 
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began ? 

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, 
And yours, close Hghting ere I did approach: 
1 drew to part tiieni : in the inst^nit came 
The fiery Tyljalt, witli his swdrd prepared, 
Which, as lie breathed ilcllance to my ears, 
He swung about Iiis liead and cut the jvinds, 
Wlio nothing hurt witlial hiss'd him in scorn: 
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 
Came more and more and fought on part and part, 
Till the prince came, who parted either part. 

La. Mon. O, where is Komeo V saw you him to- 
Kight glad I am he was not at this fray. [day? 

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipped suu 
Peer'd fortii the golden window of the east, 
A troubled mind draye me to walk abroad; 
Wliere, underncatli tlie grove of sycamore 
Tliat westward r<ioteth inim tlie city's side. 
So early walking did I see your son: 
Towarils him I made, but he was ware of me 
And stole into the coyert of the wood: 
I, measuring his aft'ectioiis by my own, 
That most are busied when they 're most alone, 
Pursued my luunour not pursuing liis. 
And gladly slunin"d who gladly fled from me. 

Man. ;siaiiy a morning hath he tlieie been seen, 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; 
But all so soon as the all-cheering suu 
Should in the furthest east begin to draw 
The sliady curtains from Aurora's lied. 
Away from light steals home my heavy son, 
And private in his chamber pens himself. 
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out 
Anil makes liiiuself an artificial nigiit : 
Black and inirtentous must this humour prove, 
Unless good counsel may tlie cause remove. 

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? 

Mon. 1 neither know it nor can learn of him. 

Ben. Have you importuned him by any means? 

Mon. Both by myself and many other friends: 
But he. Ills own affections' counsellor, 
Is to himself — L will not say how true — 
But to himself so secret and so close. 
So far from .sounding and discovery. 
As is the bud liit witii an envious worm. 
Ere he can sjiread liis sweet leaves to the air, 
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, 
We would as willingly give cure as know. 

Enter Romeo. 

Ben. See, where becomes: sopleaseyou.stepaside; 
I '11 know his grievance, or be uiucli denied. 

Mon. I would thou wert so liajipy by thy .stay, 
To hear true shrift. Come, inadani. let 's away. 

[Exeunt Mijiitwjae and Lady. 

Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 

Liom. Is the day so young ? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

liom. Ay me ! sad hours seem long. 

Was that my father that went hence so fast ? 

Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
hours? [them short. 

J?o?)i. Not having that, which, having, makes 

Ben. In love? 

Jiom. Out — 

Ben. Of love ? 

Horn. Out of her favour, where I am in love. 

Ben. Alas, that love, .so gentle in his view. 
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof ! 

Bom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
Should, witliout eyes, see pathways to liis will! 
AVhere shall we dine ? O me ! Wliat fray was here ? 
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. ' 
Here 's mucii to do with hate, but more with love. 
585 



ACT I. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE II. 



Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! 
O ajiything, of nothing first create! 
O lieavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
Mis-shapen i-hads of well-seeming forms! 
Feather of lea(l,liriglit smoke, eokl lire. sick health! 
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! 
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
Dost thou nijt laugh ? 
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 

lioyn. Good heart, at what ? 
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Bom. Why, such is love's transgression. 
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my Ijreast, . 
Which thou wilt propagate,' to have it prest 
With m(n-e of thine : this love that thou hast shown 
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
niiOve is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs ; 
IJeing purged, a Are sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 
Being vex'd, a sea nourish 'd with lovers' tears: 
What is it else V a madness most discreet, 
A choking gall and a preserving swee^ 
Farewell, my coz. 

Ben. Soft ! I will go along ; 

An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 

Bom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here ; 
This is not Romeo, he 's some other where. 
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. 
Bom. What, shall I groan and tell thee 'i 
Ben. Groan ! why, no ; 

But sadly tell me who. 

Bom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: 
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill ! 
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 
Ben. 1 aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. 
Bom. A right good mark-man ! And she 's fair 

I love. 
Ben. A riglit fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 
Rom. Well, in that hit you miss : she '11 not be hit 
With Cupid's arrow; she liath Dian's wit; 
And, in strong proof of eliastity well arm'd, 
From love"s weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. 
She will not stay the siege of Icjving terms, 
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor. 
That when she dies with beauty dies her store. 
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live 
chaste V [waste V 

Bom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge 
For beauty starved with her severity 
Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
Slie is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, 
To merit bliss by making me despair: 
Slie hath forsworn to love, and in that vow 
Do I live dead that live to tell it now. 
Ben. Be ruled liv me, forget to think of her. 
Bom. O, ti':u'h hie how I should forget to think. 
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; 
Examine other beauties. 

Bom. 'T is the way 

To call hers exquisite, in question more: 
These liappy masks that kiss fair ladies" brows 
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; 
He that is strucken blind cannot forget 
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : 
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? 
Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget. 
Ben. 1 '11 pay tliat doctrine, or else die hi debt. 

\^Exeunt, 
SCENE II. — J. street. 

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. 
Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I, 
In penalty alike; and 'tis not lianl. I thiidi, 
For men so old as we to keep the peace. 
566 



Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both ; 

And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. 
But now, my lord, what say you to my ajiit? 

Caii. But saying o'er what I have said before: 
My child is yet a stranger in the world; 
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; 
Let two more summers wither in their pride, 
Ere we may thuik her ripe to be a bride. 

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. 

Gap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. 
The earth liath swallow'd all my hopes but she, 
She is tlie hopeful lady of my earth : 
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
My will to her consent is but a part; 
An she agree, within her scope of choice 
Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 
Whereto I have invited many a guest, 
Such as I love; and you, among the store. 
One more, most welcome, makes my number more. 
At my poor house look to behold this night 
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: 
Such cdnifoLt as do lusty young men feel 
Wlien well-apparell'd April on the heel 
Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
Ldierit at my house ; hear all, all see, 
And like her most whose merit most shall be : 
Which on more view, of many mine being one 
May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
Come, go with me. [To Serv., giving a pupcr.] Go, 

sirrah, trudge about 
Through fair Verona; find those persons out 
Whose names are written there, and to them say, 
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 

[Exeunt Cupidet and Paris. 

Serr. Find them out whose names are written 
here ! It is written, that the shoemaker should med- 
dle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the 
fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets ; 
but I am sent to find those persons wliose names 
are here writ, and can never find what names the 
writing person hadi here writ. I must to tlie 
learned. — In good time. 

Enter Benvolio and Romeo. 
Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, 

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; 
Turn giildy, and be holp by backward turning; 

One (Icsi'ieiate grief cures with another's languish : 
Take llmii SDiiic'new infection to thy eye, 
And the rank poison of the old will die. 

Rom. Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. 

Ben. For what, I pray thee V 

Bom. For your broken shin. 

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad y [is ; 

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man 
Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 
Whipp'dand tormented and — God-den, good fellow. 

Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read y 

Bom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 

Serv. Perhaps j'ou have learned it without book : 
but, I pray, can you read any thing you see ? 

Bom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language. 

S'vr. Ye say honestly: rest you merry ! 

Rnni. stay, 'fellow; I can read. [Reads. 

'Sigiiior >Iartino and his wife and daughters; 
Count y Aiiseliiie and his beauteous sisters ; the lady 
widow' of \"it ruvio ; Signior Placentio and his lovely 
nieces; :Mercutioand his brother Valentine ; mhi^ 
uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair 
niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valeiitio and his 
cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively Helena.' 
A fair assembly: whitlier should they come? 

Sen: Up. 

Rn,H. Whither? 

Serv. To supper; to our house. 



ACT I. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE III. 



Rom. Wliose house ? 

iS'e/'i'. My master's. 

liom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. 

Sevi\ Xow 1 '11 tell you without asking : my master 
is tlie great rich Capulet ; and if you be not of the 
liouseof Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup 
of wine. Rest you merry ! {Exit. 

lien. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
Sups tlie fair Iio.saline wliom thou so lovest, 
A\'ith all the admired beauties of Verona: 
Go tliitlier; and, with unattainted eye. 
Compare her face with some that 1 shall show', 
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 
lioiii. When the devout religion of mine eye 

Maintains such falseliood, then turn tearsto fires; 
And these, who often drown 'd could never die, 

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! 
Oue fairer thau my love I the all-seeing sun 
Ke'er saw her match since first the ■world begun. 

Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by. 
Herself poised with herself in either eye : 
But in tlat crystal scales let there be weigh'd 
Your lady's love against some other maid 
That I will show you shining at this feast, 
And she shall scant show well that now shows best. 

Horn. I '11 go along, no such sight to be shown, 
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE lU. — A room in CapuleVs house. 

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
La. Cap. Xurse, Where's my daughter? call her 
forth to me. [old, 

Kuri-c. ]S'ow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year 
I bade her come. Wluit, lamb I what, lady-bird ! 
God forbid ! Where "s this girl ? What, Juliet ! 

Enter Juliet. 

Jul. How now I who calls? 

Kurse. Your mother. 

Jul. Madam, I am here. 

What is your will ? 

La. Cap. This is the matter: — Xurse, give leave 
awhile, 
"We must talk in secret : — nurse, come back again ; 
I have remember'd me. thou 's hear our counsel. 
Thou know'st my daughter "s of a pretty age. 

Kurse. Faith, I cantell her age unto an hour. 

La. Cap. She 's not fourteen. 

Xurse. I '11 lay fourteen of my teeth, — 

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, — 
She is not fourteen. How long is it now 
To Lammas-tide ? 

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days. 

Kurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year. 
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. 
Susan and she — God rest all Christian souls! — 
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; 
Slie was too good for me: but, as I said, 
On Lammas-eve at night sliall she be fourteen; 
That shall she, marry : I remember it well. 
'T is since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
And she was wean'd,— I never shall forget it, — 
Of all the days of the year, upon that day: 
For I hud then laid wormwood to my dug. 
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; 
My lord and you were then at Mantua: — 
Nay, I do bear a brain : — but, as I said, 
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
' Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool. 
To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! 
Shake quoth the dove-house : 't was no need, I trow, 
To bid me trudge: 

And since that time it is eleven years; 
For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the rood. 
She could have run and waddled alf about : 
For even the day before, she broke her brow: 



And then my husband — God be with his soul ! 

A' was a merry man — took up the child : 

' Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou tall upon thy face? 

Thou wilt fall backward wiien thou hast more wit ; 

Wilt thou not, Jule ? ' and, by my hdlidame, 

The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' 

To see, now, how a jest shall come about I 

I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 

I never should forget it: ' Wilt thou "not, Jule?' 

quoth he ; 
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' 

La. Cap. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy 
peace. 

Nurse. Yes, madam : yet I cannot choose but 
hmgb, 
To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' 
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow 
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; 
A parlous knock; and it cried bittei'ly : 
' Yea,' quoth my husband, ' fall'st upon thy face ? 
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age ; 
Wilt thou not, Jule ? ' it stinted and said ' Ay.' 

Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. 

J\"urse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to 
his grace ! 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed : 
An I might live to see thee married once, 
I have my wish. 

La. Cap. Marry, that ' marry ' is the very theme 
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposition to be married? ■ 

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. 

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, 
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now ; younger 
than you. 
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem. 
Are made already mothers: by my count, 
I was your mother much upon these years 
That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 

Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man 
As all the world — why, he 's a man of wax. 

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 

Nurse. Xay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. 

La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gtu- 
tleman ? 
This night you shall behold him at our feast; 
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face 
And find delight writ there with beauty's i)en; 
Examine every married lineament 
And see how one another lends content. 
And what obscured in this fair volume lies 
Find WTitten in the margent of his eyes. 
This precious book of love, this unbound lover. 
To beautify him, only lacks a cover: 
Tlie fish lives in the sea, and 't is much pride 
For fair without the fair within to hide: 
Tliat book in many's eyes doth share the glory, 
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story ; 
So shall you share all that he doth possess. 
By having him, making yom"self no less. 

Nurse. So less ! nay, bigger ; women grow by men. 

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? 

Jul. I '11 look to like," if looking liking move: 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye 
Thau your consent gives strength to make it fly. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Madam the guests are come, supper served 

up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nui'se 

cursed in the pantry, and every thin^ in extremity. 

I must hence to wait ; I beseech you, follow straigiit. 

ia. Cap. We follow thee. {Exit Hervanl.'] Juliet, 

the county stays. 
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. 

\_ExeMixt. 
587 



ACT I. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE V. 



SCENE IV.— ^ stred. 

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, loithf.ve or six 
Maskers, Toroh-bearers, and others. 

Horn. What, shall this siiuecli be spoke for our ex- 
Or shall we on witliout aimlniiy ? [cuse? 

Ikii. The date is out of such prolixity: 
AVe '11 have no Cupid lioodwiiikM with'a scarf, 
Bearing a Tartar's painteil bow of lath, 
Scaring the ladies like a <'itiw-keeper; 
Nor no without -1 wok prologue, faintly spoke 
After the prompter, for our entrance: 
But let them measure us by wliat they will; 
We '11 measure them a measure, and be gcjue. 

Bdin. Give me a torch : lam not for this ambling; 
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 

Mer. Nay , gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. 

Bam. Not I, believe me : you have dancing shoes 
V/itli nimble soles: I have a soul of lead 
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. 

Mrr. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, 
And soar with them above a coniinon bound. 

Born. I am too sore eniiiercrd with his shaft 
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, 
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: 
Under love's heavy burden do 1 sink. 

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; 
Too great oppressi(3n f(U' a tender thing. 

Bom. Is love a tender thing ? it is too rough. 
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. 

3Ier. If love be rough with you, be rough with love ; 
Prick love for pricking, an(i you beat love dowu. 
Give me a ca.se to put my visage in: 
A visor for a visor! wliat care I 
What curious eye doth ipiote deformities? 
Here are tlie beetle brows shall blush for me. 

Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, 
But every man betake him to his legs. 

Bom. A. torch for me : let wantons light of heart 
Tickle the senseless rushes viith their heels, 
For I am proverb'd with a granilsire phrase; 
I '11 be a caudle-liolder, and look on. 
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 

Mer. Tut, dun 's the mouse, the constable's own 
word : 
If thou art dun, we '11 draw thee from the mire 
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st 
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! 

Bo7ii. Nay, that 's not so. 

Mer. I mean. Ir, in delay 

"We waste our lights in vain, like la ..ps by day. 
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits 
Five times in tliat ere once in < ur live wits. 

Rom. And we mean well iu going to this mask; 
But 't is no wit to go. 

Mer. Why, may one ask '? 

Bom. I dream'd a dream to-night. 

3fcr. And so did I. 

Bom. AVell, what was yours ? 

Mer. ' That dreamers often lie. 

Bcnn. In bed asleep, while they do dream things 
true. [.vou. 

Mer. O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with 
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes 
In sliape no bigger than an agate-stone 
On the fore-linger of an alderman, 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; 
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, 
Tiie cover of the wings of grasslmppers. 
The traces of the smallest sjiiiler's web. 
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, 
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of lilm, 
Her waggoner a small grey-coaled gnat. 
Not half so big as a romid little worm 
Prick 'd from the lazy linger <if a maid; 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut 
5SS 



Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub. 
Time out o' mind the fairies' coaehmakers. 
And in this state she gallops night by night 
Through lovers' brains, aud then they dream of 
love; [straight, 

O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court 'sies 
O'er lawyers' lingers, who straight dream on fees, 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, 
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
Because their breatlis with sweetmeats tainted are : 
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; 
Anil sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail 
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep. 
Then dreams he of another benefice: 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
Of breaches, andjuscadoes, S|ianisli blades, 
Of healths fi\e-fathom deep; ami then anon 
Drums in his ear, at wliich he starts and wakes. 
And being thus frighted swears a [irayer or two 
And sleeiis again. ' This is that very ^lab 
That lilats the manes of horses in the night. 
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs. 
Which once untangli^l mucli misfortune bodes: 
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs. 
That presses them and learns them tirst to bear, 
ISIaking them women of good carriage : 
Tills is she — 

Bom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! 

Thou talk'st of nothing. 

Mer. True, I talk of dreams, 

Which are the chikiren of an idle brain, 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, 
Wiiich is as thin of substance as the air 
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
Even now the frozen bosom of the north. 
And, bei)ig anger'd, putt's away from thence, 
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our- 
selves ; 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 

Bom. I fear, too early : for my nnnd misgives 
Some consequence yet banging in the stars 
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
With this night's revels and expire the term 
Of a despised life closed in my breast 
By some vile forfeit of untimely death. 
But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 
Direct my sail ! On, lusty gentlemen. 

Ben. Strike, drum. [Exeunt, 

SCENE "V. — A hall in Capulefs house. 
Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen, with napkins. 

First Sere. Where 's Potpan, that he helps not 
to take away ? He shift a trencher 1 he scrape a 
trencher ! 

iS'ec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one 
or two men's hands aud they unwashed too, 't is a 
foul thing. 

First tierv. Away with the joint-stools, remove 
the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, 
save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest 
me, let the porter let iu Susan Grindstone and Nell. 
Antony, and Potpan ! 

Sec. Sere. Ay, boy, ready. 

First Serv. You are looked for and called for, 
asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. 

Sec. Serr. We cannot be here and there too. 
Cheerly, boys ; be brisk awhile, aud the longer liver 
take all. 

Enter Capulet, with Juliet rmd others of Ids house, 
nieetiny the Guests and Maskers. 
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen ! ladies that have their 
toes 













^ 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE V. 



Unplasiiecl with corns will liave a bout with you. 

All li:i- my mistresses! whicli of you all 

A\'i!l now deny to dance? she tliat makes dainty, 

She, I '11 swear, hath corns ; am I come near ye now ? 

"W'eU.'ome, gentlemen I I have seen the day 

That; I have worn a visor and could tell 

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, 

Sufh ; IS would please : 't is gone, 't is gone, 't is gone : 

Ydu are welcome, gentlemen! Come, nuisiciaus, 

I'lay. 
A hall, a hall! give room ! and foot it, girls. 

[Music plans, and they dance. 
Jlore lig'ht, you knaves : and turn the tables up, 
And quench the fire, the room is growii too. hot. 
All, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; 
For you an(J I are past our dancing days : 
How long is 't now since last yourself and I 
"Were in a mask? 

Sec. Cap. By 'r lady, thirty years. 

Cap. A\'hat,n5an! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so 
much : 
'T is since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
Come pentecost as quickly as it will. 
Some five and twenty years ; and tlien we mask'd. 

Sec. Cap. 'T is more, "t is more : his son is elder, 
sir; 
His son is thirty. 

Cap. Will 3'0i; tell me that ? 

His son was but a ward two years ago. 

Bom. [To a Seri-ingman] What lady is that, which 
dotli enrich the hand 
Of yonder knight V 

Scrr. I know not, sir. 

Rom. O , she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! 
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; 
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
The measure done, I '11 watch her place of stand, 
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. 
Did my heart love till now ? forswear it, sight ! 
For I ne'er saw true beauty till tliis night. 

T;/h. This, by his voice, should be a Montague. 
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave 
Come hitlier, cover 'd with an antic face, 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
Now, by the stock and honour of iny kin, 
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ! wherefore storm 
you so y 

Tfib. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, 
A villain that is hither come in spite, 
"^o scorn at our solemnity this night. 

Gap. Young llomeo is it ? 

T;/h. 'T is he, that villain Romeo. 

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; 
ile bears liim like a portly gentleman ; 
.Vnd, to say truth, Verona brags of him 
'l^o be a virtuous and well govern 'd youth : 
; would not for the wealtli of all the town 
!Iere in my house do him disparagement: 
'I'herefore bo patient, take no note of him: 
U is my will, the which if thou respect, 
.-how a fair presence and put off these frowns, 
ai ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest : 

'11 not endure him. 

Cap. He shall be endured : 

'"hat, goodman boy ! I say, he shall : go to ; 

m I the master here, or j'ou 'f go to. 

ou '11 not endure him ! God shall mend my soul ! 

on '11 make a mutiny among my guests ! 

i>u will set cock-a-hoop ! you '11 be the man ! 

Tyb. Why, uncle, 't is a shame. 



Cap. Go to, go to ; . 

You are a saucy boy : is 't so, indeed ? 
This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what : 
Y'ou must contrary me ! marry, 't is time. 
Well said, my hearts ! Y''ou are a priucox ; go : 
Be quiet, or — More light, more light! Forsliame! 
I '11 make you <iuiet. "What, chee'rly, my hearts! 

Tyh. raticnce perforce with wilful choler meeting 
ilakes uiv llesh tremble in their different greeting. 
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall 
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. [Exit. 

Rom. [To Juliet] If I profane with my unwor- 
thiest hand 

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this : \ 

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too 
much. 

Which mannerly devotion shows in this; 
For saints liavp hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, 

And palm to palm is lioly palmers' kiss. 

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy ]ialmerstoo? 

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that tliey must use iniirayer. 

i?om. O, then, dear saint , let lips do what hands do; 

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 
sake. 

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I 
take. 
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. 

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. 

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! 
Give me my sin again. 

Jul. Y'ou kiss by the book. • 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with 

Rom. What is her mother ? [you. 

Kurse. !Marry, bachelor, 

Her mother is the lady of the house, 
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous: 
I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her 
Shall have the chinks. 

Rom. Is she a Capulet ? 

dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
Hen. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best. 
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; 

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all ; 

1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night. 
More torches here ! Come on then, let 's to bed. 
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: 

I '11 to my rest. 

[Exeunt all hut Juliet and Nurse. 

Jul. Come hither, nurs':. What is youd gentle- 
man ? 

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 

Jul. What 's he that now is goii-g out of door? 

jYxr.sT. Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. 

Jul. What's he that follows there, that would 
not dance? 

Nurse. I know not. 

■Jul. Go, ask his name : if he be married. 
My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 

Nurse. His name is llomeo, and a Montague; 
The only son of your great enemy. 

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate ! 
Too early seen unknown, and known too late! 
Prodigious birth of love it is to me. 
That i must love a loathed enemy. 

Nurse. What 's this ? what's this? 

Jul. A rhyme I learn 'd even now 

Of one I danced withal. [One calls within ' Juliet.' 

Nurse. Anon, anon! 

Come, let 's away ; the strangers all are gone. 

[Exeunt. 
6S9 



ACT II. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



sc 



i^CT II. 



PROLOGUE. 



Enter Chorus. 
Clior. Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, 

And young affection gapes to be las heir ; 
Tljat fair lor which love groan 'd for and would die, 

With tender .Juliet match 'd, is now not fair. 
Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, 

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks, 
But to his foe supposed he must complain, 

And she steal love's sweet, bait from tearful hooks : 
Being held a foe, he may not have access 

To" breathe such vows as lovers use to swear ; 
And slie as much in love, her means much less 

To meet her new-beloved any where : 
But passion lends them power, time means, to 

meet. 
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit. 

SCENE I. — A lane by the icaU of CapulcVs orchard. 
Enter Romeo. 
Eom. Can I go forward when my heart is here ? 
Turn back, dull earth, and tind thy centre out. 

[He dimhs the icall, and leaps down icithin it. 

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Ben. Eomeo ! my cousin Romeo ! 

Mer. He is wise ; 

And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. 

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard 
wall : 
Call, good Mercutio. 

J^or. Nay, I '11 conjure too. 

Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover ! 
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh : 
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied ; 
Cry but 'Ay me ! ' pronounce but ' love ' and ' dov 
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word. 
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir 
Young Adam Cupid, lie that shot so trim 
When^King Cophetua loved tlie beggar-r 
He liearetli not, he stirretli not, he mo- 
The ape is dead, and 1 must conjure ' 
I conjure thee by Rosaline's brigh"^ 
By lier high forehead and her sc 
By her line foot, straight leg r jigb 

And the demesnes that the 
That in thy likeness thor 

Ben. An if he hear t' .nger him. 

Mw. This canno* 'twould anger 

him 
To raise a spir^' o' circle 

Of some sir' -ing it there stand 

Till she J' jnjured it down; 

That T my invocation 

Is f- ..nd in his mistress' name 

1 -.u to raise up him. 

±. , lie hath hid himself among these 

To be consorted with the humorous niglit : 
Blind is his love and best befits the dark. 

Mtr. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. _ 
Now will he sit under a medlar tree. 
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit 
As maids call medlars, when they laugli alone. 
O, Uonieo, tliat she were, O, tluit she were 
An open et csetera, thou a poperin pear ! 
Eomeo, good night : I '11 to my truckle-bed ; 
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : 
Come, shall we go V 

Ben. Go, then ; for 't is in vain 

To seek him here that means not to be found. 

[Exeunt. 
590 . 



SCENE II. — Capidefsorchai 

Enter Romeo. 
Rom. He jests at scars that never fe 

[Juliet appears above o. 

But,soft ! what light through yonder w.' s? 

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious 
Who is already sick and pale with g 
That thou her maid art far more fa' 
Be not her maid, since she is envio 
Her vestal livery is but sick and p 
And none but fools do wear it ; c 
It is my lady, O, it is my love ! 
O, that she knew she were ! 
She speaks, yet she says nothi' that ? 

Her eye discourses ; I will ar 
I am too bold, 't is not to rr j : 

Two of the fairest stars ir en. 

Having some business, . eyes 

To twinkle in their spl return. 

What if her eyes wep .n her head ? 

The brightness of he' shame those stars . 

As daylight doth p yes in heaven 

Would through f , stream so bright 

That birds wor" .ink it were not night 

See, how she ' a upon her hand ! 

O, that I we jn that hand, 

Thatlmir cheek! 

Jul. '■ Ay me! 

Bom. She speaks. 

O, spe ^ht angel ! for thou art 

As !■ s night, being o'er my head, 

As jiessenger of heaven 

T' d-upturned wondering eyes 

■lat fall back to gaze on him 
t-strides the lazy-pacing clouds 
J upon the bosom" of the air. [Romeo ? 
O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou 
tliy father and refuse thy name ; 
, if tliou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
..nd I '11 no longer be a Capulet. [this ? 

Bom. [Aside] Shall I bear more, or shall I speak at 
Jul. 'T is but thy name that is my enemy ; 
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. 
Wliat 's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot. 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! 
A\'hat "s in a name V that which we call a rose 
By any other name would smell as sweet; 
So Romeo would, were he not Rcmieo call'd, 
Retain that dear perfection which he owes 
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, 
And for that name which is no part of thee 
Take all myself. 

Bom. I take thee at tliy word : 

Call me but love, and I "11 be new baptized; 
Henceforth I never will be Ron eo. [night 

Jul. What man art thou that thus bescreeu'd in 
So stumblest on my counsel ? 

Bom. By a name 

I know not bow to tell thee who I am : 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself. 
Because if is an enemy to thee: 
Had I it written, I would tear the word. 

.7(1?. Mv ears have not yet drunk a hundred words 
Of tliat tongue's utterance, yet 1 know the sound: 
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague ? 
B<nn. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 
Jul. How earnest thou hither, tell me, and where- 
fore ? 
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb. 
And the place death, considering who thou art, 
K any of my kinsmen find thee here. 



ACT IT. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCEXE III. 



Ri<m. With love's light wiiiss did I o'erperch these 
Fur stony limits cannot hold love out, [walls; 

,- And what love can do that dares love attempt ; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 

Horn. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye 
Thau twenty of their swords : look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity. 

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. 

Horn. I have night's cloak to hide me from their 
sight ; 
And but thou love me, let them find me here : 
ily life were better ended by their hate, 
TiJan death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 

Jul. By whose direction found "st thou out this 
place V 

Bom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire ; 
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot : yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd witli the farthest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. [face, 

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is ou my 
Else woidd a maiden blush bepaint my cheek 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-uight. 
Faiu would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
What I have spoke : but farewell compliment ! 
Dost thou love me ? I know thou wilt say ' Ay,' 
And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, ' 
Tliou mayst prove false ; at lovers' perjm-ies, 
They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
Or if thou think 'st I am too quickly won, 
I "11 frown and be perverse and say thee nay, 
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the woiid. 
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond. 
And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light : 
But trust me, gentlemen, I '11 lu'ove more true 
Tlian those tliat have more cunning to be strange. 
I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware. 
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, 
And not impute this yielding to light love, 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Mom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops — 

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
Tliat monthly changes in her circled orb, [moon. 
Lest that thy love pl-ove likewise variable. 

liom. What shall I swear by ? 

Jul. Do not swear at aU ; 

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self. 
Which is the god of my idolatry, 
xVnd I '11 believe thee. 

liOm. If my heart's dear love — 

Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, 
I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be 
Ere one can say ' It lightens.' Sweet, good night ! 
Tins bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 
May prove a Ijeauteous flower when next we meet. 
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest 
Come to thy lieart as that witliin my breast ! 

linm. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 
• Jul. Wliat satisfaction canst thou have to-uight ? 

Itom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for 
mine. [it : 

Jul. I gave thee mine before tliou didst request 
And yet I would it were to give again. 

liom. Woiddst thou withdraw it i for what pur- 
pose, love ? 

Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
Ami yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
JNIy bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
'My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, 
The more I have, for both are infinite. 

[A'M/'se calls icithin. 



I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu ! 
Anon, good nurse ! Sweet Montague, be true. 
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit, above. 

liom. O blessed, blessed niglit ! I am afeard, 
Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
Too tiatteriug-sweet to be substantial. 

Be-enter Juliet, ahove. 

Jul. Three words, dear Komeo, and good night in- 
If that thy bent of love be honouralile, [deed. 

Thy purpose marriage, send me weird to-morrow, 
By "one that I '11 procure to come to thee. 
Where and what time thou wilt iierformthe rite; 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I '11 lay 
And- follow thee my hjrd tliroughout the world. . 

Nurse. [ Witliin} Madam ! 

Jul. I come, anon. — But if thou mean'st not well, 
I do beseech thee — 

Xume. [Within] Madam! 

Jul. By and by, I come : — 

To cease thj' suit, and leave me to my grief; 
To-morrow will I send. 

Bom. So thrive my soul — 

Jul. A thousand times good night ! [Exit, above. 

Bom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy 

light. [Ijooks, 

Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their 

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 

„ , [Betinny. 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's 
To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! [voice, 

Bondage is hoarse, and may. not speak aloud; 
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies. 
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, 
With repetition of my Romeo's name. 

Bom. It is my soul that calls upon my name : 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
Like softest music to attending ears ! 

Jul. Romeo ! 

Bom. My dear ? 

Jul. At what o' clock to-morrow 

Shall I send to thee ? 

Bom. At the hour of nine. 

Jul. I will not fail : 't is twenty years till then. 
I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Bom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 

Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there. 
Remembering how 1 love thy company. 

Bom. And I '11 still stay, to have thee still forget. 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Jul. 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee 
And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; [gone : 
Wlio lets it hop a little from her hand, 
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves. 
And with a silk thread plucks it back again. 
So loving-jealous of his liberty. 

Bom. I would I were thy bird. 

Jul. Sweet, so would I : 

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sor- 
That I shaU say good night till it be morrow, [row, 

[Exit, above. 

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy 
breast ! 
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! 
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell. 
His help to crave, "and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 

SCENE m.—Fviar Laurence's cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. 
Fvi. L. The gray -eyed mom smiles ou the frown- 
ing night. 
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light. 
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: 
591 



ACT II. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE IV. 



Now, ere the sun advance liis burning eye, 

Tlie day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, 

I must iip-fill this osier cage of ours 

Witli baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. 

The earth that 's nature's mother is her tomb; 

What is lier burying grave that is her womb, 

And from her womb chihh'en of <livers liind 

AVe sucking on her natural Ixisom find, 

Many for many virtues excellent, 

^one but for some awl yet all different. 

O, mickle is the powerful grace tliat lies 

In herbs, plants, stoms, and their true qualities: 

For nought so vile tliat on the earth doth live 

But to the earth some spei-ial gcidd doth give, 

Nor ought so good but strain'd from that faimise 

Kevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: 

Virtue itself turns vice, being misajiplied; 

And vice sometimes by actii:>n clignitied. 

Within the infant rind of this small flower 

Poison hath resilcnce and medicine power: [part; 

For this, Ijeing smelt, with that [lart cheers each 

Being tasted, slavs all senses with the heart. 

Two such opposed kings encamp them still 

In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will ; 

And where the worser is predominant, 

Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 

Enter Romeo. 

Bom. Good morrow, father. 

Fri. L. Benedicite! 

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me V 
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; 
But where unbruised youth with nnstuffd brain 
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign : 
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure 
Thou art up-roused by some distemperature ; 
Or if not so, then here I hit it right. 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 

Bom. That last is true; the sweeter rest was 
mine. [line V 

Fri. L. God pardon sin ! wast thou with Rosa- 

Bom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father V no ; 
I have forgot that name, and that name 's woe. 

FrL.L. That's my good son: but where hast 
thou been, then V 

Bom. I '11 tell tliee, ere thou ask it me again. 
I have been feasting witli mine enemy. 
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me. 
That 's by me wounded : both our remedies 
Within thy help and holy physic lies: 
I bear no hatred, Messed man, for, lo. 
My intercession likewise steads my foe. 

Fri. L. ]5e plain, good son, anil homely in thy drift; 
Riddling confession finds but riddling' shrift. 

Bout. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : [set 

As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; 
And all combined, save what thou must combine 
By holy marriage ; when and where and how 
We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, 
I '11 tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray. 
That thou consent to marry us to-day. 

Fri. L. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is 
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, [here! 
So soon forsaken V young men's love then lies 
Not truly in tlieir hearts, Imt in their eyes. 
Jesu ]\[aria, what a deal irf brine 
Ilath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! 
How much salt water thrown away in waste. 
To season love, that of it doth not taste ! 
The Sim not yet thy sighs from heaven clears. 
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is not wasli'd off yet : 
o'J2 



If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine. 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline : [then, 
x\nd art thou changed V pronounce this sentence 
Women may fall, when there 's no strength in men. 

JiOiit. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Ro.saline. 

FH. L. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 

Bom. And bad'st me bury love. 

Fri. L. Not in a grave, 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Bom. I pray thee, chide not : she whom I love now 
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow ; 
The otlier did not so. 

Fri. L. O, she knew well. 

Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. 
But come, young waverer, come, go with me, 
In one respect I '11 thy assistant be ; 
For this alliance may so happy prove. 
To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 

Bom. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 

Fri. L. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run 
fast. [JExcimt. 

SCENE TV.— A street. 

Filter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be ? 
Came he not home to-night ? 

r>en. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his man. 

3Ier. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that 
Rosaline, 
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 

i'oi. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my life. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter. 

JScn . Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how 
he dares, being dared. 

Mtr. Alas, poor Romeo ! lie is already dead ; stab- 
bed with a white wenclrs black eye; shot through 
the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart 
cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is 
he a man to encounter Tybalt V 

Ben. Why, what is Tjbalt V 

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, 
he is the com'ageous captain of complements. He 
fights as you sing prick-song-, keeps time, distance, 
and iiroportion; I'ests me his minim rest, one, two, 
and the third in your bosom : tlie very butcher of a 
silk buttoii, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of 
the very iirst house, of the first and second cause : 
all, the immortal passado ! the punto reverso! the 

Ben. The what y [liai ! 

3Icr. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fan- 
tasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! ' By Jesu, 
a very good blade ! a very tall man ! a very good 
whore ! ' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, 
grandsire, that we should be thus aiHicted with 
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these 
perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, 
that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench ? O, 
their bones, their bones ! 

Enter Romeo. 

Ben. Here comes RomeOj here conies Romeo. 

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: O 
flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for 
the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his 
lady was but a kitchen-wench; maiTy, slie had a 
better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleo- 
patra a gyiisy ; Helen and Hero hildings and har- 
lots ; Tliisbe a gray eye or so, but not to the pur- 
pose. Siguier Romeo, bon jour! there 's a French 
salutation to your French slop. You gave us the 
counterfeit fairly last night. 

Bom. Good morrow to you both. What counter- 
feit did I give you ? 

Mer. The slip, sir. the slip ; can you not conceive ? 



ACT II. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE IV. 



Rom. Pardon, good Mereutio, my business was 
great ; and in such a case as miue a man may strain 
courtesy. 

Md-. That "s as much as to say, such a case as 
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 

linni. Meaning, to court 'sy. 

Mm-. Thou liast most kindly liit it. 

Rom. A most courteous exposition. 

Mer. Isay, I am tlie very pink of courtesy. 

Bom. Pink for llower. 

Mer. Right. 

Rom. Why, tlien is my pump well flowered. 

Mer. AVell said : follow me this jest now till thou 
hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole 
of it is worn, the jest may remain after llie wearing 
sole singular. 

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the 
singleness! [faint. 

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits 

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs ; or I '11 
cry a match. 

Mer. Xay, if tliy wits run the wild-goose chase, 
I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goftse 
in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have m my 
whole five: was I with you there for the goose ? 

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing 
when thou was not there for the goose. 

Mer. I wiU bite thee by tlie ear for that jest. 

Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a 
most sharp sauce. 

R(nn. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ? 

Mer. O, liere 's a wit of cheveril, that stretches 
from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! 

Rora. I stretcli it out for that word ' broad ; ' 
which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide 
a broad goose. 

Mer. AVhy, is not this better now than groaning 
for love? now art tliou sociable, now art thou Ro- 
meo.; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as 
by nature : for tliis drivelling love is like a great 
natural, tliat runs lolling up and down to hide his 
bauble in a hole. 

Ben. Stop there, stop there. [tlie hair. 

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale again.st 

lien. Tliou wouldst else liave made thy tale large. 

Mer. O, thou art deceived; I would have made it 
short: for I was come to the whole deptli of my 
tale ; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no 

Rora. Here 's goodly gear. [longer. 

Enter Nurse and Peter. 

Mer. A sail, a sail ! 

Ben. Two, two ; a shirt and a smock. 

Nurse. Peter! 

Peter. Anon ! 

Nurse. Jtly fan, Peter. 

Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face ; for her fan 's 
tlie fairer face. 

Nurse. God ye good mon'ow, gentlemen. 

Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. 

Nurse. Is it good-den V 

Mer. 'T is no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand 
of the dial is now upon tlie prick of noon. 

Nurse. Out upon you ! wliat a man are you ! 

Rom. One. gentlewoman, that God hath made for 
himself to mar. 

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself 
to mar,' quoth a' V Gentlemen, can any of you tell 
me where I may find tlie young Romeo ? 

Rom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will be 
older when you have found him than he was wlien 
you souglit him : I am the youngest of that name, 
for fault of a worse. 

Nurse. You say well. 

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' 
faith ; wisely, wisely. 
3S 



Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence 
with you. 
Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 
3Ier. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho 1 
Rfjm. Wliat hast thou found ? 
3fer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten 
pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. 

[Sings. 
An old hare hoar, 
And an old hare hoar. 
Is very good meat in lent : 
But a hare that is hoar 
Is too much for a score, 
When it hoars ere it be spent 

Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we '11 to 
dinner, thither. 

Rom. I will follow you. 

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady ; farewell, [singhiy] 
' lady, lady, lady.' [E.ceunt Mereutio and B< n t-oho. 

Nurse. Marry , farewell ! I pray you , sir, what saucy 
merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery ? 

Rom. A gentleman, nurse.that loves to hear him- 
self talk, and will speak more in a minute than he 
will stand to in a month. 

Nurse. Ana' speak any thing against me, I 'Utake 
him down, an a' were lustier tlian he is, and twenty 
such Jacks ; and if I cannot, I '11 find those that shall. 
Scurvy knave ! I am none of his flirt-gills ; I am none 
of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, 
and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure ? 

Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; if I 
had, my weapon sliould quickly have been out, I 
warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another n:an, 
if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on 
my side. 

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every 
part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! Pray you, 
sir, a word : and as I told you, my young lady bade 
me inquire you out ; what she bade me say, I will 
keep to myself; but lirst let me tell ye, if ye should 
lead her into a fool's ]iaradise, as they say, it were a 
very gross kind of Ijeliaviour, as they say; for the 
gentlewoman isyoung; and.tlierefore, if youshould 
deal double with her, truly it were an ill filing to be 
offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. 

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- 
tress. I protest unto thee — 

Nurse. Good heart, and. i' faith, I will tell her as 
much ; Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. 

Rom. AVhat wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou dost 
not mark me. 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest: 
which, as I take it, is a geutlemanUke offer. 

Rom. Bid her devise 
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon ; 
And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell 
Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. 

Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. 

Rom. Go to ; I say you shall. [there. 

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be 

Roin. And stay , good nurse, behind the abbey wall : 
Within this hour my man shall be with tliee. 
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; 
Which to tlie high top-gallant of my joy 
Must be my convoy in the secret night. 
Farewell ; be trusty, and I '11 quit thy pains: 
Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. 

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee ! Hark 
you, sir. 

Rom. AVhat say'st thou, my dear nurse? 

Nurse. Is your man secret ? Did you ne'er hear 
Tw'o may keep counsel, putting one away ? [say, 

Rom. I warrant thee, my man 's as true as steel. 

Nurse. Well, sir ; my mistress is the sweetest 
lady — Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating 
thing : — O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, 
593 



ACT II. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE VI. 



tliat would fain lay knife aboard ; but she, good soul, 
had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I 
anger her sometimes ami tell her that Paris is the 
properer man ; but, I '11 warrant you, when I say so, 
she looks as pale as any clout in the versal woi'ld. 
Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a 
letter V 

Bom. Ay, nurse ; what of that ? both with an R. 
• Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name; R 
is for the — No; I know it begins with some other 
letter: — and she hath the prettiest sententious of 
it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good 
to hear it. 

Rom. Commend me to thy lady. 

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. \_Exil Borneo.'] Peter ! 

Fet. Anon! 

Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before, and 
apace. {ExeunL. 

SCENE v.— CapiileVs orchard. 

Enter Juliet. 

Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the 
In half an hour she promised to return. [nurse ; 
Perchance she cannot meet him : that 's not so. 
O, she is lame! love's heralds sliould be thoughts. 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's lieams, 
Driving back shadows over louring liills: 
Therefore do ninilile-pinion'd duves draw love, 
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
Kow is the sun upon the highniost hill 
Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve 
Is three long hours, yet she is not come. 
Had she affections and warm youthful blood. 
She would be as swift in motion as a ball: 
My words would bandy her to my sweet love, 
And his to me: 

But old folks, many feign as they were dead ; 
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
O God, she comes ! 

Enter Nurse and Peter. 

O honey nurse, what news? 
Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away. 

Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [E.dt Peter. 

Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, — O Lord, why 
look'st thou sad? 
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; 
If good, thou sliamest the music of sweet news 
By playing it to me with so sour a face. 

Nurse. 1 am a-weary, give me leave awhile : 
Fie, how my bones ache ! what a jaunt have I had ! 

Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news. 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, 
speak. 

Nurse. Jesu,what haste ? can you not stay awhile ? 
Do you not see that I am out of breath ? 

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast 
To say to me that thou art out of breath V [breath 
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay 
Is longer than the tale tliou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad V answer to that ; 
Say either, and I '11 stay the eircnnistance: 
Let me be satisfied, is 't good or bad ? 

Nurse. Well, you have maile a sinijile choice ; you 
know not how to choose a.n(an: H(nneo! no, not 
he; though his face be better than any man's, yet 
his leg excels all men's ; and for a hand, and a foot, 
and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet 
they art past conipare : he is not the flower of cour- 
tesy, but, I '11 warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. 
Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you 
dined at home ? 

Jul. No, no : but all this did I know before. 
What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? 

Nur.^e. Lord, how my head aches! what a head 
have I ! 

594 



It beats as it would fall in twenty i)ieces. 

My back o' t' other side, — O, my back, my back! 

Beshrew your heart for sending me about. 

To catch my death with jaunting up and down ! 

Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my 
love ? 

Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, 
and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, 
I warrant, a virtuous, — Where is yoiu' mother 'f 

Jul. Where is my mother ! why, she is within; 
Where should she be V How oddly thou repliest ! 
' Your love says, like an honest gentleman, 
Where is your mother ? ' 

Nurse. O God's lady dear! 

Are you so hot ? marry, come up, I trow ; 
Is this the poultice for my aching bones ? 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 

Jul. Here 's such a coil ! come, what says Romeo ? 

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ? 

Jul. I have. [cell ; 

Nurse. Then hie you hence to Priar Laurence' 
Tli^re stays a husband to make you a wife : 
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, 
They '11 be in scarlet straight at any news. 
Hie you to church ; I must 'another way, 
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: 
I am the drudge and toil in your delight, 
But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
Go; I '11 to dinner; hie you to the cell. 

Jul. Hie to high fortune ! Honest nurse, farewell. 

[E.ceurtt. 

SCENE VT.. — Friar Laurence's cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 

Fri. L. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, 
That after hours with stirrow chide us not ! 

Bom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, 
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
That one slim-t minute gives me hi her sight : 
Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
Then love-devouring dcatli do what he dare; 
It is enough 1 may but call her nune. 

J<>(. L. "These violent delights have violent ends 
And in their triumpli die, like fire and powder, 
Which as tliey kiss consume: the sweetest honey 
Is loathsome in his own deliciousne.ss 
And in the taste confounds the appetite : 
Therefore love moderately ; long love doth so ; 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 

Enter Juliet. 
Here comes the lady : O, so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting tliut: 
A lover may bestride the gossamer 
That idles in the wanton summer air, 
And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor, [both. 

Fri. L. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us 

Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too much. 

Bom. Ah, Juliet, If the measm'e of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill lie more 
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighboiu' air, and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagined liapjiiuess that both 
Receive in either by this dear encounter. 

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, 
Brags of his substance, not of ornanTent : 
They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
But my true love is growai to sucli excess 
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. 

Fri. L. Come, come with me, and we will make 
short work : 
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone 
Till holy church incorporate two in oiie. [E.vcunt. 



ACT III. 



E03IE0 AND JULIET. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I. — A public place. 



Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants. 

en. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let 's retire: 
The day is hot, tlie Captilets abroad, 
And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; 
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. 

Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows that when 
he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword 
upon the talile and says 'God send me no need of 
thee ! ' and by the operation of the second cup draws 
it on tlie drawer, when indeed there is no need. 

Bea. Am I like such a fellow V 

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a .Jack in thy 
mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, 
and as soon moody to be moved. 

Ben. And what to ? 

Mer. Nay, an tliere were two such, we should have 
none shortly, for one would kill the other. Tliou! 
wliy, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a liair 
more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: 
thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, 
having no otlier reason but because thou hast hazel 
eyes : what eye but sucli an eye would spy out such 
a'quarrel J* Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg 
if full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten 
as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quar- 
relled with a man for coughing in the street, because 
lie hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in 
the sun : didst thou not fall out with a taihn- for 
W'earing his new doublet before Easter? with an- 
other, for tying liis new shoes with old riband V and 
yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling ! 

Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any 
man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour 
and a quarter. 

Mer. The fee-simple ! O simple ! 

Ben. By my head, liere come tlie Capulets. 

Mer. By my heel, 1 care not. 

Enter Tybalt and others. 

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. 
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. 

Mer. And but one word with one of us V couple 
it with something ; make it a woftl and a blow. 

Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, 
an you will give me occasion. [giving V 

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 

Ti/b. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Homeo, — 

Mer. Consort ! what, dost thou make us minstrels? 
an thou make minstrels of us, look to liear nothing 
but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's tliat 
shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort ! 

Ben. We "talk here in tlie public liauiit of men: 
Either withdraw unto some private place, 
And reason coldly of your grievances. 
Or else depart ; here all eyes gaze on us. [gaze ; 

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them 
I wiU not budge for no man's pleasure, 1. 

Enter Romeo. 

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes 
my man. [ery : 

Mer. But I '11 be hang'd, sir, if he wear your liv- 
Jlarry, go before to field, lie '11 be your follower; 
Your wol-ship in that sense may ciill him ' man.' 

Ti/h. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford 
No better term than this, — thou art a villain. 

Bom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee 
r>oth much excuse the appertaining rage 
To such a greeting : villain am I none •, 
Therefore farewell ; I see thou know'st me not. 

Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
That thou hast done me ; therefore turn and draw. 



Brjni. I do protest, I never injured thee. 
But love thee better than thou canst devise. 
Till thou slialt know the reason of my love : 
And so, good Capulet, — which name I tendef 
As dearly as my own, — be satisfied. — 

3Ier. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! 
Alia stoccata carries it away. [Brairs. 

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? 

Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? 

Mer. Good king of. cats, nothing but one of your 
nine lives; that I mean to make Imld withal, and, 
as you shall use me hereafter. dr>-beat the rest of 
the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his 
pilcherby the ears ? make haste, lest mine be about 
your ears ere it be out. 

Tyb. I am for you. [Drawing. 

Bom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 

Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They frjht. 

Bom. Draw, Benvolio ; beat down their weapons. 
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage ! 
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath 
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets : 
Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! 

[Tybalt wider iJomeo's arm stabs Mercutio, 
and files with his followers. 

Mer. I am hurt. 

A plague o' both your houses ! I am sped. 
Is he gone, and hath nothing ? 

Ben. " What, art thou hurt ? 

Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis 
enough. 
Where is my page ? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 

[Exit Page. 

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be mucli. 

Mer. No, 't is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as 
a cliurch-door ; but 'tis enougli, 'twill serve: ask 
for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave 
man. I am peppered, I warrant . for this world. A 
plague o' both yoiu: houses ! 'Zounds, a dug, a rat, 
a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death ! a brag- 
gart, a rogue, a villain, that tights by the book of 
arithmetic I Why the devil came you between us ? 
I was hurt under your arm. 

Bom. I thought all for the best. 

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses ! 
They have made worms' meat of me : I have it, 
And soimdly too : your houses ! 

[E.xeiint Mercutio and BenroUo. 

Bora. This gentleman, the prince's near ally. 
My very friend, hath got his mortal luu't 
111 iny behalf; my reputation stain"d 
With Tybalt's slander,— Tybalt, that an hour 
Ilath been my kinsman ! O sweet Juliet, 
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate 
And in my temper soften 'd valom-'s steel! 

Be-enter Benvolio. 

Ben. O Eomeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio 's dead ! 
That gallant spirit liath aspired the clouds. 
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 

Bom. This day's black fate on more days doth de- 
This but begins the. woe, others must end. [peiid ; 

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 

Bom. Alive, in triumph ! and Mercutio slain! 
Away to heaven, respective lenity, 
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now ! 

Be-enter Tybalt. 
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,. 
That late thou gavest me ; for Mercutio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads. 
Staying for thine to keep him company: 
Either thou, or I, or both, must go witli him. 
595 



ACT III. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCEXE IT. 



Ttih. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him 
Shalt with him hence. [liere, 

Bom. Tliis sliall determine that. 

[They fight; Tybalt falls. 
Ben. Komeo, away, be gone ! 
The citizens are ui), and Tybalt slain. 
Stand not amazed : tlie prince will doom thee death. 
If thou art taken : hence, be gone, away ! 
Horn. 0, 1 am fortune's fool ! 
Ben. AVhy dost thou stay ? 

[Kdt Romeo. 
Enter Citizens, &c. 

First Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio ? 
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he 'i 

Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 

First Cit. Up, sir, go with me; 

I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. 

Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, 
their Wives, and others. 

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray i* 

Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
There lies tlie man, slain by young Romeo, 
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutig. 

La. Cap. Tybalt , my cousin ! O my brother's eliild ! 
O prince ; O cousin! husband! O, the blood is si ilt 
Of my dear kinsman ! Prince, as thou art true. 
For blood of oiu's, shed blood of Montague. 

cousin, cousin ! 

Prin. 13envolio, who began this bloody fray ? 

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Borneo's hand did 
slay : 
Komeo that spoke Iiim fair, bade him bethink 
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal 
Your high displeasure: all this uttered 
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, 
Could not take truce with tlie unrulv spleen 
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he'tilts 
With piercing steel at Imld ^^lereutio's breast. 
Who, all as hut, turns deadly point to point. 
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, [tongue, 

' Hold, friends! friends, part ! ' and, swifterthau his 
His agile arm beats down their fatal points. 
And 'twixt them rushes; uiiilciiieath whose arm 
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
.Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled ; 
But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
Who had but newly entertain 'd revenge, 
Aud to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I 
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain, 
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. 
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague; 
Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: 
Some twenty of them fouglit in this black strife. 
And all those twenty could but kill one lite. 

1 beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; 
Romeo slew Tybalt, Komeo must not live. 

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; 
Who now tlie price of his dear blood doth owe ? 

Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's 
friend ; 
His fault concludes but what the law should end, 
The life of Tybalt. 

Prin . And for that offence 

Inunediately we do exile him hence : 
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, 
My blood for yoiu- rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding ; 
J5ut I '11 amerce you with so strong a fine 
That you shall all icjipnt the loss of mine : 
I will be deaf to iili'ading and excuses; 
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase our abuses : 
Therefore use none : let Romeo hence in liaste, 
5% 



Else, when he 's found, that hour is his last. 
Bear hence this body and attend our will : 
Mercy but murders, i>ardoning those that kill. 

[E.ccunt, 
SCENE "H.— CaxmleVs orchard. 

Miter Juliet. 
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
Towards Phoebus' lodging : such a waggoner 
As Pliaethoii would whip you to the west. 
And brinji in rlnudy niglit immediately. 
Siireail thy close curtain, love-performing ni^ght, 
That runaway's eyes may wink, and Romeo 
Leap to these arms, luitalk'd of and unseen. 
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind. 
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night. 
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: 
Hood my mmiann'd blood, bating in my cheeks. 
With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown bold, 
Tliink true love acted simple modesty. 
Ci mil', night ; come, Romeo; come, tliou day innight; 
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back, [night, 
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd 
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, 
Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
Aiul lie will make the face of heaven so fine 
That all tlie world will be in love with night 
And p;iy no worship to the garish sun. 
O, I have bon'rht the mansion of a love. 
But not po.sses-;'d it, and, though I am sold, 
Not yet enjoy 'd : so tedious is this day 
As is the iiiglit before t.ome festival 
To ;m impatient child that hath new robes 
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse. 
And slie brings news ; and every tongue that speaks 
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. 

Enter Nurse, with cords. 
Now, nurse, what news '{ What hast thou there ? 

the cords 
That Romeo bid thee fetch ? 

Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. 

{Throws them dmrn. 

Jul. Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring 
thy hands V [dead ! 

Nurse. Ah, well-a-day ! he 's dead, he 's dead-, he 's 
We are undone, lady, we are undone! 
Alack the day ! he 's gone, he 's kill'd, lie 's dead ! 

Jul. Can heaven be so envious ? 

Nurse. Romeo can, 

Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! 
Who ever woidd have thought it Y Romeo ! 

Jul. What' devil art thou, that dost torment me 
Tills torture should be roar'd in dismal hell, [thus ? 
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' 
And that bare vowel ' I ' shall poison more 
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice ; 
I am not I, if there be such an I ; 
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' 
If he be slain, say ' I '; or if not, no: 
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. [eyes, — 

Nurse. I saw the wound, I siiw ij; with mine 
God save the mark ! — here on his manly breast : 
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; 
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood. 
All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. 

,Tul. 0,break,my heart ! poor bankrupt, break at 
To iirison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty ! [once I 

Y\U' earth, to earth resign ; end motion here; 
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! 

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! 
O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 
That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 



ACT III. 



R03IE0 AND JULIET. 



3CENE III. 



I 



Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary ? 
Is Romeo slaughter "U, and is Tybalt dead? 
JNIy deur-loved cousin, and uiy dearer lord ? 
Tlieii, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! 
For who is living, it those two are gone ? 

Narse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banish'd; 
Komeo that kiU'd liim, he is banished. [blood ? 

Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's 

jVuise. It did, it did ; alas the day, it did ! 

Jul. O serpent Iieart, hid with a (lowering face! 
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? 
Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical ! 
Uove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening lamb ! 
Despised substance of divinest show ! 
Just opposite to wliat thou justly seem'st, 
A damned saint, an honourable villain ! 
O nature, what liadst tliou to do in liell, 
■\Vhen thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 
111 mortal paradise of such sweet fiesh Y 
AVas ever book containing such vile matter 
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace ! 

Murse. There 's no trust, 

Xo faith, no honesty in men ; all perjured. 
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. 
Ah, where 's my man ? give uie some aqua vitse : 
Tiiese griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. 
Shame come to Romeo ! 

■Ji.d. Blister'd be thy tongue 

For such a wish ! he was not born to shame : 
Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit ; 
For 't is a throne where lionour may be crowu'd 
Si^le monarch of the universal eartli. 
O, what a beast was I to chide at him ! 

J^urse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your 
cousin ? 

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ? 
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy 

name. 
When I, thy three-hours wife, liave mangled it ? 
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin V 
Tliat villain cousin would have kill'd my "husljand : 
Back, foolish tears, back to youi- native spring ; 
Your tributary drops belong to woe, 
AVhich you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ; 
And Tybalt 's dead, that would have slain my lius- 

band : 
All this is comfort : wherefore weep I tlien ? 
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; 
But, O, it presses to my memory. 
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : 
' Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished ; ' 
That ' banished,' that one word ' banished,' 
Hath slain ten thousand Tylialts. Tybalt's death 
Was woe enough, if it had ended there : 
Or, if sour woe delights m fellowship 
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, 
AV'liy foUow'd not, when she said ' Tybalt 's dead,' 
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, 
Wliicli modern lamentation might liave moved? 
But v.-ith a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
' Komeo is banished,' to speak that word. 
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet. 
All slain, till dead. ' Romeo is banislied ! ' 
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound. 
In that word's death ; no words can that woe sound. 
Where is my father, and my motlier, nurse? 

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : 
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. 

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears : mine shall 
be spent. 
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
Take up those cordi : poor ropes, you are beguiled, 
Both you and I ; for Romeo is exiled : 
lie made you for a highway to my bed ; 



But I, a maidrdie maiden-widowed. 

Come, cords, come, nurse ; I '11 to my wedding-bed;" 

And death, not Komeo, talie my maidenhead! 

Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I '11 find Romeo 
To comfort you : I wot well where he is. 
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: 
I '11 to him; he is hid at J^Mureiice' cell. 

Jul. O, find him ! give tliis riiiu; tn my true knight. 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— Friar Laurence's cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence. 
Fri. L. Komeo, come forth; come forth, thou 
fearful man : 
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, 
And thou art wedded to calamity. 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's 
doom V 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. 
That I yet know not ? 

Fri. L. ' Too familiar 

Is my dear son with such sour company : 
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 

limn. What less than dooms-day is the prince's 
doom ? pips, 

Fri. L. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his 
Not body's death, but body's banishment. 

Hum. Ha, Imnishment ! be merciful, say ' death ; ' 
For exile hath more terror in his look, 
Much more than death: do not say ' lianishment.' 

Fri. L. Hence from Verona art thou luuiished: 
Be patient, for the world is brnad and wide. 

Bom. There is no world witlHuit Verona walls. 
But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
Hence-banished is banish "d from the world, 
xVnd world's exile is death: then banished, 
Is death mis-term 'd: calling deatli liauisliment, 
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe. 
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. L. O deadly sin! O rude unthaiikfulness! 
Thy fault our law calls death ; l)ut the kind prince. 
Taking tliy part, hatli rusli'd aside the law. 
Anil turn'il that black word death to banishment: 
This is dear mercy, and thou secst it not. 

liom. 'T is torture, and not incrcy: heaven ishere, 
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog 
And little mouse, every unworthy tiling. 
Live here in heaven and may look on her ; 
But Romeo may not : more validity. 
More honourable state, more courtship lives 
In carrion-flies than Romeo : they may seize 
On tlie white wonder of dear Juliet's hand 
And steal immortal blessing from her lips. 
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty. 
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; 
But Romeo may not; he is banished: 
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: 
They are free men, but I am banished. 
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death ? 
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no .sharp-ground knife. 
No sudden mean of death, tlionnh ne'er sd mean. 
But ' banished ' to kill me Y — "1 lanished ' '? 
O friar, the damned use that word in liell; 
Ilowlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, 
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd. 
To mangle me with that word ' banished ' ? 

Fri. L. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak 
a word. 

Bom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. 

Fri. L. I'll give thee armour to keep off that 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosoi>hy, [word ; 

To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 
597 



ACT III. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE IT. 



Bom. Yet ' banished ' V Hang up philosophy I 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, 
It helps not, it prevails not : tallc no more. 
Fri. L. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 
Rom. How should they, when that wise men 

have no eyes ? 
Fri. L. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, [feel : 
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
Doting like me and like me banished, [thy hair, 
Then miglitst thou speak, tlien mightst thou tear 
And fall updu the ground, as I do now, 
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 

{Knorliing within. 
Fri. L. Arise; one knocks; good llomeo, hide 

thyself. 
Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, 
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. 

[Knocking. 
Fri. L. Hark, how they knock 1 Who's there? 
Romeo, arise; 
Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile ! Stand up ; 

[Knocking. 
Run to my study. By and by! God's will, 
What simpleness is this ! I come, I come ! 

[Knocking. 
Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what 's 
your willV 
Nurse. [Tr(7 /(/))] Let me come in, and you shall 
know my errand; 
I come from Lady Juliet. 
Fri. L. Welcome, then. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, 
Where is my lady's lord, where 's Romeo V 

Fri. L. There on the ground, with his own tears 
made drunk. 

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case. 
Just in her case ! O woful sympathy ! 
Piteous predieament ! Even so lies she, 
Blubliering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. 
Stand uji, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; 
Why should you fall into so deep an O ? 

JJom. Nurse! [of all. 

Nurse. Ah sir ! ah sir ! Well, death 's the end 

Rom. Spakest thou of Juliet V how is it with her V 
Doth slie not think me an old murderer, 
Now I have stain 'd the childhood of our joy 
With blood removed but little from her own ? 
Where is she ? and how doth she ? and what says 
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love V [weeps; 

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and 
And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up. 
And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries, 
And then dowu falls again. 

Rom. As if that name. 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun. 
Did nuuder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, 
In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack 
Tlie hateful mansion. [Draving his srvord. 

Fri. L. Hold thy desperate hand: 

Art thou a man ? thy form cries out thou art : 
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
Tlie unreas(inal.)le fiu-y of a beast: 
Unseemly woman in a seeming man! 
Or ill-lieseemnig beast in seeming both! 
Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, 
I thought tliy disposition better temper'd. 
Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself ? 
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, 
By doing damned hate upon thyself ? , 

598 



Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? 
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. 
Fie, lie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit ; 
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, 
And usest none in that true use indeed 
AVhich should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit : 
Thy noble shape is Viut a form of wax, 
Digressing from the valour of a man ; 
Tliy dear love swoni Init hollow perjuiy, 
Killing that hive which thou hast vow'il to cherish; 
Thy wit. that ornament to shape and love, 
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both. 
Like powder in a skilless soldier's llask, 
Is set a-lire by thine own ignorance, 
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. 
AVhat, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive. 
For whose dear s<ake thou wast I'ut lately (lead; 
Tl^ere art thou happy: Tybalt would kill" thee. 
But thou slew'st Tybalt ; there art tliou happy too: 
The law that threaten "d death lieconies thy friend 
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: 
A pack of blessings lights upon tliy back; ' 
Happiness courts'thee in her best array; 
But, like a misbehaved and sullen viench. 
Thou iioufst upon thy fortune and thy love: 
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: 
But look thou stay not till the watch be set, 
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends. 
Beg pardon of the priiice, and call tliee back 
With twenty hundred thousand limes more joy 
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. 
Go bet'iu'e, nurse: commend me to thy lady; 
And bid her hasten all tlie house to bed, 
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: 
Romeo is coming. [night 

Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the 
To hear good counsel: O, what learning is ! 
My lord, I '11 tell my lady you will come. 

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: 
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit. 

Rom. How well my comfort is revived by this ! 

Fri. L. Go hence ; good night ; and here stands 
all your state : 
Either be gone before the watch be set. 
Or by the break of day disguised from hence: 
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll tiud out your man, 
And he shall signify from time to time 
Every good hap to you that chances here: 
Give nie thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. 

Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me. 
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
Farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— ^ room in Capulcfs house. 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. 

Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily. 
That we have had no time to move our daughter: 
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly. 
And so did I: — Well, we were born to die. 
'T is very late, she '11 not come down to-night : 
I promise you, but for your company, 
I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 

Pa?'. These times of woe afford no time to woo. 
Madam, good night: commend me to your daugh- 
ter, [moi'row ; 

La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to- 
To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. 

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
Of my child's love : I think she will be ruled 
In all respects by me ; nay, more, I doubt it not. 



ACT lit. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE V. 



AVife, go you to her ere you go to bed ; 
Acqua'iiit'lier here of my sou Paris' love; 
And bid lier, mark you me, ou Wednesday next — 
But, soft ! what day is this ? 

Par. Monday, my lord. 

Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too 
O' Thursday let it be : o' Thursday, tell her, [soou, 
Slie shall be married to this noble earl. 
Will you be ready r* do you like this haste ? 
AVe 'li keep no great ado, — a friend or two ; 
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
It may be thought we held him carelessly, 
Being our kinsman, if we revel much': 
Therefore we '11 have some half a dozen friends. 
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? 

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to- 
morrow. 

Cap. Well, get you gone : o' Thursday be it, then. 
Go you to Juliet "ere you go to bed. 
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. 
Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! 
Af(jre me ! it is so very very late. 
That we may call it early by and by. 
Good night. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V.—CapuJeVs orchard. 

Miter Romeo and Juliet above, at the window. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
Tl;at pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 

lioin. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds iu yonder east : 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe ou the misty mountain tops. 
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I : 
It is some meteor that the sun exhales. 
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer. 
And light thee ou thy way to Mantua : 
Therefore stay yet; thou ueed'st not to be gone. 

Jtorii. Let me be ta'eu, let me be put to death ; 
I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
I '11 say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
'T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vanity heaven so high above our heads : 
I have more care to stay than will to go : 
Come, death, and welcome! .Juliet wills it so. 
How is 't, my soul ? let 's talk ; it is not day. 

Jul. It is, it is : hie hence, be gone, away ! 
It is the lark that sings so out of tune. 
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. 
Some say the lark makes sweet division ; 
This doth not so, for she divideth us : 
Some%ay the lark and luathcd toad change eyes; 
O, now I would they liad changed voices too! 
Since arm from arm tliat voice doth us affray. 
Hunting thee hence with hunt"s-up to the day. 
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. 

Mum. More light and light; more dark and dark 
GUI' woes ! 

Enter Nurse, to the chamber. 
Nurse. Madam! 

Jul. Nurse ? [ber : 

Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your cham- 
The day is broke ; be wary, look about. [Exit. 

Jul. Then, window^ let day in, and let life out. 
Bom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll de- 
scend. [He goeth il/nrn. 
Jul. Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, 
friend! 
I must hear from thee every day in the hour. 



For in a minute there are many days : 
O, by this count I shall be much in years 
Ere I again behold my Romeo ! 

liwn. Farewell! 
I will omit no opportunity 
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 

Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? 

Born. I doubt it not ; and all these woes shall 
For sweet discourses in our time to come. [serve 

Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul ! 
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, 
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb : 
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. 

Bom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you : 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! [E.vit. 

Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: 
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faitli ? Be tickle, fortune; 
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 
But send him back. 

La. Cap. [TFii/mi] Ho, daughter! are you up ?_ 

Jul. A\ ho is 't that calls V is it my lady mother ? 
Is she not down so late, or up so early ? 
What uuaccustom'd cause procm'es her hither? 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet! 

.Jul. Madam, I am not well. 

La. Cap. Evermore weepiug for your cousin's 

death ? 

What ,wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? 

An if tliou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; 

Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of 

love ; 
But much of grief shows still some want of wit. 

Jid. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 

La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the 
AVhich you weep for. [frieud 

Jul. Feeling so the loss, 

I cannot choose but ever weep the frieud. 

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for 
his death. 
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. 

Jul. What villain, madam? 

La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 

Jul. [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asun- 
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; [der. — 
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. 

La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer 
lives. [hands: 

Jid. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my 
Would none but I might veuge my cousin's death ! 

La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear 
thou not : 
Tlien weep no more. I '11 send to one in Mantua, 
W'licre that same banish'd runagate doth live. 
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, 
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: 
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. 

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be .satisfied 
With Romeo, till I behold him — dead — 
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd: 
Madinn, if you could find out liut a num 
To bear a poison. I would temper it; 
That Romeo should, upon receipt tliereof. 
Soon slee]i in quiet. O, how my heart abliors 
To hear him named, and cannot come to him, 
To wreak tlie love I liore my cousin 
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! [a man. 

La. Caii. Find thou the means, and I '11 find such 
But now I '11 tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 

Jul. And joy comes well in sucli a needy time: 
What are they, I be.seech your ladyship ? 

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast 'a careful father, 
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, [ehiljl; 
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy. 
That thou expect 'st not nor I look'd not for. 
599 



ACT III. 



R03IE0 AND JULIET. 



SCENE V. 



Jul. Madam, in happy time, wliat day is that V 

La. Clip. Marry, my child, early next Thursday 
morn. 
The gallant, yoims and noble gentleman, 
Tlie rouuty Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, 
Shall luii)iiily make tln_'e there a joyful bride. 

■JuK Xow," by Saint Pi.'ler's Church and Peter too, 
He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed 
P^re he, that should lie husTiand, comes to woo. 
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, 
It shall be Komeo, whom you know I hate, 
Rather than Paris. These are news indeed ! 

La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so 
yourself, 
And see how he will take it at your hands. 

Enter Capulet and Nurse. 

Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew ; 
But for the sunset of my brother's son 
"It rains downright. 

How now! a conduit^ girl? what, still in tears? 
Evermore showering i In one little body 
Tliou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; 
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, 
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, 
Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds, thy sighs; 
AVHio, raging with thy tears, and they with them, 
AVitliout a sudden calm, will over.set 
Tliy tempest-tossed body. How now. wife! 
Have you deliver'd to her our decree r 

La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will uone, she gives you 
thanks. 
I would the fool were married to her grave ! 

Cap. Soft! take me with you, take me with you, 
wife. 
How I will she none ? doth slie not give us thanks ? 
Is she not proud ? doth she not count her blest, 
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ? 

Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that 
you have : 
Proud can I never be of wliat I hate ; 
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. 

Cap. How now, how now, chop-logic ! What is 
this ? 
' Proud,' and ' I thank you,' and ' I thank you not ;' 
And yet ' not proud,' mistress minion, you, 
Tlian'k me no thankings, nor pnmd me no prouds, 
But fettle your line joints "gainst Thursday next, 
To gi) witll I'aris to Saint Peter's Church, 
Or 1 will drag tliee on a hurdle thither. 
Out, you green-sickness carrion ! out, you baggage ! 
You "tallow-face! 

La. (.'nil. Fie, lie! what, are you mad ? 

.Jul. Guild father, I beseech you on my knees. 
Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient 
wretch ! 
I tell thee what: get thee to church.o' Thursday, 
Or never after look me in the face: 
S)ii-ak not, reply not, do not answer me; 
My lingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest 
Tliat God liad lent us but this only cliild ; 
But now I see this one is one too much. 
And that we have a curse in having her: 
Out on her, hilding ! 

Nurse. God in heaven bless her! 

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 

Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold jour 
tongue. 
Good prudence ; smatter with your gossips,' go. 

Nurse. I speak no treason. 

Cap. O, God ye god-den. 

Nurse. May -not ©ne speak ? 

Cap, Peace, you mumbling fool ! 

■600 



Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl ; 
For here we need it not. 

La. Cap. Y''ou are too hot. 

Cap. God's bread ! it makes me mad : 
Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play. 
Alone, in company, still my care hath been 
To have her match 'd : and having now provided 
A gentleman of noble parentage. 
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, 
Stuff 'd, as they say, with honourable parts, 
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man ; 
And then to have a wretched puling fool, 
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, 
To answer ' I '11 not wed ; I cannot love, 
1 am too young ; I pray you, pardon me.' 
But, an you will not wed, I '11 pardon you : 
Graze where you v.ill, you shall not house with me: 
Look to 't, think on 't, I do not use to jest. 
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: 
An you be mine, I '11 give you to my friend ; 
An you be not, hang, laeg, starve, die in the streets, 
For, by my soul, I '11 ne'er acknowledge thee, 
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 
Trust to 't, bethink you : 1 '11 not be forsworn. 

[Exit. 

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
That sees into the bottom of 'my grief? 
O, sweet my motlier, cast me not away I 
Delay this marriage for a month, a week ; 
Or, if you do not , make the bridal bed 
In that dim monument were Tybalt lies. 

La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I '11 not speak a word: 
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [E.i:it. 

Jul. O God ! — O nurse, how shall this be prevented? 
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
How shall that faith return again to earth, 
Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
By leaving earth ? comfort me, counsel me. 
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise strata- 
gems 
Upon so soft a subject as myself ! 
What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy ? 
Some comfort, nurse. 

Nurse. Faith, here it is. 

Romeo is banish 'd ; and all the world to nothing, 
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you ; 
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
I tliink it best you married with the county. 
O, he 's a lovely gentleman ! 
Romeo 's a dishclout to him : an eagle, madam. 
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye 
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
I think you are hap!>y in tliis second match. 
For it excels your first : or if it did not, 
Y'our first is dead ; or 't were as good he were, 
As living here and you no use of him. 

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart ? 

Nurse. And from my sc*l too ; 

Or else beshrew them both. 

Jul. Amen ! 

Nurse. AVhat ? 

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous 
much. 
Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone. 
Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, 
To make confessicm and to be absolved. 

Nurse. Marry, 1 will ; and this is wisely done. 

[Exit. 

Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! 
Is it more sin to wisli me thus forsworn, 
Or to dispraise my hud with that same tongue 
Which she hath praised him with above compare 
So many thousand times ? Go, counsellor ; 
Tliou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. 
I '11 to the friar, to know his remedy : 
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



R02IE0 AND JULIET. 



SCENE II. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Friar Laurence's cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 

Fri. L. On Tliursday, sir ? tbe time is very short. 

Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
And I amnothmg slow to slack his haste. 

Fri. L. You say you do not know the lady's 
Uneven is the coursfe, I like it not. [luiud ; 

Par. Immoderately she weeps lor Tybalt's death, 
xVnd therefore have 1 little talk'd of love ; 
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
Xow, sir, her father counts it dangerous 
That slie doth give her sorrow so nuich sway, 
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, 
To stop the immdation of her tears; 
AVluch, too much minded by herself alone, 
May be put from her by society ; 
Xow do you know the reason of this haste. 

Fri. L. \^Aside\ I would I knew not why it should 
be slow'd. 
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 

Enter Juliet. 

Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife ! 

Jid. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 

Par. That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. 

Jid. What must be shall be. 

Fri. L. That 's a certain text. 

Pur. Come you to make confession to this father ? 

Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. 

Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. 

Jid. I will confess to you that I love him. 

Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. 

Jul. If 1 do so, it will be of more price, 
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. 

Par. Poor soul, thy face ismuch abused with tears. 

Jul. The tears have got small victory by that ; 
For it was bad enough before their spite, [report. 

Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that 

Jul. That is no sl»nder, sir, which is a truth ; 
And what I spake, I spake it to my face. [it. 

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd 

Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. 
Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? [now. 

Fri. L. My leism-e serves me, pensive daughter. 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 

Par. God sliield I should disturb devotion! 
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: 
Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. [Exit. 

Jul. O, shut the door ! and when thou hast done so. 
Come weep with me ; past hope, past cure, past help ! 

Fri. L. Ah, .Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, 
On Thursday next be married to this county. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
Uidess thou tell me how I may prevent it : 
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, 
Do thou but call my resolution wise, 
And with this knife I '11 help it presently. 
■God join'd my lieart and Romeo's, thou our hands; 
And ere this liand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, 
Shall be the label to another deed, 
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
Turn to another, this shall slay them both : 
Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, 
Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
Shall play the umpue, arbitrating that 
Which the commission of thy years and art 
Could to no issue of true honour bring. 
Be not so long to speak ; I long to die. 
If what thou speak 'st speak not of remedy. 



Fri. L. Hold, daughter: I do spy a kmd of hope. 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
If, rather than to marry County Paris, 
Thou hast the strength of will "to slay thyself, 
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide away this shame, 
That copest with death himself to scape from it ; 
And, if thou darest, I '11 give thee remedy. 

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
From off the battlements of yonder tower; 
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ;- 
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, 
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; 
Or bid me go into a new-made grave 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; 
Things that, to hear them told, have made me trem- 
And I will do it without fear or doubt, [ble ; 

To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 

Fri. L. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give con- 
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow : [sent 
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone ; 
Let not tliy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: 
Take thou this vial, being then in bed. 
And this distilled liquor drink thou oil; 
When presently through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse 
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease : 
Xo warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; 
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, 
Like death, when he sliuts up the day of life; 
Each part, deprived of supple government, 
Shall, stiff and stark and culd, appear like death: 
And in this burrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
Thou Shalt continue two and forty hoiu's. 
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
Xow, when the bridegroom in the morning comes 
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: 
Then, as the manner of our country is, 
In thy best robes imcover'd on the "bier 
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault 
Where all the kindred of the Capnlets lie. 
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 
Shall Romeo by my letters know our di-ift. 
And hither shall he come : and he and I 
Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
And this shall free thee from this present shame; 
If no inconstant' toy, nor womanish fear. 
Abate thy valour in the acting it. 

Jul. Give me, give me I O, tell not me of fear! 

Fri. L. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and pros- 
In this resolve : I '11 sentl a friar with speed [jserous 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 

Jul. Love give me strength I and strength shall 
help afford. 
Farewell, dear father ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE U.— HaJl in CajmlcVs house. 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and two 
Servingmen. 
Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. 

[Exit First Servant. 
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 

Sec. Serv. You shall have none ill, sir ; for 1' 11 try 
if they can lick their Angers. 

Cap. How canst thou try them so ? 
Sec. Serv. Marry, sir, 't is an ill cook that cannot 
lick his own fingers : therefore he that cannot lick 
his fingers goes not with me. 
COl 



ACT IV. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE IV. 



Cap. Go, be gone. [Exit Sec. Servant. 

We shall be much unfuniish'd for this time. 
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? 

Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 

Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her : 
A peevish -self-will 'd harlotry it is. 

Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with 
merry look. „ 

Enter Juliet. 

Cap. How now, my headstrong ! where have you 
been gadding Y 

Jul. Wliere I liave learn 'd me to repent the sin 
Of disobedient opposition 
To you and your beliests, and am enjoin'd 
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, 
" And beg your pardon : pardon, I beseech you I 
Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. 

Cap. Send for the county ; go tell him of this: 
I '11 have tliis knot knit up to-morrow morning. 

Jul. I met the youtliful lord at Laurence' cell ; 
And gave liim wliat beeomed love I might, 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 

Cap. Why, I am glad on 't ; this is well : stand up : 
This is as 't should be. Let me see the county; 
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him liither. 
Now, afore God! tliis reverend holy friar, 
All our wliole city is much bound to liim. 

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, 
To lielp me sort such needful ornaments 
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow ? 

La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time 
enough. [to-morrow. 

Cap. Go, niu'se, go with her : we '11 to church 
[Exeunt Juliet and Niirse. 

La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision : 
'T is now near night. 

Cap. Tush, I will stir about. 

And all things shall be well, I warrant tliee, wife: 
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; 
I '11 not to bed to-niglit ; let me alone ; 
I '11 play the housewife for this once. What, ho! 
Thev are all forth. Well, I will walk myself 
To County Paris, to prepare him up 
Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, 
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim 'd. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE lll. — JidieVs chamber. 
Enter Juliet and Nurse. 

Jul. Ay, those attires are best : but, gentle nurse, 
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
For I have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state. 
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 

Enter Lady Capulet. 
La. Cap. What, are you busy, ho ? need you my 

help y 
Jid. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: 
So please you, let me now be left alone. 
And let tlie nurse this inght sit up with you : 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all. 
In this so sudden business. 

La. Cup. Good night : 

Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 

[Exeunt Lcalji Capndet and Nurse. 
Jul. Farewell ! God know'S when we shall meet 
again. 
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins. 
That almost freezes uji the heat of life : 
I '11 call them back again to comfort me: ■ 
Nurse ! What shouhl she do here ? 
My dismal scene I needs must act alone. 
Come, vial. 

What if this mixture do not work at all ? 
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning ? 
C02 



No, no : this shall forbid it : lie thou there. 

[Laying down her dagger. 
What if it be a jwison, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, 
Lest in this marriage he should be dislionour'd, 
Because he nuuricd nie before to Riimeo ? 
I fear it is : and yet, uiethiuks, it should not, 
For he hath still been tried a holy ukui. 
ilow if, when 1 am laid into the tomb, 
I wake before the time that Rpnieo 
Come to redeem me ? there 's a fearful point ! 
Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault. 
To whose foul niouth no healthsome air breathes in, 
And there die strangled ere my llomeo comes 'f 
Or, if I live, is it not very like, 
The horrilile conceit of death and night. 
Together with the terror of the place, — 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. 
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd: 
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
Lies festering in his shmud; where, as they say, 
At some hours in the night spirits resort ; — 
Alack, alack, is it not like that I, 
So early waking, what with loathsome smells. 
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, 
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad: — 
O, if I «ake, shall 1 not be distraught, 
Environed with all these hideous fears? 
And madly play with my forefathers' joints ? 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt fromliis shroud? 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? 
O, lookl metliinks I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out liomeo, that did spit his body 
Upon a rapier's point : stay, Tybalt, stay ! 
Borneo, I come! this do I drink to thee. 

[She falls upon her bed, within the curtains. 

SCENE IV. — Hcdl in CapukVs house. 
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
La. Cup. Hold, take these Keys, and fetch more 

spices, nurse. 
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. 

Enter Capulet. 
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hath 
crow'd. 
The curfew-bell hath rung, 't is three o'clock : 
Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: 
Spare not for cost. 

Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go, 

Get you to bed ; faith, you "11 be sick to-morrow 
For this night's watching. 

Cap. No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere 
now 
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hxmt in 
your time; 
But I will watch you from such watching now, 

[Exeunt Lad;/ Caprdet and Nurse. 
Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood! 

E7iter three or four Servmginen,u'U/i spits, lor/s, and baskets. 

Now, fellow, 
Wliat 's there ? 
First Serv. Things for the cook, sir ; but 1 know 

not wliat. 
Cap. Make liaste, make haste. [Exit First Sew.] 
Sirrah, letch drier logs: 
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 

Sec. Scrv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, 
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. 

Cap. Mass, and well said ; a merry wlioreson. ha ! 
Thou Shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 't is day : 
The county will be here with music straight, 



ACT IT. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCEXE V, 



For so he said he would ; I hear him near. 

\_Music loithin. 
Nurse! Wife! What, ho! Wliat, nurse, I say ! 

Re-enter Nurse. 
Go waken .Juliet, go and trim her up; 
I '11 go ;ind chat with Paris: hie. make haste, 
ISIake haste ; the bridegroom he is come already : 
Make haste, I say. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — JulieVs charaber. 
Enter Nurse. 
JVur^e. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I 
warrant her, she : 
AVhy, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed ! 
Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! why, bride! 
What, not a word ? you take your pennyworths now ; 
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, 
The County Paris hath set up his rest, 
That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, 
Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! 
I must needs wake her. iladam, madam, madam! 
Ay, let the county take you in your bed; 
He "11 fright you iip, i' faith. Will it not be ? 

[Undrairs the curtains. 
What, dress'd ! and inyourclothes ! and down again ! 
I must needs wake you : Lady ! lady ! lady! 
Alas, alas ! Help, help ! my lady 's dead ! 
O, well-a-day, that ever I was born ! 
.Some aqua vitte,- ho ! ^ly lord ! my lady ! 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What noise is here '? 

Nurse. O lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. What is the matter ? 

Kurse. I^ook, look ! O heavy day! 

La. Cap. O me, O me ! My child, my only life. 
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! 
Help, help ! Call help. 

Eater Capulet. 

Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord is 

come. [the day! 

Nurse. She's dead, deceased, she 's dead; alack 

La. Cap. Alack the day, she 's dead, she "s dead, 

she 's dead ! 
Cap. Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she 'scold; 
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; 
Life and these lips have long been separated : 
Heath lies on her like an untimely frost 
Upon the s\ eetest tiower of all the held. 
Nurse. O lamentable day ! 
La. Cap. O woful time ! 

Cap. Heath, that hath ta'en her hence to make 
me wail. 
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 

Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musi- 
cians. 

Fri. L. Come, is the bride ready to go to church ? 

Ccyj. Ready to go, but never to return. 
O son ! the night before thy wedding-day 
Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, 
FloWer as she was, deflowered by him. 
Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir; 
My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, 
AjkI leave him all ; life, living, all is Death's. 

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's 
And doth it give me such a sight as this ? [face, 

La. Clip. Accursed, ludiappy, wretched, hateful 
ilost miserable hour that e'er time saw [day ! 

In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! 
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child. 
But one thing to rejoice and solace in. 
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! 

Nurse. Owoe! O woful, woful, woful day ! 



Most lamentable day, most woful day. 
That ever, ever, I did yet behold ! 
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! 
Js'ever was seen so black a day as this : 
O woful day, O woful day ! 

Par. Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! 
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd. 
By cruel cruel thee quite" overthrown ! 
■O love ! O life ! not life, but love in death ! 

Cap. Despised, distressed, hated, martyr "d, kill'd ! 
LTncomfortable time, why camest thou now 
To murder, murder our solenniity V 
O child! O child! my sovfl, and not my child! 
Deail art thou ! xVlack ! my child is dead ; 
Anil with my child my joys are buried. 

Fri.L. Peace,ho,forshame! confusion'scurelives 
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself [not 
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all. 
And all the better is it for the maid : 
Your part in her you could not keep from death, 
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
The most you sought was her promotion : 
For 't was your heaven she should be advanced : 
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced 
Above the clouds, as high as heaven it.self '? 
O, m this love, you love your child so ill, 
That you run mad, seeing that she is well: 
She 's not well married that lives married long; 
But she 's best married that dies married young. 
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, " 
In all her best array bear her to church : 
For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 

Cap. All tilings that we ordained festival, 
Turn from their office to black funeral; 
Our instruments to melancholy bells. 
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast. 
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change. 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse. 
And all things change them to the contrary. 

Fi-i.L. Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; 
And go. Sir Paris; every one prepare 
To follow this fair cor.se unto her grave: 
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill ; 
Move them no more by crossing their high will. 

[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar. 

First Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes, and 
be gone. 

Afitr.sf. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up; 
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [E.rit. 

First Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be 
amended. ^ „ 

Enter Peter. 

Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, 
Heart's ease : ' O, an you will have me live, play 
' Heart's ease.' 

First Mus. Why ' Heart's ease ' ? 

Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 
' My heart is full of woe : ' O, play me some merry 
duiiip, to comfort me. 

First Mus. Not a dump -jve; 't is no time to play 

Pet. You will not, then ? [uo\v. 

First Mus. No. 

Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 

First Mus. What will you give us ? 

Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I 
will give you the minstrel. 

First Mus. Then will I give you the serving- 
creature. 

Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger 
on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I "11 re 
you, I '11 fa you ; do you note me ? 

First Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us. 

Sec. Jl/us. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put 
out your wit. 

Pet. Then have at you with my wit ! I will dry- 
603 



ACT V. 



R03IE0 AND JULIET. 



SCENE II. 



beat you with nn iron wit, and put up my iron dag- 
ger. Answer me lil^e men : 

'When griping grief the heart doth wound, 

And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
Then ijmsic with her silver sound ' — 
why ' silver sound ' ? why ' music with her silver 
souud ' y What say you, Simon Catling ? 

First Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
sound. 
Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Kebeck ? 
Sec. Mus. I say ' silver sound,' because musicians 
souud for silver. 



Pet. Pretty too! AVhat say you, James Sound- 
post V 

Tliird Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. 

Pet. O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I 
will say for you. It is ' music with her silver 
sound,' because musicians have no gold for sound- 
ing: 

' Then music with her silver sound 

With speedy help doth lend redress.' [Exit. 

First 3Ius. What a pestilent knave is this same ! 

Sec. Mus. Hang him, Jack ! Come, we '11 in here ; 
tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. lExeunt, 



.ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Mantua. A street. 
Enter Romeo. 
Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, 
My dreams jircsage some joyful news at hand: 
My bosdiirs lord sits lightly in his throne; 
And all this day an unaceustoniM spirit 
Lifts me above the ground with clieert'ul thoughts. 
I dreamt my lady came and found uie dead — 
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to 

think! — 
And breatlied such life with kisses in my lips. 
That I revived, and was an emperor. 
Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd, 
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy ! 

Enter Balthasar, booted. 
News from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ! 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar '? 
How doth my lady ? Is my father well Y 
How fares my Juliet ? that I ask again ; 
For nothinp; can be ill, if she be well. 

B(il. Tlu-n she is well, and nothing can be ill: 
Her body sleeps i]i Cupel's monument. 
And her'inuiHirtal part with angels lives. 
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault. 
And presently took post to tell it you: 
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news. 
Since you did leave it for my otHce, sir. 

Bom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! 
Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
And liire post-horses; I will hence to-night. 

Bui. I do beseech you, sir, have patience: 
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Horn. Tush, thou art deceived : 

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. 
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 

Jkil. No,my good lord. 

Horn. No matter : get thee gone, 

And hire those horses ; I '11 be with thee straight. 

[Exit Balthasar. 
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
IvCt 's see for means : O mischief, thou art swift 
To enter in the llioughts of desperate men ! 
I do rememlier an apotliecary, — 
And herealiouts he dwells,— "wliich late I noted 
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows. 
Culling lit simples; meagre were his looks. 
Sharp misery had wcirn liiiii to the bones: 
And in his needy sliciii a tortoise hung. 
An alligattir stulT'd, anil other skins 
Of ill-sJiaped lisiies; and abmit his shelves 
A beggarly aeenunl of em]ity boxes, 
Green earthen pots, Madders and mu.sty seeds, 
Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses. 
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. 
Noting this penury, to myself I said 
' An if a man did need a poison now, 

GOi * 



Whose sale is present death in ^lantua. 
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' 
O, this same thought did but forerun my need ; 
And this same needy man must sell it me. 
As I rememljer, this should be the house, 
lieing holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. 
What, ho! apothecary! 

Enter Apothecary. 

Ap. Who calls so loud ? 

Jfom. Comehither, man. I see that thou art poor : 
Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have 
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear 
As will disperse itself through all the veins 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead 
And that the trunk may be discharged of breath 
As violently as hasty jidwder Hred 
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 

Ai). Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's law 
Is death to any he that'utters them. 

Bom. Art thou so bare and full of wTetchedness, 
And fear'st to die V famine is in thy cheeks. 
Need and niipression starveth in thine ej'es, . 

Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back ; j 

The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; 
The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
Then lie not poor, but break it, and take this. 

Aji. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 

Bom. i pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 
And drink it off; and. if yon had the strength 
Of twenty men, it would ilis]iateh you straight. 

iiVr/n. There is thygolil , worse poison to men 's souls, 
Doing more murders in this loathsome world, 
Thanthese poor compounds that thoumayst not sell, i 
I sell tliee poison ; thou hast sold me none. 1 

Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh. ■ 

Come, cordial and not poison, go with me 
To Juliet's grave ; for there must I use thee. < 

[Exeunt, i 
SCENE II. — Friar Laurence''s cell. ! 

Enter Friar John. ': 

F)-i. J. Holy Franciscan friar ! brother, ho ! . 

Enter Friar Laurence. "j 

Fri. L. This same should be the voice of Friar i 
Welcome from Mantua : what says Romeo ? [John. ! 
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his lettter. 

Fri. J. Going to find a bare-foot brother out, j 
One of our order, to associate me, i 

Here in this city visiting the sick, | 

And liniling liii'ii. the searchers of the town, 
Sns|iecling that wo both were in a house 
Where the infei-tious peslilenee did reign, : 

Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth ; , 
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. i 

Fri. L. "Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? 

-Fri. J. I could uot send it,— here it is again,— 



ACT V. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE TIT. 



Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
So fearful were tliey of infection. 

Fri. L. Unliappy fortune ! by my brotlierhood, 
xhe letter was not nice but full of charge 
Of dear import, and tlie neglecting it 
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; 
Get lue an iron crow, and bring it straight 
Unto my cell. 

Fri. J. Brother, I '11 go and bring it tliee. [E.cit. 

Fri. L. Now must I to the monument alone ; 
Within this three liours will fair .Juliet wake : 
She will beshrew me much that Romeo 
Hath had no notice of tliese accidents ; 
But I will write again to Mantua, 
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come ; 
Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE III. — A churchyard ; in it a tmnb belonging 
to the Capulets. 

Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and 

a torch. 
Par. Give me thy torch, boy; hence, and stand 
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. [aloof : 
Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along. 
Holding thine ear close to the liollow ground; 
So shall no foot upon tlie churchyard tread. 
Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, 
But thou Shalt hear it: whistle then to me. 
As signal that thou liear'st something approach. 
Give me those flowers. Do as I lji<l thei-, go. 

Page. [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone 
Here in the churchyard ; yet I will adventure. 

[Retires. 
Par. Sweet flower, with flowqrs thy bridal bed I 
strew, — 
O woe ! thy canopy is dust and stones ; — 
"Wliich witli sweet water nightly I will dew. 

Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans : 
The obsequies that I for thee will keep 
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. 

[77(6 Page whistles. 
The boy gives warning something doth approach. 
AVliat cursed foot wanders this way to-night, 
To cross my obsequies and true love's rite V 
■\Vhat, with a torch ! muffle me, night, awhile. 

[lietires. 

Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a torch, mat- 
tock, Ac. 

Horn. Give me that mattock and the wrenching 
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning [iron. 
See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light : upon thy life, I charge thee, 
Wiiate'er thou liear'st or seest, stand all aloof. 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
AVhy I descend into tliis bed of death. 
Is partly to behold my lady's face ; 
But chiefly to take tlience from her dead finger 
A precious ring, a ring that I must use 
In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone: 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
lu what I further sliall intend to do, 
y>y heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint 
And strevv^ this hungry churchyard witli tliy limbs: 
Tlie time and my intents are savage-wild. 
More fierce and "more inexorable far 
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. 

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Bom. So Shalt thou show me friendship. Take 
thou that : 
Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. 

Dnl. [Aside] For all this same, I '11 hide me here- 
Ilis looks I fear, and his intents I doubt, [about : 

[lictircK. 

Horn. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, 



Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth. 

Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. 

And, in despite, I "11 cram thee witli more food! 

[O/nHs tJie tomb. 

Par. This is that banish 'd haughty Montague, 
That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, 
It is supposed, the fair creature died; 
And here is come to do some villanous shame 
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend hiin. 

[Comes foricard. 
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ! 
Can vengeance be pursued further than death ? 
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. 

B>im. I must indeed ; and therefore came I hither. 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man ; 
Fly lience, and leave me: think upon these gone; 
Let tliem affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, 
Put not another sin upon my head. 
By urging me to fury : O, be gone ! 
By heaven, I love thee better than myself; 
For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, 
A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 

Par. I do defy thy conjurations. 
And apprehend thee for a felon here. 

Bom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at thee", 
boy! [They fight. 

Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the 
watch. [Exit. 

Par. O, I am slain ! [Falls.'] If thou be merciful. 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 

Bom. In faitli, 1 will. Let me peruse this face. 
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! 
What said my man, wlien my betossed soul 
Did not attend him as we rode ? 1 think 
He told me Paris should have married Juliet : 
Said he not so Y or did I dream it so V 
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
To think it was so ? O, give me thy hand. 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book I 
I '11 bury thee in a triumphant grave ; 
A grave ? O, no ! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, 
For liere lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man iiiterr'd. 

[Laying Paris in the tomb. 
How oft when men are at the point of death 
Have they been merry ! which their keepers call 
A lightning before death : O, how may I 
Call tills a lightning? O my love! my wife! 
Death, that hatli suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
Ilath had no power yet upon thy beauty: 
Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks. 
And death's pale flag is not advanced there. 
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloddy sheet? 
O, what more favour can I do to thee, 
Tlian with that hand that cut thy youth in twain 
To sunder his that was thine enemy ? 
Forgive me, cousin ! Ah, dear Juliet, 
Wliy art thou yet so fair ? shall I believe 
That unsubstantial death is amorous, 
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
Thee here in dark to be his paramour? 
For fear of that, I still will stay with thee: 
And never from this palace of dim night 
Depart again : here, here will I remain 
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here 
Will I set up my everlasting rest. 
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars [last ! 
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your 
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you 
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! 
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide I 
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
G05 



ACT V. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



SCENE IIT. 



The dashing rocks thy se;i-sick weary bark ! 
Here 's to my love ! {DrhiksP^ O true apothecary ! 
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [iJies. 

Enter, at the other end of the churchi/nrd, Friar 
Laurence, with a lantern, crow, and spade. 
Fri. L. Saint Fraucis be my speed ! liow oft to- 
night 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! Wlio 's there ? 
Bal. Here 's one, a friend, and one that knows 
you well. [friend, 

Fri. L. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my 
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light 
To grubs and eyeless skulls ? as I discern. 
It burneth iu the Cape's' monument. [ter, 

■ i'a/. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my mas- 
One that you love. 
Fri. L. Who is it V 

Bal. Romeo. 

Fri. L. How long hath he been there ? 
Bal. Full half an hour. 

Fri. L. Go with me to the vault. 
Bal. I dare not, sir: 

My master knows not but I am gone hence ; 
And fearfully did menace me with deatli, 
If I did stay to look on liis intents. [upon me : 

Fri. L. Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes 
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
I dreamt my master and another fought, 
And that my master slew him. 
i'Vi. L. Romeo ! 

[Advances. 
Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? 
What mean these masterless and gory swords 
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace ? 

[Enters the tomb. 
Romeo ! O, pale ! Who else ? what, Paris too ? 
And steep'd in blood ? Ah, what an unkind hour 
Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! 
Tlie lady stirs. [Jidiet wakes. 

Jul. O comfortable friar ! where is my lord ? 
I do remember well where I should be, 
Aud there I am. Where is my Romeo ? 

[Noise xeithin. 
Fri.L. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that 
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: [nest 
A greater power than we can contradict 
Ilath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. 
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; 
And Paris too. Come, I '11 dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
Stay not to question, for the vi'atch is coming ; 
Come, go, good Juliet [Noise again], 1 dare no 
longer stay. 
Jul. Go, get thee Ifence, for I will not awav. 

[Exit Fri. L. 
What 's here ? a cup, closed in my true love's hand ? 
Poiso)), I see, hatli been his timeless end: 
O churl! drunk all, and !elt no friendly drop 
To help me after ? I will kiss thy lips; 
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, 
To make me die with a restorative. [I{isses him. 
Thy lips are warm. 
First Watch. [Within] Lead, boy: which way? 
Jul. Yea, noise ? then I '11 be brief. O happy 
dagger ! [Snatching iJojiieo'.s dagijcr. 

This is thy sheath [Slabs herself ]; there rust, and 
let me die. [Falls on Romeo^s bodt/, and dies. 

Fhiter "Watch, with the Page of Paris. 
Page. This is the' place; tliere, where the torch 

dotli biu'U. 
First Watch. The ground is bloody ; search about 
the cluircliyard ; 
Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. 
COG 



Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain ; 
And Juliet lileeding, w;uni, and newly dead, 
AVhu liere hath lain these two days buried. 
Go, tell the prince : run to the Capulets : ^ 

Raise up tlie Montagues : some others search : 
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; 
But the true ground of all these piteous woes 
We cannot without circumstance descry. 

Re-enter some of the "Watch, with Balthasar. 
Sec. Watch. Here's Romeo's man; we found him 

in the churchyard. 
First Watch. Hold him in safety, till the prince 
• come hither. 

Re-enter others of the "Watch, with Friar Laurence. 

Third Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, 
and weeps ; 
We took this mattock and this spade from him. 
As he was coming from this churchyard side. 

First Watch. A great suspicion : stay the friar too. 

Enter the Prince and Attendants. 
Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 
That calls our person from our morning's rest? 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. 
Cap. What should it be, tliat they so shriek 
abroad ? 
^ La. Cap. The people in the street cry Romeo, 
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run. 
With open outcry, toward our monument, [ears ? 
Priiici. \Vl\;\{ iear is tliis wliicli startles in our 
First Watih. Sovereign, here lies the County 
Paris slain ; 
And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before. 
Warm and new kill'd. 
Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul 

murder comes. 
First Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd 
Romeo's man; 
With instruments upon them, lit to open 
These deail men's tombs. [lileeds! 

Caji. O lieaven I (J wife, look how our daughter 
This dagger hatli niista'en. — for, lo, his house 
Is empty on the back of Montague,— 
And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom ! 

La. Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as a beU, 
That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 

Enter Montague and others. 

Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, 
To see thy son and heir more early down. 

3Ion. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night ; 
Grief of my sou's exile hath stojip'd her breath: 
Wliat fui'ther woe conspires against my age? 

Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. 

Mon. O thou imtauglit ! what manners is in this, 
To press before thy father to a grave ? 

Prince. Seal up the month of outrage for a while. 
Till we can clear these ambiguities. 
And knowtlieirspring.t heir iiead,tlieir true descent; 
And then will I be general of your woes. 
And lead you even to death : nieantime forbear, 
And let mischance be slave to patience. 
Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 

Fri. L. I am tlie greatest, able to do least. 
Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
Doth make against me, of tliis direful murder; 
And liere I stand, botli to impeach an<l purge 
Myself condemned and myself excused. 

Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know in 
this. [breath 

Fri. L. I will be brief, for my short date of 
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that .Juliet ; 
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: 



ACT V. 



R03IE0 AND JULIET. 



SCENE III. 



I married them; and their stol'ii marriage-day 

Was Tybalt's dooms-day, wliose untimely death 

Banisli'd the iiew-made bridegroom from this city, 

For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. 

You, to remove that siege of grief from her, 

Betroth'd and would have married her perforce 

To County Paris : then comes she to me. 

And, with wild looks, bid me tlevise some means 

To rid her frnm this second marriage, 

Or in my cell there would she Kill herself. 

Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 

A sleeping potion ; which so took effect 

As I intended, for it wrought on her 

The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, 

That he should hither come as this dire night, 

To help to take her from her borrow'd grave. 

Being the time the potion's force should cease. 

But he which bore my letter. Friar John, 

■Was stay'd by accident, and yesterniglit 

Keturn'd my letter back. Then all alone 

At tlie prefixed hour of her waking. 

Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; 

Aleaning to keep her closely at my cell. 

Till I conveniently could send to llomeo : 

But when I came, some minute ere the time 

Of her awakhig, here untimely lay 

The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. 

She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, 

And bear this work of heaven with patience: 

But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; 

And she, too desperate, would not go with me, 

But, as it seems, did violence ou herself. 

All this I know ; and to the marriage 

Her nurse is privy : and, if aught in this 

Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 

Be sacrificed, some hour before his time. 

Unto the rigour of severest lafr. 

Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man. 
Where 's Romeo's manV what can he say in tliisy 

£al. I brought my master news of Juliet's death ; 



And then in post he came froiii Mantua 
To this same place, to this same monument. 
This letter he early bid me give his father, 
And threaten'd me with death, going iu the vault, 
If 1 departed not and left him there. 

Pi-iiii-c. Give me the letter; I will look on is. 
Wliere is the county's page, that raised the watch ? 
JSirrah, what made your master in this place':* 

Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's 
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: [grave; 

Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; 
And by and by my master drew on him; 
And then I ran away to call the watch. [words. 

Prince. This letter doth make good the friars 
Their course of love, the tidings of her death : 
And here he writes that he did buy a poisou 
Of a poor 'potliecary,au(l therewithal 
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. 
AVhere be these enemies V Capulet '. Montague I 
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate. 
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. 
And I for winking at your discords too 
Have lost a brace of kinsmen : all are punish 'd. 

Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand: 
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 
Can I demand. 

Mon. But I can give thee more : 

For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
That while Verona by that name is known, 
There shall no figure at such rate be set 
As that of true and faithful Juliet. 

Ccqj. As rich shall Komeo by his lady lie; 
Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! 

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it 
brings ; 

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head : 
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; 

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished^ 
For never was a story of more woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Komeo. [Exeunt. 



ill IH'-^- ^jrcPr;^!/ ^ 




Binrolio. — Here ci.imes the furious Tybalt back again. 

Jic/Ditti.— Alive, in triumpli ! and Mercutio slain ! 
Away to heaven, respective lenity, 
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now ! — 
Now, Tybalt, talie the villain back again. 
That late thou gav'st me ; for Mercutio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads. 
Staying for thine to keep him company: 
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 

Tybalt.— Thoa, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, 
Shalt with him hence. 

£umco. This shall determine that.— .Vci III., Scene i. 



607 




TIMON OF ATHENS. 



DEAMATIS PEBSOK^. 



Timon, of Athens. 

Lucius, "I 

Lucullus, V flattering lords. 

Sempronius, J 

Ventidius, one of Timon's false friends. 

Alcibiades, an Athenian captain. 

Apemantus, u churllsla philosopher. 

Flavius, steward to Timon. 

Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. 

An old Athenian. 

Flaminius, "j 

Lucilius, Iservants to Timon. 

Servilius, J 

[For an An 



servants to Timon's creditors. 



Caphis, 

Philotus, 

Titus, 

Lucius, 

Hortensius, I 

And others, J 

A Page. A Fool. Three Strangers. 

Phrynla, 1 

Timandra f ^'stresses to Alcibiades. 

Cupid and Amazons in the mask. 

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Banditti, and 

Attendants. 

SCENE — Athens, and the neighbouring woods, 
of the Plot of this Play, see Page LXI.] 

A.CT I. 



SCENE I. — Athens. A hall in Timon''s house. 

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, 
at several doors. 

Poet. Good tlay, sir. 

Pain. I am glad yoii "re well. 

Poet. I have not seen you long : how goes the 

Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. [world V 

Poet. Ay, that 's well known : 

But wlKit pnrticular rarity ? what strange, 
"Wliii'h iiiaiiircild rercird not matches? See, 
Iilagic (il liiiuiily ! all these spirits thy power 
Haiii conjured to attend. 1 know the merchant. 

Pail!, i know them both ; th' other 's a jeweller. 

3Icr. O, 'tis a worthy lord. 

Jen\ Nay, that 's most fix'd. 

Mer. A most incomparable man, breathed, as it 
To an untirable and coutinuate goodness : [were, 
He passes. 

Jew. I have a jewel here — 

Mer. O, pray, let 's see 't : for the Lord Timon , sir ? 

Jeiv. If he will touch the estimate : but, for that — 

Poet. [Becitiiiij to hi)iiMlJ'] ' When we tor recom- 
pense have praised the vile. 
It stains the glory in that happy verse 
Which aptly sings the good.' 

Mer. 'T is a good form. 

[Looking at the jewel. 

Jew. And rich : here is a water, look ye. 

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi- 
To the great lord. [cation 

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
From whence 't is nourish 'd: the fire i' the flint 
Shows not till it be struck ; our gentle flame 
Provokes itself and like the current Hies 
Each bound it chafes. A\'liat have you there ? 

Pain. A picture, sir. AVhen comes your book 
forth ? 

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
Let 's see your piece. 

Pain. 'T is a good piece. 

Poet. So 't is : this comes otf well and excellent. 

Pain, ludittereut. 

608 



Poet. Admirable: how this grace 

Speaks his ovra standing ! wliat a mental power 
This eye shoots forth ! how liig iinagiualion 
Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture 
One miglit interpret. 

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
Here is a touch ; is 't good ? 

Poet. I will say of it, 

It tutors nature : artificial strife 
Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 

Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 

Pain. How this lord is follow'd'. 

Poet. The senators of Athens : happy man ! 

Pain. Look, more! [visitors. 

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of 
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man. 
Whom this beneath world doth endirace and hug 
■With amplest entertainment: my free drift 
Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
In a wide sea of wax : no levell'd malice 
Infects one comma in tlie course I hold; 
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, 
Leaving no tract behind. 

Pain. How sliall I understand you V 

Poet. I will unbolt to you. 

You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
As well of glib and slijipeiy creatures as 
Of grave and austere quality, tender down 
Their services to Lord Tinidu : his large fortune 
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging 
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
All sorts of hearts ; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer 
To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
Than to abhor liimself :' even he drops down 
The knee before him and returns in peace 
Most rich in Timon's nod. 

Pain. I saw them speak togetlier. 

Po.et. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill 
Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the 

mount 
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures. 
That labour on the bosom of this sphere 
To propagate their states : amongst them all, 



ACT I. 



TI3I0N OF ATHENS. 



SCENE I. 



Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady flx'd, 
One do I personate of Lord Tiuion's frame, 
Wliom Fortune witli lier .ivory liand wafts to her; 
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 
Translates his rivals. 

Pain. 'T is conceived to scope. 

Tliis throne, this Fortune, and this hill, niethinks, 
With one man beckon'd tnnu the rest below, 
Bowing his head against the steepy mount 
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
In our condition. 

Fuel. Nay, sir, but hear me on. 

All those which were his fellows but of late, 
Some better than his value, on the moment 
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, 
llain saeriflcial whisperings in his ear. 
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 
Drink the free air. 

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ? 

Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of 
mood 
Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants 
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top 
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, 
Kot one accompanying his declining foot. 

Pain. 'T is common : 
A thousand moral paintings I can show [tune's 
That sliall demonstrate these quick blows or For- 
Moie prrynaiitly than words. Yet you do well 
To sliow ijord Tinmn that mean eyes have seen 
The foot above the head. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Liord Tiraon, addressing himself 
con rteoxisly to every suitvr ; ii Messenger j'roiii Ven- 
tidius talking with him; Lucilius ami/ other servants 
Jollowing. 

Tim. Imprison 'd is he, say you? 

Mess. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt. 
His means most short, his creditors most strait: 
Your honourable letter he desires 
To those have stmt him up ; which failing, 
Periods his comfort. 

Tim. Noble Ventidius ! Well ; 

I am not of that feather to sliake ofE 
Jly friend when he must need me. I do know him 
A gentleman that well deserves a help: 
Whichhe shall have : I "11 ]ia y the debt, and free him. 

Mess. Y'our lordship ever binds him. [som; 

Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his rau- 
And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 
'T is not enough to help the feeble up, 
But to support him after. Fare you well. 

Mess. All happiness to your honour ! [Exit. 

Enter an old Athenian. 

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 

Tim. Freely, good father. 

Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. 

Tim. I have so: what of him? [thee. 

Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before 

Tim. Attends he here, or no ? Lucilius ! 

Luc. Here, at yuir lordship's service, [creature. 

Old Ath. This fellow here. Lord Timon, this thy 
By night frequents my house. I am a man 
That from my first have been inclined to thrift; 
And my estate deserves an heir more raised 
Than one which holds a trencher. 

Tim. Well ; what further ? 

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else. 
On whom I may confer what I have got : 
The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, 
And I have bred her at my dearest cost 
lu qualities of the best. This man of thine 
Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord. 
Join with me to forbid him her resort ; 
Myself have spoke in vain. 

Tim. The man is honest. 

39 



Old Ath. Tlierefore he will be, Timon: 
His honesty rewards him in itself; 
It must not bear my daughter. 

Tim. Does she love him ? 

Old Ath. She is young and apt : 
Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
What levity 's in youth. 

Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid ? 

Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be miss- 
I call the gods to witne.ss, I will choose [iugr 

Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, 
And tlispossess her all. 

Tim. How shall she be endow'd. 

If she be mated with an equal husband ? [all. 

Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in future, 

r/j/;. This gen tlemannf mine liath served me long: 
To build his fortune I will strain a little. 
For 't is a bond in men. Give him thy daughter : 
What you bestow, in him I '11 coimterpoise. 
And make him weigh with her. 

Old Ath. Most noble lord. 

Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. [promise. 

Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my 

Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: never may 
That state or fortune tall into my keeping, 
Which is not owed to you! 

[Exeunt Lucilius and Old Athenian. 

Poet. Vouchsafe my labom-, and long live your 
lordship ! 

Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon : 
Go not away. AVhat have you there, my friend > 

Pain. A piece of paintuig, which I do beseech 
Y''our lordship to accept. 

Tim. Painting is welcome. 

The painting is almost the natural man ; 
For since dishonour traUics with man's natm'e. 
He is but outside: these penciU'd figures are ^ 

Even such as they give out. I like your work ; 
And you shall find I like it : wait attendance 
Till you hear f lulher from me. 

Pain. The gods preserve ye ! 

2'ijii. Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; 
AVe must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel 
Hath suffer 'd under praise. 

Jea\ What, my lord! dispraise? 

2"im. A mere satiety of connuemlations. 
If I should pay you for 't as 't is exloll'd. 
It would miclew me quite. 

Jew. My lord, 'tis rated 

As those which sell would give: but you well know, 
Things of like value dilt'ering in tlie owners 
Are prized l)y their masters: believe 't, dear lord, 
You mend the jewel by the wearing it. 

Tim. Well niock'd. [tongue, 

Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common 
Which all men speak with him. 

Tim. Look, who comes here: will you he chid? 

Enter Apemantus. 
Jew. We '11 bear, with yom- lordship. 
3Ier. He '11 spare none. 

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! 
Aijcm. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good 

morrow ; ' [honest. 

Wlien thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves 

Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves ? thou 

know'st them not. 
Aiiem. Are they not Athenians? 
Tim. Yes. 

Ajjcin. Then I repent not. 

Jetc. You know me, Apemantus? [name. 

Apem. Thou know'st I do : I cal'd thee by thy 
Tim. Thou art proud, Aiiemantus. [Timon.. 

Ajiem. Of nothing so much as that I am not like 
Tim. Whither art going ? 

Ajjcm. To kuQck out anhonest Athenian's brains^ 
609, 



ACT I. 



TI3I0N OF ATHENS. 



SCENE II. 



Tim. That 's a deed thou 'It die for. [law. 

Apem. Kight, if diiin<; iiotliing be death by tlie 
Tim. How likest thou tliis jiicture, Apemautus V 

Apem. The best, for tlie innocence. 

Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it? 

Apem. He wrought better that made the painter; 
and yet he 's but a tilthy piece of work. 

Pain. You 're a dog. 

Apem. Thy mother 's of my generation : what 's 
she, if I be a dog ? 

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ? 

Apem. No ; I eat not lords. 

Tim. An thou shouldst, thou 'Idst auger ladies. 

Apem. O, they eat lords ; so they come by great 

Tim. That 's a lascivious apprehension, [bellies. 

Apem. So thou apprehendest it : take it for thy 
labour. 

Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, ApemantusV 

Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will 
not cost a man a doit. 

Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth? 

Apem. Not wortli my thinking. How now, poet ! 

Poet. How now, philosopher ! 

Apevi. Thou liest. 

Poet. Art not one ? 

Apem. Yes. 

Poet. Then I lie not. 

Apem. Art not a poet ? 

Poet. Yes. 

Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, 
where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. 

Poet. That 's not feigned ; he is so. 

Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee 
for tliy labour : he that loves to be Hat tered is worthy 
o' the tlatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord ! 

Tim. What wouldst do tlien, Apemantus? 

Apem. E'en as Apemantus does now ; hate a lord 
with my heart. 

Tim. What, thyself? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. Wherefore ? 

Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. 
Art not thou a merchant ? 

Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 

Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not ! 

Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. [thee ! 

Apem. Traffic 's thy god ; and thy god confound 

Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger, 

Tim. What trumpet 's that ? 

Mess. 'Tis Aleibiades, and some twenty horse. 
All of companionship. 

Tim. Pray, entertain them ; give them guide to 
us. \_Exeunt so'me Attendants. 

You must needs dine with me: go not you hence 
Till I liave thank'd you: when dinner "s done, 
Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. 

Enter Aleibiades, with the rest. 
Most welcome, sir ! 

A/jcm. So, so, there ! 

Aches contract and starve your supple joints ! 
That there should be small love 'mongst these 

sweet knaves, 
And all this courtesy ! The strain of man 's bred out 
Into baboon and monkey. 

Alcib. Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed 
Most hungerly on your sight. 

Tim. Right welcome, sir ! 

Ere we depart, we '11 share a bounteous time 
In difEereut pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 

[Exeunt all except Apiemantus. 

Enter tvjo Lords. 

First Lord. What time o' day is 't, Apemantus? 
Apem. Time to be honest. 
I'lrst Lord. Tliat time serves still. 
610 



A}jem. The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st 
it. 

Sec. Lord. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast ? 

Apem. Ay, to see meat till knaves and wine heat 

Sec. Lord: Fare thee w<-ll.fare thee well, [fools. 

Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. 

Sec. Lord. Why, Apemantus ? 

Apjem. Shouldst have kept cine to thyself, for I 
mean to give thee none. 

First Lord. Hang thyself ! 

Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: 
make thy requests to thy friend. 

Sec. Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I '11 spurn 
thee hence ! 

Ayjem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass. 

[Exit. 

First Lord. He 's opposite to humanity. ■ Come, 
shall we in, 
And taste Lord Timon's bounty ? he outgoes 
The very heart of kindness. [gold. 

Sec. Lord. He pours it out; Plutus, the god of 
Is but his steward : no meed, but he repays 
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, 
But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
All use of quittance. 

First Lord. The noblest mind he carries 

That ever govern 'd man. [we in ? 

Sec. Lord. Long may he live in fortunes! Shall 

First Lord. I '11 keep you company. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A hanqueting-room in Timon^s house. 

ffinitiioys playing loud music. A great banquet served in; 
Flavins and at.'iers iitfendinr/ ; then ciiirr Lord Timon, 
Aleibiades, Lords, Senators, and Ventidius. Then 
cuine.s, dropping ujler alt, Apemantus, discontentedly, 
like himsetj. 

Ven. Most honour'd Timon, 
It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's 
And call him to long peace. [age, 

He is gone happy, and lias left me rich : 
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
To your free lieart, I do return those talents, 
Boulileil with thanks and service, from whose help 
I derived liberty. 

Tim. O, by no means. 

Honest Ventidius ; you mistake my love : 
I gave it freely ever ; and there 's none 
Can truly say he gives, if he receives: 
If our lie'tter's jilay at that game, we must not dare 
To imitate tliem ; faults that are rich are fair. 

Yen. A noble spirit! 

Tim. Nay, my lords, 

[They all stand, ceremrmiouslij looking on Timon. 
Ceremony was but devised at lirst 
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
Reeanting goodness, sorry ere 't is shown ; [none. 
But wdiere there is true friendship, there needs 
Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes 
Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 

First Lord. My lord, we always have confess'd it. 

Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you 

Tim. O, Apemantus, you are welcome. [not? 

Apem. ' No ; 

You shall not make me welcome : 
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors, [there 

Tim. Fie, thou 'rt a churl ; ye 've got a humour 
Does not become a man ; 't is much to blame. 
They say, my lords, ' ira furor brevis est; ' but yond 
man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by him- 
self, for he does neither affect company, nor is he lit 
for 't, indeed. 

Apem. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I 
come to observe; I give thee warning on 't. 

Tim. I take no heed of thee; thou "rt an Athe- 
nian, therefore welcome : I myself would have no 
power ; prithee, let my meat make thee silent. 



ACT I. 



TIM ON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE II. 



A[)fm. I scorn tlij- meat ; 't wouUl choke me, for 
I sliould ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a 
number of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not ! It 
grie^'e.s me to see so man}- dip their meat in one 
man's blood ; and all the madness is, he cheers them 
uj) too. 

1 wonder men dare trust themselves with men : 
!Methinks they should invite tliem without knives; 
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
There 's mucli example for 't ; tlie fellow that sits 
next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the 
Jjreath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest 
man to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a 
Imge man, I sliould fear to drink at meals; 
I /est they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes : 
Great men should drink with harness on their 
throats. [round. 

Tim. My lord, in heart; and let the health go 

*'tc. Lord. I^et it flow this way, my good lord. 

Apcm. Flow this way ! A brave fellow! he keeps 
his tides well. Those healths will make thee and 
tliy state look ill, Timon. Here 's that which is too 
weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left 
ni.in i' tlie mire: 

This and my food are equals; there 's no odds : 
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 

APEMANTDS' GRACE. 

Immortal gmls, I crave no pelf; 

I pray for no man but myself: 

Grant I may never prove so fond. 

To trust man on his oath or bond; 

•Or a harlot, for her weeping ; 

Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping ; 

Or a keeper with my freedom ; 

Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 

Ameu. So fall to 't: 

Kicli men sin, and I eat root. 

{Eats and drinks. 
Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus ! 

Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart 's in the field 
now. 
A Icib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. 
2'iin. Yiiu had rather be at a breakfast of enemies 
than a dinner of friends. 

Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, there 's 
no meat like 'em: I could wish my best friend at 
such a feast. 

ApeiH. Would all those flatterers were thine ene- 
mies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em and bid 
me to 'em ! 

First Lord. Jlight we but have that happiness, 
my lord, that you would once use our hearts, 
whereby we miglit express some part of our zeals, 
we should think ourselves for ever perfect. 

Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods 
tliemselves have provided that I shall have much 
belli from you : how had you been my friends else ? 
wliy have you that charitable title from tliousands, 
did not you chiefly belong to my heart ? I have told 
more of you to myself than you can with modesty 
speak in your own behalf ; and thus far I confirm 
j^ou. O you gods, think I, what need we have any 
friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em ? they 
"were the most needless creatures living, should we 
ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble 
sweet instruments liung up in cases that keep their 
sounds to tliemselves. Why, I have often wished 
myself poorer, that I miglit come nearer to you. 
We are born to do benefits: and what better or 
properer can we call our own than the riches of our 
friends ? O, what a precious comfort 't is, to have 
so many, like lirothers, commanding one another's 
fortunes! O joy, e'en iiiadi' away ere 't can be born! 
Mine eyes caniuit hold out water, methinks : to for- 
get their faults, 1 ilriuk to you. 
Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. 



Sec. Lord. Joy had the like conception in our ejes 

And at tliat instant like a babe sprung up. [tard. 

Apcm. Ho, ho! T laugh to think that babe a bas- 

Third Lord. I promise you, my lord, you moved 

me much. 
Apem. Much ! [Tucket, loithin. 

Tim. What means that trump? 

Enter a Servant. 

How now ? 
Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies 
most desirous of admittance. 

ZV«t. Ladies ! what are their wills ? 
Serv. There comes with them a foreriumer, my 
lord, which bears that oliice, to signify their pleas- 
ures. 

Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 

Enter Cupid. 
Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all 
That of his bounties taste ! Tlie five best senses 
Acknowledge thee tlieir patron; and come freely 
Til gratulate thy plenteous bosom : th' ear. 
Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy table rise ; 
Tliey only now come but to feast thine eyes. 

2'i,m. Tliey 're welcome all ; let 'em have kind ad- 
mittance : 
Music, make their welcome! [Exit Cupid. 

First Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you 're 
beloved. 

Music. Ee-eiUer Cupid, with a mask of Ladies as Ama- 
zons, with lutes ill their hands, dancing and playing. 

Apem. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes 
They dance ! tliey are mad women. [this way ! 

Like madness is the glory of this life, 
As this pomp sliows to a little oil and root. 
We make ourselves fools, to disiiort ourselves; 
And sjiend our flatteries, to drink those men 
Upon whose age we void it up again, 
AVith poisonous spite and envy. 
Who lives that 's not depraved or depraves? 
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to tlieir graves 
Of their friends' gift 'i 

I should fear those that dance before me now 
Would one day stamp uiion me : 't has been done ; 
Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 

Tlie Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon ; 
and to show their ioves, each singles out an Amazon, and 
all dance, m,en with women, a lofty strain or two tu the 
hautboys, and cease. 

Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, 
fair ladies. 
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, 
Wiiich was not half so beautiful and kind; . 
You liave added worth luito 't and lustre. 
And entertaiu'd me witli mine own device; 
I ;im to thank you for 't. 

First Lttdij. 'My lord, you take us even at the best. 

Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would 
not hold taking, I doubt me. 

Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you : 
Please you to dispose yourselves. 

All Ladies. Most thankfully, my lord. 

[Ej:eurd Cuptid and Ladies. 

Tim. Flavins. 

Fluv. My lord? 

Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 

i<7«f. Yes,mylord. More jewels yet! [Aside. 
There is no crossing him in 's humour; 
Else I should tell him,— well, i' faith, I should, 
AVhen all 's spent, lie 'Id be cross'd then, an he could. 
'Tis pity bounty liad not eyes behind. 
That man might ne'er be wretched for bis mind. 

[Exit. 

First Lord. Where be our men ? 
Gil 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE I. 



Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness. 
Sec. Lord. Our liorses ! 

Re-enter Flavius, laith the casket. 

Tim. O my friends, [lord, 

I liave one word to say to you: looli you, my good 
1 uuist entreat you, lionour me so much 
As to advance tills jewel ; accept it and wear it. 
Kind my lord. 

First Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, — 

All. So are we all. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate 
Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 

Tim. Tliey are fairly welcome. 

J'7cui. I beseech your honour, 

Voiiclisafe me a word ; it does concern yon near. 

Tim. Near! why then, another time I '11 hear tliee: 
I prithee, let 's be provided to show them entertain- 

Flav. YAside\ I scarce know liow. [meut. 

Enter a second Servant. 

Sec. Serv. May it please your honour. Lord Lucius, 
Out of Ins free love, hath presented to you 
Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. 

Tim. 1 shall accept them taMy ; let the presents 
Be worthily entertain'd. 

Enter a third Servant. 

How now, what news? 

Third Serv. Please you, my lord, that honourable 
gentleman. Lord Lncullus, entreats your company 
to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your 
honour two bi-ace of greyhounds. 

2'im. I'llliunt with him; and let them be received, 
Not without fair rewartl. 

Flav. [Aside] What will tliis come to ? 

He commands ns to provide, and give great gifts, 
And all out of an empty coffer : 
Nor will lie know his purse, or yield me this, 
To show him what a beggar liis" heart is. 
Being of no power to make liis wislies good : 
liis promises lly so iK^yond his state 
Tliat what he speaks is ail in debt; he owes 
For every word; lie is so kind that he now 
Pays interest for 't ; his land 's put to their books. 
"Well, would I were gently put out of office 
Before 1 were forced out! 
Happier is he that has no friend to feed 
Tiian sui-h that do e'en enemies exceed. 
1 bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit. 

Tim. You do yourselves 



Much WTOng, yon bate too much of your own merits: 
Here, my lord, a trilie of om' love. [receive it. 

Sec. Lord. With more than common thanks I will 

Third Lord. O, he 's the very soul of bounty! 

Tim. And now I rememter, my lord, you gave 
Good words the other day of a bay courser 
I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it. [that. 

Sec. Lord. O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in 

Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know, no 
Can justly praise but what he does affect : [man 
I weigh my friend's affection with mine own ; 
I 'II tell you true. I 'U caU to yon. 

All Lords. O, none so welcome. 

Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
So kind to lieart, 't is not enough to give ; 
Methinks, I could <leal kingdoms to luy friends, 
And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, 
Thou art a soldier, tlierefore seldom rich ; 
It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living 
Is 'mon,L;st the dead, and all the lands thou hast 
Lie ill a pitclfd held. 

Alcib. Ay, defiled land, my lord. 

First Lm-d. We are so virtuously bound — 

Tim. And SO 

Am I to you. 

Sec. Lord. So infinitely endear'd — 

Tim. All to you. Lights, more lights! 

First Lord. The best of Iiappiness. 

Honour and fortunes, keep with you. Lord Timon ! 

Tim. Ready for his friends. 

[Exeunt all hut Apemantus and Timon. 

Apem. Wliat a coil 's here ! 

Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums ! 
I doubt whetlier tlieir legs be worth the sums 
That are given for 'em. friendship 's full of dregs : 
Afethinks, false liearts should never liave sound legs. 
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court 'sies. 

Tim. Now, Apemantus, if tliou wert not sullen, 
I would be good to tliee. 

Apem. No, I '11 nothing: for if I should be bribed 
too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and 
then thou wouldst sin the faster. TIiou givest so 
long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself 
in paper shortly : what need tliese feasts, pomps, 
and vain-glories ? 

I'im. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I 
am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; 
and come with better music. [Exit. 

Apem. So: 
Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then: 
I "11 lock thy heaven from thee. 
O, that men's ears should lie 
To counsel deaf, but not to llattery 1 [Exit. 



-A.CT II. 



SCENE I.— ^ Senator^s house. 



Enter Senator, toith papers in his hand. 
Sen. And late, five thousand: to Varro and to 
Isidore 
He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sum, 
AVIiich makes it five and twenty. Still in motion 
Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. 
If I want gold, steal hut a lieggar's dog. 
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. 
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straiglit, 
And able horses. No porter at his gate. 
But rather one that smiles ami still invites 
All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason 
Can found his state in safety. Capias, ho ! 
(japliis, I say ! 

612 



Enter Caphis. 

Caph. Here, sir; what is your pleasure? 

Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord 
Timon ; 
Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased 
With slight denial, nor then silenced when — 
' Commend me to your master ' — and the cap 
Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him, 
My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 
Out of mine own ; his days and times are past 
And my reliances on his i'racted dates 
Have smit my credit : I love and lionour him. 
But must not break my liack to heal his finger; 
Inniieiliate are my needs, jjnd my relief 
Must not he tossM and turn'd to nie in words. 
But find supply imnieiliate. Get you gone: 
Put on a most importunate aspect, 



ACT II. 



TI3I0N OF ATHENS. 



SCENE II, 



A visage of demand ; for, I do fear, 
When every feather sticks in Ids own wing, 
liOnl Timon will be left a naked gull, 
AV'hich flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 

Caph. I go, sir. 

Sen. ' I go, sir ! '— Take the bonds along with you. 
And have the dates in compt. 

Cajjii. I will, sir. 

Sen. Go. 

[Kxeimt. 

SCENE II. — The same. A hall in Timon''s house. 

Enter Flavius, ioith many bilk in hi^ hand. 
Flavins. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expense. 
That he will neither know how to maintain it, 
Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account 
How things go from him, nor resumes no care 
Of what is to continue : never mind 
Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. 
What shall be done y he will not hear, till feel : 
I must be round with him, now he comes from hunt- 
Fie, fle, fle, tie ! [ing. 

Enter Caphis, and the Servants of Isidore and 

Varro. 
Caph. Gooil even, Varro: what, 

You come for money V 
Var. Serv. Is 't not your business too V 

Caph. It is : and yours too, Isidore V 
Isid. Serv. It is so. 

Caph. Would we were all discharged I 
T'rtr. Serv. 1 fear it. 

Caph. Here comes the lord. 

Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, (tr. 

TiiU: So soon as dinner 's done, we '11 forth again, 
My Alcibiades. With me ? what is your will ? 

Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 

Tim. Dues ! Whence are you V 

Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 

Tim. Go to my steward. 

Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off 
To the succession of new days this month : 
My master is awaked by ?;reat occasion 
To call upon his own, and humbly prays you 
That with your other noble parts you '11 suit 
In giving him his right. 

Tim. Mine honest friend, 

I prithee, but repair to me next morning. 

Caph. Nay, good my lord,^ 

Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 

Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord, — 

Isid. Serv. From Isidore; 

He humbly prays jjour speedy payment, [wants — 

Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's 

Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, niy lord, six 
And past. ' [weeks 

Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord; 
And I am sent expressly to your lordship. " 

Tim. Give me breath. 
I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; 
I '11 wait upon you instantly. 

[Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords. 
[To Flav.] Come hither: prav vou, 
IIow goes the world, that I am thus eneounter'd 
"With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, 
An.d the detention of long-siuce-due debts, 
Against my honour ? 

Flav. Please yon, gentlemen, 

The time is unagreeable to this business : 
Your importunacy cease till after iliuner, 
That I may make his lordship understand 
Wherefore you are not paid. 

Tim. Do so, my friends. See them well enter- 
tain'd. [Erit. 

Flav. Pray, draw near. [Exit, 



Enter Apemantus and Fool. 

Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Ape- 
mantus: let's h:i' some sport with 'em. 

Var. Serv. Ilau'.; him. he '11 ;ilmse us. 

Isid. Serv. A jihigue upon him, dog! 

Var. Serv. How dost, fool V 

Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow ? 

Var. Serv. I speak not to thee. 

Apem. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the FooT\ Come 
away. 

Isid. Serv. There 's the fool hangs on your tack 
already. 

Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou 'rt not on 

Caph. Where 's the fool now 't [him yet. 

Apem. He last asked the question. Poor rogues, 
and usurers' men ! bawds between gold and want ! 

All Serv. What are we, Apemantus V 

Apem. Asses. 

All Serv. Why? 

Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not 
know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. 

Fool. How do you, gentlemen 't 

All Serv. Gramercies, good fool: how does your 
mi.stress ? 

Fool. She 's e'en setting on water to scald such 
chickens as you are. Would we could see you at 

Apem. Good ! gramercy. [Corinth ! 

Enter Page. 

Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 

Page. [2h the Fool] Why, how now, captain ! what 
do you in this wise company? How dost thou, 
Ajiemantus ? 

A/icm. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I 
miglit answer thee profltably. 

Paije. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the super- 
scription of these letters: I know not which is 
which. 

Apem. Canst not read ? 

Page. No. 

Apem.. There will little learning die then, that 
day thou art hanged. This is to Lord Timon ; this 
to Aleiliiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and 
thou "It die a bawd. 

Page. Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt 
famish a dog's death. Answer not ; I am gone. 

[Exit. 

Apem. E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I 
will go with you to Lord Timon 's. 

Fool. Willyou leave me there? 

Ajiem. If Timon stay at home. You three serve 
three usurers ? 

All Serv. Ay; would they served us! 

Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever hang- 
man .served thief. 

Fool. Are you three usurers' men ? 

All Serv. Ay, fool. 

Fool. I think no usurer but has a fool to his ser- 
vant: my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When 
men come to borrow of your masters, they approach 
sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mis- 
tress' house merrily, and go away sadly : the reason 
of this ? 

Var. Serv. I could render one. 

Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a 
whore-master and a knave ; which notwithstanding, 
thou Shalt be no less esteemed. 

Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool? 

Fool. A fool ill g(Hi(l clothes, and something like 
thee. 'Tis a spirit : sometime 't ai)i)ears like a lord ; 
sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a jihiloso- 
pher, with two stones moe than "s artiflcial one: he 
is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all 
shapes that man goes up and down in from four- 
score to thirteen, this spirit walks in. 

Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 
613 



ACT IT. 



TI3I0N OF ATHENS. 



SCENE IT. 



Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much 
foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. 

Apem. That answer might have become Apeman- 
tus. 

All Serv. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. 

He-enter Timon and Plavius. 

Ai^em. Come with me, fool, come. 

Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother 
and woman ; sometime the philosopher. 

[Exeunt Ajjemantus and Fool. 

Flav. Pray you, walk near: 1 '11 speak with you 
anon. [Exeunt Servants. 

Tim. You make me marvel : wherefore ere this 
time 
Had you not fully laid my state before me. 
That 1 iiiii;lit so have rated my expense, 
As I had leave of means? 

Flav. You would not hear me, 

At many leisures I proposed. 

Tim. Goto: 

Perchance some single vantages you took, 
"When my indispfisition put you back; 
And tliat unaptnt'ss made your minister, 
Thus to excuse yourself. 

Flav. O my good lord, 

At many times I brought in my accounts. 
Laid them before you : you would throw them off. 
And say, you finniil theiii in mine honesty. 
When, for some trilliii;;' present, you have bid me 
Return so mucli, 1 have sliook my head and wept ; 
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
To hold your hand more close: I did endure 
Not seldom, nor no sligiit checks, when I have 
Proniptetl you in the ebl) of your estate 
Anil your Ki'cat llow of debts. My loved lord, 
Tliou^h you liear now, too late — yetnow 'satime — 
The greatest of your having lacks a half 
To pay your present debts. 

Tim. Let all my land be sold. 

J^rti'. 'T is all engaged, some foi-feited and gone ; 
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
Of present dues : the future comes apace : 
"What shall defend the interim V and at length 
How goes our reckoning V 

Tim. To Lacediemon did my land extend. 

Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word : 
"Were it all yours to give it in a breath, 
How quickly were it gone ! 

Tim. You tell me true. 

Flav. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, 
Call me before the exactest auditors 
And set me on tlie lu'oof. So the gods bless nie, 
"Wlien all our ultices have been oppress'd 
"With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept 
"With drunken spilth of wine, when every room 
Hath blazed wit li lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, 
I have retired me to a wasteful cock. 
And set mine eyes at llow. 

27»i. Prithee, no more. 

Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this 
lord ! 
How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants 
This night englutted ! Who is not Timon 's V 
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord 

Timon's V 
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon ! 
Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise. 
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: 
Peast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, 
Tliese tlies are couch 'd. 

Tim. Come, sermon me no further: 

No vilianous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart ; 
614 



Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 

Why dost thou weep "i* Canst thou the conscience 

lack, 
To think I shall lack friendsV Secure thy heart ; 
If I would broach the vessels of my love, 
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, 
Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use 
As I can bid thee speak. 
Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 

2'Jm. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are 

crown'd, 
That I account them blessings ; for by these 
Shall I try friends : you shall perceive how you 
Mistake nty fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. 
Within there! Flaminius! Senilius! 

Enter Flaminius, Servilius, and other Servants. 

Servaitts. My lord y my lord y 

Tim. I will dispatch you severally-: you to I^ord 
Lucius; to Lord Lncullus you: I hunted with Lis 
honour to-tlay : you, to Sempronius: commend me 
to their loves, and, I am proud, say, that my occa- 
sions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of 
money : let the request be tifty talents. 

Flam. As you have said, my lord. 

Flav. l^lsidt] Lord Lucius and Lncullus? hiun! 

Tini. Go you, sir, to the senators — 
Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have 
Deserved this hearing — bid 'em send o' the instant 
A thousand talents to me. 

Flav. I have been bold — 

For that I knewrit the most general way — 
To them to use your signet and your name ; 
IJut they do sl.i'ke their heads, and I am here 
No richer in return. 

Tim. Is 't true ? can 't be ? 

Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice. 
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
Do what they would; are sorry — you are honour- 
able, — 
But yet they could have wish'd — they know not — 
Sometliing hath been amiss — a noble nature 
May catch a wrench — would all were well— 'tis 

pity ; — 

And so, intending other serious matters. 
After distasteful looks and these hard tractions, 
With certain halt'-cai)s and cold-moving nods 
They froze me into silence. 

Tim. You gods, reward them! 

Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows 
Have their-ingratitude in them hereilitary: 
Their blood is caked, 't is cold, it seldom flows ; 
'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; 
And nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
Is fashion 'd for the journey, dull and heavy. 
[To a Serv.] Go to Ventidius. [2'o Flav.] Prithee, 

be not sad, 
Thou art true and honest : ingeiuously I speak. 
No blame belongs to thee. "[2b Ser.] Yentidius 

lately 
Buried his father; by whose death he 's stepp'd 
Into a great estate; when lie was jKior, 
Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends, 
I cleai'd him with live talents: greet him from me; 
Bid him supimsi' some good necessity 
Touches his friend, which craves to be reniember'd 
With those live talents [i^.crt Ser.]. [To Flav.] That 

had, give 't these fellows 
To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er spak, or think. 
That Timon's fortunes 'mong Ids friends can sink. 
Flav. I would I could not think it : that thought 

is bounty's foe; 
Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [Exeunt. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



A.CT III. 



SCENE I. — A room in Luculhis'' house. 

Flaminius wailing. Enter a Servant to him. 
Serv. I have told my lord of you ; he is coining 

down to you. 
Flam. I tiiank you, sir. 

Miter Lucullus. 

Serv. Here 's my lord. 

Lucid. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men ? a gift, 
I warrant. Why, thi.s hits right; I dreamt of a 
silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius. honest 
Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir. 
Fill me some wine. [Exit iServdut.] And how does 
that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman 
of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and mas- 

Ilam. His health is well, sir. [ter? 

Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, 
sir: and what hast thou there under thy cloak, 
pretty Flaminius ? 

Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; 
which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your 
honour to supply ; who, having great and instant 
occasion to use tifty talents, hath sent to your lord- 
ship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present 
assistance therein. 

Lucul. La, la, la, la I ' nothing doubting,' says he ? 
Alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman 't is, if he 
would not keep so good a house. Many a time and 
often 1 ha' dined with him, and told him on 't, 
and come again to supper to him, of purpose to have 
him spend less, and yet he would embrace no coun- 
sel, take no warning by my coming. Every man 
has his fault, and honesty is his: I ha' told him 
on 't, but I could ne'er get him from 't. 

Re-enter Servant, with wine. 

Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 
\ Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. 

Here 's to thee. 

Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 

Lucul. I have observed thee always for a towardly 
prompt spirit — give thee thy due — and one that 
knows what belongs to reason ;' and canst use the 
time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in 
thee. [To Serv.] Get you gone, sirrah [Exit Serv.]. 
Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord 's a boun- 
tiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou 
knowe.st well enough, although thou comest to me, 
that this is no time to lend money, especially upon 
bare friendship, without security. Here's three 
solidares for thee : good boy, wink at me, and say 
thou sawest me not. Fare thee well. 

Flam. Is 't possible the world should so much 
differ, 
And we alive that lived ? Fly, damned baseness, 
To him that worships thee! 

[Throwing the moneij bark. 

Lucul. Ha ! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for 
thy master. [E.nt. 

Flam. May these add to the number that may 
scalil thee ! 
Let molten coin be thy damnation, 
Tliou disease of a friend, and not himself! 
Has friendship such a faint and milky heart. 
It turns in less than two niglits? (J you gods, 
I feel my master's passion ! this slave. 
Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him: 
Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, 
AVMien he is turn'd to poison ? 
O, may diseases only work upon't! 
And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of 
Which my lord paid for, be of any power [nature 
To expel sickness, but prolong his horn* ! [Exit. 



SCENE 11.—^ p«6/)'c 2ilace. 
Enter Lucius, with three Strangers. 

X«c. Who, the Lord Tiinon V he is my very good 
friend, and an honourable gentleman. 

First Stran. We know him for no less, though 
we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you 
one thing, my lord, and which I hear from conniKni 
rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours are done 
and past, and his estate shrinks from him. 

Luc. Fie, no, do not believe it ; he cannot want 
for money. 

Sec. Stran. But believe yon this, my lord, that, 
not long ago, one of his men was with the Lord Lu- 
cullus to borrow .so many talents, nay, urged ex- 
tremely tor 't and showed what necessity belonged 
to 't, and yet was denied. 

LiK. How! 

Sec. Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord. 

Luc. What a strange case was that ! now, before 
the gods, I am ashamed on 't. Denied that honour- 
able man ! there was very little lionour showed in 't. 
For my own part, I must needs confess, I have re- 
ceived some small kindiK^sses from him, as money, 
plate, jewels and sucli-like tritles, nothing coiii- 
paring to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent 
to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion 
so many talents. 

Enter Servilius. 

Ser. See, by good hap, yonder 's my lord; I have 
sweat to see his honour. "My honoured lord, — 

[To Luciu.t. 

Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare 
thee well : commend me to thy honourable vii'tuous 
lord, my very exquisite friend. 

Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent — 

Luc. Ha! what has he sent V lam so much en- 
deared to that lord; he 's ever sending: how sl]all 
I thank him, thinkest thou ? And wliat has he 
sent now ? 

Ser. Has only sent bis present occasion now, my 
lord; reipiesting your lordship to supply his instant 
use with so many talents. 

Luc. I know liis lordship is but merry with me; 
He cannot want flfty-tive hundred talents. 

Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. 
If his occasion were not virtuous, 
I should not urge it Ijalf so faithfully. 

Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius'? 

Ser. LTpon my soul, 't is true, sir. 

Luc. AVhat a wickeil beast was I to disfurnish 
myself against such a good time. «lien I might lia' 
shown myself honourable! liow unluckily it hap- 
pened, that I sliould imrchase the day Ijef'ore for a 
little part, and undo a great deal of honour! Ser- 
vilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to do, — 
the more beast, I say : — I was sending to use Lord 
Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness; but I 
would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done 't 
now. Commend me bountifully to his good hn-d- 
ship; and I lio]ie jiis lionourwill conceive the fairest 
of me, lieeause I have no iiowcr to be kind : and tell 
him this from me, I count it one of my greatest af- 
flictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honour- 
able gentleman. Good Servilius. will you lietriend 
me so far, as to use mine own words to him 'f 

Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 

Luc. I '11 look you out a good turn, Servilius. 

[Exit Servilius. 
True, as j'ou said, Timon is shrunk indeed ; 
And he that 's once denied will hardly speed. [Exit. 

First Stran. Do you observe this, Ilostilius ':* 

Sec. Stran. Ay, too well. 

615 



ACT III. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE IV 



First Strnn. Why, this is the world's soul; and 
just of the same piece 
Is every flatterer's si)irit. Who can call him 
His trii'nd that dips in tlie same dish ? for, in 
M\ knowiiii;, TiiiKni lias lieen this lord's father, 
Ai'id kept his crrdit witli his purse, 
Suppiirtcil his estate; nay, Timon's money 
Has ]iaiil liis men tlieir wages: he ne'er drinks, 
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; 
And yet — O, see tlie nionstrousness of man 
When he looks dut in an ungrateful shape! — 
He does deny him, in respect of his. 
What charitable men afford to beggars. 

Thii-d ati-an. lleligion groans at it. 

First Stran. For mine own part, 

I never tasted Tinion in my life, 
Xi>r came any of Ids bounties over me, 
To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, 
Fur Ids right noble mind, illustrious virtue 
And lidnourable carriage, 
Had his necessity made use of me, 
I would have put my wealth into donation. 
And the best half should have returned to him, 
So mucli I love his lieart : liut, 1 jierceive, 
Men must learn now witli pity to dispense ; 
For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A room in Senqjronius'' house. 
Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon's. 

Sum. iiust he needs trouble me in 't, — hum I — 
'bove all others? 
He might have trieil Lord Lucius or Lucullus; 
And now Ventidius is wealtliy too. 
Whom he redecm'd from prison: all these 
Owe their estates unto him. 

Scrv. My lord, 

They have all been touch 'd and found base metal , for 
They have all denied him. 

Sem. How ! have they denied him ? 

Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him V 
And does he send to me y Three V hum ! 
It sliows but little love or judgment in him : 
:Must I be his last refuge y His friends, like physi- 
cians, [nie y 
Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon 
Has niiicli disgraced me in 't; I 'm angry at him, 
Tliat nught have known my place: I see no sense for't, 
But his occasions might liave woo'd me first; 
For, in my conscience, I was the first man 
That e'er received gift from him: 
And does lie think so luickwardly of me now. 
That I'llrecpiite it last? No: 
So it mav prove an argument of laughter 
To the rest, ami 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. 
I 'Id rather than the worth of thrice the sum. 
Had sent to me lirst, but for my nnnd's sake; 
I "d such a courage to do him good. But now return. 
And with their faint reply this answer join ; 
Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. 

[Exit. 

Se7-v. E.xcellent ! Your lordship 's a goodly villain . 
The devil knew not what he did when he made man 
politic ; he crossed himself by 't : and I cannot think 
but, in the end, the villanies of man will set him 
clear. How fairlv this lord strives to aiipear foul ! 
takesvirtuous copies to be wicked,like those that un- 
dcL- hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire: 
Of such a nature is his politic love. 
This was my lord's best hojie; now all are fled. 
Save only Hie gods: now his friends are dead. 
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
'Many a bounteous year, nuist be employed 
Now' to u'uard sure their master. 
And this is all a liberal ciau-se allows ; 
Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. 

[Exit. 
616 



SCENE IV.— The same. A hall in Timon^s house. 

Enter two Servants of Varro, <nij the Servant of Lu- 
cius, iiirrtiiiij Titus, Hortensius, and other Servants oj 
Timon's credttur.^, waiting hits coniinc/ out. 

First Var. Srrv. AVell met ; good morrow, Titus 
and Hortensius. 

'Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 

Ilor. Lucius ! 

What, do we meet together ? 

Luc. Serv. Ay, and I think 

One business does command us all ; for mine 
Is money. 

2'it. So is theirs and ours. 

Enter Philotus. 

Luc. Scrv. And Sir Philotus too ! 

Phi. Good day at once. 

Luc. Scrv. Welcome, good brother. 

What do you think the hour y 

Fhi. Labouring for nine. 

Luc. Sen. So mucn ? 

Plii. Is not my lord seen yet V 

Luc. Serv. Not yet. 

Phi. I wonder on 't ; he was wont to shine at seven. 

Luc. Serv. Ay,butthedaysarewax'd shorter with 
You must consider that a prodigal course [him : 
Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. 
I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's jiurse; 
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
Find little. 

Phi. I am of your fear for that. 

Tit. I '11 show you how to observe a strange event. 
Your lord sends now for money. 

Hor. Most true, he does. 

Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, 
For wliich I wait for money. 

Hor. It is against my heart. 

Luc. Serv. ■ Mark, how strange it shows, 

Timon in this should pay more than he owes: 
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels. 
And send tor money for 'em. [ness : 

Hor. 1 'm wearv of this charge, the gods can wit- 
I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth. 
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 

First Var] Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand 
crowns : what 's yours V 

Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 

First Var. Scrv. 'T is much deep : and it should 
seem by the sum. 
Your master's confidence was above mine ; 
Else, surely, his had equall'd. 

Enter Flaminius. 

7'it. One of Lord Timon's men. 

Luc. Serv. Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my 
lord ready to come forth V 

Flam. Ko, indeed, he is not. 

Tit. We attend his lordship ; pray, signify so much. 

Flam. I need not tell him that; he knows you 
are too diligent. [Exit. 

Enter Flavins in a cloak, muffled. 

Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his steward muftled so ? 
He goes away in a cloud : call him, call him. 

Tit. Do you hear, sir ? 

Sec. Var. Serv. By your leave, sir,— 

Flav. What do ye ask of me, my friend ? 

Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 

Flav. Ay, 

If money were as certain as your waiting, 
'T were "sure enough. 

Why then pi-eferr'd you not your sums and bdls, 
When your false masters eat of my lord's meat V 
Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts 
And take down the interest into their gluttonous 
You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up ; [maws. 



ACT III. 



TIM OX OF ATHENS. 



SCENE V. 



Let me pass quietly : 

Believe 't, mj' lord and I have made an end ; 

I have no more to reckon, lie to spend. 

Liw. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 

Ilin-. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you; 
For you serve knaves. [Kcit. 

Fii-fit )V(r. Serv. How! what does his cashiered 
worship mutter V 

Sec. )'ar. Serv. Xo matter what; he 's poor, and 
that 's revenge enough. Who can speak broader 
than he that has no house to put his head in 'if such 
may rail against great buildings. 

Enter ServUius. 

Tit. O, here 's Servilius ; now we shall know some 
answer. 

Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to reiiair 
some other hour, I should derive much from "t ; for, 
take 't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to dis- 
content: his conifortaljle teniper has fcirsook liiui; 
he 's much put ot health, and keeps his (/liauiber. 

Luc. Serv. Many do keep their cliambers are not 
And, if it be so far beyoud his health, [sick : 

Methlnks he should the sooner pay his debts, 
And make a clear way to the gods. 

Ser. Good gods! 

Tit. We cannot take this for answer, sir.- [lord ! 

Flam. [ir/(/ii;!] Servilius, help! My lord! my 

Enter Timon, in a rage; Flaminius following. 

Tim. AVliat , are my doors opposed against my pas- 
Have I Ijeeu ever free, and must my house [sage ? 
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ? 
The place whicli I have feasted, does it now, 
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart ? 

LiM. Serv. Put in now, Titus. 

Tit. My lord, here is my bill. 

Luc. Serv. Here 's mine. 

Hor. And mine, my lord. 

Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. 

Phi. All our bills. [girdle. 

Tim. Knock nie down with 'em: cleave me to the 

Luc. Sirv. Alas, my lord,^ 

Tim. Cut my heart in sums. 

Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 

Tim. Tell out my blood. 

Luc. Serv. Five tiioiisand crowns, my lord. 

Tim. Five tliousand drops pays that. What yours? 
— and yours? 

First Var. Serv. My lord. — 

Sec. Var. Serv. My lord, — 

Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon 
you ! [Kcit. 

Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may tlu'ow 
their caps at their money : these debts may" well be 
called desperate ones, for a madman owes "em. 

-r. . , „ [Kccunt. 

He-enter Tunon ana Flavius. 

Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, the 
Creditors ? devils ! [slaves. 

Flav. My dear lord, — 

Tim. What it it should lie so ? 

Fliir. My lord,— 

Tim. I "11 have it so. My steward! 
'Fl<iv. Here, my lord. 

Tim. So fitly ? Go, bid all my friends again, 
Lucius, Lueullus, aud Sempronius : 
All, sirrah, all : 
I "11 once more teAst the rascals. 

Flav. O my lord, 

You only speak from your distracted soul ; 
Tliere is not so much left, to fm-uish out 
A moderate table. 

Tim. Be 't not in thy care; go, 

I charge thee, invite them all: let "in the tide 
Of knaves once more ; my cook and I "11 provide. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE v.— The scone. The senate-house. 
Tlie Senate sitting. 
First Sen. My loid, you have my voice to it; the 
Bloody ; 't is necessary lie should die : [fault 's 

Notliuig emlxildens sin so much as mercy. 

Sec. Sen. Most true; the law sliallbniise him. 

Enter Alcibiades, with Attendants. 

Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the 

First Sen. Xow, captain ? [senate! 

Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues ; 
F(U' pity is the virtue of the law. 
And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
It jileases time aud fortune to lie heavy 
Upon a friend ot mine, who, in hot blood. 
Hath step|)"d into the law, which is past dejith 
To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't. 
He is a man. setting his fate aside, 
(.)t comely virtues: 

Xor dill he soil the fact witli cowardice — 
An honour in hiui which buys out his fault — 
But with a nolile tury and lair spirit. 
Seeing his reputation toucli'd to death. 
He did opposi' his foe: 
Anil with surh solier and unnoted passion 
He did behavi' his auger, ere 'twas spent, 
As if he had but proved an argument. 

First Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox. 
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: * 

Your words have took such pains as if tliey labour'd 
To bring manslaughter into tunn ami set quarrelling 
Upon the head of valour; wliich indeed 
Is valour niisbegot and came into the world 
Wlieii sects and lactious were newly born: 
He 's truly valiant that can wisely suiter 
The worst that man can breathe, and make his 
wrongs [lessly, 

His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, care- 
Aiid ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart. 
To bring it into danger. 
If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill. 
What folly 't is to hazard life for ill ! 

Alcib. My loid, — [look clear: 

First Sen.. You cannot make gross sins 

To revenge is no valour, but to bear. 

Alcib. ^[y Imds. then, under favour, pardon me, 
If I speak like a caiitain. 

Why do fond men expose themselves lo baitle, 
Ami not emlure all threats? sleep upon 't, 
Ami let the foes quietly cut their tliroats, 
Without repugnancy ? If there be 
Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
Abroad ? why then, women are more \ aliaut 
That stay at home, if bearing carry it. 
And the ass more cajitain tlian tlie lion, the felon 
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, 
If wisdom be in sutl'ering. O my lords. 
As you are great, lie pitifully good: 
Who cannot condenni rashness in cold blood? 
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust ; 
But, in defence, liy mercy, 'tis most just. 
To be in anger is impiety ; 
But who is man that is not angry? 
Weigh but the crime with tliis. 

Sec. Sen. You breathe in vain. 

Alcib. In vain! his service done 

At Lacedcemon and Byzantium 
Were a sutHcient briber for his life. 

First Sen. What 's that ? 

Alcib. I say, my lords, he has done fair service, 
And slain in fight many of your enemies: 
How full of valour diil'lie bear himself 
In the last contlirt, and made iileuteous wounds! 

Sec. Sen. He has made too nuich iileuty with 'em ; 
He 's a sworn rioter : he has a sin that often ' 
Drowns him, and takes his valoiu- prisoner : 
617 



ACT IIT. 



TIM ON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE VI. 



If there were no foes, tluat were enough 
To overcome him : in that beastly fury 
He has been linown to commit outrages, 
And cherish factions : 't is inferr'd to us. 
His days are foul and his drink dangerous. 

First Sen. He dies. 

Alcib. Hard fate I he might have died in war. 
My lords, if not for any parts in him — 
Though his right arm might purcliase his own time 
And be in debt to none — yet, more to move you, 
Talve my deserts to his, and join 'em botli: 
And, for I liuow your reverend ages love 
Security, I '11 pawn my victories, all 
M«y honours to you, upon his good returns. 
If by this crime he owes the law his life. 
Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore ; 
For law is strict, and war is nothing more. [more. 

First Sen. We are for law: he dies; urge it no 
On height of our displeasure: friend or brotlier, 
He forfeits his own blood that spills another. 

AJcib. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, 
I do lieseech you, know me. 

Sec. Sen. How ! 

Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 

Third Sen. What 1 

Alcib. I cannot think but your age has forgot me ; 
It could not else be, I should prove so base. 
To sue, and be denied such common grace : 
My wounds ache at you. 

>First Sen. Do you dare our anger ? 

'T is in few words, but spacious in effect ; 
We banish thee for ever. 

Alcib. Banish mel 

Banisli your dotage ; banisli usury, 
That makes the senate ugly. [tain thee, 

Fir^t Sen. If, after two days' shine. Alliens con- 
Attend our weightier judgment. Ancl, not to swell 
He shall be executed presently. [our spirit, 

[Exeimt Senators. 

Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; that 
you may live 
Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
I 'm worse tlian mad : I have kept b;'ick their foes, 
AV'hile they have told thejr money ami let out 
Tlieir coin upon large interest. I myself 
Rich only in large hurts. All those tor this? 
Is this the balsam that the usuring senate 
Pours into captains' wounds V Banishment ! 
It comes not ill ; I hate not to be bauish'd ; 
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, 
That I may strike at Athens. I "11 cheer up 
My diseonteutecl troops, and lay for hearts. 
'T is honour with most lands to be at odds ; 
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as goils. [Exit. 

SCENE VI. — Tlie same. A banquetinrj-room in 
Timun^s lioiise. 

Music. Tti'ifes si't out : Servants attending. Enter divers 
Lords, Senators mid ulhers, ut several doors. 

First Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 

Sec. Lord. I also wish it to you. I think this hon- 
ourable lord did but try us this other day. 

First Lord. Upon that were my tlionghts tiring, 
.when we encountered : I hope it is not so low with 
him as he made it seem in the trial of his several 
friends. 

Sec. Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of 
his new feasting. 

First Lord. 1 should think so : he hath sent me an 
earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did 
urge me to puti>ff; luit he hath conjured me beyond 
them, and I must needs apiiear. 

iSec. Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my im- 
portunate business, but he would not liear my excuse. 
I am, sorry, when lie sent to borrow of me," that my 
pro^jision was out. 

^ 618 



First Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I un- 
derstand how all things go. 

Sec. Lord. Every man here 's so. What would he 
have borrowed of you ? 

First Lord. A thousand pieces. 

Sec. Lord. A thousand pieces 1 

First Lord. What of you V 

Sec. Lord. He sent to me', sir, — Here he comes. 

Enter Timon and Attendants. 

Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both; and 
how fare you ? 

First Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of 
your lordship. 

iS'ec. Lord. The swallow follows not summer more 
willing than we your lurdship. 

Tim. [Aside] Xor more willingly leaves winter; 
such summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinnc r 
will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears 
with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly 
o' the trumpet s .sound ; we shall to 't presently. 

First Lord. I liope it remains not unkindly with 
your lordship that I returned you an empty mes- 

Tim. O, sir, let it not troubleyou. [seuger. 

Sec. Lord. My noble lord, — 

Tim. Ah, my good friend, what cheer? 

Sec. Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en 
sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other 
day sent to me, I was so unfortmiate a beggar. 

Tim. Think not on 't, sir. 

Sec. Lord. If you had sent lint two hours before, — 

Tim. Let it not cuinber yourbetter remembrance. 
[Tliebanqnetbronyhl iu .] Come, bring in all together. 

Sec. Lord. All covered dishes! 

First Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 

Third Lord. Doubt not that, if money and the 
season can yield it. 

First Lord. How do you ? What 's the news ? 

Third Lord. Alcibiades is banislied : hear you of 

First and Sec. Lord. Alcibiades banished ! [it ? 

Third Lord. 'T is so, be sure of it. 

First Lord. How! how! 

Sec. Jjord. I pray you, upon what? - 

Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near ? 

Tliird Lord. I "11 tell you more anon. Here 's a 
noble feast toward. 

Sec. Lord. This is the old man still. 

Third Lord. Will 't hold ? will 't hold ? 

Sec. Lord. It does: but time wiU — and so — 

Third Lord. I do concei^■e. 

Tim. Each man to his stool, with that S)uir as 
he would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall 
be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, 
to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first 
place : sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. 

You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with 
thankfulness. For your own gifts, make your- 
selves praised : but reserve still to give, lest your 
deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, 
that one need not lend to another; for, were your 
godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the 
gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the 
man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be 
witliout a score of villains: if there sit twelve 
women at the table, let a dozen of them be — as 
they are. The rest of your fees, O gods — ^the sena- 
tors of Athens, together with the common lag of 
peoide — what is amiss in them, you gods, make 
suitable for destruction. For these my present 
friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing 
bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. 

Uncover, dogs, and lap. 

[The dishes are uncovered and seen to befall 
of warm water. 
Some sjjcak. What does his lordship mean? 



A.CT IV. 



T 131 ON OF ATHENS^ 



SCENE II. 



Some other. I know not. 

Tim. May you a better feast never behold, 
You knot of mouth-friends! smoke and luke-warm 
Is your perfection. Tliis is Timon's last; [water 
AViio, stuck and spangled witli your flatteries, 
Waslics it off, and sprinkles in yoiu' faces 
Your reeking villany. 

[Throwing the water in their faces. 
Live loathed and long, 
Most smiling, snio<itli, detested |iarasites, 
Courteiius destrdVfrs, atlalile wolves, meek bears, 
You fools of fortune, trenrlit-r-friends. time's flies, 
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and miuute-jaeks! 
Of man and beast the iiiliinte malady 
Crust you iiuite o'er I Wljat, dost thou go? 
Soft ! take thy jiliysic fust — thcui too — and thou ; — 
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. 

[Thniirs the iJL-iliea nl th( in. <ind drives them out. 
AV'hat, all in motion y Henceforth be no feast, 
Whereat a villam 's not a welcome guest. 



Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be 
Of Timon, man and all humanity ! [Exit. 

Re-enter the Lords, Senators, &c. 

First Lord. How now, my lords! [fury? 

See. Lord. Know you the quality of Lord TimoiVs 

Third Lord. Pusli ! did you see my cap? 

Fourth Lord. I have lost m>- gown. 

First Lord. He 's but a nja<l lord, and nought but 
luunour sways him. He gave me a jewel th' other 
day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: did you 
see my jewel ? 

Third Lord. Did you see my cap ? 

Sec. Lord. Here 't is. 

Fourth Lorel. Here lies my gown. 

First Lord. Let "s make no stay. 

Sec. Lord. Lord Timon 's mad. 

Third Lord. I feel "t upon my liones. 

Fourth Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next 
day stones. [Fxeunt. 



.ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — Without the walls of Athens. 

Enter Timon. 
Tim. Let me look back upon thee. O tliou wall, 
That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth. 
And fence not Athens ! ilatrons, turn incontinent ! 
Obedience fail in children ! slaves and fools. 
Pluck tiie giave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
And minister in tlieir steads! to general tilths 
Convert o' tlie instant, green virginity. 
Do 't in }our parents' eyes 1 bankrujits, hold fast ; 
Rather than remler liack, out with your knives. 
And cut yourtrusters' throats! bound servants,steal! 
Large-liancled robbers your grave masters are, 
And [lill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed; 
Thy mistress is o' the brothel ! Son of sixteen, 
Pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire, 
"Witli it beat out his brains! Piety, and tear, 
Keligion to the gods, peace, justice, truth. 
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, 
Instruction, maimers, mysteries, and trades, 
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, 
Decline to your confounding contraries. 
And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men. 
Your iiotent and infectious fevers heap 
On Athens, ripe for stroke ! Thou cold sciatica, 
Cripple (UU' senators, that their limlis may lialt 
As lamely as tlieir manners! Lust and libt-rty 
Creeii in tlie ininds and marrows of our youth. 
That 'gainst tlie stream of virtue tliey may strive, 
And drown themselves in riot! Itches, Wains, 
Sow all the Athenian bosoms : and their crop 
Be general leprosy! Breatli infed breath. 
That their society, as their friendsliiii, may 
Be merely poison! Xntliiiig I '11 Ijear fron'i thee, 
But nakedness, tliou detestable town! 
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! 
Timon will to the woods; where he shall And 
'The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
The gods confound — hear me, you good gods all — 
The Athenians both within and out that wall ! 
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
To the whole race of mankind, high and low ! 
Amen. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Athens. A room in Timon''s house. 

Enter Flavius, with tu-o or three Servants. 
First Scrv. Hear you, master steward, where 's 
our master ? 
Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? 



Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to 
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, [j'bu ? 
I am as poor as you. 

First Serv. Such a house broke ! 

So noble a master fall'n ! All gone ! and not 
One friend to take his fortune by the arm, 
And go along with him ! 

Sec. Serv. As we do turn our backs 

From our companion thrown into his grave, 
So his familiars to his buried fortunes 
Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, 
Like I'lnpty ]jurses pick'd; and his poor self, 
A dedicated beggar to the air. 
With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty. 
Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. 

Enter other Servants. 

-F7av. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 

Tliird Serv. Yet do oui' hearts wear Timon''s 
livery ; 
That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, 
Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark. 
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, 
Hearing the surges threat: we must all part 
Into this sea of air. 

1^1 in: Good fellows all, 

The latest of my wealth I '11 share amongst you. 
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake. 
Let 's yet be fellows ; let 's shake our heads, and say, 
As 't were a knell unto our master's fortunes, 
' We have seeii better days.' Let each take some; 
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: 
Thiis part we ricli in sorrow, parting poor. 

[Servants embrace, anil jjart several ways. 
O, the fierce wretchedness that glory lirings us! 
AVho would not wish to be from wealth exempt. 
Since riches point to misery and contempt ? 
■Wlio would be so mock'd with glory ? or to live 
15ut in a dream of friendship ? 
To have his pomp and all what state compounds 
]?ut only painted, like his varnish 'd friends? 
Poor honest lord, brouglit low by his own heart. 
Undone liy goodness! Strange, unusual blood, 
AVhen man's worst sin is, he does too niucli good! 
Who, then, dares to be half so kind again ? 
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. 
My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed. 
Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes 
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord I 
He 's flung in rage from this ingrateful scat 
Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to 

619 \ 



ACT IV. 



TIM ON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE III. 



Supply his life, or that which can commaud it. 
I '11 follow and inquire him out: 
I '11 ever serve his mind witli my best will ; 
Whilst I have gold, 1 '11 be his steward still. \_Exit. 

SCENE III. — Woods and cave, near the sea-slwre. 
Enter Tiinon,/ro»i the cave. 
Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth 
Rotten liumidity; below thy sister's orb 
Infect tlie air! Twiiin'd lirothers of one womb, 
Wliose procreation, residence, and birth, 
Scarce is dividnnt,toucli them with several fortunes ; 
The si'chIci- si-orus the lesser: not nature, 
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune. 
Hut by contempt of nature, 
liaise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord ; 
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, 
The beggar native honour. 
It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, 
Tlie wa,iil that makes him lean. Who dares, who 
In purity of mauhooil stand upright, [dares. 

And say ' This man "s a ilattercr 'V if one be, 
So ai-e they all; for every grise of fortune 
Is smootli'd by that below : the leai'ned pate 
Ducks to the golden fool : all is oblique ; 
There 's notliiug level in our cursed natures, 
IJut direct villany. Therefore, be alihorr'd 
All feasts, sociftii's, and throngs of men! 
His senililalile, yea, himseU', Tiimin disdains: 
Destruction tang mankind ! Earth, yield me roots! 

[Biyying. 
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
With thy most operant poison ! What is here? 
Gold? yellow, glittering, pri'cious gold? No, gods, 
I am no idle votarist: roots, ymi clear lieavens! 
Thus nuieli of this will make black white, foul fair, 
AV'rong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. 
Ha, you gods! why this? "what this, you gods? 

■ Why, this 
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, 
riuck stout men's pillows from below their heads : 
This yellow slave 

AVill knit and break religions, bless the accursed, 
jMake the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves 
Anil give them title, knee and approbation 
"With senators (Ui the bench: this is it 
That makes the wappeuM wiilow wed again; 
She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores 
'\V(ndd cast tlie giu'ge at, this enit)alms and spices 
To the April dav again. Ccnne, damned earth. 
Thou cmnmon whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
Among the rout of nations^ I will make thee 
Do thy right nature. [Marcli afar off.] Ha! a drum? 

Thou 'rt quick, 
But yet I '11 bury thee : thou 'It go, strong thief, 
AVlien gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. 
Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keqdny some gold. 

Enter Aloibiades, with drum and fife, in warlike 

manner; Phrynia and Timandra. 

Alcib. What art thou there ? speak. 

Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy 

For showing me again the eyes of man ! [heart, 

Alcib. What is thy name ? Is man so hateful to 

That art thyself a man ? [tliee, 

Tim. I am Misauthropos, and hate mankind. 
For th^ part, I do wish thou wert a dog. 
That I might love thee something. 

Alcib. I know thee well; 

But in thy fortunes am imlearn'd and strange. 
Tim. I know thee too; and more than that I 
know thee, 
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; 
With man's hlood paint the ground, gules, gules: 
Beligious canons, civil laws are cruel; 
Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine 
620 



Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
For all her cheiubiu look. 

Phry. Thy lips rot off! 

2'ini. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns 
To thine own lips again. 

Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change ? 

Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give: 
But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
There were no suns to borrow of. 

Alcib. Noble Timon, 

What friendship may I do thee ? 

Tim. None, but to 

Maintain my opinion. 

Alcib. What is it, Timon ? 

Tim.. Promise me friendship, but perform none: 
if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for 
thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound 
thee, for thou art a man! 

Ah-ib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. 

Tim. Thou saw'st tliem, when I had jirosperity. 

Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed f iiiie. 

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. 

Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the 
Voiced so regardfully ? [world 

Tim. Art thou Timandra ? 

Timan. Yes. [use thee; 

Tim. Be a whore still: they love thee not that 
Give them diseases, leaving with tliee their lust. 
Make use of thy salt houi's : season the slaves 
For tubs and baths ; bring down rose-cheeked youth 
To the tub-fast and the diet. 

Timan. Hang thee, monster I 

Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits 
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. 
I have liiit little gold of lat<', brave Timon, 
The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
In my penurious Viand : I have heard, and grieved, 
IIow cursed Athens, niindliss of thy worth. 
Forgetting tliy great deeds, when neighbour states. 
But for thy sword and fortmie, trod upon them, — 

I'im. 1 prithee, lieat thy drum, and get thee gone. 

Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. 

Tim. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost 
I had rather be alone. [troubled' 

Alcib. Why, fare thee well : 

Here is some gold for thee. 

Tivi. Keep it, I cannot eat it. 

Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, — 

Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ? 

Alcib. Ay, Timon. and have cause. 

Tim. The gods confound tlicmall in thy conquest ; 
And thee after, when thou hast couquer'd ! 

Alcib. Why me, Timon ? 

T*))!. That, by killing of villains, 

Thou wast born to conquer my country. 
Put uji thy gold: go on, — here 's gold, — go on; 
Be as a planetary lilague, when Jove 
Will o'er some liigh-viced city hang his poison 
In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: 
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard; 
Ileis an usurer : strike me the counterfeit matron ; 
It is hrr habit only that is honest. 
Herself "s a bawd: let nut tlie virgin's cheek 
Makesiift thy trenchant sword ; for those milk-paps. 
That thrduu'li the winilnw-bars bore at men's eyes, 
Are not within the leaf of pity writ, [babe, 

But set thrni down horrible traitors: spare not the 
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 
Think it a, bastard, whom the oracle [mercy; 

Hath doubtfully pmnonnceil thy throat shall cut, 
And nunee it saiis reiimrse: swear against objects; 
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes; 
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes. 
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding. 
Shall jiierce a ji it. There 's gold to pay thy soldiers : 
Make large ciiidusion ; and, thy fury spent. 
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. 



ACT IV. 



TIM ON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE III. 



Alcih. Hast tliou gold yet ? I '11 take the gold 
thou givest me, 
Not all thy cciunsel. [upon thee ! 

Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse 

Phi\ anil Timan. Give us some gold, good Timou : 
hast thou moreV 

Tim. Enouti'h to make a whore forswear her trade, 
And to make wlKJres. a bawd. Hold np, you sluts, 
Your aprons monntant : you are not oatliable, — 
Although, I know, you '11 swear, terribly swear 
Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues 
The immortal gods that hear you, — spare'your oaths, 
I '11 trust to your conditions : be whores still ; 
And he wliose pious breath seeks to convert you, 
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; 
Let your close tire predominate his smoke. 
And be no turncoats : yet may your pains,six montlis. 
Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs 
With burthens of the dead; — some that were 
hang'd, [still; 

No matter: — wear them, betray with them: whore 
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: 
A pox of wriiddes! 

F/ir. and Timan. Well, more gold: what then? 
Believe 't, that we '11 do any thing for gold. 

Tim. Consumptions sow 
In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp sliins. 
And mar men's spurring. Crack tlie lawyer's voice, 
That he may never more false title {dead, 
Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, 
That scolds against the quality of flesh. 
And not believes himself : do^\Tl with the nose, 
Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
Of him that, his particular to foresee, 
Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate 

ruttians bald; 
And let tJie unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
Derive some pain from you: plague all: 
That your activity may defeat and quell 
The source of all erection. There 's more gold : 
Do you damn others, and let this dauni you, 
And ditches grave you all ! 

Plir. and Timan. More comisel with more money, 
bounteous Timon. 

Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have 
given you earnest. 

Alcib. fitrike up the drum towards Athens! Fare- 
well, Timon : 
If I thrive well, I '11 visit thee again. 

Tim. If I hope well, I '11 never see thee more. 

Alrib. I never did thee harm. 

Tiin. Yes, thou spokest well of me. 

Alcib. Call'st thou that hann ? 

Tim. Men dally find it. Get thee away, and take 
Thy beagles with thee. 

Alcib. We but offend him. Strike! 

[Drum heats. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrijnia, 

and Timandra. 

Tim . That nature, being sick of man "s unkindness, 
Should yet be hmigry ! Common mother, thou, 

[Bidriinri. 
Wliose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast. 
Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, 
AVhereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is pofC'd, 
Engenders the Ijlack toail and adder blue. 
The i^ildeil newt and eyeless venom'd worm, 
With all tlie aljliorred Ijirths below crisp heaven 
Whereon Hyperioifs ([uickening fire doth shine; 
Yii'ld him, who all thy Inunan sons doth hate, 
Friim forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! 
Eiisear thy fertile and coneeiitious womli, 
I,et it no more bring out ingrateful man I 
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; 
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
Hath to the marlilcil mansion all above 
Never presented! — O, a root, — dear thanks! — 
Dry up thy maiTows, vines, and plough-torn leas ; 



Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts 
And morsels unctuous, greases bis pure mind. 
That from it all consideration slips! 

Enter Apemantus. 
More man? plague, plague! 

Apeni. I was directed liither: men report 
Thou dost affect my manners, and do.st use them. 

Tim. 'T is, then, because thou dost not keep a do", 
Whom I would imitate : consumption catch thee! 

Apem. This is in thee a nature but infected; 
A poor unmanly melancholy sprung 
From changeof fortune. Why thisspade? thisplace? 
This slave-like habit ? and these looks of care? 
Tliy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; 
Hug their diseased i)erfumes, and have forgot 
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods. 
By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
By tliat which has undone thee : hinge thy knee, 
And let his very breath, wlioni thou 'It observe, 
Blow off thy caji; praise his most vicious strain, 
And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; 
Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome 
To knaves and all aiiproaehers : 't is most just 
That tiiDU turn rascal ; liadst thou wealth again. 
Rascals should have "t. Do not assume my likeness. 

Tim. Were I like thee, I "Id throw away myself. 

Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like 
thyself; 
A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st 
That the bleak air, tliy boisterous chamberlain, 
Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees. 
That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels. 
And skip where thou point 'st out? will the cold 

brook. 
Candied with ice, candle thy morning taste. 
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit ? Call the creatures 
AVhose naked natures live in all the spite 
Of wreaklul heaven, whose bare imhoused trunks, 
To the conflicting elements exposed. 
Answer mere nature ; bid them flatter thee; 
O, thou Shalt find — 

Tim. A fool of thee : depart. 

Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 

Tim. I hate thee worse. 

Apem. Why ? 

Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 

Apem. I flatter not ; but say thou art a caitiC 

Tim. Why dost thou seek me out ? 

Apem. To vex thee. 

2im. Always a villain's office or a fool's. 
Dost please thyself in 't ? 

Apem. A}'. 

Tim. What ! a knave too ? 

Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou 
Dost it enforcedly ; tliou 'Idst courtier be again, 
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before: 
The one is filling still, never complete; 
The otiier, at higli wish: best state, eontentless, 
Hatli a distracted and most wretched being, 
Worse than tlie worst, content. 
Thou shonldst desire to die. l.ieing miserable. 

Tim. Not by his lireath that is more miserable. 
Thou art a slave, wliom Fiu'tune's tender arm 
Witli favour never clasji'd; Ijut lired a dog. ' 
Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded 
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
To such as may the passive drugs of it 
Freely conmiand, thou wouldst have plunged thyself 
In general riot ; melted down thy youth 
In different beds of lust ; and never learn 'd 
The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
Who had the world as my confectionary, 
621 . 



ACT IV. 



T I 31 ON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE -III. 



The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men 
At duty, more than I could frame employment, 
That numberless upon me stuck as leaves 
Do on the oak, have witli one winter's brush 
Fell from their Ijoughs and left me open, bare 
For every storm that blows: I, to bear this, 
That never knew but better, is some burden : 
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time 
Hath made thee hard in 't. Why shouldst thou hate 

men ? 
They never flatter'd thee : what hast thou given ? 
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, 
^lust be thy subject, who in spite put stuff 
To some she beggar and compounded thee 
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone ! 
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, 
Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. 

Apem. Art thou proud yet i* 

Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 

Ayjem. I, that I was 

No prodigal. 

Tim. I, that I am one now: 

Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, 
I 'Id give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. 
That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 
Thus would I eat it. {Eating a root. 

Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast. 

{Offerinci him a root. 

Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. 

Apiem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack 
of thine. 

Tim. 'T is not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
If not, I would it were. 

Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens ? 

Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt. 
Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. 

Apjem. Here is no use for gold. 

Tim. The best and truest ; 

For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 

Ap)em. Where liest o' nights, Timon ? 

Tim. Under that 's above me. 

Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus ? 

Apjcm. Where my stomach finds meat ; or, rather, 
where I eat it. [mind ! 

Tim. Would poison were obedient and knew my 

Apem. Where wouldst thou send it i* 

2'jin. To sauce tliy dishes. 

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knew- 
est, but the extremity of both ends: when tliou 
wast in thy gilt anil thy perfume, they mocked 
thee for too much curiosity ; in thy rags thou knovv- 
est none, but art despised tor the contrary. There 's 
a medlar for thee, eat it. 

Tim. On what I hate I feed not. 

Apem. Dost hate a meillar V 

Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 

Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, 
thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What 
man didst thou ever know unthrift that was be- 
loved after his means V 

Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, 
didst thou ever know beloved V 

Apem. Myself. 

Tim. I understand thee ; thou hadst some means 
to keej) a dog. 

Apem. What tilings in the world canst thou 
near^t compare to tliy flatterers ? 

Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the 
things themselves. What wouldst thou do with 
the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? 

Apem. Give it tlie beasts, to be rid of the men. 

Tim. Wouldst thou liave tliyself fall in the con- 
fusion of men, and remain a be;«it with the beasts V 

Apem. Ay, Timon. 

Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant 
thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, tlie fox 
would beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, the fox 
622 



would eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would 
suspect thee, when peradventure tliou wert accused 
by the ass: if thou wert tlie ass, thy dulness 
woiild torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a 
breakfast to tlie wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy 
greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou sliouldst 
hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the uni- 
corn, pride and \\rath would confound thee and 
make thine own self tlie conquest of thy fury : wert 
thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse: 
wert thou a horse, thou \\'ouldst be seized by the 
leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german 
to the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors 
on thy life: all thy safety were remotion and tliy 
defence absence. What beast couldst tliou be, that 
were not subject to a beast ? and what a beast art 
thou already, that seest not thy loss in transforma- 
tion ! 

Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking to 
me, thou niightst have hit upon it here: the com- 
monwealtli of Athens is become a forest of beasts. 

Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou 
art out of the city ? 

Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the 
plague of company light upon thee ! I will fear to 
catch it and give way : when I know not what else 
to do, I '11 see thee again. 

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou 
Shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog 
than Apemantus. 

vl//r))i. Tliou art the cap of all the fools alive. 

Tim. "Wdulil tliou wert clean enough to spit upon! 

Api III. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. 

Tim. All villains that do stand by thee are pure. 

Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak 'st. 

lim. If I name thee, 
I '11 beat thee, but I should infect my hands. 

Apem. I would my tongue could rot them off ! 

Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
Choler does kill me that thou art alive; 
I swouud to see thee. 

Apem. Would thou wouldst burst ! 

Tim. Away, 

Thou tedious rogue ! I am Sony I shall lose 
A stone by thee. [Throtcs a stone at him. 

Apem. Beast ! 

J'mu. Slave ! 

Apem. Toad ! 

2'im. Rogue, rogue, rogue! 

I am sick of this false world, and will love nought 
But even the mere necessities upon 't. 
Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; 
Lie where the light foam of the sea liiay beat 
Tliy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, 
Thiit death in me at others' lives may laugh, [vorce 
[To the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear di- 
"Twixt natural son and sire! tliou bright deliler 
Of Hymen's jiurest bed! thou valiant Mars! 
Thou' ever voung, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, 
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god. 
That solder'st close impossibilities, [tongue. 

And makest themki.ss! that sjieak'st with every 
To every purpose ! O thou touch of hearts ! 
Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue 
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
May have the world in empire! 

Apem. Would 't were so ! 

But not till I am dead. I '11 say thou 'st gold : 
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 

Tim. Throng'd to! 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. Thy back, I prithee. 

Ape^n. Live, and love thy misery. 

2im. Long live so, and so die. [Exit Apemantus.] 
I am quit. 
Moe thhigs like men ! Eat, Timon, and abhor them. 



TIM ON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE III. 



Enter Banditti. 

First Ban. Where should lie liave this gold ? It 
is some poor fragment, some slendnr ort of his 
ii'inainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling- 
from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. 

.Sec. Dan. It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. 

Third Ban. Let us make the assay upon him: if 
he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he 
covetously reserve it, how shall 's get it y 

Sec. Ban. True; for he bears it not about him, 

First Ban. Is not this he V ['t is hid. 

Banditti. AVhereV 

Sec. Ban. 'T is his description. 

Third Ban. He; I know him. 

Banditti. Save thee, Timon. 

Tim. Xow, thieves? 

Banditti. Soldiers, not thieves. 

Tim. Both too; and women's sons. 

Banditti. We are not thieves, but men that much 
do want. [meat. 

Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of 
AVhy should you want ? 13eli(jld,t lie earth hath roots; 
Within this "mile break forth a lumdred springs; 
The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips; 
Tlie bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
Lays her full mess before you. Want ! why want V 

Firnt Ban. We cannot live on grass, on berries. 
As beasts and birds and fishes. [water, 

Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and 
flsiies; 
You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con 
That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not 
In holier shaiies: for there is boundless theft 
In limited professions. Rascal thieves, 
Here 's gold, (io, suck the subtle blood o' the grape. 
Till the liigh fever seethe your blood to froth. 
And so 'scape hanging : trust not the physician ; 
His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
Jlore than you rob : take wealth and lives together : 
Do villany, do, since you protest to do 't. 
Like workmen. I '11 example you with thievery: 
The sun 's a thief, and with his great attraction 
Kobs the vast sea ; the moon 's an arrant thief, 
And her pale tire she snatches from the sun : 
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The moon into salt tears : the eartli 's a thief, 
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
From general excrement : each thing 's a thief : 
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 
Have uncheek'd theft. Love not yourselves : away, 
Rob one another. There 's more gold. Cutthroats: 
All that you meet are thieves : to Athens go, 
Break open shojjs; nothing can you steal. 
But thieves do lose it : steal no less for this 
I give you ; and gold confound you liowsoe'er ! 
Amen. 

Third Ban. Has almost charmed me from my 
profession, by persuading me to it. 

First Ban. 'T is in the malice of mankind that he 
thus advises us ; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 

Sec. Ban. I '11 believe him as an enemy, and give 
over my trade. 

First Ban. Let us first see peace in Athens : there 
is no time so miserable but a man may be true. 

„ „, . [Exeunt Banditti. 
Enter Flavius. 

Flav. O you gods ! 
Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord ? 
Full of decay and failing V O monument 
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'dt 
What an alteration of honour 
Has desperate want made ! 
What viler thing upon the earth than friends 
Who can bring noblest minds to liasest ends! 
How rarely dues it meet with this time"s guise, 
When man was wish'd to love his enemies! 



Grant I may ever love, and rather woo 

Those that would mischief me than those that do ! 

Has caught me in his eye : I will present 

My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord. 

Still serve him witli my life. My dearest master! 

Tim. Away I what art thou V 

Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? 

Tim. Why dost ask that ? I have forgot all men ; 
Then, if thou grant 'st thou 'rt a man, I have forgot 

Fl.av. An honest poor .servant of yours. [thee. 

Tim. Then I know thee not : 
I never had honest man about me, I; all 
I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. 

i<7ai'. The gods are witness. 
Ne'er did poor ste\Aard wear a truer grief 
For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. 

2'Jni.What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then 
I love thee. 
Because thou art a woman, and disclaini'st 
Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give 
But thorough lust and laughter. Pity 's sleeping : 
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 
weeping I 

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord. 
To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts 
To entertain me as your steward still. 

Tim. Had 1 a steward 
So true, so just, and now so comfortable ? 
It almost turns my dangerous natui'e mild. 
Let me behold thy face. Sm'ely, this man 
Was born of woman. 

Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, 
You perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim 
One honest man — mistake me not — but one; 
No more, I pray, — and he's a steward. 
How fain would I have hated all mankind ! 
And thou redeem "st thyself : but all, save thee, 
t fell with curses. 

Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; 
For, by oppressing and betraying me. 
Thou mightst have sooner got another service : 
For many so arrive at second masters. 
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true — 
For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure — 
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous. 
It not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, 
Expecting in return twenty for one ? 

Jblav. No, my most worthy master ; in whose breast 
PouVit and suspect, alas, are placed too late : 
You should have tear'd false times when you did 
Suspect still comes where an estate is least, [feast: 
That which I sliow, heaven knows, is merely love, 
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind. 
Care of your food and living ; and, believe it, 
My most honour'd lord. 
For any benefit that points to me. 
Either in hope or present, I 'Id exchange 
For this one wish, that you had power and wealth 
To requite me, by making rich yourself. 

Tim. Look thee, 'tis so ! Thou singly honest man, 
Here, take : the gods out of my misery 
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy; 
But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men; 
Hate all, curse all, show charity to none. 
But let the famislrd tlesh slide from the bone, 
Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs 
What thou deny 'st to men _; let prisons swallow 'em, 
Debts wither 'em to nothing ; be men like blasted 

woods. 
And may diseases lick up their false bloods! 
And so farewell and thrive. 

Flav. O, let me stay. 

And comfort you, my master. 

Tim. If thou hatest curses. 

Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free: 
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. 

[Exit Flavius. Timon retires to his cave. 
023 



ACT V. 



T I 31 ON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE I. 



^CT V. 



SCENE I. — The woods. Before Timoii's cave. 

Enter Poet and Painter ; Timon watchintj them 
from his caue. 

Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be 
far where he abides. 

Poet. What 's to be thnnsrht of him ? does the 
rumour hold for true, that lie 's so full of gold ? 

Pain. Certain : Alciliiades reports it ; Phrynia and 
Timandra had gold of him: lie likewise enriched 
poor straggling soldiers with great (juantity: 'tis 
said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. 

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a 
try for his friemls. 

Pain. Nothing else : you shall see him a palm in 
Athens again, and tioiu-ish with the highest. There- 
fore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in 
this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly 
in us ; and is very likely to load our purposes with 
what they travail for, if it be a just and true report 
that goes of his having. 

Poet. Wliat have you now to present unto him ? 

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: 
only I will promise him an excellent piece. 

Poet. I must serve him so too, tell him of an in- 
tent that 's coming toward him. 

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very 
air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: 
performance is ever the duller' for his act ; and, but 
in tlie plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed 
of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most 
courtly and fashionable : performance is a kind of 
will or testament which argues a great sickness in 
his judgment that makes it. 

[2'imon comes from his cave, behind. 

Tim. [Aside] Excellent workman 1 thou canst not 
paint a man so bad as is thyself. 

Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have pro- 
vided for him : it must be a personating of himself ; 
a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a 
discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth 
and opuleney. 

Tim. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain 
in thine own work '/ wilt thou whip thine own faults 
in other men ? Do so, I have gold for thee. 

Poet. Nay, let 's seek him : 
Then do we sin against our own estate. 
When we may profit meet, and come too late. 

Pain. True; 
When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, 
Find what thou want'st by free and ofCer'd light. 
Come. 

I'im. [Aside] I '11 meet you at the turn. What a 
god's gold. 
That he is worshipp'd m a baser temple 
Than where swine feed! [foam, 

'T is thou tliat rigg'st the bark and plough 'st the 
Settlest ailniired reverence in a slave: 
To thee lie worship! and thy saints for aye 
Be crowiiM with plagues that thee alone obey! 
Fit I meet them. [Coming forward. 

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! 

Pain. Our late noble master ! 

2\m. Have I once lived to see two honest men ? 

Poet. Sir, 
Having often of your open bounty tasted. 
Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off. 
Whose thankless natures — O abhorred spirits! — 
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough : 
What! to you, 

AVhose star-like no1)leness gave life and influence 
To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover 
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
With any size of words. 

C24 



Tim. Let it go naked, men may see 't the better: 
You that are honest, l)y being what you are, 
Make them best seen and known. 

Pain. He and myself 

Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, 
And sweetly felt it. 

Tim. Aye, you are honest men. 

Pain. We are hither come to ofEer you our service. 

Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I re- 
quite you y 
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. 

Both. AVhat we can do, we '11 do, to do you ser- 
vice, [gold ; 

Tim. Ye 're honest men : ye 've heard that 1 have 
I am sure you have : speak truth ; ye 're honest men. 

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore 
Came not my friend nor I. [terfeit 

Tim. Good honest men ! Thou draw'st a coun- 
Best in all Athens: thou 'rt, indeed, the best; 
Thou counterfeit'st most lively. 

Pain. So, so, my lord. 

Tim. E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, 
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth 
That thou art even natural in thine art. 
But, for all this, my honest-natui'ed friends, 
I must needs say you have a little fault: 
Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I- 
You take much pains to mend. 

Both. Beseech your honour 

To make it known to us. 

Tim. You '11 take it ill. 

Both. Most thankfully, my lord. 

Tiwi. Will you, indeed? 

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 

Tim. There 's never a one of you but trusts a 
That mightily deceives you. [knave. 

Both. Do we, my lord ? 

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dis- 
semble. 
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him. 
Keep in your bosom : yet remain assured 
That he 's a made-up villain. 

Pain. I know none such, my lord. 

Poet. . Nor I. 

Tim. Look you, I love you well"; I '11 give you gold. 
Rid me these villains from your companies: 
Hang tliem or stab them, drown them in a draught, 
Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
I '11 give you gold enough. 

Both. Name them, n'iy lord, let 's know them. 

Tii)i. You that way and you this, but two in com- 
Eaeh man apart, all single and alone, [jiany; 

Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. 
If where thou r.rt two villains shall not be. 
Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside 
But where one villain is, then him abandon. 
Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye 

slaves : 
[To Painter] You have work'd for me; there 's pay- 
ment for you : hence ! 
[To Poet] Yon are an alchemist ; make gold of that. 
Out, rascal dogs! [Beats them out, and then 

retires to his care. 

Enter Plavius and two Senators. 

Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with 
For he is set so only to himself [Timon; 

TJiat nothing but himself which looks like man 
Is friendly with him. 

First Sen. Bring us to his cave : 

It is our part and promise to the Athenians 
To speak with Timon. 

Sec. Sen. At all times alike 

Men are not still the same : 't was time and griefs 



ACT V. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



SCENE II. 



T!iat framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, 
(Jtfering the fortunes of his former <lays, 
The former man may make him. Bring us to him. 
And chance it as it may. 

Flav. Here is his cave. 

Peace and content be liere ! Lord Tinion ! Timon ! 
Look out, an<l speak to friends : the Athenians, 
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: 
Speak to tliem, noble Timon. 

Timon comes from Ids cave. 

Tim. Tliou sun, that comtort'st, burn! Speak, 
and be liang'd : 
For eaclr true word, a blister ! and each false 
Be as a cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, 
Consuming it with speaking t 

First Sen. Worthy Timon, — 

Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. 

First Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, 
Timon. 

Tim. I thank them; and would send them back 
tlie plague. 
Could I but catch it for them. 

First Sen. O, forget 

AVhat we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
Tlie senators with one consent of love 
Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought 
On special dignities, which vacant lie 
For thy best use and wearing. 

Sec. Sen. ' They confess 

Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross : 
Which now the public body, which doth seldom 
Play the recanter, feeling in itself 
A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense. withal 
Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon ; 
And send forth us, to niak(5 their sorrow'd render. 
Together with a recompense more fruitful 
Than their offence can weigh down t>y the dram ; 
Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth 
As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs 
And write in thee the figures of their love, 
Even to read them thine. 

Tim. You witch me in it ; 

Surprise me to the very brink of tears : 
Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes. 
And I '11 beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 

First Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with 
And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take [us 
Tlie caiitaiiiship, thou slialt be met with thanks, 
Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name 
Live with authority: so soon we sliall drive back 
Of Alcibiades the approaches wild. 
Who, like a bi_)ar too savage, doth root up 
His country's peace. 

Sec. Sen. Anil shakes his threatening sword 

Against the walls of Athens. 

First Sen. Therefore, Timon, — 

Tim . Well, sir, I will ; therefore, I will, sir ; thus : 
If Alribiailcs kill my countrymen. 
Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, 
That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, 
And take our goodly aged n^en by the beards, 
Giving our lioly virgins to the stain 
(.M coiitnnii'linus, Vieastly, mail-brain'd war. 
Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it. 
In pity of our aged and our youth, 
I cannot choose but tell him", that I care not. 
And let him take 't at worst ; for their knives care 

not, 
Wliile you have throats to answer : for myself, 
Tliere 's not a whittle in the unruly cami) 
But I do prize it at my love before 
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you 
To the protection of the prosperous gods. 
As thieves to keepers. 

F^nv. Stay not, all 's in vain. 

Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph ; 
40 



It will be seen to-morrow : my long sickness 
Of health and living now begins to mend. 
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; 
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his. 
And last so long enough I 

First Sen. We speak in vain. 

Tim. But yet I love my country, and am not 
One that rejoices in the common wreck. 
As common bruit doth put it. 

First Seii. That 's well spoke. 

Itm. Commend me to my loving countrymen, — 

First Sen. These words become your lips as they 
pass thorough them. [ers 

Sec. Sen. And enter in our ears like great triumph- 
In their applauding gates. 

Tim. Commend me to them, 

And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, 
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain 
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 

them : 
I '11 teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 

First Sen. 1 like this well ; he will return again. 

Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, 
That mine own use invites me to cut down, 
And shortly must I fell it : tell my friends. 
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree 
From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
To stop affliction, let him take his haste, 
Conii' hitlier, ere my tree hath felt the axe. 
And luuig hiuiselt. I pray you, do my greeting. 

Flar. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall 
find him. 

Tim. Come not to me again: but say to Athens, 
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
Upon the beached verge of tlie salt llnod; 
Who once a day with his enilmssed frotli 
The turbulent surge shall cover : thither come, 
And let my grave-stone be your oracle. 
Lips, let sour words go by and language end : 
What is amiss plague and infection mend ! 
Graves only be men's works and deatli their gain! 
Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign. 
[Eetires to his cave. 

First Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
Coupled to nature. 

Sec. Sen. Our hope in him is dead ; let us return. 
And strain what other means is left unto us 
In our dear peril. 

First Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Il.~Before the walls of Athens. 
Enter two Senators a7id a Messenger. 

First Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd : are his 
As full as thy report ? [hies 

3Icss. I have spoke the least : 

Besides, his expedition promises 
Present approach [Timon. 

Sec. Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not 

Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; 
Whom, though in general part we were opposed, 
Yet our old Icivc luiide a particular force. 
And made us sjicak like friends : this man was riding 
From Alcibiades to Timon's cave. 
With letters of entreaty, which imported 
His fellowship i' the cause against your city, 
In part for his sake moved. 

First Sen. Here come our brothers. 

Enter the Senators /rom Timon. 
Third Sen. Ko talk of Timon, nothing of him 
expect. 
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare: 
Oursisthefall, I fear; our foes the snare. [Examt, 
625 



ACT V. 



TI3I0N OF ATHENS. 



SCEIfE IV. 



SCENE III. — The woods. Timon's caye, and a 
rude tomb seen. 

Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. 
Sold. By all description this should be the place. 
Who 's here ? speak, ho ! No answer ! What is this V 
Timou is dead, wiio liath outstretched his span : 
.Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man. 
Dead, sure; and this his grave. What 'son this tomb 
I cannot read ; the character I '11 take with wax : 
Our captain hath in every figure skill, 
All aged interpreter, though young in days: 
Before proud Athens he 's set down by this, 
AV'hose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Kvit. 

SCENE IV.— Before the walls of Athens. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades with hispmcers. 

Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 

Our terrible approach. [A pjarley sounded. 

Enter Senators on the walls. 
Till now you have gone on and filFd tile time 
AVitli all licentious measure, making your wills 
Tlie scope of justice; till now myself and such 
As slept witiiin the sliailow of your power 
Have wunderM with our traversed arms and breathed 
Our sutteraiice \ainly: now the time is flush, 
Wlieii cinuchini; marrow in the bearer strong 
Cries of itself ■ Xo more : ' now breathless wrong 
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, 
And pursy instdence shall break his wind 
AVitli fear and horrid flight. 

First Sen. Koble and young, 

When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit. 
Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, 
AVe sent to thee, to give thy rages balm. 
To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
Above their quantity. 

Sec. Sen. So did we woo 

Transformed Timon to our city's love 
By humble message and by promised means : 
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
The common stroke of war. 

First Sen. These walls of ours 

Were not erected by their hands from whom 
You have received your griefs; nor are they such 
That these great towers, trophies and schools should 
For private faults in them. [fall 

Sec. Sen. Nor are- they living 

Who were the motives that you first went out ; 
Sliame that they wanted cunning, in excess 
Hath bnike tlieir hearts. March, noble lord, 
Into our city with thy banners spread: 
By decimation, and a tithed death — 
If thy revenges hunger for that food 
Which nature loathes — take thou the destined tenth, 
And by the hazard of the spotted die 
Let die the spotted. 

First Sen. All have not offended; 

For those that were, it is not square to take 



On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lauds, 
Are not inherited. Tlien, dear countryman. 
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without Ihy rage: 
Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin 
Which ill the bluster of thy wrath must fall 
With those that have offended: like a shepherd, 
Approach the fold and cull the infected forth. 
But kill not aU together. 

Sec. Sea. What thou wilt. 

Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile 
Than hew to 't with thy sword. 

First Sen. Set but thy foot 

Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope ; 
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, 
To say thou 'It enter friendly. 

Sec. Sen. Throw thy glove, 

Or any token of thine honour else. 
That thou wilt use tlie wars as thy redress 
And not as our contusion, all thy powers 
Shall make their harbour in our town, till we 
Have seal'd thy full desire. 

Alcib. Then there 's my glove ; 

Descend, and open your uncharged ports: 
Those enemies of Timon's and mine own 
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof 
Fall and no more : and, to atone your fears 
Witli my more noble meaning, not a man 
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream 
Of regular justice in your city's bounds. 
But shall be reiider'd to your public laws 
At heaviest answer. 

Both. 'T is most nobly spoken. 

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 

[The Senators descend, attd open the yatcs. 

Enter Soldier. 
Sold. My noble general, Timon is dead ; 
Entomb'd upon tlie very hem o' the sea; 
And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which 
With wax I biduglit away, whose soft impression 
Interprets for my |)ikii' ignorance. 
Alcib. [Ihnds'tlic tpitiipli] 'Here lies a wretched 

corse, of wretclied soul bereft: 
Seek not mv name : a plague consume you wicked 

caitiffs left ! [iiate : 

Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did 
Pass by and curse thy fiU, but pass and stay not here 

thy gait.' 
These well exiiress in thee thy latter spirits: 
Thout^h thou aliliorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
Scorn '(1st our brain's flow and those our droplets 

which 
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
On tliy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
Is noble Timon: of whose memory 
Hereafter more. Bring me into your city. 
And I will use the olive with my sword. 
Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make 
Prescribe to other as each other's leech. ^ [eacli 
Let our drums strike. [Exeunt. 




626 



Sd Bandit.— het us make the assay upon him.— Act IV., Scene iii. 




JULIUS C^SAR. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



Julius Csesar. 

Octavius C^sar, 1 triumvirs after the death 

Marcus Antonius, V of Julius Qesar. 

M.^mDiusLiepidus, J 

Cicero, ] 

Publius, \ senators. 

Popiliua Lena, ) 

Marcus Brutus, 

Cassius, 

Casca, 

Trebonius, 

Ligarius, 

Decius Brutus, 

Metellus Cimber, 

Cinna, 

Flavius and MaruUus, tribunes. 

Artemidorus of Cnidos, a teacher of Rhetoric 

A iSoothsayer. 

Cinna, a poet. Another Poet. 

[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play 



conspirators against Julius 
Cffisar. 



Lucilius, 

Titinius, 

Messala, 

Young Cato 

Volumnlus, 

Varro, 

Clitus, 

Claudius, 

Strato, 

Lucius, I 

Dardanius, J 

Pindarus, serrant to Cassius, 

Calpurnia, wife to Caesar. 

Portia, wife to Brutus. 



j- friends to Brutus and Cassius. 



\ servants to Brutus. 



Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &e. 

SCENE — Rome: the neighbourhood of Sardis: 
neighbourhood of Fhilippi. 
Page Lxii.] 



.ACT I. 



SCENE I.— Borne. A street. 



Enter Flavius, Martillus, and certain Com- 
moners. 

Flav. Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get you 
Is tliis a holiday i* what ! know you not, [home : 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
Upoii a labouring day without the sign 
Of your profession V Speak, what trade art thou ? 

Firat Com. Why, sir, ;i carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on 'i 
You, sir, what trade are you ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine work- 
man, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 

Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me directly. 

tiec. Com. A trade, sir, that, 1 hope, I may use 
with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a 
mender of bad soles. 

J/«r. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty 
knave, what trade ? 

Sec. Com. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not outw'ith 
nie : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 

_ Mar. What meanest tliou by that ? mend me, 
thou saucy fellow ! 

Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flav. Thou art a eobbk-r, art thou ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, all tluit I live by is with the 
awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor 
women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, 
a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great 
danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever 
trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handi- 
work. 

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to 
get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we 



make holiday, to see Ctesar and to rejoice in his 
triumph. [he home? 

^[Hr. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings 
What trilnitaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless 

things ! 
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
Have you climbed up to walls and battlements. 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops. 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation. 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
Have you not made an universal shout, 
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 
To hear the replication of your sounds 
Made in her concave shores ? 
And do you now put on your best attire ? 
And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
And do you now strew flo^\-ers in iiis way 
That comes in triumph over Pompey 's blood? 
Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 
Dra^v them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 

[Exeunt all the Commoners. 
See, whether their basest metal lie not nio^ed ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you do^\'n that way towards the Capitol; 
This way will I : disrobe the images. 
If you do hud them deck'd with ceremouies. 

627 



ACT I. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE II. 



M(ir. May we do so ? 
You know it is tLie feast of Lupercal. 

Fluv. It is-uo matter; let no images 
Be hung with Ca-sar's trophies. I '11 about, 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Csesar's wing 
AVill make him fly an ordinary pitch, 
'AVho else would soar above the view of men 
And keep us all in servile tearfulness. \_Examt. 

SCENE 11.— A puhlic place. 

Flourish. Enter Csesar; Antony, for the course; Cal- 
purnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and 
Casca; a great, crowd folluwinrj, amonij Ihcm a Sooth- 
sayer. 

Cces. Calpurnia! 

Casca. Peace, ho! Csesar speaks. 

Cms. Calpurnia! 

Cal. Here, my lord. 

Cces. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
"When he doth run his course. Antonius ! 

Ant. Cfesar, my lord? 

Cces. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
To touch Calpurnia ; for our elders say. 
The barren, touched in this holy chase. 
Shake o& their sterile curse. 

Ant. I shall remember : 

"When Cresar says ' do this,' it is perform'd. 

Cms. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. 

[Flourish. 

Sooth. Cresar! 

Ccns. Ha ! who calls ? 

Casca. Bid every noise be still : peace yet again ! 

Cces. "Who is it in the press that calls on me V 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. 
Cry ' Ciesar! ' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to liear. 

booth. Beware the ides of March. 

Cces. "What man is that ? 

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of 
March. 

Cces. Set him before me ; let me see his face. 

Cos. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon 
Csesar. [again. 

Cces. "What say 'st thou to me now? speak "once 

Sooth. Beware the ides of JIarch. 
~ ^ Cct s. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him : pass. 

[Sennet. Exeunt all except Brutus and 
Cct.ssms. 

Cas. "Will you go see the order of the course ? 

Bru. Not i. 

Cas. I pray you, do. 

Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ;' 
I '11 leave you. 

C'us. Brutus, I do observe you now of late : 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness 
And sliow of love as I was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceived : if I have veil'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. "Vexed I am 
Of late with passions of some difference. 
Conceptions only proper to myself, 
Wliich give some .soil perhaps to my behaviours ; 
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved — 
Anion,:,' which number, Cassius, be you one — 
!Nor construe any further my neglect, 
Than tliat poor Brutus, with liimself at war. 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your 
passion ; 
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried 
628 



Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 

-Bill. Jio, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'T is just : 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirrors as will turn 
Your hidden wortliiiicss into your eye 
That you might see your shadow. I liave heard, 
"Where many of tlic tiest rcspt'ct in Borne, 
Except immortal Cu'sar, speaking of Brutus 
And groaning uudi'rneath this age's yoke. 
Have wisird that noble Brutus had liis eyes. 

Bru. Intii what dangers would you lead me, Cas- 
That you would have nie seek into myself [sius, 
For that which is not in me? 

Cas. Therefore, g( khI Brut us, be prepared to hear : 
And since you kmiw you cannot see yourself 
So well as I'lv rcllcrtio'n, I, vmu- glass. 
Will nuHh'stly discdver to younself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
And be not jealous on me, gentle ]3rutus: 
"Were I a conunon tanglier, or did use 
To stale witli ordinary oaths my love 
To every new protester; if you know 
That I do lawn on men and hug them hard 
And after scandal them, or if you know 
That I profess myself in banqueting 
To all the rout, then hold me dangerotis. 

[Flourish, and shout. 

Bru. "What means this shouting ? I do fear, the 
Choose Csesar for their king. Qieople 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? 

Then must I thmk you would not have it so. 

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long ? 
What is it that yoii would impart to me ? 
If it be aught toward the general good. 
Set honour in one eye and deatli i' the other, 
And I will look on both indittVrently, 
For let the gods so speeil me as I love 
The name of honoiu- more than I fear death. 

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favour. 
"Well, honour is the subject of my story. 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Cffisar ; so were you : 
"We both have fed as well, and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he: 
For once, upon a raw and nusty day, 
The troubled Tiber chahng with her shores, 
Csesar said to me ' Barest thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood. 
And swim to yonder point ? ' Upon the word, 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in 
And bade him follow; so indeed he did. 
Tlie toni-nt roar'd, and we did buffet it 
"With lusty sinews, throwing it aside 
And stemming it witli liearts of controversy; 
But ere wi- could arrive tlie point proposed, 
Csesar cried ' Help me, Cassius, or I sink ! ' 
I, as iEneas, our great ancestor. 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber 
Did I the tired Cfesar. And this man 
Is now become a god, and Cassius is 
A WTetched creature and nnist bend his body. 
If Csesar carelessly Imt nod on liini. 
He had a fever when he was in Sjjain, 
And when the lit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake : 't is true, this god did shake: 
His coward lips did from their colour fly, 
And that same eye whose bend doth aw'e the world 
Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 



ACT I. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE II. 



Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans 

Mark him and write his speeches in their books, 

Alas, it cried ' Give me some drink, Titiuius,' 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get tlie start of the majestic world 

And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish. 

Bnt. Another general shout I 
I do believe that these applauses are 
For some new honours that are heap'd on Csesar. 

Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs and peep about 
^To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
f Jlen at some time are masters of their fates : 
\ The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus and Ca-sar : what should be in that ' Caesar ' '? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as CiEsar. 
Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meat doth tliis our Caesar feed. 
That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed ! 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood. 
But it was famed with more than with one man ? 
Wlien could they say till now, that talk'd of Borne, 
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man ? 
Now is it Rome indeed and room enougli, 
AVhen there is in it but one only man. 
O, you and I have heard our fathers say. 
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
As easily as a king. 

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
What you would work me to, I have some aim : 
How I have thought of this and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter; for this present, 
I would not, so with love I miglit entreat you, 
Be any further moved. What you have said 
I will consider; what you have to say 
I will with patience hear, and find a time 
Both meet to hear and answer such high things. 
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: 
Brutus had rather be a villager 
Thau to repute himself a son of Rome 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 

Ots. I am glad that my weak words 
Have struck but thus much showof lire from Brutus. 
Bru. The games are done and Caesar is returning. 
CV(.?. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
And he will, after his sour fashi(m, tell you 
What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 

lie-enter Caesar and his Train. 

Bru. 1 will do so. But, look you. Cassius, 
The angry spot doth glow on Ciesar^s brow. 
And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero 
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes 
As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

Crt's. Autonius! 

Ant. Caesar? 

Cirs. Let me have men about me that are fat : 
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: 
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thiuks too much : such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Caesar; he 's not dangerous ; 
He is a noble Roman and well given. 

C '■•«. AVould he were fatter ! But I fear him not : 
Y'et if my name were liable to fear. 



I do not know the man I should avoid 

So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; 

He is a great observer and he looks 

Quite through the deeds of men ; he loves no plays, 

As tliou dnsf, Antony; he hears no music; 

Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort 

As if he mock'd himself and scorn 'd his spirit 

That could be moved to smile at any thing. 

Such men as he be never at heart's ease 

Whiles they behold a greater than themselves. 

And therefore are they very dangerous. 

I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 

Tiian what I fear; for always I am Caesar. 

Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 

And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 

[Sennet. Exeunt Casar and all his 
Train, but Casca. 

Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak ; would you 
speak with me ? [dayi 

Bru. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced tb- 
That Cifisar looks so sad. 

Casca. AVhy, you were with him, were you not? 

Bru. I should not then ask Casca what had 
chanced. 

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him : and 
being offered him, he put it by with the back of his 
hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shoutiug. 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Cas. They shouted thrice : what was the last cry 

Casca. Why, for that too. [for i" 

Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice ? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was 't, and he put it by thrice, 
every time gentler than other, and at every putling- 
by mine honest neighbours shouted. 

Cas. Who offered him the crown ? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

JS)!(. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the manner 
of it : it was mere foolery ; I did not mark it. I saw 
Mark Antony offer him a crowai ; — yet 't was not a 
crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets; — and, 
as I told you, he put it by once : but, for all that, to 
my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he 
offered it to him again; then he i)ut it by again: 
but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his 
fingers off it. And then he offered it tlie third lime ; 
he put it the third time by : and still as he refused 
it, the rabblement liooted and clapped their chapped 
hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps and 
uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Ca?sar 
refused the cro^\ii that it had almost choked Cajsar; 
for he swounded and fell down at it : and for mine 
own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my 
lips and receiving the bad air. 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar 
swouud ? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 

Bru. 'T is very like : he hath the falling sickness. 

Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I 
And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, 
I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people 
did not clap him and hiss him, according as he 
pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the 
players in the theatre, I am no true man. 

i'ru. Wliut said he when he came unto himself? 

Casca. Man-y, Ijefore he fell down, when he per- 
ceived the common herd was glad he refused the 
crown, he plucked me ope his doidjlet and offered 
them his throat to cut. An I had lieen a man of any 
occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, 
I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And 
so he fell. AVhen he came to himself again, he said. 
If he had done or .said any thing amiss, lie desired 
their worships to think it "was his Lutirmity. Three 
623 



ACT I. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCEIfE III. 



or four wenches, wliere I stood, cried 'Alas, good 
soul ! ' and forgave liini with all their hearts : but 
there 's no heed to be taken of them ; if Cwsar had 
stabbed their mothers, they would have done no 

Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away? 

Casca. Ay. 

Cas. Did Cicero say anything ? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cas. To what effect ? 

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I '11 ne'er look you 
i' the face again : but those that understood him 
smiled at one anotlier anil sliook their heads; but, 
for mine own part, it was (J reck to nie. 1 could tell 
you more news too : IMarulhis and Flavins, for pull- 
ing scarfs off Ccesar's images, are put to silence. 
Fare you well. Tliere was more foolery yet, if I 
could remember it. 

Cas. Will you sup witli me to-night, Casca ? 

Casca. No, I am lu-nniiseil forth. 

Cas: Will you dine wiUi me to-morrow? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and 
your dinner worth the eating. 

Cos. Good : I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so. Farewell, Ijoth. [Exit. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! 
He was quick mettle when he went to school. 

Cas. So is he now in execution 
Of any bold or noble enterprise. 
However he puts on tliis tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
AVhich gives men stomach to digest his words 
With better appetite. 

Bnt. And so it is. For this time I will leave you: 
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
I will come home to you; or. if you will. 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 

Cas. I will do so : till then, think of the world. 
[Exit Brutus. 
Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
Thy lionourable metal may be wrought 
From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet 
That luililf minds keep ever with their likes; 
For wiio so linu that cannot be seduced ? 
C;esar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus: 
If I were I5rulus now and he were Cassius, 
He should not hmnour me. I will this night, 
In several hands, in at Ins windows throw, 
As if they came from several citizens. 
Writings all tending to the great opinion 
That Rome holds of his name ; wherein obscurely 
Ctesar's ambition shall he glanced at : 
And after this let CiEsar seat him sure; 
For we will shake him, or worse days endure. [Exit. 

SCENE 111.— The same. A street. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, 
Casca, with his sword drawn, and Cicero. 

Cj'c. Good even, Casca; brought you Ctesar home? 
Wliy are you breathless ? and wliy stare you so ? 

Casca. Are not you moved, when all the sway of 
Shakes like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero, [earth 

I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen 
The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam. 
To be exalted with the tlireutcnhiij; clouds: 
But never till to-night , never till now. 
Did I go through a tempest dropping' "i'^- 
Either there is a civil strife in lieaven. 
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods. 
Incenses them to send destrnetion. 

Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? 

Casca. A common slave— you know him well by 
sight ^ 
Held up liis left hand, which did flame and burn 
Like twenty torches join VI, and yet his hand, 
630 



Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
Besides — I ha' not since put up my sword — 
Against the Capitol I met a lion. 
Who glared upon me, and went surly by, 
Without annoying me : and there were drawn 
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women. 
Transformed with their fear: "who swore they saw 
Men all in tire walk up and dov.n tlie streets. 
And yesterday the liird of night did sit 
Even at noon-day upon the market-place. 
Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies 
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 
' These are their reasons ; they are natural; ' 
For, I believe, they are portenfous things 
Unto the climate that they point upon. 

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
But men may construe things after their fashion, 
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
Comes Csesar to the Capitol to-mofrow? 

Casca. He doth ; for lie did bid Antonius 
Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. 

CJc. Good-night then, Casca: this disturbed sky 
Is not to walk in. 

Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Cicero. 

Enter Cassius. 

Cas. Who 's there ? 

Ca.sca. A Eoman. 

Cas. Casca, by your voice. 

Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, wliat night is 

Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. [this ! 

Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ? 

Cas. Those that liave known the earth so full of 
For my part, I have walk 'd about the streets, [faults. 
Submitting me unto the perilous night, 
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see. 
Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; 
And when the" cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
Even in the aim and very flash of it. [lieavens ? 

Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the 
It is the part of men to fear and tremble. 
When the most mighty gods by tokens send 
Such dreadful hcialds to astonish us. [life 

Cas. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of 
That should be in a Roman you do want. 
Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze 
And put on tear and cast yourself in wonder. 
To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
But if you would consider the true cause 
Why ail these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
AVhy birds and beasts from quality and kind, 
Wliy old men fool and children calculate. 
Why all these things change from their ordinance 
Their natures and preformed faculties 
To monstrous quality,— why, you shall find 
That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, 
To make them instruments of fear and warning 
Unto some monstrous state. 
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 
Most like this dreadful night. 
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
As doth the lion in the Capitol, 
A man no mightier than thyself or me 
In personal action, vet prodigious gro\\Ti 
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 

Casca. 'T is Ctesar that you mean; is it not,Cassius? 

Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 
Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; 
But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead, 
Aiul we are govern \1 with our mothers' spirits ; 
Our voke and sufferance sliow us womanish. 

Casca. Indeed, they say the senators to-morrow 
Mean to establish Cajsar as a Icing ; 
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, 
In everv place, save here in Italy. 

Cas. "I know where I will wear this dagger then ; 



ACT II. 



JULIUS C^SAE. 



SCENE I. 



Ciissius from bondage will deliver Cassius : 

Therein, ye gods, you make the Aveuk most strong; 

Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 

Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten Ijrass, 

Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 

Can be retentive to the strength of sjiirit ; 

But life, being weary of these wurliliy burs, 

Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 

If I know this, know all the world besides, 

Tliat part of tyraimy that I do bear 

I can shake otf at pleasure. {Thunder still. 

Ca.-ii'ii. . So can I: 

So every bondman in his own hand bears 
The power to cancel his captivity. 

Cas. And why should Ciesar be a tyrant then ? 
Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf. 
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: 
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
Tliose that with haste will make a mighty fire 
Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, 
What rubbish and what offal, when it serves 
For the base matter to illuminate 
So vile a thing as Ctesar ! But, O grief, 
AVhere hast thou led me ? I perhaps speak this 
Before a willing bondman ; then I know 
My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, 
And dangers are to me indifferent. 

Casca. You speak to Casca, and to such a man 
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: 
Be factious for redress of all these griefs, 
And I will set this foot of mine as far 
As who goes farthest. 

Cas. There 's a bargain made. 

Now know you, Casca, I have moved already 
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans 
To undergo with me an enterprise 
Of honourable-dangerous consequence ; 
And I do know, by this, they stay for me 
In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, 
There is no stir or walking in the streets ; 
Aud the complexion of the element 



In favour 's like the work we have in hand. 
Most bloody, flery, and most terrible. [liaste. 

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in 
Cas. 'T is Cinna ; I do know him by his gait ; 
He is a friend. ^ 

hater Cinna. 

Cinna, where haste j'ou so? 

Cin. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus 
Cimber? 

Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate 
To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? 

C'(/i. I am glad on 't. What afearful night is this ! 
There 's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 

Cas. Am I not stay'd for? tell me. 

Cm. Yes, you are. 

O Cassius, if you could 
But win the noble Brutus to our party — 

Cns. Be you content : good Cinna, take this paper. 
And look yon lay it in the prEetoi's chair, 
Where Brutus may but find it: and throw this 
In at his window; set this up with wax 
Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, 
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there ? 

Cin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he 's gone 
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie. 
And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 

Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 

[E.cit China. 
Come, Casca, you and I will j'et ere day 
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
Is ours already, and the man entire 
Upon the next encounter yields him ours. 

Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: 
And that which would appear offence in us. 
His countenance, like richest alchemy, 
Will change to virtue and to worthiness. 

Cas. Him and his worth and om' great need of 
You have right well conceited. Let us go, [him 
For it is after midnight; and ere day 
We will awake him and be sure of him. [Exeunt. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I. — Home. Brulus''s orchard. 

Enter Brutus. 
Bru. What, Lucius, ho I 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars. 
Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say I 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
When, Lucius, when? awake, I sayl what, Lucius! 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Call'd you, my lord ? 

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: 
When it is lighted, come and call me here. 

inc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Bru. It must be by his death : and for my part, 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 
But for the general. He would be cro^-n'd : 
How that might change his nature, there's the 

(piestion. 
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; 
And that craves wary walking. Crown him?— 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, [that ;— 
That at his wiU he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is,, when it disjoins 
Remorse from power : and . to speak truth of Csesar, 
I have not known when his aifections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 't is a common proof, 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ; 
But when he once attains the upmost round. 



He then unto the ladder turns his back. 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend. So Cassar may. 
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
Will bear no colour for the thing he is. 
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, 
Would run to these and these extremities: 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg 
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischiev- 
And kill him in the shell. [ous, 

Ee-enter Lucius. 

Luc. The taper burnetii in your closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a flint, I found 
This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure. 
It did not lie there when I went to bed. 

[Oives him the letter. 

Bru. Get you to bed again ; it is not day. 
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March ? 

Luc. I know not, sir. 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 

Luc. I will, sir. [Exit. 

Bru. The exhalations whizzing in the air 
Give so much light that I may read by them. 

[Opens the letter and reads. 
' Brutus, thou .sleep 'st: awake, and'see thyself. 
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress! 
Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake! ' 
Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
Where I have took them up. — — 

631 



v\ 



ACT II. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE I. 



' Shall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out : 
Shiill Rome stand under one man's awe ? What, 

Rome ? 
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
' Speak, strike, redress ! ' Am I entreated 
To speak and strike V O Rome, I make thee prom- 
If the redress will follow, thou receivest [ise; 

Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 

Re-enter Lucius. 
Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. 

[Knocking within. 
Brit. 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody 
linocks. [Exit Lucius. 

Since Cassius first did whet me against Coesar, 
I have nut slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
And the lirst motion, all the interim is 
I^ike a phanlasma, or a hideous dream: 
The Genius and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council; and the state of man, 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, 't is your brother Cassius at the door, 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Bru. Is he alone ? 

i«(f. No, sir , there axe,jn^ with him. 

Bru. Do you know them ? 

Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck 'd about their 
And half their faces buried in their cloaks, [ears. 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favour. 

Bru. Let 'em enter. [Exit Lucius. 

They are the faction. O conspiracy, 
Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night. 
When evils are most free ? O, then by day 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage V Seek none, con- 
Hide it in smiles and affability : [spiraey ; 
For if thou path, thy native semblance on, 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 

Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Oasca, Decius, 
Cinna, Metellus Ciniber, and Trebonius. 

Gas. I think -we are too bold upon your rest : 
Good morrow, Brutus ; do we trouble you ? 

Bru,. I have been up this hour, awake all night. 
Know I tliese men that come along with you ? 

Gas. Yes, every man of them, and no man here 
But honours you ; and every one doth wish 
You had but that oi)inion of yourself 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. 

Bru. He is welcome hither. 

Gas. This, Decius Brutus. 

Bni. He is welcome too. 

Gas. This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; and this, Metellus 

Bru. They are all welcome. [Cimber. 

What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night V 

Gas. Sliall I entreat a word ? 

[Brutus and Gassius whisper. 

Dec. Here lies the east : doth not the day break 

Gusca. No. Piere ? 

Gin. O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines 
That fret the clouds are messengers of day. 

Gasca. You shall confess that you are both de- 
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, [ceived. 
Which is a great way growing on the south, 
WeiL^liiiig the youthful season of the year. 
Sdiiic Iwii niduihs hence up hi<iher toward the north 
He lirst prt'st'nts his hre: ami the liigh east 
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 
632 



Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
Gas. And let us swear our resolution. 
Bru. No, not an oath : if not the face of men, 
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
And every man hence to Ins idle bed; 
So let liigh-sighted tyranny range on. 
Till eacir man drop by lottery. But if these, 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
To kindh' cowards and to steel with valour 
The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, 
What need we any spur but our own cause. 
To prick vis to redress ? what other bond 
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, 
And will not palter? and what other oath 
Than honesty to honesty engaged. 
That this shall be, or we will fall for it ? 
Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, 
Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls 
Tliat welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear 
Sucli creatures as men doubt ; but do not stain 
The even virtue of our enterprise. 
Nor the insuppressive mettle of our sjiirits. 
To think tliat or our cause or our i)erformance 
Did need an o:ith ; when every drop of blood 
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
Is guilty uf a several bastardy. 
If he do break tlie smallest particle 
Of any promise that liath pass'd from him. 

Gas. But wliat of (Micro V sliall we sound him? 
I think he will stand very strong with us. 
Gasca. Let us not leave him out. 
Gin. No, by no means. 

Met. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs 
Will purchase us a good opinion 
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: 
It .shall be said, his judgment ruled our liands; 
Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, 
But all lie liuried in his gravity. 

Bru. O, name liim not : let us not break with him ; 
For he will never follow any thmg 
That other men begin. 

Gas. Then leave him out. 

Casca. Indeed he is not fit. 

Bee. Shall no man else be touch 'd but only Caisar ? 
Gas. Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet, 
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Cfesar, 
Should outlive CiEsar : we shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all : which to prevent, 
Let Antony and Cjesar fall together. [sins, 

Bru. Our course will seem too bloodyj Caius Cas- 
To cut the head off and then hack the hmbs, 
Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; 
For Antony is but a limb of Cajsar: 
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Ctesar ; 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
O, that we tlien could come by Ciesar's spirit. 
And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, 
Csesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends. 
Let 's kill him boldly, but not wTathfully ; 
Let 's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
Not hi'W him as a carcass fit for hounds : 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do. 
Stir up tlieir servants to an act of rage. 
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make 
Our imrpose nei-essary and not envious: 
AVhich so apiiearing to the common eyes. 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
And for Mark Antony, tliink not of him ; 
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm 
When CiEsar's head is off. 

Gas. Yet I fear him ; 

For in the ingrafted love he bears to C;esar — 
Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not thmk oi him : 



ACT II. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE I. 



If he love Csesar, all that he can do 
Is to himself, take thought aud die for Caesar: 
And that were much he should ; for he is given 
To sports, to wildiiess and much company. 

Tick. There is no fear iu him; let him not die; 
For he will live, aud laugh at this hereafter. 

\^Clock strikes. 

Bru. Peace ! count the clock. 

Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 

Treb. 'T is time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 

Whether Ceesar will come forth to-day, or no; 
For he is superstitious grown of late. 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies : 
It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night. 
And the persuasion of his augurers. 
May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Xever fear that : if he be so resolved, 
I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear 
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees. 
And bears with glasses, elephants witli holes. 
Lions with toils and men with flatterers; 
But when I tell him he hates flatterers. 
He says he does, being then most flattered. 
Let me work ; 

For I can give his humoiu- the true bent, 
And 1 will brmg liim to the Capitol. 

Cits. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 

Uru. By the eighth hour : is that the uttermost ? 

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caisar hard. 
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey : 
I wonder none of you have thought of him. 

Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him: 
He loves me well, aud I have given him reasons; 
Send him but hither, and I '11 fashion him. 

Cas. The morning comes upon 's : we '11 leave you, 
Brutus. 
And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember 
What you have said, aud show yourselves true Ro- 
maus. 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily ; 
Let not our looks put on our purposes. 
But bear it as our Piornan actors do. 
With uutired spirits and forujal constancy : 
And so good morrow to you every one. 

[Exeunt all hut Brutus. 
Boy ! Lucius ! Fast asleep V It is no matter ; 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, 
Which busy care draws in the brauis of men ; 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 

Enter Portia. 

For. Brutus, my lord ! 

Bru. Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you 
It is not for your health thus to commit [uowV 

Your weak condition to tlie raw cold morning. 

For. Kor for yours neither. You 've ungently, 
Brutus, 
Stole from my bed: aud yesternight, at supper. 
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about. 
Musing aud sighing, with your arms across, 
And when I ask\l you what the matter was. 
You stared upon me with ungentle looks ; 
I urged you further; then you scratcli'd your head. 
And too impatiently stamp'd with your toot ; 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, 
But, with an angry wafture of your liafid, 
Gave sign for me to leave you : so I did ; 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal 
Hoping it was but an effect of humour, 
Which sometime hath his hour with every mati. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, 



And could it work so much upon your shape 
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord. 
Make me acquainted with youi- cause of grief. 

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 

For. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, 
He woukl embrace the means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. 

For. Is Brutus sick V and is it physical 
To walk unbraced and suck up the humours 
Of the dank morning V AVhat, is Brutus sick, 
And wiU he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
To dare the vile contagion of the night 
And tempt the rheumy and unpurgeil air 
To add unto his sickness ? No, iny Brutus ; 
You have some sick offence v/ithin your mind, 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
I ought; to know of: and, upon my knees, 
I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, 
By all your vows of love and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one. 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, 
Wliy you are heavy, and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you : for here have been 
Some six or sevefi, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

For. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it excepted I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself 
But, as it were, in sort or limitation. 
To keep witli you at meals, comfort your bed, 
Aud talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the 

suburbs 
Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife. 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad lieart. [secret. 

For. If this were true, then should I know this 
I grant I am a woman ; but withal 
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife : 
I grant I am a woman ; but withal 
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. 
Tliink you I am no stronger than my sex, 
Being so father'd and so husbafided ? 
Tell me your counsels, I w ill fiot disclose 'em : 
I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
Givmg myself a voluntary wound 
Here, in the thigh : can I bear that vrith patience, 
And not my husband's secrets ? 

Bru. O ye gods. 

Bender me worthy of this noble wife ! 

[Knoclcinci irithin. 
Hark, hark! one luiocks: Portia, go in awhile; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
All the charactery of my sad brows : 
Leaveme with haste. [Exit Fortia.] Lucius, who's 
that knocks i* 

Re-enter Lucius with Ligarius. 

Luc. Here is a sick man tlial would speak with you. 

Bru. Caius Ligarius, tliat ^letellus spake of. 
Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius ! how ? 

Lirj. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble totigue. 

Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave 
Caius, 
To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick ! 

Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 

Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
Had you a healthful ear to liear of it. 

Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before, 
I here discard my sickness. Soul of Home ! 
633 



ACT II. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE II. 



Brave son, derived from honourable loins! 
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up 
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run. 
And I will strive with things impossible ; 
Yea, get the better of them. What 's to do ? 

Bru. A piece of work that will make sick men 
whole. [sick ? 

JAg. But are not some whole that we must make 

Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 
I shall unfold to thee, as we are goiug 
To whom it must be done. 

Liij. Set on your foot, 

And with a heart new-fired I follow you. 
To do I know not what : but it sufficeth 
That Brutus leads me on. 

Bru. Follow me, then, \_Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— C'ccsar's Tmcsc. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Csesar, in his 

night-gown. 
Cces. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to- 
night : 
Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 
' Help, ho ! they murder C:esar 1 ' Who 's withiu ? 

Enter a Servant. 
Sew. My lord ? 

Cces. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice 
And bring me their opinions of success. 
Serv. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Calpurnia. 

Cal. What mean yovi, Cresar V think you to walk 
You shall not stir out of your house to-day. [forth ? 

Cces. Cffisar shall forth: the things that threat- 
en 'd me 
Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall see 
The face of Ca;sar, they are vanished. 

Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies. 
Yet now they fright me. There is one within. 
Besides the things that we have heard and seen, 
Kecomits most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
A lioness hath wlielpeil in the streets; 
And graves have yawn 'd, and yielded up their dead : 
Fierce fiery warriors fdught upon the clouds, 
In ranks and sqnadrdus and right form of war, 
Which drizzlcil Ijldod upon the Capitol: 
Tlie noise of battle hurtled in the air. 
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan. 
And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. 
O Ca:!sar! these things are beyond all use, 
And I do fear them. 

Cces. What can be avoided 

Whose end is puriwsed by the mighty gods ? 
Yet Csesar shall go fcirtli ; for these predictions 
Are to the world'in geiiei'al as to Caisar. 

Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen ; 
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of 
princes. 

Cces. Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
It seems to me most strange that men should fear; 
Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
Will come when it will come. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Wliat say the augurers ? 
Serv. They would not have you to stir fortli to- 
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, [day. 
They could not find a heart within the lieast. 

Cces. The gods do this in slianie of cowardice: 
Cfesar should be a beast without a heart. 
If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
No, Ctesar shall not : danger knows full weU 
That Csesar is more dangerous than he : 
(334 



We are two lions litter'd in one day, 
And I the elder and more terrible : 
And Csesar shall go forth. 

Cal. Alas, my lord, 

Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. 
Do not go forth to-day : call it my fear 
That keeps you in the house, and not your own. 
We '11 send Mark Antony to the senate-house: 
And he shall say you are not well to-day: 
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. 

Cirs. Mark Antony shall say I am not well ; 
And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 

Enter Decius. 
Here 's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 

-Dfc. Csesar, all hail ! good morrow, worthy Csesar: 
I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 

Cos. And you are come in very happy time, 
To bear my greeting to the senators 
And tell them that I will not come to-day : 
Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: 
I will not come to-day : tell them so, Decius. 

Ccd. Say he is sick. 

Cfps. Shall Cipsar send a lie ? 

Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far. 
To be afeard to tell graybeards the truth V 
Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. 

l)cc. Most mighty Csesar, let me know some cause. 
Lest I be laugh 'd at when I tell them so. 

Cces. The cause is in my will : I will not come ; 
That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
But for your private satisfaction. 
Because I love you, I will let you know: 
Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: 
She dreamt to-nigiit she saw my statua. 
Which, like a fountain witli an hundred spouts, 
Did run jiure blood; and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it: 
And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, 
And evils imminent ; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. 

I)cc. This dream is all amiss interpreted ; 
It was a vision fair and fortunate : 
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes. 
In which so many smiling Romans bathed. 
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
Reviving lilnod, and that great men shall press 
For tinctuns, stains, relics and cognizance. 
This by Calpuruia's dream is signified. 

rvcs.' Anil this way have you well expounded it. 

Dci-. I have, when you have heard what I can say: 
And know it now: the senate have concluded 
To give this day a crown to mighty Csesar. 
If you shall send them word you will not come, 
Their minds may chsmge. Besides, it were a mock 
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 
' Break up the senate till another time. 
When Csesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' 
If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 
' Lo, Ca?sar is afraid ' 'i 
Pardon me, Csesar; for my dear dear love 
To your proceeding liids me tell you this; 
And reason to my love is lialile. 

Cces. How foolish do your tears seem now, Cal- 
I am sishamed I did yield to them. [jjiu-nia! 

Give me my robe, for I will go. 

Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, 
Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna. 
And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 

Buh. Good morrow, Csessir. 

Cces. Welcome, Publius. 

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ? 
Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, 
Cipsar was ne'er so much your eiiemy 
As that same ague which hath made you lean. 
What is't o'clock? 



JULIUS CjESAR. 



SCENE I. 



Bru. Coesar, 't is stnicken eight. 

C'ces. I tbank j-ou for your paius aud courtesy. 

Enter Antony. 
See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 
Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. 

Ant. So to most noble Csesar. 

CVes. Bid them prepare \^"ithin : 

I am to blame to be thus waited for. 
Xow, Cinua: now, Metellus: what, Trebouius! 
I have an hour's talk m store for you ; 
Remember that you call on me to-day : 
Be near me, that I may remember you. 

Treh. Caesar, I will : [AsiiJi] and so near will I be, 
Tliat yoiu'best friends shall wish I had been further. 

Cces. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine 
with me ; 
And we, like friends, will straightway go together. 

liiu. \_Asidc\ That every like is not the same, O 
CfBsar, 
The heart of Brutus yearns to tlimk upon I \_Excunt. 

SCENE III.— J. street near the Capitol. 

Enter Artemidorus, readimj a -paper. 
Art. 'Ciesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of 
Cassius ; come not near Casca ; have an eye to Cinna ; 
trust not Trebonius ; mark well Metellus Cimber ; 
Decius Brutus loves thee not: thou hast wronged 
Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these 
men, and it is bent against Cfcsar. If thou beest 
not immortal, loolv about you : seciu'ity gives w-ay 
to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee ! Thy 
lover, Artemidorus.' 

Here will I stand till Cfesar pass along, 
And as a suitor will I give him this. 
My heart laments that virtue cannot live 
Out of the teeth of emulation. 
If thou read this, O Cresar, thou mayst live; 
If not, the Fates with traitors do coiitrive. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. — Another part of the same street, before 
the house of Brutus. 

Eiter Portia and Lucius. 

For. I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house ; 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone : 
Why dost tliou stay ? 

Luc. To know my errand, madam. 

For. I would have had thee there, aud here again. 



Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. 

constancy, be strong upon my side. 

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! 

1 have a man"s mind, but a woman's miglit. 
How hard it is for women to keep comisel ! 
Art thou here yet ? 

Luc. Madam, what should I do ? 

Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ? 
And so return to you, and nothing else? [well, 

For. Yes, bring me word, boy," if thy lord look 
For lie went sickly forth : and take good note 
What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
Hark, boy ! what noise is that 'i 

Luc. I hear none, madam. 

For. Prithee, listen well ; 

I heard a bustling rumour, lilie a fray, 
Aud the wind brings it from the Capitol. 

Luc. Sooth, madam, I liear nothing. 

Enter the Soothsayer. 

For. Come hither, fellow : \\'hich way hast thou 

Sooth. At mine own house, good lady. [been ? 

For. What is 't o'clock V 

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 

F(rr. Is Ca?sar yet gone to the Capitol ? 

Sooth. Madam," not yet : I go to take my stand, 
To see him pass on to the Capitol. 

For. Thou hast some suit to Ciesar, hast thou not ? 

Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please Csesar 
To be so good to Ciesar as to hear me, 
I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 

For. Why, know'st thou any harm 's intended 
towards him ? 

Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I 
fear may chance. 
Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: 
The throng that follows Ctesar at the heels, 
Of senators, of pnetors, common suitors, 
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
I '11 get me to a place more void, and there 
Speak to great Csesar as he comes along. [Exit. 

For. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing 
The heart of woman is ! O Brutus, 
The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! 
Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit 
That Cffisar wUl not grant. O, I grow faint. 
Rmi, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; 
Say I am merry: come to me again, 
Aiid bruig me word what he doth say to thee. 

[Exeunt severally. 



A.CT III. 



SCENE I. — Borne. Before the Capitol ; the Senate 
sitting above. 

A crowd of people : among them Artemidorus and the 
Soothsayer. Flnnritsh. Enter Csesar, Brutus, Cas- 
sius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, 
Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, mid others. 

Cccs. [To the Soolhsayci-] The ides of March are 
come. 

Sooth. Ay, GiEsar; but not gone. 

Aft. Hail, Ccesar! read this schedule. 

Dec. Ti'elionius doth desire you to o'er-read, 
At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 

^lr(. O Ca?sar, read mine first ; for mine 's a suit 
Tliat touches Cfesar nearer: read it, great Caesar. 

Ops. What touches us ourself shall be last served. 

Art. Delay not, Csesar ; read it instantly. 

Cms. What, is the feUow mad ? 

Fub. Sirrah, give place. 

Cas. Wliat, urge you your petitions in the street ? 
Come to the Capitol. 



Csesar goes up to the Senate-House, the restfoUowing. 

Fop. I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 

Cas. What enterprise, Popilius i* 

Pop. Fare you well. 

[Advances to Cmsar. 

Bru. What said Popilius Lena ? 

Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. 
I feai' our purpose is discovered. 

Bru. Look, how he makes to Csesar: mark him. 

Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known, 
Cassius or Csesar never shall turn back, 
For I will slay myself. 

Bru. Cassius, be constant: 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our [nirposes ; 
For, look, he smiles, and Csesar doth not change. 

Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, 
Brutus, 
He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 

[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. 
635 



ACT III. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE I. 



Bee. Where is Metellns Cimber V Let him go, 
And presently prefer his suit to Cresar. 

Bru. He is address'd : press near and second Iiim. 

Cm. Casca, you are tlie first tluit rears your liand. 

Cms. Are we all ready V What is now amiss 
That Ciesar and his senate must redress V 

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant 
Ctesar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart,— [Kneeling. 

Cces. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These couchings and these lowly courtesies 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men, 
And turn pre-ordinance and first decree 
Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
To think that C;fsar bears such rebel blood 
That will be tluuv'd from the true quality 
With that wliich lueltcth fools ; I mean, sweet words, 
Low-crodkrd courfsies and base spaniel-fawning. 
Thy brother liv d.-rrec is banished: 
If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, 
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, Ccesar doth not wrong, nor without cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, 
To sound more sweetly in great Ctesar's ear 
For the repealing of my banish'd brother V 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, bat not in flattery, Ctesar ; 
Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

Ores. What, Brutus ! 

Cas. Pardon, Caesar; Ccesar, pardon : 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

C'ft's. I could be well moved, if I were as you ; 
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me : 
But I am constant as the northern star. 
Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality 
There is no fellow in the firmament. 
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, 
They are all fire and every one doth shine. 
But there 's but one in all doth hold his place : 
So in the world ; 't is furnish'd well with men. 
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; 
Yet in the number I do know but one 
That unassailable holds on his rank, 
Unsliaked of motion: and that I am he, 
Let me a little show it, even in this; 
That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd. 
And constant do remain to keep him so. 

Cin. O Csesar, — 

Ocs. Hence' wilt thou lift up Olympus ? 

Dec. Great Caesar, — 

Cfps. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ? 

Casca. Speak, hands, for me! 

[Casca Jirst, then the other Conspirators and 
Marcus Brutus stab Crrsar. 

Crfs. Et tu. Brute! Then fall, Ciesar ! [Dies. 

Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead ! 
Run lience, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 

Cas. Some to the common jjulpits, and cry out 
' Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement ! ' 

Bru. People and senators, be not affrighted; 
Fly not; stand still: ambition's debt is paid. 

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 

Bcc. And Cassius too. 

Bru. Where 's Publius ? 

Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 

Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of 
Should chance— [Cfesar's 

Bru. Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer ; 
Tliere is no harm intended to your person, 
Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. 

Cas. And leave us, Publius ; lest that the people, 
Rushingon us, should do your age some mischief. 

Bru. Do so : and let no man abide this deed, 
But we the doers. 

636 



He-enter Trebonius. 

Cas. Where is Antony ? ^ 

Tre. Fled to his house amazed : 
Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run 
As it were doomsday. 

Bru. Fates, we will know your pleasures : 

That we shall die, we know ; 't is but the time 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 

Cas. Wliy, he that cuts off twenty years of life 
Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit: 
So are we Cffisar's friends, that have abridged 
His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
And let us bathe our hands in Citsar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads. 
Let 's all cry ' Peace, freedom and liberty ! ' 

Cas. Stoop, then, and v^ash. How many ages 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over [hence 

In .states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 

Bru. How many times shall Csesar bleed in sport. 
That now on Pornpey's basis lies along 
No wortliier than the dust ! 

Cas. So oft as that shall be, 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave their country liberty. 

Dec. What, shall we forth v 

Cos. Ay, every man away : 

Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 

Enter a Servant. 

j3?-!(. Soft! whocomeshere? A friend of Antony's. 

Sen: Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel : 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ; 
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; 
Ca'sar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: 
Say I love Bi iitus, and I honour him ; 
Say I fear'd Casar, honour'd him and loved him. 
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 
May safely come to him, and be resolved 
How Ca'sar hath deserved to lie in death, 
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
So well as Brutus living; but will follow 
The fortunes and affairs ol' nol)le lirutiis 
Tliorough the hazards of this untrod state 
With ail true faith. So says my master Antony. 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ; 
I never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place. 
He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour. 
Depart untouch 'd. 

Sen: I '11 fetch him presently. [Exit. 

Bru. I know that we shall have him well to friend. 

Cus. I wish we may : but yet have I a mind 
That fears him much ; and my misgivhig still 
Falls shrewdly to the purpuse. 

Bru. But here comes Antony. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Welcome, Mark Antony. 
Ant. O mighty Ceesar ! dost thou lie so low ';' 
Are all thy c^jnquests, glories, triumphs, spoils. 
Shrunk to this little measure .'' Fare thee well. 
I know -not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument 
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich 
With the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ye, if you liear me hard. 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousaHd years, 
I shall' uot find myself so apt to die : 



ACT III. 



JULIUS CJESAR. 



SCENE TI. 



Ko i)lace will i)Ipase me. so, no mean of death, 
As here by Casar. and by yoii cut off, 
The choice and master spirits of this age. 

Bru. O Antony, lit"^ not your deatli of lis. 
Though now we must appear Moody and cruel, 
As, by our liands and this our present act, 
You see we do, yet see you liut our hands 
And this the lileedin.u' business they have done: 
Our hearts you see rjot : they are pitiful; 
And pity to the general wron3K)f Kome — 
. As fire drives out fire, so pity pity — 
Hath done tliis deed on Casar. For your part, 
To you our swords iiave leailen points. Mark Antony: 
Our arms, in strcns^'th of malice, and our hearts 
Of brotliers' tenrper, do receive .you in 
With all kind love, i^ood thoughts, and reverence. 

Cnit. Yiiur voii-e shall lie as strong as any man's 
In the disjiosing of new dignities. 

Bru. Oidy be patient till we have appeased 
The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 
And then we will deliver you the cause. 
Why I, that did love Ca?sar when I struck him, 
Have thus proceeded. 

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 

Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; 
Next, Cains Cassius, do I take your hand : 
Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus; 
Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; 
Though last , not least iii love,yours, good Trebonius. 
Gentlemen all, — alas, what shall I say? 
My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
That one of two bad ways you nuist conceit me, 
Either a coward or a tlatteier. 
That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 't is true : 
If then thy spirit look upon us now, 
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death. 
To see thy Antony making his iieace, 
Shaking the bloody lingers of thy foes. 
Most noble ! in the i)resence of thy corse V 
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
It would become me better than to close 
In terms of friendship with tlune enemies, [liart; 
Pardon me, Julius ! Here wast thou bay'd, brave 
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, 
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson 'd" in thy lethe. 
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; 
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. 
How like a deer, struckeu by many princes, 
Dost thou here lie! 

Cos. Mark Antony, — 

Ant. Pardon me. Caius Cassius: 

The enemies of C;esar shall say this; 
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 

Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so ; 
But what compact mean you to have with us ? 
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ; 
Or shall we on, and not depend on you 'i 

Ant. Therefore I took your hands,"but was, indeed, 
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. 
Friends am I with you all and love you all. 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons 
Why and wherein Ciesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle: 
Our reasons are so full of good regard 
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. That 'salll seek: 

And am moreover suitor that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place ; 
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas<. Brutus, a word with you. 

[Attide to Bru.'] You know not what you do: do not 
That Antony speak in his funeral ; [consent 



Know you how much the people may be moved 
By that which he will utter K 

Bru. By your pardon ; 

I will myself into the pulpit first. 
And show the reason of our Ca'sar's death : 
What Antony shall speak, I will |irotest 
He speaks by leave and by permission. 
And that we are contented ( 'asar shall 
Have all true rites and lawful i-eremonies. 
It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 

Cii.-i. I know not what may fall: I like it not. 

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you C';¥sar's body. 
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us. 
But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, 
And say you do 't by our permission; 
Else sliall you not have any hand at all 
About his funeral : and you shall speak 
In the same jiulpit whereto I am going. 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant. Be it so; 

I do desire no more. 

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 

[E.riimt all Ijiii Aiitony. 

Ant. O, p.ardon me, thou bleeding piece of eartji. 
That I am meek and gentle with tlie.se butchers! 
Thou art the ruins of the noljlest man 
That ever lived in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! 
Over thy wounds now do I iiropliesy, — 
Which, like dundj mouths, do oj)e their ruby lips, 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue — 
A curse shall light upon the liudis of men; 
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
Shall cundier all the parts of Italy; 
Blood and destruction shall be soin use 
And dreadful objects so familiar 
That motliers shall but smile when tliev behold 
Their infaids quartered with the hands'of war; 
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: 
And Csesar's spirit, ranging for revenge. 
With Ate by his side come hot from liell, 
Sliall in these confines with a monarch's voice 
Cry ' Havoc,' and let sli]) the dogs of war; 
That this foul deed sliall snirll above the earth 
With carrion men, groaning for burial. 

Enter a Servant. 
You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Ant. C^sar did write for him to come to Rome. 

Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming; 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth — 
O Caesar ! — [Sceinq the hnrtij. 

Ant. Thy heart Is big, get thee apart aiid weep. 
Passion, I .see, is aatching; for mine eyes. 
Seeing those beadOT)f sorrow stand in thine, 
Began to water. Is thy ma.ster coming ? 

Serv. He lies to-night within seveii leagues of 
Rome. [chanced : 

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; 
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; 
Thou Shalt not back till I have borne this corse 
Into the market-place: there shall I try. 
In my oration, how the iieople take 
The cruel issue of these bloody men: 
According to the which, thou slialt discourse 
To young Octavius of the state of things. 
Lend me your hand. [Exeunt with C'asar^s bodij. 

SCENE n. — The Forum. 

En ter 'Brutus and C assius ,andathrongof Citizens. 

CitUens. We will lie satisfied; let us be satisfied. 

Bru. Then follow me. and give me audience, 
Cassius, go you into the other street, [friends. 

C37 



ACT III. 



JULIUS CjESAR. 



SCEXE IT, 



And part the numbers. 

Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Cffsar's death. 
■ First Oil. I will hear Brutus speak, [reasons, 

Sec. at. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their 
"When severally we hear them rendered. 

[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus 
goes into the pulpit. 

Third Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : sUence ! 

Bru. Be patient till the last. 
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my 
cause, and be silent, that you may hear : believe me 
tor mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, 
that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom, 
and awake your senses, that you may the better 
judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear 
friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to 
Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend de- 
mand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my 
answer: — Not that I loved Csesar less, but that I 
loved Rome more. Had you rather C:esar were 
living and die all slaves, than that Ca;sar were dead, 
to live all free men V As Caisar loved me, I weep 
for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he 
was valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambi- 
tious, I slew him. There is tears for his love ; joy 
for his fortune; honour for his valour; and death 
for his ambition. Who is here so base that would 
be a bondman y If any, speak; for him have I of- 
fended. Who is here so rude that would not be a 
Roman '? If any, speak; for him have I offended. 
Who is here so vile that will not love his country V 
If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for 
a reply. 

All. None, Brutus, none. 

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no 
more to Cwsar than you shall do to Brutus. The 
question of his death is cnriiUed in the Capitol; his 
glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor 
his olTences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others, with Caesar's body. 
Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : 
who, though he had no hand in his deatii, shall re- 
ceive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com- 
monwealth ; as which of you shall not y With this 
I depart, — that, as I slew my best lover for the 
good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, 
when it shall please my country to need my death. 

All. Live, Brutus! live, live! [house. 

. First Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his 

Sec. Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

Third Cit. Let him be Cajsar. 

Fourth Cit^ Cscsar's better parts 

Shall be crown'd in Brutus. 

First Cit. We '11 bring him to his house 

With shouts and clamours. 

Bru. My countrymen, — 

Sec. Cit. Peace, silence ! Brutus speaks. 

First Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone. 
And, for my 'sake, stay here with Antony : 
Do grace to Ciesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Csesar's glories ; which Mark Antony, 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart. 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 

First Cit. Stay, ho! and let us liear Mark Antony. 

Third Cit. Let him go up into the public chair; 
We '11 hear him. Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you. 

[Goes into tlie pulpit. 

Fourth Cit. What does he say of Brutus y 

Third Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake. 

He finds himself beholding to us all. 
Go8 



Fourth Cit. 'T were best he speak no harm of 
Brutus here. 

First Cit. This Caisar was a tyrant. 

Third Cit. Nay, that 's certain : 

We are blest that Rome is rid of him. [say. 

Sec. Cit. Peace! let us hear what Antony can 

Ant. You gentle Romans, — 

Citizens. Peace, ho ! let us hear liim. 
N«^ii{. Friends, Romans, comitrymeu, lend me 

your ears ; • 
I come to bury Cfesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them ; 
The good is oft inten'ed with their bones ; 
So let it be with Ciesar. The nulile Brutus 
Ilath told you Caesar was ambitious: 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault. 
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 
For Brutus is an honourable man ; 
So are they all, all honourable men — 
Come I to speak in Cai'sar's funeral. 
Ho was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
But Brutus says he was ambitions; 
And Brutus is an honourabU' man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Who.se ransoms did the general coffers till : 
JMd this in Ca'sar seem ambitious y 
When that the poor have cried, Citsar hath wept : 
And>iti(in should be made of sterner stuff: 
Yet Biutus says he was ambitious; 
And Brutus is an honourable man. 
You all did see that on the Lupercal 
I thrice prest nted him a kingly cro\\Ti, 
AVhich he did thrice refuse : was this ambition ? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once, not without cause: 
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him y 

judgment! thou art iled to brutish Iteasts, 
Ai'id iiien have lost their reason. Bear with nic ; 
My heart is in the cotlin there with Ca'sar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me..^^ 

First Cit. JSIethinks there is much reason in his 

sayings. 
Sec. Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Caesar has had great wrong. 

Third Cit. Has he, masters ? 

1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 
Fourth Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not 

take the crown ; 
Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 
Fir.^t Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
Sec. Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 
weeping. [Antony. 

lliird Cit. There 'snot a nobler man in Rome than 
Fourth Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to 

speak. 
Ant. But yesterday the word of Csesar might 
Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do liim reverence. 

masters, if I were disposed to stir 

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 shoulil do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men : 

I will hot do tliem wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 

Tlian I will wTong such honourable men. 

But here 's a parchment with the seal of Csesar; 

I found it in his closet, 'tis his will: 

Let but the commons hear this testament — 

Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read — 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood. 

Yea, beg a hair of liim for memory, ~ 

And, dying, mentiou it within their wills, 



ACT III. 



JULIUS CjESAR. 



SCENE III. 



Bequeathmg it as a rich legacy 

Unto their issue. [Antony. 

Fourth Git. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark 

All. The will, the will! we will hear Csesar's will. 

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not 
read it ; 
It is not meet you know how Ccesar loved you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Cisesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 
'T is good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
For, if you should, O, what would come of it! 

Fourth Cit. Read the will ; we '11 hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will, C'lfsar's will. 

Ant. Will you be patient ? will you stay awhile ? 
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it : 
I fear I wrong the hoiiouraVile men 
Whose daggers have stalib'd Ctesar; I do fear it. 

Fourth (.'it. They were traitors: honourable men ! 

All. The will ! the testament ! 

Sec. Cit. They were villains, mm'derers: the will! 
read the will. 

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will ? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Ciesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend V and will you give me leave ? 

ISereral Cit. Come down. 

iS'ec. Cit. Descend. 

Third Cit. You shall have leave. ~ 

{Antony comes dovn. 

Fourth Cit. A ring; stand round. [body. 

First Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from, the 
• Sec. Cit. Room for Antony, most noble Antony. 

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 

Several Cit. Stand back ; room ; bear back. 

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Csesar put it on ; 
'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent. 
That day lie overcame the Nervii : 
Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 
See what a rent the envious Casca niade : 
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; 
And as lie pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it. 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! 
Tills was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
For wlien tlie noble C»sar saw him stab. 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. 
Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart ; 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 
Even at the base of Pompey's statua. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Csesar fell. 
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! 
Tlien I, and you, and all of us fell db\\^r, 
AVhilst bloody treason flom'ish'd over us. 
O, now you weepv and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what, weep you when you but beliold 
Our C.e.sar's vesture wounded ? Look you liere, 
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 

First Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 

Sec. Cit. O noble Caesar ! 

Third Cit. O wof ul day ! 

Fourth Cit. O traitors, villains I 

First Cit. O most bloody sight ! 

(Sec. Cit. We will be revenged. 

All. Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! 
Kill ! Slay ! Let not a traitor live ! 

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 

First Cit. Peace tliere ! hear the noble Antony. 

Sec. Cit. We '11 hear him, we '11 follow him, we '11 
die with him. [you up 

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me liot stir 



To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They that have done this deed are honourable : 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not. 
That made them do it : they are wise and honourable. 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him : 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on; 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb 

mouths. 
And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would laifHe up your spirits and jiut a tongue 
In every wound of Ca-sar that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and muthiy. 

All. We '11 mutiny. 

First Cit. We '11 burn the house of Brutus. 

Third Cit. Away, then! come, seek the con- 
spirators. 

Ant. Yet hearme, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 

All. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony. Most noble Antony ! 

Ant. Why, friends, you go' to do you know not 
what : 
Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves ? 
Alas, you know not: I must tell you, then: 
You have forgot the will I told you of. [the will. 

All. Most true. Tlie will ! Let 's stay and hear 

Ant. Here is the will, and under Cresar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen lie gives, 
To every several man, seven ty-hve drachmas. 

Sec. Cit. Must noble Caesar! We'll revenge his 

Third Cit. O royalCasar! [death. 

Ant. Hear me with patience. 

All. Peace, ho! 

Ant. Moreover, he liath left you all his walks, 
His private arlionrs and new-planted orchards, 
(Jn this side Tiber; he liath left them you. 
And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Cassar! when comes such another ? 

First Cit. Never, never. Come, away, away ! 
AVe '11 burn his body in the holy place. 
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take up the body. 

(S'ec. Cit. Go fetch fire. 

Tliird Cit. Pluck down benches. 

Fourth Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any- 
thing. [Exeunt Citizens with the body. 

Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. 
Take thou what course thou wilt ! 

Enter a Servant. 

How now, fellow ! 
Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
Ant. Where is he y 

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Ciesar's house. 
Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, 
And in this mood will give us anything. 

Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
Are rid like madmen through tlie gates of Rome. 
Ant. Belike they had some notice of the people, 
How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. 

[Exeu)it. 
SCENE III.— .1 street. 

Enter Cinna the poet. 
Cin. 1 dreamt to-night that I did feast with Ctesar, 
And things unlucky charge my fantasy : 
I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
Yet something leads me forth. _ . _." 

C39 ' ^ 



ACT IV. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE II, 



Enter Citizens. 

Firiit Cit. What is your n;ime ? 

Sec. Cil. Whiilier are you goiug? 

Third Cit. \\\wYe do you dwell ? 

Fowlk Cit. Are you a married man or a bachelor ? 

Sec. Cit. Answer every man directly. 

First Cit. Ay, and briefly. 

Fourth Cit. Ay, and wisely. 

Third Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 

Cin. What is my jiame y Whither am I going ? 
Where do I dwell ? Am I a married man or a 
bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly 
and briefly, wisely and truly : wisely I say, I am a 
bachelor. 

Sec. Cit. That 's as much as to say, they are fools 
that marry : you '11 bear me a bang for that, I fear. 
Proceed; directly. 

Cin. Directly, I am going to Cajsar's funeral. 



First Cit. As a friend or an enemy V 

Cin. As a friend. 

Sec. Cit. That matter is answered directly. 

Fourth Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 

Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 

Tliircl Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 

Cin. Tridy, my name is Cinna. 

First Cil. Tear him to pieces; he 's a conspirator. 

Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. 

Fourth Cit. Tear him for bis bad verses, tear him 
for his bad verses. 

Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 

Fourth Cit. It is no matter, his name 's Cinna ; 
pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn him 
going. 

Third Cit. Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, 
ho! fire-brands: to Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all: 
some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's ; some 
to Ligarius' : away, go ! [Exeunt. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — A house in Borne. 



Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a table. 

Ant. These many, then, shall die; their names 
are prick 'd. Qiidus ? 

Oct. Your brother too must die ; consent you, Le- 

Lep. I do consent, — 

Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 

Lep. Upon condition Pulilius shall not live, 
AVlio is your sister's son, JNIurk Antony. [him. 

Ant. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn 
But, Lejiidus, go you to Ctesar's house; 
Fetcli the Avill hither, and we shall determine 
How to cut off some ehai'ge in legacies. 

Lep. What, shall I lind\ou here ? 

Oct. Or here, or at the Ca|)itol. [Exit Lepidus. 

Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man. 
Meet to be sent on errands : is it fit, 
Tlie three-fold world divided, he should stand 
One of the three to share it ? 

Oct. So you thought him ; 

And took his voice who should be prick 'd to die, 
In our black sentence and proscription. 

Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you : 
And though we lay these honours on this man. 
To ease ourselves of divers shuiderous loads, 
He sluill Ijut licar thcui as the ass bears gold, 
To n'man and sweat under the Ijusiness, 
Eitiier led or driven, as we point the way ; 
And having brought our treasiue where we will. 
Then take we down his load, and turn him off, 
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears. 
And graze in commons. 

Oct. You may do your will ; 

But he 's a tried and valiant soldier. 

Ant. So is my horse, Octavius; and for that 
I do appoint him store of provender: 
It is a creature that I teach to fight. 
To wind, to stop, to run directly on, 
His corporal motion govern'd by my .spirit. 
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so; 
He must be taunlit anil train'd and bid go forth; 
A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 
On abjects, orts and imitations, 
AVhicli, out of use and staled by other men, 
Begin his fashion: do not talk "of him. 
But as a property. And now, Octavius, 
Listen great things: — Brutus and Cassius 
Are levying powers : we must straight make head: 
Therefore let our alliance be combined. 
Our best friends made, our means stretch'd; 
And let us presently go sit in council, 
640 



How covert matters may be best disclosed, 
And open perils surest answered. 

Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, 
And bay'd about with many enemies; 
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear. 
Millions of mischiefs. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Canqj near Sardis. Before Urirfus's 
tent. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Sol- 
diers ; Titinius and Pindarus meeting them. 

Bru. Stand, ho ! 

L'ucil. Give the word, ho! and stand. 

Brii. What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near ? 

Litcil. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
To do you salutation from his master. 

Brti. He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus, 
In his own change, or by ill officers. 
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone; but, if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 

Phi. I do not doubt 

But that my noble master will'appear 
Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 

Bru. He is not donlited. A word, Lucilius; 
How he received yu, let me be resolved. 

Lucil. With courtesy and with respect enough; 
But not with such familiar instances, 
]Sror with such free and friendly conference, 
As he hath used of old. 

Bru. Thou hast described 

A hot friend cooling : ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and decay, 
It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ; 
But hollow men, like liorscs liot at hand. 
Make gallant show and pronuse of their mettle: 
But when lliey sliould endure the bloody spur. 
They tall their crests, and, like deceitful jades. 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ? [ter'd; 

Lucil. Tliey mean this night in Sardis to be quai'- 
The greater part, tin- horse in general. 
Are come with Cassius. 

Bru. Hark ! he is arrived. 

[Low march within. 
March gently on to meet him. 

Enter Cassius and his powers. 
Cas. Stand, ho! 

Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 
First Sol. Stand ! 



ACT IV. 



JULIUS CJESAB. 



SCENE ITT. 



Sec. Sol. Stand ! 

Third Sol. Stand ! 

Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me ^Tong. 

Bru. Judge me, you gods I wrong I mine enemies ? 
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brotlier ? 

Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs; 
And when you do them — 

Bill. Cassius, be content ; 

Spealc your griefs softly : I do Ivnow you well. 
Before the eyes of both our armies liere, 
AVhich should perceive nothing but love from us, 
Let us not wrangle : bid them move away ; 
Tlien in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs. 
And I will give you audience. 

Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 

Bru. Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man 
Come to our tent till we have done our conference. 
Let Lucius and Titmius guard our door. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Ul.—Brutus's tent. 

Enter Brutus and Cassiiis. 

Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in 
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella [this : 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
AVlierein my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. 

Cas. In sucli a time as this it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his comment. 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ! 

Y'ou know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

j3ru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption. 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cas. Chastisement ! 

J3ru. Remember March, the ides of March re- 
member : 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
YVliat villain touch 'd his body, tliat did stab. 
And not for justice V What, shall one of us. 
That struck the foremost man of all this world 
But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
And sell the mighty space of our large honours 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus y 
I liad rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Gas. Brutus, bay not me ; 

I '11 not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me m ; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 

Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Brit. Aw-ay, slight man ! 

Cas. Is 't possible ? 

Bric. Hear me. for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room to your rash cholery 
Shall I be frighted when a madin^in stares y 

Cas. O ye gods, ye gods! must I endure all this? 

Bru. All this! ay, more: fret till your proud 
heart break ; 
Go show your slaves how choleric you are. 
And make your bondmen trend ile. Z^Iust I budge ? 
Must I obser\'e you '? must I staiul and crouch 
Under your testy humour ? By tlie gods. 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
41 



Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
I "11 use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter. 
When you are waspisli. 

Cas. Is it come to this ? 

Bru. You say you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well: for mine o\va part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. You wrong me every way ; you WTong me, 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better : [Brutus ; 

Did I say ' better ' V 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Ccesar lived, he durst not thus have 
moved me. [liim. 

Bra. Peace, peace I you durst not so have tempted 

Cas. I durst not ! 

Bru. Xo. 

Cas. What, durst not tempt him ! 

Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, wliich you denied me: 
For I can raise no money by vile means: 
By lieaven, I liad rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
By any indirection : I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 
Winch you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? 
Sliould I have answer'd Cains Cassius so ? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts; 
Dash him to pieces ! 

Cos. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cos. I did not: he was but a fool that brought 
!My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart : 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A llatterer's would not, though they do 
As huge as liigli Olympus. [appear 

Cas^ Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aw eary of the world ; 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother ; 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observed. 
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote. 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, 
Aiid here my naked breast; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Ca>sar ; for, I know. 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. [better 

Bru. Slieathe your dagger: 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
Tliat carries anger as the flint bears fire ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cos. Hath Cassius lived 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
AVhen grief, and blood ill-temper 'd, ve.xeth him ? 
Bru. AVhen 1 spoke tliat, I was ill-temper'd too. 
641 



ACT IV. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE III. 



Cos. Do you confess so much? Give me your 

Bru. And my lieart too. [hand. 

Cas. O Brut us I 

Bru. "What \s the matter ? 

Cas. Have not you love enough to bear with me, 
When that rash liumour which my mother ga\ e me 
]Makes me forgetful ? 

liru. Yes, Cassius ; and, from henceforth, 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 

Poet. [])'((/((■/!] Let me go in to see the generals; 
There is some grudge between 'em, 't is not meet 
They be alone. 

Liicil. [Within] You shall not come to them. 

Poet. [Within] Nothing but death shall stay me. 

Enter Foet, follo^ccd by Lucilius, Titinius, and 
Lucius. 

Cas. How now ! What 's the matter ? [mean ? 

Poet. For shame, you generals! what do you 
Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; 
For I have seen more years, I 'm sure, than ye. 

Cas. Ha, ha! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! 

Bru. Get you hence, sirrali ; saucy fellow, lience ! 

•Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. 

Bru. I '11 know his humour, wlien he knows his 
time: 
What should the wars do with these jigging fools V 
Companion, hence ! 

Cas. Away, away, be gone ! 

[Exit Poet. 

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 
Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 

Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala 

Immediately to us. [with you 

[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. 

Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine ! [Exit L^icius. 

Cas. I did not think you could have been so angry. 

Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 

Cas. Of your philosopliy you make no use, 
If-you give place to accidental evils. 

tlru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. 

Cas. Ha! Portia! 

Bru. She is dead. 

Cas. How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd you so ? 

insupportable and touchuig loss! 
Upon what sickness ? 

Bm. Impatient of my absence, 

And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong: — for with her 

death 
That tidings came; — with this she fell distract, 
And, her attendants absent, swallow 'd fire. 

Cas. And died so ? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cos. O ye immortal gods ! 

Be-enter Lucius tdth tcinc and taper. 

Bru. Speak no more of Iier. Give me a bowl of 
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [wine. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. 
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; 

1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. 

Bru. Come in, Titinius ! [Exit Lucius. 

Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. 

Welcome, good Messala. 
Now sit we close about this taper liere. 
And call in question our necessities. 
Cos. Portia, art thou gone ? 
Bru. No more, I pray you. 

Messala, I have here received letters. 
That young Octavius and Mark Antony 
Come down upon us with a mighty jiower. 
Bending their expedition toward Philipjii. 
Mcs. Myself liave letters of the selisauie tenour. 
Bru. With what addition ? 
642 



Mcs. That by proscription and bills of outlawry, 
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
Have put to death an hundred senators. 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
Mine speak of seventy senatoi's that died 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 

Cos. Cicero one ! 

Mes. Cicero is dead, 

And by that order of proscription. 
Had yuu vour letters from your wife, my lord? 

Brk No. ISIessala. 

M(s. Nor nothing in your letters -WTit of her? 

Bru. Nothing, Messala. 

Mcs. That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you ? hear you aught of her in 

Mcs. No,"my lord. [yours ? 

Bru. Now, as j'ou are a Roman, tell me true. 

Mcs. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Bill. Why. farewell, Portia. We must die, ^fes- 
With meditating tliat slie must die once, [sala : 
I have the patience to endure it now. [dure. 

Mcs. Even so great men great losses should en- 
Cos. I have as much of this in art as you. 
But yet my nature could not !)ear it so. 

Bru. Well, to our work ali\ e. What do you think 
Of marching to Philippi ])resently ? 

Cas. I do not tlnuk it good. 

Bru. Your reason ? 

Cos. This it is: 

'Tis better that the enemy seek us: 
So sliall he waste his nicaiis, weary his soldiers, 
Doing liimself offence; wliilst we, lying still, 
Are full of rest, defence, and ninibleness. 

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to 
better. 
The peo))le 'twixt Philippi and this ground 
Do stand but in a forced affection ; 
For they have grudged us contribution: 
The enemy, marching along by them. 
By them shall make a fuller number up, 
Come on relreslTd, new-added, and encouraged; 
From which advantage shall we cut him off. 
If at Philippi we do face him there. 
These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brotiier. 

Bru. Under your pardon. You must note beside, 
That we have tried the utmost of our friends. 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
The enemy increaseth every day; 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Wliich, taken at the lluod. leads on to fortune: 
Omitted, all the voyage of tlieir life 
Is bound in sliallows and in miseries. 
On sucli a lull sea are we now afloat; 
And we must take tlie current when it serves. 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on ; 

We '11 along ourselves, and meet them at Pliilippi. 

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk. 
And nature must obey necessity ; 
Whicli we will niggard with a little rest. 
There is no more to say ? 

Cas. No more. Good-night : 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 

iVit. Lucius! [Enter Lucius.] My gown. [Exit 
LuciKs.] Farewell, good Messala: 
Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good night, and good repose. 

Cos. O my dear brother ! 

This was an ill beginning of the niglit : 
Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bru. Every tiling is well. 

Cos. Good night, my lord. 

Bru. Good night, good brother. 



-£3 







-es 



ACT V. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



. T!t. Meg. Good night, Lord Brutus. 
ISiH. Farewell, every one. 

[Exeunt all but Brutus. 

Re-enter Lucius, zoitli the yown. 
Give me the go'mi. Where is thy instrument ? 

Luc. Here in the tent. 

Brti. AVhat, thou speak'st drowsily? 

Poor knave, I blame thee not : thou art o'erwatch'd. 
Call Claudius and some other of my men ; 
1 '11 liave them sleep on cushions in my tent. 

Luc. Varro and Claudius ! 

Enter Varro and Claudius. 

Yar. Calls my lord ? 

-Brit. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; 
It may be I sliall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassiiis. 

Var. So please you, we will stand and watch your 
pleasure. 

Bru. I will not have it so : lie down, good sirs ; 
It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. 
Look, Lucius, here 's the book I sought for so ; 
I put it iu the pocket of my gown. 

l^'ar. and Ulau. lie down. 

Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. 

Bru. Bear with iue, good boy, I am much forget- 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, [Jul. 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two ? 

Luc. Ay, my lord, an 't please you. 

Bru. It does, my boy : 

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 

Luc. It is my duty, sir. 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might ; 
I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 

LxLC. I have slept, my lord, already. 

Bru. It was well done ; and thou shalt sleep again ; 
I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 
I will be good to thee. [Music, and a song. 

This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber, 
Lay'st thou tliy leaden mace upon my boy. 
That plays thee music ? Gentle knave, good night : 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee: 
If thou dost nod, thou break 'st thy instrument ; 
I "11 take it from thee ; and, good boy, good night. 



Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf tiirn'd dowTi 
"Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think. 

Enter the Ghost of Caesar. 
How ill this taper burns ! Ha 1 who comes here ? 
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing ? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil. 
That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare? 
^peak to me what thou art. 

(rliost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 

Bru. Wliy comest thou J:' 

Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. 

Bru. AVell; then I shall see thee again ? 

Ghost. Av, at Philippi. 

Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then. 

[Exit Ghost. 
Now I have taken heart thou vanishest : 
111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 
Boy, Lucius ! Varrto ! Claudius ! Sirs, aw^ake ! Clau- 

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. [dius! 

Bru. He thinks he still is at Ins instrument. 
Lucius, awake ! 

Luc. JIv lord ■? 

Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so 

criedst out ? 
^Luc. JIv lord, I do not know that I did cry. 

Bru. Yes, that thou didst: didst thou see any 
thing ? 

Luc. Xotliing, my lord. 

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! [To 
Var.] Fellow thou, awake! 

TVn-. My lord? 

C'kiu. Ny lord V 

Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? 

Var. Clau. Did we, my lord? 

Bru. Ay : saw you any thing ? 

For. "No, my lord, I saw' nothing. 

Clau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bru. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius ; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 

[Exeunt. 



J^CT V. 



SCENE I.— Tlie plains of Philipjji. 
Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 

Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered: 
You said the enemy would not come do\\'n. 
But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
Tliey mean to warn us at Pliilippi here. 
Answering before we do demand of them. 

Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know 
Wiierefore they do it: they could be content 
To visit other places; andcome down 
AVith fearful bravery, thinking by this face 
To fasten in our thoughts that tliey have courage ; 
But 't is not so. „ 

Enter a Messenger. 

J/css. Prepare, you, generals : 

The enemy comes on in gallant sliow ; 
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
And something to be done immediately. 

Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
Upon the left hand of the even field. 

Oct. Upon the right hand I ; keep thou the left. 

Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent 'i 

Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. 

[March. 



Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army; 
Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, and others. 

Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 

Cos. Standfast, Titinius: we must out and talk. 

Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle ? 

Ant. No, Ciiesar, we will answer on their charge. 
Make forth ; the generals would have some words. 

Oct. Stir not until the signal. 

Bru. Words before blows : is it so,comitrymen? 

Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 

Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, 
Octavius. [words : 

Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
Witness the hole you made in Casar's heart, 
Crying ' Long live ! hail, Ca-sar ! ' 

Cu.s. Antony, 

The posture of your blows are yet unknown ; 
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
And leave them honeyless. 

Ant. Not stingless too. 

Bru. O, yes, and soundless too; 
For you have stoPu their buzzing, Antony, 
And very wiselv tin-eat liefore you sting. [gers 

Ant. Villains, you did not so,* when your vile dag- 
Hack'd one another iu the sides of Cassar: 
043 



ACT V. 



JULIUS CjESAR. 



SCENE III. 



You show'd your teetli like apes, and faNvn'd like 

liounds, 
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet; 
Whilst damn'd Casca, like a cur, behind 
Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers ! 

Cas. Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself : 
This tongue had not offended so to-day. 
If Cassius might have ruled. 

Oct. Come, come, the cause : if arguing make us 
sweat, 
.The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
Look; 

I draw a sword against conspirators; 
When think you that the sword goes up again ? 
Never, till Cresar's three and thirty wounds 
Be well avenged ; or till another Caesar 
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 

Sru. Csesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, 
Unless thou bring 'st them with thee. 

Oct. So I hope; 

I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 

Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain. 
Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. 

Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such hon- 
Join'd with a masker and a reveller! [our, 

^7! f. Old Cassius still! 

Oct. Come, Antony, away 1 

Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; 
If not, when you have stomachs. 

[Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their army. 

Cas. Why, now, blow wind, swell billow aiid 
swim bark ! 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 

Bru. Ho, Lucilius! hark, a word with yon. 

Liicil. [Standing forth] My lord V 

[Brutus and Lucilius converse apart. 

Cas. Messala ! 

3Ies. [Standing forth] What says my general ? 

Cas. Messala, 
This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: 
Be tliou my witness that against my will. 
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
Upon one battle all our liberties. 
You know that I held Epicurus strong 
And Ills (ipinion: now I change my mind, 
And partly credit things that do presage. 
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 
Two mighty eagles fell, and there they percli'd, 
Gorging and feediiyj from our soldiers' hands; 
Who to Pliilippi here consorted us: 
This morning are they fled away and gone ; 
And in their steads do ravens, crows and kites, 
Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us. 
As we were sickly prey : tlieir shadows seem 
A canopy most fatal, under which 
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 

Mes. Believe not so. 

Cas. I but believe it partly ; 

For I am fresh of spirit and resolved 
To meet all perils very constantly. 

Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 

The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may. 
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! 
But since the affairs of men rest still incertain. 
Let 's reason with the worst that may befall. 
If we do lose this battle, tlien is tliis 
The very last time we sliall sjieak together: 
What are you tlien determined to do ? 

B7-U. Even l)y tin' rule of that philosophy 
By whicli I did blame Cato for the death 
Which he did give himself, I know not how. 
But I do find it cowardly and vile. 
For fear of what miglit fall, so to prevent 
The time of life: arming myself with patience 
0« 



To stay the providence of some high powers 
That govern us below. 

Cas. Then, if we lose this battle. 

You are contented to be led m triumph 
Thorough the streets of Rome ? [man, 

Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble ilo- 
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
Must end that work the ides of March begun ; 
And whether we shall meet again I know uot. 
Therefore our everlasting farewell take : 
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; 
If not, why then, this parting was well made. 

Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
If we do meet again, we '11 smile indeed ; 
K not, 't is true this parting was well made. 

Bru. Why, then, lead on. O, that a man might 
The end of this day's business ere it come ! [know 
But it sufliceth that the day will end. 
And then the end is known. Come, ho ! away ! 

[E.ceunt. 

SCENE II. — Tlie same. Tlie field of battle. 

Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 
Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills 
Unto the legions on tlie other side. [Loud alarum. 
Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing, 
And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE HI. — Another part of the field. 

Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 

Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly I 
INIyself have to mine own turn'd enemy: 
This ensign here of mine was turning back ; 
I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 

Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early ; 
Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
Took it too eagerly : his soldiers fell to spoil, 
Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed. 

Enter Pindar us. 

Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; 
Mark Antony is in yonr tents, my lord : 
Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. 

Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius ; 
Are those my tents where I perceive the firey 

Tit. They are, my lord. 

Cas. Titinius, if thou lovest me. 

Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, 
'Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
And here again; that I may rest assured 
Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. 

Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. 

[Exit. 

Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 
My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
And tell me what thou notest about the field. 

[Pindarus ascends the hill. 
This day I breathed first : time is come round. 
And where I did begin, there shall I end; 
My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news? 

'Pin. [Ahoi-c] O my lord! 

Cas. What news ? 

Pin. [Above] Titinius is enclosed round about 
AVith horsemen, that make to him on the spur; 
Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. 
Now, Titinius ! Now some light. O. he lights too. 
He'sta'en. [<S7ioi(t.] And, hark! they shout for joy. 

Cos. Come down, behold no more. 
O, coward that I am, to live so long, 
To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 



ACT V. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE V. 



Pindarus descends. 

Come hither, sirrah : 

In Partliia did I talce thee prisoner ; 

And then I swore thee, savini; of thy life, 

That whatsoever I did bid tliee do, [oatli ; 

Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine 

Xow be a freeman : and with this good sword, 

Tliat ran througli Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 

Stand not to answer : here, take thou the hilts ; 

And, when my face is cover'd, as 't is now, 

Guide tliou the sword. [Pindarus stubs him.] Csesar, 

thou art revenged, 
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 

Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have been, 
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius, 
Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
Where never Roman shall take note of liim. [Exit. 

He-enter Titinius with Messala. 

Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octavius 
Is overthrown by noble Brutus" power. 
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 

Tit. Tliese tidings will well comfort Cassius. 

Mes. "Where did you leave him V 

Tit, All disconsolate, 

"With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 

Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the ground ? 

Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart ! 

Mes. Is not that he '? 

TVt. No, this was he, Messala, 

But Cassius is no more. O setting sun. 
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night, 
So in his red blood Cassius' day is set ; 
The sun of Rome is set ! Our day is gone ; 
Clouds, dews, and^langers come ; our deeds are done I 
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 

Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 
O hateful error, melancholy's child, 
"Why dost tliou sliow to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are not ? O error, soon conceived. 
Thou never comest unto a happy birth. 
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee ! 

Tit. "What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus ? 

Mes. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet 
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
Into his ears ; I may say, thrusting it ; 
For piercing steel and clarts envenomed 
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus 
As tidings of this sight. 

Tit. Hie you, ilessala, 

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 

[Exit Messala. 
"Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius '/ 
Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they 
Put on my brows "this wreath of victory, [shouts ? 
And bid me give it thee ? Didst thou not hear their 
Alas, thou liast misconstrued everytliing ! 
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; 
Thy Brutus biil uie give it thee, and I 
AVill do liis bidding. Brutus, come apace, 
And see how I regarded Cains Cassius. 
By your leave, gods : — this is a Roman's part : 
Come, Cassius' sword, and lind Titinius' heart. 

[Kills himself. 

Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young 
Cato, Strato, "Volumnius, and Lucilius. 

Bru. "Where, where. Messala, doth his body lie? 

Mes. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it. 

Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 

Cato. He is slain. 

Bru. O Julius Ca3sar, thou art mighty yet ! 
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
In our own proper entrails. [Loir alarums. 

Cato. Brave Titinius! 

Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cassius! 



Bru- Are yet two Romans living such as these? 
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
It is impossible that ever Rome 
Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears. 
To this dead man than you shall see me pay. 
I shall lind time, Cassius, I shall find time. 
Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body: 
His funerals shall not be in our camp, 
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come; 
And come, young Cato; let us to the field. 
Labeo and Flavins, set our battles on: 
'T is three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere-uight 
"We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. 

SCENE XV. — Another part of the Ji eld. 

Alariim. Enter fghtinci, Soldiers of both armies; 

then Brutus, young Cato, Lucilius, and others. 

Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads ! 

Cato. "What bastard doth not? Who will go 
with me ? 
I will proclaim my name about the field: 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, lio! 
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend; 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; 
Brutus, my country's friend ; know me tor Brutus! 

[Exit. 

Lucil. O young and noble Cato, art thou down ? 
"Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius; 
And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son. 

First Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 

Lucil. Only I yield to die : 

There is so much that thou wilt kill me .straight; 

[Oft'ering money. 
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 

First Sold. "We must not. A noble prisoner! 

Sec. Sold. Room, ho! TeU Antony, Brutus is 
ta'en. [general. 

First Sold. I '11 tell the news. Here comes the 

Enter Antony. 
Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 

Ant. "Where is he ? 

Lucil. Safe, Antony ; Brutus is safe enough : 
I dare assure thee that no enemy 
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: 
The gods defend him from so great a shame! 
"When you do find him, or alive or dead, 
He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 

Ant. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I assure you, 
A lu'ize no less in worth : keep this man safe; 
Give liim all kindness: I had rather have 
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on. 
And see whether Brutus be alive or dead ; 
And bring us word unto Octavius' tent 
How everything is chanced. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V. — Another part of the field. 

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and 

"Volumnius. 
Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this 

rock. 
Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my lord. 
He came not back : he is or ta'en or slain. 

Bru. Sit thee do-mi, Clitus: slaying is the word ; 
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. 

[ mdspers. 
Cli. "What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the world. 
Bru. Peace then ! no words. 
Cli. I '11 rather kill myself. 

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius. [Wliis}icrs. 

Bar. Shall I do such a deed ? 

Cli. O Dardanius! 
Bar. O Clitus ! 

Cli. "What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 
645 



ACT V. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



SCENE V. 



Dnr. To kill him, Clitus. Look, lie meditates. 

Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
That it runs over even at his eyes. 

Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius ; list a word. 

Vol. What says my lord y 

Bru. Why, this, Volumnius : 

The ghost of Ca.;sar hatli appear'd to me 
Two several times by night ; at Sardis once. 
And, this last night, here in Philippi tields: 
I know my liour is come. 

Vol. Not so, my lord. 

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
Thou seest the vi^orld, Volumnius, how it goes; 
Our enemies have beat us to the pit : 

[Low alarums. 
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves. 
Than tarry till tliey push us. Good Volumnius, 
Thou kiiow'st tliat we two went to school together: 
Even for that our love of old, I prithee. 
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 

Vol. That 's not an ofiice for a friend, my lord. 
\_Alurum still. 

Cli. Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here. 

Bru. Farewell to you; and you; and you, Vo- 
lumnius. 
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; 
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, 
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life 
I found no man but he was true to me. 
I shall have glory by this losing day 
More than Octavius and Mark Antony 
By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
So fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue 
Hath almost ended his life's history : 
Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest, 
That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 

[Alarum. Cry within, ' Fly, fly, fly ! ' 

Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 

Bru. Hence! I will follow. 

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius. 
I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 



Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it : 
Hold then my sword, and turn away tliy face, 
While I do rim upon it. Wilt thou, Strato Y 
IStra. Give me your hand lirst. Fare you well, 

my lord. 
Bru. Farewell, good Strato. [Runs on his sword.] 
Csesar, now be still : 
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. [Dies. 

Alarum. Betreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, 
Messala, Lucilius, and the Army. 

Oct. What man is that '? [master ? 

Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is thy 

iStra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala : 
The conquerors can but make a fire of liim; 
For Brutus only overcame himself. 
And no man else hath honour by his death. 

Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, 
Brutus, 
That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true. 

Oct. All that served Brutus, I will entertain them. 
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me 'y 

IStra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 

Oct. Do so, good Messala. 

J/es. How died my master, Strato ? 

Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 

Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, 
That did the latest service to my master. 

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: 
All the conspirators save only he 
Did that they did in envy of great Ca3sar ; 
He only, in a general honest thought 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle, and the elements 
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up 
And say to all tlie world ' This was a man I ' 

Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, 
With all respect and rites of burial. 
Witliin my tent his bon.es to-night shall lie, 
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. 
So call the field to rest; and let 's away. 
To part the glories of this happy day. [E.ccunt. 




GiG 



JULIUS CiESAR REFUSING THE IMPERIAL CROWN. 



MACBETH. 



DBAMATIS PEBSON^. 



Duncan, King of Scotland. 
Malcolm, I 
Donalbain, j 



his sons. 



Macbeth, 1 ,„,,., 

Banquo, J S^erals of the king's army. 



• noblemen of Scotland. 



Macdufif, 

Lennox, 

Boss, 

Menteith, 

Angfus, 

Caithness, 

Fleance, son to Banqno. 

Slward, Earl of Northumberland, general of the 

English forces. 
Young Siward, his son. 
Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth. 



Boy, son to Macduff. 

An English Doctor. 

A Scotch Doctor. 

A Soldier. 

A Porter. 

An Old Man. 

Lady Macbeth. 

Lady Macduff. 

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 

Hecate. 

Three Witches. 

Apparitions. 

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, At- 
tendants, and Messengers. 

SCEN^ — Scotland: England. 



[For 



of the Plot of ihif 



Page 



SCENE l.~A desert place. 

Thunder and lightniny. Enter iliree Witches. 



I. 



Fii-ftt Witch. When sliall we three meet again 
In thnii'ler. lifrhtiiins, or in rain ? 

Su:. Witch. Wiien the hurlyburly 's done, 
When tlie battle 's lost ami won. 

Thlnl Witch. Tliat will be ere tlie set of snn. 

First Witch. Where the place? 

Sec. Witch. Uiwn the heath. 

Third Witch. There to meet witli Macbetli. 

First Witch. I come, Gravmtilkin ! 

Scr. Witch. Paddock calls'. 

Third Witch. Anon. 

All. Fair is foul, and fonl is fair: 
Hover through the fog and tilthy air. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n. — A camp near Forres. 

Alnrnm within. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donal- 
bain, Lannox, with Attendants, meeting a Heeding 
Sergeant. 

Dun. AVhat bloody man is that ? He can report, 
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
The newest state. 

MiO. Thisisthesergeant 

AVho like a good and hardy soldier fonglit 
'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend ! 
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil 
As thou didst leave it. 

Ser. Doubtful it stood : 

As two spent summers, that do cling together 
And choke their art. The merciless ilacdonwtild — 
Worthy to be a rebel, for to tluit 
The multiplying villanies of nature 
Do .swarm upon liiin — from the western isles 
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied ; 
And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, 
Show'd like a reliel's whore : but all 's too weak : 
For brave Macbeth — well he desen'es that name — 
Disdiiiuijig fortune, with his brandish 'd steel, 



AFliich smoked with bloody execution, 

Like valour's minion carv'ed out his passage 

Till he faced the slave ; 

Which ne'er shonk hands, nor bade farewell to him. 

Till he unseamM hini from the nave to the chaps, 

And flx'd his head upon our battlements. 

Bun. O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! 

Ser. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, 
So from tliat spring whence comfort seem'd to come 
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark : 
No sooner justice had witli valour arm'd 
Compeir<l tliese skipping kerns to trust then- heels, 
But the Xorweyan lord surveying vantage, 
With furbish 'darms and new" supplies of men 
Began a fresh assault. 

iJun. Dismay'd not this 

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo V 

Ser. Yes ; 

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. 
If I say sooth, I must report they were 
As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they 
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : 
Except they meant to Ijathe in reeking wounds, 
Or memorize another Golgotha, 
I cannot tell. 
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help, [wounds ; 

Bun. So well thy words become thee as thy 
They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. 
[Exit Sergeant, attended. 
Who comes here ? „ _ 

Enter Ross. 

Mai. The worthy thane of Ttoss. 

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So 
should he look 
That seems to speak things strange. 

Bo.<<s. God save the king! 

Bun. Whence earnest thou, worthy tlitine 'f 

Bass. From Fife, great king ; 

Where the Xorweyan banners (lout the sky 
And fan our people cold. Norway himself, 
617 



ACT I. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE iir. 



With terrible numbers, 

Assisted )>y tliat most disloyal traitor 

Tlie thaiie of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict ; 

Till tliat Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, 

Confronted liim witli helf-ei,)Uiparisons, 

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, 

Curbing his lavish spirit : and, to conclude, 

The victory fell on us. 

Bun. Great happiness ! 

jf?o.s.s. That now 

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; 
Nor would we deign him burial of his men 
Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch 
Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
Our bosom interest : go pronounce his present death, 
And with his former title greet Macbeth. 

Ross. I "11 see it done. 

Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath 
won. \_Exeuni. 

SCENE III. — A heath near Forres. 
Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 

Sec. Witch. Killing swine. 

Third Witch. Sister, wliere thou ? [Inri 

Fir.st Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her 
And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd : — ' Give 

me,' quoth I: 
'Arqint thee, witch ! ' the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
Her liusband 's to Aleppo gone, master 6' the Tiger : 
But in a sieve I '11 thither sail. 
And, like a rat without a tail, 
I '11 do, I '11 do, and I '11 do. 

Sec. Witch. I '11 give thee a wind. 

First Witdi. Thou 'rt kind. 

Tliircl Witch. And I another. 

First Witch. I myself have all the other, 
And the very ports they blow. 
All tlie quiirters that they know 
1' tlie sliiimian's card. 
I will drain him dry as hay: 
Sleep shall neither night nor day 
Hang upiui his pent-house lid; 
He shall live a man forbid : 
Weary se'nnights nine times nine 
Sliall he dwindle, peak and pine : 
Though his bark cannot be lost, 
Yet it shall be tempest-tost. 
Look what I have. 

Sec. Witch. Show me, show me. 

First Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
Wreck 'd as homeward he did come. [Drum icithin. 

Tliird Witch. A drum, a drum ! 
Macbeth doth come. 

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
Posters of the sea and land, 
Thus do go about, about : 
Tlu'ice to thine and thrice to mine 
And thrice again, to make up nine. 
Peace ! the charm 's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth and Banquo. 

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 

Ban. How far is 't call'd to Forres V What are 
So wither 'd and so wild in their attire, [these 

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
And yet are on 't ? Live you V or are you aught 
That man may question V You seem to understand 
By each at once her chappy finger laying [me. 

Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, 
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
That you are so. 

Ilach. Speak, if you can : what are you ? 

First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane 
of Glamis! 

648 



Sec. Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane 
of Cawdor ! 

Third Witch. All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be 
king hereafter ! 

Ban. Good sir, wliy do you start ; and seem to fear 
Things that do sound so fair V I' the name of truth, 
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
Which outwardly ye show y My noble partner 
You greet with present grace and great prediction 
Of noble having and of royal hope. 
That he seems rajit withal: to me you speak not. 
If you can look into the seeds of time. 
And say wliich grain will grow and wliich will not, 
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear 
Your favours nor your hate. 

First Witcli. Hail ! 

Sec. Witcli. Hail ! 

Third Witch. Hail ! 

First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 

Sec. Wili'Ji. Not so hapi>v, yet much happier. 

Third Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou 
So all hail, Macbetli an<l liaiKpio! [Ije none: 

First Witch. Bancpio and :Ma(beth, all hail! 

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: 
By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; 
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
A prosperous gentleman ; and to be king 
Stands not within the prospect of belief. 
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence 
You owe this strange intelligence? or wliy 
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
With such prophetic greetuig? Speak, I charge 
you. [Witches vanisli. 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has. 
And these are of them. Whither are they vanish 'd ? 

3Iacb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal 
melted 
As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd ! 

Ban . Were such things here as we do speak about ? 
Or liave we eaten on the insane root 
That takes the reason prisoner ? 

Macb. Your children shall be kings. 

Ban. You shall be king. 

3Iacb. And thane of Cawdor too: went it not 
so ? [here ? 

Ban. To the selfsame tune and words. Who 's 

Enter Boss and Angus. 

Boss. The king hath happily received, Macbeth, 
The news of thy success; and wlien he reads 
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight. 
His wonders and his praises do contend 
Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, 
In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, 
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks. 
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make. 
Strange images of death. As thick as hail 
Came'post with post; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence. 
And pour'd them down before him. 

Ang. We are sent 

To give thee from our royal master thanks ; 
Only to lierald thee into his sight. 
Not pay thee. 

Boss. And, for an earnest of a greater honour. 
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: 
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! 
For it is thine. 

Ban. AVhat, can the devil speak true ? 

3[acb. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you 
In borrow 'd robes ? [dress me 

Any. Who was the thane lives yet; 

But under heav-y judgment lieai's tliat life 
Whicli he deserves t (dose. AVIietlierhe was combined 
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel 
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both 
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not ; 



ACT I. 



31 AC BETH. 



SCENE V. 



But treasons capital, coiifess'd ami proved, 
Have overthrown him. 

Macb. [Asidt] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor ! 
The greatest is beliind. [To Boss and An(jus] 
Thanks for your pains. P<ings, 

[To Ban.] Do you not hope your children shall be 
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me 
Promised no less to them "? 

Ban. That trusted home 

Might yet enkindle you unto the crowni, 
Besidfs tlie thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: 
And (iftentimes, to win us to our harm, 
Tlie instrniucnts of darkness tell us truths, 
Win us witli lioiicst trilles, to betray 's 
In deei)est constMiuence. 
Cousins, a woid, I pray you. 

Much. [A.-iidc] Two truths are told. 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen. 
[Aside] This supernatural soliciting 
Cannot be ill, cannot bi- good : if ill, 
AVhy hath it given uie earnest of success, 
Commencingin a trutli V I am thane of Cawdor: 
If good, wliy do I yield to that suggestion 
Whose horrid image doth unlix my hair 
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs. 
Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
Are less than horrible imaginings: 
My thought, whose iinuiler yet Is but fantastical, 
Shakes so my single state of man that function 
Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is 
But what is not. 

Ban. Look, how our partner 's rapt. 

Macb. [Aside] If chance will have me king, 

why, chance may crown me, 
AVithout my stir. 

]Jan. New honours come upon him. 

Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould 
But with the aid of use. 

Mach. [Aside] Come what come may. 

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, vs-e stay upon yourleisure. 

Macb. Give me your favour: my dull brain was 
wrought 
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
Are register'd where every day I turn 
The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. 
Tliink upon what hath chanced, and, at more time. 
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
Our free hearts each to other. 

Ban. Very gladly. 

Mad). Till then, enough. Come, friends. [Exeunt. 

SCENE TV.— Forres. Tlie palace. 

Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, 
Lennox, and Attendants. 

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor V Are not 
Those in commission yet returned V 

Mai. My liege, 

They are not yet come back. But T have spoke 
With one that saw him die: who did rejiort 
That very frankly he confess VI his treasons, 
Implored your highness' pardon and set forth 
A" deep repentance: nothing in his life 
Became him like the leaving it ; ho died 
As one that had been studied in his death 
To throw away the dearest thing he owed, 
As 't were a careless trifle. 

Dun. There's no art 

To ttnd the mind's construction in the face : 
He was a gentleman on whom I built 
An absolute trust. 

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus, 
t) worthiest cousin! 
Tlie sin of my Ingratitude even now 



Was heavy on me : thou art so far liefore 

That swiftest wing of rfcunipeiisc is slow 

To (ivt-rtakc thee. "AVonld thuu liadst less deserved. 

That tlie pmportion botli of thanks and payment 

Might have lieen mine ! only I have left to say, 

Mor(? is tliy due than more than all can pay. 

3[(icb. The service and the loyalty I owe. 
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
Is to receive our duties; and our duties 
Are to your throne and state children and servants, 
Whichdo but what they should, by doing every thing 
Safe toward your love and honour. 

Dun . Welcome hither : 

I have begun to plant thee, and will laltour 
To make tliee full of growing. Noble Banquo, 
That hast no less deserved, nor must be known 
No less to liave done so, let me infold thee 
And hold thee to my heart. 

Ban. There if I grow, 

The harvest is your owni. 

Dun. My plenteous joys. 

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
Anil you whose places are the nearest, know 
We will establish our estate upon 
Our eldest, Mali-ohn, wliom we name hereafter 
The Prince of Cumbciland: which honour must 
Not unaccompanied invest liim onl}^ 
But sinus (if nolileness, like stars, shall shine 
On all (leservcrs. From lieuce to Inverness, 
And bind us further to yon. 

Macb. The rest islaboiir, which is not used for you: 
I '11 be myself the harbinner and make joyful 
The hearing of my wife with your approach; 
So humbly take my leave. 

Dun. My worthy Cawdor! 

Macb. [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland 1 that 
is a step 
On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, 
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ; 
Let not light see my black and deep desires : 
The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, 
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Exit. 

Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant. 
And in his commendatidns I am fed; 
It is a banquet to me. Let 's after him, 
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Inverness. MacbeVi's castle. 

Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
Lady M. 'They met me in the day of success; and 
I have learned by the perfectest report, they have 
more in them than mortal knowledge. When I 
burned indi'sire to (jucstion tliem fintlK'r,theymade 
themselves air, into which they ^■allishf'(l. Whiles 
I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from 
the king, who all-hailed me " Thane of Cawdor;" 
by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted 
me. and referred me to the coming on of time, with 
'•Hail, king that slialt be ! " This have I thought 
good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of great- 
ness, that thou nnghtst not lose the dues of rejoic- 
ing, by being ignorant of what greatness is prom- 
ised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' 
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be 
What thou art promised : yet do I fear tliy nature ; 
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
To patch tlie nearest way: thou wouldst be great; 
Art not without amliiticin, hut without [highly. 
The illness should atti'liil it: what thou wouldst 
That wouldst thou holily : wouldst not play false. 
And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, 

great Glamis, 
That which cries ' Tlius thou must do, if thou have 
And that which rather thou dost fear to do [it ; 
6-i9 



ACT I. 



MACBETH. 



SCEIS'E YIT. 



Than wisliest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, 
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; 
And chastise witli the valour of my tongue 
All tliat impedes thee from the golden round, 
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seeui 
To have thee crown 'd withal. 

Enter a Messenger. 

What is your tidings ? 

Mens. The king comes here to-night. 

Lady M. Thou 'rt mad to say it : 

Is not tliy master with him V who, were 't so. 
Would have intorm'd for preparation. [coming: 

Mess. So please you, it is true: our thane is 
One of my fellows had the speed of him. 
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
Than would make up his messag'e. 

Ladfi M. , Give him tending: 

He brings great news. [Exit Messenger. 

The raven himself is hoarse 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, uusex me here. 
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full 
Of direst cruelty ! make tliick my blood ; 
Stop up the access and passage to remorse. 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between I 

Tlie effect and it ! Come to my woman's breasts. 
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, 
AVherever in your sightless substances 
You wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
]S'or heaven peep through the blanket of tlie dark, 
Tocry 'Hold, hold!' 

Enter Macbeth. 
Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! 
Gventer than both, by the all-hail hereafter! 
Tliy letti'rs have transported me beyond 
Tliis iLiuoraiit present, and 1 feel now 
The future in the instant. 

Macb. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 

Liulii M. And when goes hence ? 

Much. To-morrow, as he purposes. 

Ludi/ M. 0, never 

Shall sun that morrovv' see ! 
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men 
May read straiini- luatters. To beguile tlie time. 
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, 
Your liand, your tongue: look like the imiocent 

flower, 
But be the serpent under 't. He that 's coming 
Must be provided for: and you shall put 
This night's great business into my dispatch; 
Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 

jl/«c6. We will speak further. 

Lady M. Only look up clear ; 

To alter favour ever is to fear: 
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE '^.—Before Marheth's castle. 

Haiitboys and torches. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Don- 
albain, Banquo, Lennox, Macdufif, Ross, Angus, und 
Attendants. 

Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 

Ban. This guest of summer. 

The temple-haunting martlet, does ;ii)prove. 
By his loved mansionry, tliat llie heaven's breath 
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze. 
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird 
050 



Hath made his pendent ^(l and procreant cradle: 
AVhere they most breed and haunt, I liave observtd, 
The air is delicate. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Bun. See, see, our hoiiour'd hostess! 

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble. 
Which still we thank as love. Herein 1 teach you 
How you shall bid God "ild us for your pains. 
And thank us for your trouble. 

Lady M. All our service 

In every point twice done and then done double 
Were poor and single lousiness to contend 
Against those honours deep and broad wlierewith 
Your majesty loads our house: for those of old. 
And the late dignities heapd up to them, 
We rest your hermits. 

Dun. Where 's the thane of Cawdor? 

We coursed him at the heels, and had a puriiose 
To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; 
And his great love, sharp ;is his spur, hath holp him 
To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, 
We are your guest to-night. 

Lady M. Your servants ever 

Have theirs, themselves and what is t heirs, in compt , 
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure. 
Still to return your own. 

Dun. ' Give me j'our hand ; 

Conduct rae to mine host: we love him highly. 
And shall continue our graces towards him. 
By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— Marhcth's castle. 

Hautboys and torches. Eater a Sewer, and divers Ser- 
vants iirit/t dis/if>^ avd service, and pass over the stage. 
Then enter Macbeub. 

jl/«c6. If it were done when 't is done, then 't were 
It were done quickly : if the assassination [well 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
With his surcease suecfss; that Imt this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
We 'Id jum]) the life to come. But in these cases 
We still have judgment here; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice 
C^ommends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
To our own lips. He 's here in double trust ; 
First, as I am his kinsmau and his subject, 
Strong both against tlic deeil: then, as his host. 
Who should against his nuu'derer shut the door. 
Not bear the knife myself, liesiilfs, this Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, liath been 
So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
The deep daiunatinn "f his taking-off ; 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye. 
That tt^ars shall drown tlie wind. I have no spur 
To i>riik the sidfs of ray intent, but only 
A'aulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself 
And falls on the otlier. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

How now! what news y 
Lady M. He has almost supp'd: why have you 

left the chamber V 
Mach. Hath he ask'd for me? 
Lad>i M. Know you not he has ? 

Mach. We will proceed no further in this business: 
He liatli honoiu'd me of late; and I have bought 
(Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
Which would lie worn now in their newest gloss, 
Not cast aside so soon. 



ACT IT. 



3IACBETR. 



SCENE I. 



Ladij M. "Was the hope drinik 

Whereiu you dress'd yourself V hatli it slept since ? 
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
At what it did so freely V Fnmi this time 
.Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valour 
As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou Iiave that 
AVhich thuu esteem'st the ornament of life, 
And live a coward in thine own esteem. 
Letting ' 1 dare not ' wait upou ' I would,' 
Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 

Marb. Prithee, peace : 

I dare do all that may become a man; 
AVho dares do more is none. 

Lnd'j M. What beast was "t, then, 

Tliat made you break this enterprise to me y 
AVhea you durst do it, then you were a man; 
And, to be more tlian what you were, you would 
Be so mucli more the man. "Nor time nor place 
Did tiieu adhere, and yet you would make both : 
Tiiey liave made themselves, and that their fitness 

now 
Doe^ unmake you. I have given suck, and know 
How tender "t is to love the babe that milks me : 
I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
Have pluck "d my nipple from liis boneless gums, 
And dasifd the brains out, had I so sworn as you 
Uiive done to this. 

Mach. K we should faU? 



Ladii M. We fail ! 

But screw your courage to the sticking-place. 
And we '11 iiot fail. When Duncan is asleep — 
Whereto the ratlier shall his day's hard journey 
Soundly hivite him — his two chamberlains 
AVill I with wine and wassail so convince 
That memory, the warder of the brain, 
Sliall be a fume, and the receijit of reason 
A limbeck only : when in swinish sleej) 
Tlieir drenched natures lie as in a death, 
What cannot \-on and I perform upon 
The unguarded Duncan? what not put upou 
His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt 
Of our great quell ? 

J/«e6. Bring forth men-children only ; 

For thy undaiuited mettle should compose 
Nothing but males. Will it not be received, 
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy 

two 
Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, 
That they have done 't ? 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we sliall make our griefs and clamour roar 
L^pon his death ? 

Much. I am settled, and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrilile feat. 
Away, and mock the time with fairest show: 
False face must hide what the false heart doth 
know. [Exeunt. 



i^CT II. 



SCENE I.— Cowl of Macbeth' s castle. 

Enter Banquo, and Fleance bearing a torch before 
liim. 
Ban. How goes the night, boy V 
Fie. The moon is down; I have not heard the 

clock. 
Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
Fie. I take 't, 't is later, sir. 

JBaii. Hold, take my sword. There 's husbandry 
in heaven; 
Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me. 
And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, 
liestniin in me the cursed thoughts that nature 
Gives way to in repose ! 

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 
Give me my sword. 
Who 's there ? 

JIach. A friend. 

Bun. What, sir, not yet at rest ? The king 's a-bed : 
He liath been in unusual pleasure, and 
.Sent fiu'th great largess to your offices. 
This diamond he greets your wife withal. 
By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up 
In measureless content. 

Much. Being unprepared, 

Our will became the servant to defect; 
^Vliich else should free have wrouglit. 

Ban. All 's well. 

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: 
To you they have show'd some truth. 

Macb. I think not of them : 

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
A\'e would spend it in some words upou that busi- 
If you woidd grant the time. [ness. 

Ban. At your kind'st leisure. 

Mach. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 't is, 
It shall ruitke honour for you. 

B'tn. So I lose none 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 



My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, 
I shall be comiseird. 

Mach. Good repose the while! 

Ban. Thanks, sir : the like to you ! 

[Exeunt Banquo and Fleance. 

Macb. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 
She strike upou the bell. Get thee to bed. 

[Exit Servant. 
Is this a dagger which I see before me. 
The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch 

thee. 
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling as to sight V or art thou but 
A dagger of tlie mind, a false creation, 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As this which now I draw. 
Thou marshairst me the way that I was going; 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
Or else worth all tlie rest : I see thee still. 
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood. 
Which was not so before. There 's no such thing: 
It is the bloody business which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtain"d sleep; witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, 
Alanuu'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
AV hose howl 'shis watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
WithTanpun's ravishing strides, to wards his design 
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and tirm-set earth. 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my wliereabout. 
And take the present horror from tlie time, 
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

[A hell rings. 
I go, and it is done ; the bell Invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven or to hell. [Exit. 
651 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE III. 



SCENE II.— Tlie same. 

Miter Lady Macbeth. 
Lad;/ M. That which hath made them drunk hath 
iiKKle me bold; 
AVhat hatli quench'd them hath given me fire. 

Hark ! Peace ! 
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
Which gives the stern 'st good-night. He is about 
The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms [it: 
Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd 

their possets, 
That death and nature do contend about them, 
Whether they live or die. 
Mw-h. [ Tr/(/ij?i] Wlio 's there i* what, ho ! 

Lady M. Alack, 1 am afraid they have awaked. 
And 't is not done. The attempt and not the deed 
Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready ; 
He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept, I had done 't. 

Enter Macbeth. 

My husband ! 

Much. I have done the deed. Didst thou not 
hear a noise ? [ets cry. 

Ladij M. I heard the owl scream and the crick- 
Did not you speak ? 

Mud). When? 

Lddij M. Now. 

Marl). As I descended ? 

Ladii M. Ay. 

Mad,. Hark! 
Who lies i' the second chamber ? 

Ladij M. Donalbain. 

Mach. This is a sorry siglit. [Looking vn his hands. 

Ladij M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 

Mad). There 's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one 

cried ' Murder ! ' [them : 

That they did wake each other : I stood and heard 

But theydid say their prayers, and address'd them 

Again lo sleep. 

Liidi/ M. There are two lodged together. 

Much. One cried ' God bless us ! ' and ' Amen ' 
the other ; 
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. 
Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' 
When they did say ' God bless us I ' 

Lad'i M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Mad). But wherefore could not I pronounce 
I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen ' ['Amen' ? 
Stuck in my throat. 

Ladij M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways; so, it will make us mad. 

Mad). Methought I heard a voice cry ' Sleep no 
more ! 
Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep, 
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care. 
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath. 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
Chief nourisher in life's feast, — 

Ladij M. What do you mean ? 

Mad). Still it cried ' Sleep no more ! ' to all the 
house : 
'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor 
Sliall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' 

Ladij M. Who was it that thus cried i* Why, 
worthy tbane, 
You do uiiVii-nd your noble strength, to think 
So brainsickly "f tilings. Go get some water, 
And wasli tliis tllthy witness from your hand. 
Wliy did you bring tbcsiMlaggers from the place? 
They must lie there : go carry tliem; and smear 
Tlie sleepy grooms witli blood. 

Mudi. ' I '11 go no more : 

I am afraid to think what I have done; 
Look on 't agam I dare not. 

Ladij M. Infirm of purpose ! 

652 



Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead 
Are but as pictures : 't is tlie eye of childhood 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I 'II gild the faces of the grooms withal ; 
For it must seem their guilt. 

[Exit. KnocMwj within. 
Mad}. Whence is that knocking ? 

How is 't with me, when every noise appals rue V 
What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. 
AVill all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean frum my hand? No, this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
Making the green one red. 

lie-enter Lady Macbeth. 
Ladij M. My hands are of your colour; but I 

slianie 
To wear a heart so white. [Knodcing within.] I 

hear a knocking 
At the south entry : retire we to our chamber : 
A little water clears us of this deed : 
How easy is it, then ! Your constancy 
Hath left you unattended. [Knocking icithin.] Hark 1 

more knocking. 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, 
And show us to be watchers. Be not lost 
So poorly in your thonglits. 
Much. To know my deed, 'twere best not know 

myself. [Knoclimj n-ithin. 

Wake Duncan with thyknockiug! I woidd thou 

couldst ! [Hxeiiiit. 

SCENE in.— Tlie same. 
Knocking within. Enter a Porter. 
Porter. Here 's a knocking indeed ! If a man were 
porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the 
key. [Knocktiuj within.] Knock, knock, knock! 
Who 's there, i' the name of Beelzebub ? Here 's a 
farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of 
plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about 
vou; here you'll sweat for 't. [Kiwcking within.] 
knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's 
name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could 
swear in both the scales against either scale ; who 
committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could 
not e(inivocate to heaven : O, come in, equivocator. 
[Kiiockin(i iritliiit.] Knock, knock, knock ! Wlio "s 
there ? Faith, here 's an English tailor come hither, 
for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; 
here you may roast your goose. [Knocking within.] 
Knock, knock; never at quiet! AVhat are you? 
But tins place is too cold for hell. I '11 devil-porter 
it no further: I had thought to have let in some of 
all professions that^o the primrose way to the ever- 
lasting bonfire. [Knocking within.] Anon, anon! 
I pray you, remember the porter. [Opens the gate. 

Enter Macduff and Lennox. 

Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
That you do lie so late ? 

Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second 
cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three 
things. [provoke ? 

Macd. What three things does driidv esi)ecially 

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. 
Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes: it pro- 
vokes the desire, but it takes away the perfonuunce : 
therefore, much drink may lie said to be an eijuivo- 
cator with lechery : it makes liini, and it mars him ; 
it sets him on, and it takes him olf ; it persuades 
him, and disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and 
not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a 
sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 

Macd. I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. 

Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: 
but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being 



ACT II. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE IV. 



too strong for liiiu, though he took up my legs some- 
time, yet I made a shift to cast him. 
Ilacd. Is tliy master stirring ? 

Enter Macbeth. 
Our knocking has awaked him ; here he comes. 

Lea. Good morrow, uoble Sir. 

Mui:h. Good morrow, both. 

Mdcd. Is the king stirring, worthy thaue ? 

Macb. Not yet. 

Maal. He did command me to call timely on him : 
I Iiave almost slipp'd the hour. 

Much. I '11 bring you to him. 

Maal. I know this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
But yet 't is one. 

Murh. The labour we delight in physics pain. 
This is the door. 

Maal. 1 11 make so bold to call, 

For "t is my limited service. [Exit. 

Lcn. Goes the king hence to-day ? 

Macb. He does : he did appoint so. 

Len. The night has been unruly : where we lay. 
Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, 
Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of 
And prophesying with accents terrible [death, 

Of dire combustion and confused events 
New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird 
Clamour'd the livelong night : some say, the earth 
"Was feverous and did shake. 

Macb. 'T was a rough night. 

Lcn. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
A fellow to it. „ 

Be-enter Macduff. 

Macd. O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor 

Cannot conceive nor name thee ! [heart 

Macb. I 



Lni. 



What 's the matter ? 



Mncd. Confusion now hath made his master- 
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope [piece ! 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life o' the building ! 
3[acb. What is 't you say ? the life 'i 

Lea. Mean you his majesty ? [sight 

Macd. Approacli the chamber, and destroy your 
With a new Gorgon : do not bid me speak ; 
See, and then speak yourselves. 

[Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox. 
Awake, awake! 
Ring the alaruni-lifll. Murder and treason ! 
Banquo and Donalljain ! Malcohn ! awake! 
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit. 
And look on death itself ! up, up, and see 
The great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo ! 
As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, 
To countenance this horror ! King the bell. 

„ [Bell rinns. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady 31. What 's the Inisiness, 
That such a hideous trumjiet calls to parley 
The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak ! 

Macd. O gentle lady, 

'T is not for you to hear what I can speak : 
The repetition, in a woman's ear, 
AVould murder as it fell. 

Enter Banquo. 

O Banquo, Banquo, 
Our royal master 's murder 'd ! 

Lady M. Woe, alas ! 

What, in our house ? 

-Dfni. Too cruel any where. 

Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself. 
And say it is not so. 

Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox, tvith Ross. 
Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
I had lived a blessed time ; for, from this instant, 



There 's nothing serious in mortality : 
All is but toys : renown and grace is dead ; 
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
Is left this vault to brag of. 

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 

Bon. What is amiss ? 

Macb. You are, and do not know 't ; 

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 

Macd. Yom- royal father 's murder 'd. 

Mai. O, by whom ? 

ie)!. Those of his chamber, as it seem "d. had done't: 
Their hands and faces were all bailged witli blood; 
So were their daggers, which unwiped we found 
Upon their pillows : 

They stared, and were distracted; no man's life 
Was to be trusted with them. 

3Iacb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury. 
That I did kill them. 

Macd. Wherefore did you so ? 

Macb. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and f u- 
Loyal and neutral, in a moment y No man : [rious. 
The expedition of ujy violent love 
Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, 
His silver skin laced with his golden l.ilood ; 
And his gash'd statis loiik'd like a breach in nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers 
Unmannerly breech 'd with gore : who could retrain, 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make 's love known 'f 

Lady M. Help me hence, ho ! 

Macd. Look to the lady. 

Mai. [Aside to Don.^ Why do we hold our tongues. 
That most may claim this argument for ours V 

Bon. [Aside to J/aL] What should be spoken here, 
where our fate, 
Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize usi* 
Let 's away ; 
Our tears are not yet brew'd. 

Mai. [Aside to Bon.'] Nor our strong sorrow 
Upon the foot of motion. 

Ban. Look to the lady : 

[Lady Macbeth is carried out. 
And when we have our naked frailties hid. 
That suffer in exposure, let us meet. 
And question this most bloody piece of work. 
To know it further. Fears and scru])les shake us : 
In the great hand of God I stand : and thence 
Against the undivulged pretence I light 
Of treasonous malice. 

Macb. And so do I. 

All. So all. 

Macb. Let 's briefly put on manly readiness. 
And meet i' the haU together. 

All. Well contented. 

[Exeunt all but Malcolm and Bonalbain. 

Mai. What will you do? Let 's not consort wit li 
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office ftliem : 

Which the false man does easy. I '11 to England. 

Bon. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer: where we are. 
There 's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood. 
The nearer bloody. 

Mai. This murderous shaft that 's shot 

Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way 
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; 
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
lint shift away : there 's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when there 's no mercy left. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE IV.— Outside MaAetWs castle. 
Enter Rose and an old Man. 

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well : 
Within the volume of whicli time I have seen 
C53 



ACT IIT, 



JIIACBETff. 



SCENE I, 



Hours dreadful and things strange; but tliis sore 

night 
Hath tritliid former lino wings. 

Boss. Ah, good father, 

Tliou seest,the heavens, as troubled with man's act, 
Tlireaten liis bloody stage: by the clo(_-l<, 't is day, 
And yet ilark night strangles the travelling lamp: 
Is 't niglit's lirediiniinancf. or the day's slianie, 
That darl-;ness iloes the face of earth entoudj, 
Wlien living light should kiss it y 

Old M. 'T is unnatural , 

Even like the deed that 's done. On Tuesday last, 
A falcon, towering in her pride of place. 
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. 

lioss. And Duncan's horses — athing most strange 
and certain — 
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
Tuni'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out. 
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make 
■\Var with mankind. 

Uld 31. 'T is said they eat each other. 

lioss. Tliey did so, to the amazement of mine eyes 
That look'd upon 't. Here comes the good Macduff. 

Enter Macduff. 
How goes the world, sir, now ? 
Macd. Why, see you not ? 



Soss. Is 't known who did this more than bloody 

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. [deed? 

Soss. Alas, the day ! 

What good could they pretend ? 

Mucd. They were subom'd : 

Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons. 
Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
Suspicion of the deed. 

lirifs. 'Gainst nature still! 

Thriftless aniliition, that wilt ravin up 
Thine own life's means ! Then 't is most like 
Tlie sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 

Macd. He is already named, and gone to Scone 
To be invested. 

lioss. Where is Duncan's body ? 

Macd. Carried to Colmekill, 
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors. 
And guardian of their bones. 

Boss. Will yon to Seone ? 

Macd. No, cousin, I '11 to Fife. 

Ross. Well, I will thitlier. 

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there : 
Lest our old i( il les sit easier than our new ! [adieu ! 

Boss. Farewell, father. 

OklM. God's benison go with you; and with those 
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes ! 

[Exeunt. 



^CT III. 



SCENE 1.— Forres. The palace. 
Enter Banquo. 
Ban. Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, 
all, 
As the weird women promised, and, I fear, 
Tliou jilay'dst most foully for 't : yet it was said 
It shiiuld not stau<l in tliy posterity, 
But that myself sliould be the root and father 
Of many kings. If there come truth fi'om them — 
As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine — 
Why, by the verities on thee made good. 
May they not be my oracles as well, 
And set me up in hope ? But hush ! no more. 

Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as king. Lady Mac- 
beth, (ts queen, Lennox, Boss, Lords, Ladies, and 
Attendants. 

Mach. Here 's our chief guest. 

Ladij M. If he had been forgotten. 

It had been as a gap in our great feast. 
And all-thing unbecoming. 

Much. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, 
And I '11 request your presence. 

Ban. Let your highness 

Command upon me; to the which my duties 
Are with a most indissoluble tie 
For ever knit. 

Mach. Ride you this afternoon? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord. 

Mach. We should have else desired your good 
advice. 
Which still hath been both grave and prosperotls. 
In this day's council; but we '11 take to-morrow. 
Is "t far you ride 'i 

Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
'Twixt this and supper : go not my horse the better, 
I nmst become a borrower of the night 
For a dark hour or twain. 

Mach. Fail not our feast. 

Ban. My lord, I will not. 

Mach. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
In England and in Ireland, not confessing 
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
654 



With strange invention : but of that to-morrow, 
Wlien therewithal we shall have cause of state 
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : adieu. 
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ? 

Ban . Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon 's. 

Mach. I wish your liorses swift and sure of foot ; 
And so I do commend you to their backs. 
Farewell. [Exit Banquo. 

IM every man be master of his time 
Till seven at night: to make society 
Tlie sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with 
you V 

[Exeunt all but 3[acbeth, and an attendant. 
Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men 
Our pleasure ? 

Alten. They are, my lord, without the palace gate. 

3Iacb. Bring them before us. [Exit Attendant. 
To be thus is nothing ; 
But to be safely thus. — Our fears in Banquo 
Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature 
Reigns that which would be fear 'd: 'tis mucli he 

dares ; 
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
He hath a wisdom that dulli guide his valour 
To act in safety. There is none liut he 
Whose being I do fear: and, under him. 
My Genius is rebuked ; as, it is said, 
IMark Antony's was by Cjesar. He chid the sisters 
When lirst tliey put the name of king ujion me. 
And liade them speak to him : then prophet-like 
They liailM him father to a line of kings : 
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown. 
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe. 
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, 
No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, 
For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind ; 
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder "d; 
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
Only for tliem; and mine eternal jewel 
Given to tlie common enemy of man. 
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! 
Rather than so, come fate into tlie list. 
And champion me to the utterance ! Who 's tliere ? 



i 



ACT III. 



MACBETH. 



SCENE II. 



Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers. 

Xow go to the door, and stay there til] we call. 

{Exit Attendant. 
TTas it not yesterday we spoke together ? 

First Mur. It was, so please your highness. 

3[acb. Well then, now 

Have 5'ou consider'd of my speeches ? Know 
Tiiat it was he in the times past which held you 
F-1 under fortune, which you thought had been 
Our innocent self: tliis I made good to you 
In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you. 
How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the in- 
struments, [might 
■Who wrought with them, and all things else that 
To half a soul and to a notion crazed 
Say • Thus did Bamiuo.' 

First Mur. You made it kno'mi to us. 

Maeh. I did so, and went further, wliich is now 
Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
Your patience so predominant m your nature 
That you can let this go 'f Are you so gospell'd 
To pray for this good man and for his issue. 
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave 
And beggar'd yours for everV 

First Mur. We are men, my liege. 

Mncb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; 
As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, 
Siioughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept 
All by the name of dogs : the valued file 
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
The housekeeper, the hunter, every one 
According to the gift whicli bounteous nature 
Hath in him closed ; whereby he does receive 
Particular addition, from the bill 
Tnat \\'rites them all alike : and so of men. 
Xow, Lf you have a station in the file, 
Xot i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't ; 
And I will put that busiuess in your bosoms, 
Whose execution takes your enemy off. 
Grapples you to the heart and love of us. 
Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
Which in his death were perfect. 

Sec. Mur. I am one, my liege, 

Wliom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
Have so incensed that I am reckless what 
I do to spite the world. 

First Mur. And I another 

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
Tiiat I would set my life on any chance, 
To mend it, or be rid on't. 

J\racb. Both of you 

Know Banquo was your enemy. 

Both Mar. True, my lord. 

Mai'b. .So is he mine ; and in such bloody distance, 
That every minute of his being thrusts 
Against my near'st of life : and though I could 
With barefaced power sweep him from my sight 
And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not. 
For certain friends that are both his and mine, 
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
Who I myself struck down; and thence it is, 
That I to your assistance do make love, 
Masking the business from the common eye 
For sundry weighty reasons. 

Sec. Mur. We shall, my lord. 

Perform what you command us. 

First 2tur. Though our lives — 

Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within 
this hour at most 
I will advise you where to plant yourselves ; 
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, 
The moment on 't : for 't must be done to-night. 
And something from the palace; always thought 
That I requires clearness: and witli him — 
To leave no rubs nor botches in the work — 
Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 



Whose absence is no less material to me 
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
Of that dark horn-. Resolve yom'selves apart : 
I '11 come to you anon. 

JJoth Mur. We are resolved, my lord. 

Macb. I '11 call upon you straight : abide within. 
[E.reunt Murderers. 
It is concluded. Banquo, thy souFs flight. 
If it tuid heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exit. 

SCENE U.~Tlie palace. 

Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? 

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the kiug, I would atteiid his 
For a few words. [leisure 

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Lady M. Nought 's had. all "s spent. 

Where our desire is got without content : 
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy 
Than by destruction dwell in doubltiil joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 
How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone, 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making. 
Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
With them they think on? Things without all 

remedy 
Should be without regard : what 's done is done. 

2Iacb. We have scotch 'd the snake, not kill'd it: 
She '11 close and be herself, whilst our poor malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the 

worlds suffer. 
Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep 
In the affliction of these temlile dreams 
Tliat shake us nightly: better be with the dead, 
Whom we. to gain our peace, h-dxe sent to peace, 
Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave ; 
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; 
Treason lias done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
Can touch him further. 

Lady M. Come on ; 

Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; 
Be Ijright and jovial among your guests to-night. . 

Much. So sliall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: 
Let your remembrance ap]ily to Banquo; 
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: 
Unsafe the while, that we 

Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, 
And make our faces vizards to our liearts, 
Disguising what they are. 

Lady M. You must leave this. 

Macb. O, full of scorjiions is my mind, dear wife ! 
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 

Lady M. But in them natm'e's copy 's not eterne. 

Macb. There 's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; 
Tlien be thou jocund : ere the bat liath flov.-n 
His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons 
The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums 
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
A deed of dreadful note. 

Lnd'i M. What 's to be done ? 

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 
chuck. 
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
And with thy bloody and invisible liand 
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond 
Wliich keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the 
Makes wing to the ro<iky wood : [crow 

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; 
Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse. 
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still: 
655 



ACT III, 



MACBETH. 



SCENE IT. 



Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. 
So, prithee, go" with me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE in. — Ajjark near the ijcdace. 
Enter three Murderers. 

First Mur. But who did bid thee join witli us V 

TIdrd Mur. Macbeth. 

See. Mur. He needs not our mistrust, since he 
Our offices and what we have to do [delivers 

To tlie direction just. 

First Mur. Then stand with us. 

The west yet glimmers witli some streaks of day : 
Now spurs tlie lated traveller apace 
To gain the timely inn; and near approaches 
The subject of our watch. 

I'liird Mur. Hark ! I hear horses. 

JSiin. [ Within] Give us a liglit there, ho I 

>S'('c. Mur. Then 't is he : the rest 

Tliat are within the note of expectation 
Already are i' the court. 

First MuT. His horses go about. 

Third Mur. Almost a mile : but he does usually. 
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
Make it their walk. 

See. Mur. A light, a light ! 

Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch. 
Third Mur. 'T is he. 

First Mur. Stand to 't. 
Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
First Mur. Let it come down. 

[Tlieti set upon Banquo. 
Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly. 
Thou mayst revenge. O slave ! [fly ! 

[Dies. Fleance escajjes. 
Third Mur. Who did strike out the light ? 
First Mur. Was 't not 'the way ? 

Third Mur. There 's but one down ; the son is fled. 
Sec. Mur. We have lost 

Best half of our affair. 
First Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much 
is done. [E.ceunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. Hall in the palace. 

A hn nquct prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Mac- 
beth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, aiul Attendants. 

Much. You know your own degrees ; sit down : 
And last the hearty welcome. [at first 

Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 

Mach. Ourself will mingle vyith society, 
And play the humble host. 
Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time 
We will require her welcome. 

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our 
For my heart speaks they are welcome, [friends ; 

First Murderer appears at the door. 

Mach. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' 
thanks. 
Both sides are even: here I '11 sit i' the midst: 
Bi^ large in mirth; anon we '11 drink a measure 
The table round. [Ajiiirndchinijtlie door.] There's 
blood upon tliy face. 
3Iur. 'T is Bantjuo's tlien. 

Mach. 'Tis better thee without than he within. 
Is he dispatch'd y 
Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for 
him. Pie 's good 

Mach. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats : yet 
That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, 
Tliou art the nonpareil. 

Mur. Most royal sir, 

Fleance is 'scaped. [perfect. 

Much. Then comes my fit again: I had else been 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, 
650 



As broad and general as the casing air : 

But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in 

To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo 's safe V 

3Iur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bivlcs, 
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
Tlie least a death to nature. 

3Iacb. -Thanks for that : 

There the grown serpent lies ; the worm that 's fled 
Hath natm-e that in time will venom breed. 
No teetli for the present. Get thee gone : to-mon-ow 
We '11 hear, ourselves, again. [Exit 3Iurdcrer. 

Ladi/ M. My royal lord. 

You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold 
That is not often vouch 'd, while 't is a-making, 
'T is given with welcome : to feed were best at home ; 
F*om thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Much. Sweet remembrancer ! 

Now, good digestion wait on appetite. 
And health on both ! 

Len. May 't please your highness sit. 

[The Ghost of Banquo enters, and sits in 

Macbeth''s place. 

Mach. Here had we now our country's honour 
roof'd. 
Were the graced person of our Banquo present; 
Who may I rather challenge for unliiudness 
Than pity for mischance ! 

Boss. His absence, sir. 

Lays blame upon his promise. Please 't your high- 
To grace us with your royal company. [ntss 

31acb. The table 's full. 

if II. Here is a place reserved, sir. 

Mach. Where? 

Len. Here, my good lord. Wliat is 't that moves 
your highness ? 

Mach. Which of you have done this ? 

Lords. What, my good lord ? 

Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: never shake 
Thy gory locks at me. 

Boss. Gentlemen, rise : his highness is not well. 

Lad'i M. Sit, wiirthyfriends: mylordisoften thus. 
And liiith been from his youth : pray you, keep seat ; 
The fit is momentary; upon a thought 
He will again be well: if much you note him. 
You shall offend him and extend his passion : 
Feed, and regard liini not. Ai'e you a man ':* 

Much. Ay, and a Ijold one, that dare look on that 
AVhicli mig'lit api)al the devil. 

Lady M. O proper stuff ! 

This is the very painting of your fear; 
This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said. 
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, 
Impostiirs to true tear, would well become 
A wiinian's stury at a winter's fire, 
Authorizeil by lier graudam. Shame itself! 
Wliy do you iiiake such faces ? AVheu all 's done. 
You Iciuk lint (in a stool. [say you ? 

Mitcli. Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo ! how 
Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. 
If ciiarnel-lKiuses and our graves must send 
Those that we bury back, our monuments 
Shall be tlie maws of kites. [Ghost vctnishes. 

Ladi/ M. What, quite unmann'd in folly ? 

Mach. If I stand here, I saw him. 

Ladi/ M. Fie, for shame ! 

3[acb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden 
Ere human statute purged the gentle weal ; [time. 
Ay, anil since tii<i, murders have been perform 'd 
Too terrilile fcir tlie ear: the times have been. 
That, wlien the brains were out, the man would die. 
And there an end ; but now they rise again. 
With twenty nmrtal murders on their crowns, 
And push us from our stools: this is more strange 
Than such a murder is. 

Liuhi M. My worthy lord, 

Your iioble friends do lack you. 



ACT III. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE VI. 



Mach. I do forget. 

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends; 
I have a strange infirmity, which is notliiug [all ; 
To those that know me. Come, love and health to 
Then I '11 sit down. Give me some wine ; fill full. 
I iliiiik to the general joy o' the whole table, 
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
Would he were here 1 to aU, and him, we thirst, 
And all to all. 

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Re-enter Ghost. 
Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth 
hide thee! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
AVhich thou dost glare with ! 

Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 

But as a thing of custom : 't is no other ; 
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 

2tacb. What man dare, I dare : 
Approach thou like tlie rugged Bussian bear. 
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Ilyrcau tiger; 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble: or be alive again, 
And dare me to the desert with thy sword; 
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me 
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! 
Unreal mockery, hence ! [Ghost vaiiishes. 

Why, so : being gone, 
I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. 
Lady 2L. You have displaced the mirth, broke 
the good meeting, 
Witli most admired disorder. 

jl/'ie!). Can such things be. 

And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
Without our special wonder ? You make me strange 
Even to the disposition that I owe, 
When now I think you can behold such sights. 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
When mine is blanch'd with fear. 
Boss. What sights, my lord ? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse 
and worse ; 
Question enrages him. At once, good night : 
Stand not upon the order of your going, 
But go at once. 

Len. Goodnight; and better health 

Attend his majesty ! 
Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 

[Exeimt all but Macbeth and Lady M. 
3Iacb. It will have blood; they say, blood will 
have blood : 
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak ; 
Augiu-s and imderstood relations have 
By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth 
The secret 'st man of blood. What is the night ? 
Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which 
is which. [person 

Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his 
At our great bidding ? 
Lndy M. Did you send to him, sir ? 

Macb. I hear it by the way; but I will send: 
There 's not a one of them but in his house 
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
And betimes I will, to the weird sisters : 
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know. 
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good. 
All causes shall give way : I am in blood 
Stepp'd in so far that, should 1 wade no more, 
Returning were as tedious as go o'er : 
Strange things I have in head, that '«ill to hand; 
Wliich must be acted ere they may be seann'd. 
Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 
Mach. Come, we '11 to sleep. My strange and self- 
Is tlie mitiate fear that wants hard use : [abuse 
AVe are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. 

42 



SCENE V.-^flcat/i. 
Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate. 

First Witch. Why, how now, Hecate! you look 
angerly. 

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
Saucy and overbold V How did you dare 
To trade and traffic with ^Macbeth 
In riddles and aft airs of death ; 
And I, the mistress of your charms. 
The close contriver of all harms. 
Was never call'd to bear my part. 
Or show the glory of our art ? 
And, wliich is worse, all 50U have done 
Hath been but for a wayward son. 
Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now : get you gone, 
And at the pit of Acheron 
Meet me i' the morning: thither he 
Will come to know liis destiny : 
Your vessels and your spells provide. 
Your charms and everything beside. 
I am for the air ; this night I 'U spend 
Unto a dismal and a fatal end : 
Great business must be ■WTOught ere noon : 
Upon the corner of the moon 
There hangs a vaporous drop profound; 
I '11 catcli it ere it come to ground : 
And that distill'd by magic sleights 
Shall raise such artificial sprites 
As by the strength of their illusion 
Shall draw him on to his confusion: 
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: 
And you all know, security 
Is mortals' chiefest enemy. 

[Music and a song within : ' Come away, 
come away,' &c. 
Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see. 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 

First Witch. Come, let 's make haste ; she '11 soon 
be back again. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Forres. Tlie 2)alace, 
Enter Lennox and aiwther Lord. 

Len. My former speeches have but hit your 
thoughts. 
Which can interpret further : only, I say, [Duncan 
Things have been strangely borne. The gracious 
Was pitied of ilacbeth : marry, he was dead : 
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; 
Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance kill'd. 
For Fleance fled : men must not walk too late. 
Who cannot want the thought how monstrous 
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain 
To kill their gracious father ? damned fact ! 
How it did grieve Macljetli ! did he not straight 
In pious rage the two delinquents tear. 
That were tlie slaves of drink and thralls of sleep ? 
Was not that nobly done ? Ay, and wisely too ; 
For 't would have anger 'd any heart alive 
To hear the men deny 't. So that, I say. 
He has borne all things well : and I do think 
That had he Dmican's sons under his key — [find 
As, an't please heaven, he shall not — they should 
What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. 
But, peace ! for from broad words and 'cause he 
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear [fail'd. 
Macduff lives in disgrace : sir, can you teU 
AVhere he bestows himself ? 

Lord. The son of Duncanv 

From whom this tjTant holds the due of birth, 
Lives in the English court, and is received 
Of the most pious Edward with such grace 
That the maie\oIence of fortune nothing 
657 



ACT IV. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE I. 



Takes from bis liiuh resiiect : tliitlier ^Macduff 
Is ^-oiie to pray tin' Imly king', iiiiou his aid 
To wake Norlliunilicrland and warlike Siward: 
Tliat, by the lieli) of tliese— with Him above 
To ratify tlie work — we may again 
tiive to bur taljles meat, sleep to our nights, 
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, 
Do faithful homan'e and receive free honours: 
All which we pine for now: and this report 
Hath so exasperate the king that he 
Prepares for some attempt of war. 
Len. Sent he to Macduff i" 



Lord. He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' 
The cloudy messenger turns me his back. 
And hums, as who sliould say ' You '11 rue the time 
That clogs me with this answer.' 

Lcn. And that well might 

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
Fly to the court of England and unfold 
His message ere he come, that a swift blessing 
May soon return to this our suffering country 
Under a hand accursed ! 

Lord. I '11 send my prayers with him. 

\_Examt. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — A cavern. In the middle, a boiling 
cauldron. 

T/iunder. Enter the three Witches. 
Mrst Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
Sec. Witch. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. 
Third Witch. Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. 

First Witch. Round about the cauldron go; 
In the poison'd entrails tlirow. 
Toad, that under cold stone 
Days and nights has thirty-one 
Swelter'd venom slee]iing got, 
Boil thou lirst i' the charmed pot. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble", 
Fire burn and cauldron bulible. 

Sec. Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
In the cauldron boil and bake ; 
Eye of newt and toe of frog. 
Wool of bat and tongue of dog, 
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, 
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing. 
For a charm of powerful tiTiuble, 
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

All. Double, doubli' toil and trouble ; 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Third Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf. 
Witches' mummy , maw and gulf 
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, 
Boot of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, 
Liver of blaspheming Jew, 
Gall of goat, and slips of yew 
Sliver'd in the mooirs eclipse. 
Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, 
Finger of birth-strangled babe 
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, 
Make the gruel thick and slab: 
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron. 
For the ingredients of our cauldron. 

All. Double, doulile toil and trouble; 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Sec. Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood. 
Then the charm is firm and good. 

Enter Hecate to the other three Witches. 
Hec. O, well done! I commend your pains ; 
And every one shall share i' the gains: 
And now about the cauldron sing, 
Live elves and fairies in a ring, 
Enchanting all that you put in. 

[Music and a song: ' Black spirits,' &c. 
[Hecate retires. 
Sec. Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs. 
Something wicked this way comes. 
Oiieii, locks, 
AVhoever knocks! 

Enter Macbeth. 
Nach. How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
What is 't you do ? [hags ! 

658 



All. A deed without a name. 

Mach. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
Howe'er you come to know it, answer me : 
Though yim untie the winds and let them fight 
Against "the cliurches; though the yesty waves 
Confound and swallow navigation up ; [do\ATi; 

Thongli bladcd corn be lodged and trees blown 
TlKUigb castles topple on their warders' heads; 
Thougli palaces and jiyraniids do slope 
Their lieads to their foundations ; though the treas- 
Of nature's germens tumble all together, [ure 

Even till destruction sicken ; answer me 
To what I ask you. 

-First Witch. Speak. 

Sec. Witch. Demand. 

Third Witch. We '11 ans^\'er. 

First Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from 
our mouths. 
Or from our masters ? 

Much. Call 'em ; let me see 'em. 

First Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath 

Her nine farrow ; grease that 's sweaten [eaten 

From the murderer's gibbet throw 

Into the flame. 
All. Come, high or low; 

Thyself and office deftly .show! 

Thunder. i^iVs« Apparition : an armed Head. 

Mach. Tell me, thou unknown power, — 

First Witch. He knows thy thought : 

Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 

First A},}i. ISIaebeth"! Macbeth! Macbeth! be- 
ware j\ lac duff; 
Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. 

[l),.-<rruds. 

Mach. Whate'er thou art, for thy good cnution, 

thanks ; [""Jrei— 

Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word 

First Witch. He will not be commanded : here 's 

More potent than tlie first. [another, 

Tliunder. &rond Apparition : a bloody Child. 

Sec. App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! 

3Inch. Had I three ears, I 'Id hear thee. [scorn 

Sec. App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute ; laugh to 
Tlie power of man. for none of woman born 
Shall harm Macbeth. [Bc^^ccnds. 

Much. Then live, Macduff : what need I fear of 
But vet I '11 make assurance double sure, [thee V 
And'take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 
And sleep in spite of thunder. 

Thunder. Third Apparition : a Child crowned, wilh a 
tree in his hand. 

What is this 
That rises like the issue of a king, 
And wears upon his baby-brow the romid 
And top of sovereignty ? 



ACT IV. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE II. 



All. Listen, but speak not to 't. 

Third App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no 
care 
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: 
M:'.cbeth sliall never vanquish'd be until 
Great Birnani wood to liigh Dmisinane hill 
Shall come against him. {Descends. 

Marb. That will never be : 

Wlio can impress tlie forest, bid the tree [good ! 
Untix hLs eartli-bound root ? Sweet bodements ! 
liebellion's liead, rise never till the wood 
<,>f Birnam rise, and oiu' high-placed Jlacbeth 
filiall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart 
Throbs to know one thing : tell me, if your art 
Can tell so much : shall Banquo's issue ever 
Reign in this Iciugdom ? 

All. Seek to know no more. 

Mnxh. I will be satisfied : deny me this. 
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know. 
Why sinks tliat cauldron ? and what noise is this ? 

[Hautboys. 

First Witch. Show! 

Srr. Witch. Show! 

2'hird Witrh. Show! 

AlK .Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 
Come like shadows, so depart ! 

A show of Eight King's, the last with a glass in his iiand; 
Baiiquu's Gliost following . 

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; 
dowai ! 
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And tliy hair. 
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. 
A third is like the former. Filthy hags.! 
Why do you show me this ? A fourth f Start, eyes ! 
Wliat, will tlie line stretch out to the crack of doom ! 
Anotlier yet ! A seventh ! I '11 see no more : 
And yet the eiglith appears, who bears a glass 
Wiiicli shows me many more; and some I see 
Tliat two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry : 
Horrible sight ! Kow, I see, 't is true ; 
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me. 
And points at them for his. [Apparitions vanish.'] 
AVliat, is this so ? 

First Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: but wliy 
Stands Macbeth tlnis amazedly ? 
Come, sisters, cheer we up liis sprites, 
And show the best of our deliglits : 
I 'II charm the air to give a sound, 
'^^'llile you perform your antic round ; 
That this great king may kindly say. 
Our duties did his welcome pay. 

[MiLsic. The Witches dnnce, avd then 
vanish, ivith Hecate. 

3Iacb. Where are they ? Gone 'f Let this per- 
nicious hour 
Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! 
Come in, without there 1 

Enter Lennox. 

Len. AVhat 's y%\n- grace's will ? 

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters V 

Len. Ko, my lord. 

■ Macb. Came they not by you ? 

Len. No, indeed, my lord. 

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
And damn'd all those that trust them ! I did hear 
The galloping of horse : who was 't came by V 

Len. 'T is two or tliree, my lord, that bring vou 
Macduff is fled to England. [word 

Meich. Fled to England ! 

Len. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits! 
The flighty purpose never is o'ertobk 
Unless the deed go with it : from tins moment 
The very firstlings of my heart shaU be 



The firstlings of my hand. And even now. 

To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thouglit and 

The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; [done : 

Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword 

His wife, liis babes, and all unfortunate souls 

That trace him in Ins line. Ko boasting like a fool ; 

This deed I '11 do before tins purjjose cool. 

But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen ? 

Come, bring me wliere they are. [Exeunt. 

SCENE U.— Fife. Macduff's castle. 

Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross. 

L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly 
the land ? 

Boss. You must have patience, madam. 

L. Macd. He had none: 

His flight was madness : when oiu: actions do not, 
Our fears do make us traitors. 

Boss. Y^ou know not 

Wliether it was his wisdom or his fear. 

L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave 
his babes. 
His mansion and his titles in a place 
From wlience himself does fly V He loves us not ; 
He wants tlie natural touch : for the poor wren. 
The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
All is the fear and notliing is the love ; 
As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
So runs against all reason. 

Boss. My dearest coz, 

I pray you, school yourself: but for your liusband, 
He is noble, wise, judicious, and be.st knows 
Tlie fits o' the season. I dare not speak mucli further; 
But cruel are t!ie times, wlien we ai'e traitors 
And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour 
Frf.mi wliat we fear, yet know not what we fear, 
r.ut float u]nin a wild and violent sea 
Each way and move. I take my leave of you : 
Shall not Vie long but I '11 be here again : 
Thhigs at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
To what they were before. My pretty cousin. 
Blessing upon you ! 

L. 3Iacd. Father'd he is, and yet he 's fatherless. 

Boss. 1 am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort : 
I taJie my leave at once. [Exit. 

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father 's dead : 

And what will you do now '/ How will you live ? 

jS'<)!. As birds do, mother. _ 

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ? 

lion. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. 

L. Macd. Poor bird ! thou'ldst never fear the net 
The pitfall nor the gin. [nnr lime, 

8on. Why should I, mother'? Poor birds they 
are not set for. 
My father is not dead, for all your saying. 

L. Macd. I'es, he is dead: how w'ilt thou do for 
a father '? 

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? 

L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. 

Srjn. Then you 'II buy 'em to sell again. 

L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and 
yet, i' faith. 
With wit enough for thee. 

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother V 

L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 

Son. What is a traitor ? 

L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 

Son. And be all traitors that do so ? 

L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, and 
must be hanged. [lie ? 

Son. And must they aU be hanged that swear and 

L. Macd. Every one. 

Son. Who must hang them ? 

L. Macd. Why, the honest men, 
659 



ACT IV. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE III. 



Son. Then the liars ami swearers are fools, for 
there are liars ami swearers euow to beat the houest 
men and hans up them. 

L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! 
But how wilt thou do for a father V 

Son. If he were dead, you 'Id weep for him : if you 
would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly 
have a new father. 

L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! 

Enter a Messenger, 

Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known. 
Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
I (Iduiit sonic danger does approach you nearly: 
If you will take a homely man's advice. 
Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. 
To fright you thus, mcthinks, I am too savage ; 
To do worse to you were tell cruelty. 
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! 
I dare abide no longer. [Exit. 

L. Macd. Whither should I fly V 

I have done no harm. But I remember now 
I am in this earthly world; where to do harm 
Is often laudable, to do good sometime 
Accounted dangerous folly : why then, alas, 
Do I put up that womanly defence, 
To say I have done no harm V 

Enter Murderers. 

AVhat are these faces ? 
First Mur. Where is your husband ? 
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified 
Where such as thou mayst find him. 
First Mur. He 's a traitor. 

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain ! 
First Mur. What, you egg ! 

IStabhing him. 
Young fry of treachery ! 

Son. He has killVl me, mother : 

Eun away, I pray you ! [Dies. 

[Exit Lady Macduff, crying ' Murder ! ' 

Exeunt Murderers, following her. 

SCENE III. — England. Before the King''s palace. 
Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 

Macd. Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men 
Bestride our down-fairn liirthdom : each new morn 
!N'ew widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows 
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out 
Like syllable of doloiur. 

Mai. AVhat I believe I '11 wail. 

What know believe, and what I can redress. 
As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. 
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 
AVas once thought honest : you have loved him well; 
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but 

something 
You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom 
To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb 
To appease an angry god. 

Macd. I am not treacherous. 

Mai. But Macbeth is. 

A good and virtuous nature may recoil [don ; 

In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your par- 
That which v<iu are my thoughts cannot transjiose : 
Angels are bViglit still, tlmugh the brightest fell : 
Though all things foul would wear the brows of 
Yet grace must still look so. [grace, 

Macd. I have lost my hojies. 

Mai. Perchance even there where I did find my 
doubts. 

C60 



Why in that rawness left you wife and child, 

Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, 

Without leave-taking ? 1 pray you, 

Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, 

But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, 

AVhatever I shall think. 

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country! 

Great tyranny ! lay thou thy basis sure, [wrongs: 
For goodness dare not check thee : wear thou thy 
The title is affeer'd ! Fare thee well, lord : 
I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp. 
And the rich East to boot. 

Mai. Be not offended : 

I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash 
Is added to her wounds: I think withal 
There would be hands uplifted in my right; 
And here from gracious England have I offer 
Of goodly tliousands: but, tor all this, 
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head. 
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
Shall have more vices than it had before. 
More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, 
By him that shall succeed. 

Macd. What should he be ? 

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
All the particulars of vice so grafted 
Tliat, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
AVill seem as pure as snow, and the poor state 
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared 
With my confineless harms. 

Macd. Not in the legions 

Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd 
In evils to top Macbeth. 

Med. I grant him bloody, 

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
That has a name : but there 's no bottom, none. 
In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters, 
Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up 
The cistern of my lust, and my desire 
All continent impediments would o'erbear 
Tliat did oppose my will: better Macbeth 
Than such au one to reign. 

Macd. Boundless intemperance 

In nature is a tyranny; it hath been 
The untimely emptying of the happy throne 
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
To take upon you what is yours : you may 
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
And yet seem cold, the time you njay so hoodwink. 
AV^e have willing dames enough ; there cannot be 
That vulture in you, to devour so many 
As will to greatness dedicate themselves. 
Finding it so inclined. 

Med. With this tliere grows 

In my most ill-composed affection such 
A stanchless avarice that, were I king, 
I should cut off the nobles for their lands, 
Desire his jewel^and this other's house: 
And my more-having would be as a sauce 
To make me lumger more ; that I should forge 
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, 
Destroying them for wealth. 

Macd. This avarice 

Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root 
Than snuimer-sccniing lust, and it hath been 
The sword t)f our slain kings: yet do not fear; 
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will, 
( )f your mere own : all these are portable, 
AVith other graces weigh'd. 

Mai. But 1 have none : the king-becoming graces. 
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, 
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 



ACT IV. 



3IACBETR. 



SCENE III. 



I liave no relish of them, but abound 

In the division of each several crime, 

Acting it many ways. Xay, had I power, I should 

Pour tlie sweet milk of concord into hell, 

Uproar tlie universal peace, confound 

All unity on earth. 

J/occZ. O Scotland, Scotland! 

Mai. If such a one be lit to govern, speak : 
I am as I have spokeu. 

Macd. Fit to govern ! 

Xo, not to live. O nation miserable, 
AVith an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, 
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, 
Since tliat the truest issue of thy throne 
By his own interdiction stands accursed. 
And does blasplienie his breed? Thy royal father 
Was a most sainted king: tlie queen that bore thee, 
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, 
Died every day slie lived. Fare thee well ! 
Tliese evils tliou repeat 'st upon thyself 
Have banish 'd me from Scotland. O my breast, 
Thy hope ends here ! 

Mai.. Macduff, this noble passion. 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts 
To thy good truth and honour. Devilisli Macbeth 
By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me 
From over-credulous haste : but God above 
Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
I put m}'self to thy direction, and 
Unspeak mine own detraction, liere abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself. 
For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, 
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own. 
At no time broke my faith, would not betray 
The devil to his fellow and delight 
No less in truth than life : my first false speaking 
Was this upon myself: what I am truly. 
Is thine and my poor country's to command : 
Wliitlier indeed, before tliy here-approach. 
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 
Already at a point, was setting forth. 
Now we '11 together; and the chance of goodness 
Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent ? 

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 
'T is hard to reconcile. [once 

Enter a Doctor. 

Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes the king forth, 
I pray j'ou ? 

Doct. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls 
That stay his cure: their malady convinces 
The great assay of art ; but at his touch — 
Such sanctity hath heaven given his liand — 
They presently amend. 

Mai. I tliank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. 

Macd. What 's the disease he means ? 

Mai. 'Tiscall'd the evil: 

A most miraculous work in this good king: 
Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
I have seen liim do. How he solicits heaven. 
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, ' 
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye. 
The mere despair of siugery, he cures, 
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks. 
Put on with holy prayers: and "t is spoken. 
To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
The liealing benediction." Witli this strange virtue, 
He hath a lieavenly gift of prophecy, 
And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
Tiiat speak him full of grace. 

Enter Boss. 
Macd. See, who comes here ? 

Mai. My countr3'man : but yet I know him not. 



Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 

3fal. I know liim now. Good God, betimes re- 
The means that makes us strangers I [move 

Ross. Sir, amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 

Ross. 1^ Alas, poor country ! 

Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot 
Be call'd our mother, but our grave ; where nothing. 
But wlio knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
Where sighs and groans and sluieks that rend the air 
Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems 
A modern ecstasy : the dead man's knell 
Is there scarce ask'd for who ; and good men's lives 
Expire before the flowers in their caps. 
Dying or ere they sicken. 

Macd. O, relation 

Too nice, and yet too true ! 

Mai. ' What 's the newest grief ? 

Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker ; 
Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife ? 

Ross. Why, well. 

Macd. And all my children V 

Ross. ' Well too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their jieace ? 

Ross. No; they were well at peace when I did 
leave 'em. [goes 't ? 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : how 

Ross. When I came hither to transport the tidings, 
Wliich I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
Of many worthy fellows that were out ; 
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot: 
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland 
Would create soldiers, make our women fight, 
Tfi doff their dire distresses. 

Mai. Be 't their comfort 

We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; 
An older and a better soldier none 
That Christendom gives out. 

Ross. Would I could answer 

This comfort with the like! But I have words 
That would be howl'd out in the desert air. 
Where hearing should not latch them. 

3Iacd. What concern they ? 

The general cause V or is it a fee-grief 
Due to some single breast ? 

Ross. No mind that 's honest 

But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
Pertains to you alone. 

Macd. If it be mine. 

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 

-Ross. Let not your ears desjiise my tongue for ever, 
AVhich shall possess them with the heaviest sound 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. ' Hum ! I guess at it. 

Ross. Your castle is surprised; your wife and 
babes 
Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner. 
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, 
To add the death of you. 

Mai. Merciful heaven ! 

AVhat, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; 
Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak 
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. 

Macd. My children too V 

R'lss. Wife, children, servants, all 

That could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence ! 

Mywifekill'dtoo? 

Ross. I have said. 

Mai. Be comforted : 

Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge. 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no children. All my pretty ones ? 
Did you say all ? O hell-kite! AU? 
661 



ACT V. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE IT. 



What, all my pretty cliiekeus and their dam 
At one fell swoop ? 

Mai. Dispute it like a man. 

Macd. I shall do so ; 

But I must also feel it as a man : 
I cannot but remember such things were, [on, 

That were must pvecions to me. TJid heaven look 
And would not lake their part V Sinful Macduff, 
Tht'>- wtTf all struck ixx thi-c 1 nau,i;ht that I am, 
:Not'for their own Uenii-rits, but tor mine, [now ! 
Fell slau'i-hler on their souls. Heaven rest them 

Mid. tie this the whetstone of your sword: let grief 
Convert to auger; blmit not the heart, enrage it. 



Mucd. O, I could play tlie woman with mine eyes 
And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, 
Cut short all intermission; front to front 
Bring tliou this liend of Scotland and myself; 
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, 
Heaven forgive him too ! 

Mai. This tune goes manly. 

Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; 
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
Is rii)e for shaking, and the powers above 
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you 

may : 
The night is long that never finds the day. [Ex,cunt. 



^CT V. 



SCENE I. —Dimsinane. Ante-ronm in the castle. 

Enter a Doctor of Physic rnid a Waiting-Gentle- 
woman. 

Boat. I have two nights watched with you, but 
can perceive no truth in your report. When was it 
she last walked ? 

Qent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
seen her rise from lier bed, throw her nightgown 
upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold 
it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and 
again i-eturn to bed; yet all this while in a most 
fast sleep. 

Boct. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at 
once the benelit of sleep, and do the effects of watch- 
ing! In this slundiery agitation, besides her walk- 
ing and other act uaf performances, what, at any 
time, have you heard her say? 

Gent. Tliat, sir, which I will not report after her. 

Doct. You may to me : and 't is most meet you 
should. 

Gent. Neither to you nor auy one ; having no wit- 
ness to conlirm my speech. 

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. 
Lo you, here she conies! This is her very guise; 
and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand 
close. 

Boct. How came she by that light V 

Gent. AVhy, it stood by her: she has light by her 
continually ; 't is her command. 

Boct. You see, her eyes are open. 

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 

Boct. Wliat is it she does now ? Look, how she 
rubs lier hands. 

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to 
seem thus washing her hands: I have known her 
continue in this a quarter of an hour. 

Lady M. Yet here 's a spot. 

Boct. Hark! she speaks: I will set down what 
conies from her, to satisfy my remembrance the 
more .strongly. 

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say! — One: 
two : why, then 't is time to do 't. — Hell is murky ! 
— Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeardj* Wliat 
need we fear who knows it, when none can call our 
power to account':" — Yet who would have thought 
the old man to have had so much blood in hiui. 

Boct. Do you mark that? 

Lndji M. The tliaui- of Fife had a wife: where is 
she now? — What, will these hands ne'er be clean ? 
— No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that : you 
mar all with this starting. 

Boct. Go to, go to ; you have knowTi what you 
should not. 

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am 
sure of that : heaven knows what she has kllo^^^l. 

Lady M. Here 's the smell of the blood still : all the 

m-2. 



perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
hand. Oh, oh, oh! [charged. 

Boct. AVhat a sigh is there! The heart is sorely 

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom 
for the dignity of the whole body. 

Boct. WeU,' well, well,— 

Gent. Pray God it be, sir. 

Boct. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I 
have known those which have walked in their sleep 
who have died holily iu their beds. 

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- 
gown; look not so pale. — I tell you yet again. Ban- 
quo 's buried; he cannot come out on 's grave. 

Boct. Even so ? 

Lady M. To bed, to bed ! there 's knocking at the 
gate : come, come, come, come, give me your hand. 
What 's done cannot be undone. — To bed, to bed, to 
bed ! [Exit. 

Boct. Will she go now to bed ? 

Gent. Directly. [deeds 

Boct. Foul whisperings are abroad : unnatural 
Do breed unnatuia! troubles: infected minds 
To their deaf pillows will disehar^;(; (heir secrets: 
More needs she the divine than the ]ihysician. 
God, Goil forgive us all ! Look after her; 
Remove from her the means of all annoyance. 
And still kee)! eyes upon her. So, good night: 
My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight. 

I think, but dare not speak. 

Gent. Good night, good doctor. 

^ [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11. — Tlie country near Bunsinane. 

Brum and colours. Enter Menteith, Caithness, 
Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers. 
Ment. The English power is near, led on by Mal- 

II is uncle Si ward and the good ^Macdulf : [colm. 
Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes 
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm 
Excite the mortified man. 

Any. Near Birnam wood 

Shall we well meet them ; tliat way are they coming. 

Caith. Who knows if Doualbain be with his 
brother ? 

Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file 
Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son. 
And many unrough youths that even now 
Protest their first of manhood. 

3[ent. What does the tyrant ? 

Cnith. Great Dunsiiiane he strongly fortifies: 
Some say he 's mad ; others tliat lesser hate him 
Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain. 
He cannot Imrkle his distemper'd cause 
Within the belt of rule. 

Anq. Now does he feel 

His secret murders sticking on his hands: 
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 



ACT V. 



MACBETH. 



SCENE V. 



Those he commands move only in command, 
Nothing in love : now does he feel liis title 
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
Upon a dwaitish thief. 

Ment. Who then shall blame 

His pester'd senses to recoil and start, 
AVhen all that is within him does condemn 
Itself for being there 't 

Cailh. Well, march we on. 

To give obedience where 'tis truly owed: 
Meet we tiie medicine of the sickly weal, 
And with liini pour we in our country's purge 
Each drop of us. 

Len. Or so much as it needs. 

To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds. 
Make we our march towards Birnam. 

[Exeunt, marching. 

SCENE lll.—Dunsinane. A room in the castle. 

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 
Mrirh. Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all : 
Till IjiriKuii wood remove to Dunsinane, 
I eanuiit taint with fear. What 'stlieboy Malcolm? 
Was he not born of woman V Tlie spirits that know 
All mortal consequences liave pronounced me thus : 
' Fear not, Macbeth ; no man that 's Ijorn of woman 
.Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Tlien fly, false 
And mingle with the Ensiish epicures: [thanes, 
Tlie mind I sway by and the heart I bear 
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 

Enter a Servant. 
Tlie devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon! 
Wliere got'st thou tliat goose look? 

Serv. There is ten thousand — 

M'irb. Geese, villain ? 

Sen-. Soldiers, sir. 

3Iiiih. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear. 
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ? 
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ? 

Sen-. The English force, so please you. 

3Iacb. Take thy face hence. '[Exit Servant. 

Seyton ! — I am sick at heart. 
When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push 
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
I have lived long enougli : my way of life 
Is fairn into the sear, the yellow leaf; 
And that whicli should accompany old age. 
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have; but, in their stead. 
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath. 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare 
Seyton! ^ „ [not. 

Enter Seyton. 

Se>/. What is your gracious pleasure ? 

Much. What news more ? 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re- 
ported, [hack'd. 

Macb. I '11 fight till from my bones my flesh be 
Give me my armour. 

Sei/. 'T is not needed yet. 

Marb. I 'U put it on. 
Send out more horses ; skirr tlie country round ; 
Hang those that talk oif fear. Give me mine armour. 
How does your patient, doctor? 

Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies. 
That keep her from her rest. 

Macb. Cure her of that. 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased. 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
Kaze out the written troubles of the brain 
And witli some sweet oblivious antidote 
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff 
AVhich weighs upon the heart ? 



Doct. Therein the patient 

Must minister to himself. 

Ikicb. Throw physic to the dogs; I '11 none of it. 
Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff. 
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me. 
Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast 
The water of my land, find her disease. 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo. 
That should applaud again.— Pull 't off, I say. — 
What rhubarb, cyme, or wliat purgative drug. 
Would scour these English hence ? Hear'st tliou of 
them ? 

Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation 
Ma^es us hear something. 

Macb. Bring it after me. 

I will not be afraid of death and bane. 
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 

Doct. [Aside] Were I from Dunsinane away and 
ProUt again should hardly draw me here. [clear, 

[Exeunt. 

SCEKE IV. — Country near Birnam wood. 

Drum and colours. Enter THalcolm, old Svward and his 
Son, Macdufif, Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Len- 
nox, Ross, unil Soldiers, marching. 

Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand 
That chambers will be safe. 

Mcnt. We doubt it nothing. 

Siw. What wood is this before us ? 

Ment. The wood of Birnam. 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough 
And bear 't before him : thereby shall we shadow 
Tlie numbers of our host and make discovery 
Err in report of us. 

Soldiers. It shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no otlier but the confident tyrant 
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
Our setting down before 't. 

Mai. 'T is his main hope : 

For where there is advantage to be given, 
Both more and less have given him the revolt. 
And none serve with him but constrained things 
Whose hearts are absent too. 

3Iacd. Let our just censmes 

Attend the true event, and put we on 
Industrious soldiership. 

Siic. The time approaches 

That will with due decision make ns know 
What we shall say we have and what we owe. 
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, 
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : 
Towards which advance the war. 

[Exeunt, marching. 

SCENE V. — Dunsinane. Within the castle. 

Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with drum 
and colours. 

Macb. Hang out our banners on tlie outward walls; 
The cry is still ' They come : ' our castle's strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie 
Till famine and the ague eat them up : [ours, 

AVere they not forced with tliose that should be 
We might have met thein dareful, beard to beard. 
And beat them backward home. 

[A cry of women rcithin. 
What is that noise ? 

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. [Exit. 

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
The time has been, my senses woulil have cool'd 
To hear a n' it-shriek ; and \n\ fell of hair 
Would at a smal treatise rouse ami stir 
As life were in 't; I have supp'd full with horrors; 
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, 
Cannot once start me. 

6G3 



ACT V. 



MACBETH. 



SCE^TE VIII. 



Jie-enter Seyton. 

Wlierefore was that cry? 

So/. Tlie queen, my lord, is dead. 

Jliich. She should have died hereafter; 
Thi-re would have been a time lor such a word. 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
Creeps iu this petty pace from day to day 
To tlie last syllable of recorded time, 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
And then is heard no more: it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, • 

Signifying nothing. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Thou comest to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly. 

Mcs.t. Gracious my lord, 
I should report that which I say I saw, 
But know not how to do it. 

Macb. Well, say, sir. 

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought. 
The wood began to move. 

Marb. Liar and slave ! 

Ml ss. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so : 
AVithin this tliree mile may you see it coming; 
I say, a moving grove. 

Macb. If thou speak 'st false, 

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive. 
Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
I care not if thou dost for me as much. 
I pull in resolution, and begin 
To doubt the equivdcatiou of the fiend 
That lies like trutli : ' Fear not, till Birnam wood 
Do come to Dunsinane : ' and now a wood 
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out 1 
If this which he avouches does appear. 
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. 
I gin to be aweary of the sun, 
And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. 
Ring the alarum-bell ! Blow, wind ! come, wrack ! 
At least we' 11 die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Dunsinane. Before the castle. 

Drum and colours. Enter Malcolm, old Siward, 
Macduff, and their Army, with boughs. 

Mai. Now near enough : your leafy screens throw 
down,. 
And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle, 
Sliall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, 
Lead our lirst l)attle : worthy Macduff and we 
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do. 
According to our order. 

Sin:. Fare you well. 

Do we but find the tyrant's iiower to-night, 
Let us l>e lieaten, if we cannot light. [all breath, 

Miinl. Make all our trumpets" speak; give them 
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE Yll.— Another part of the field. 
Alarums. Enter Macbeth. 
Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot flv. 
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What 's lie 
Tliat was not born of woman ? Such a one 
Am I to fear, or none. 

Enter young Si-ward. 

Yn. Siw. What is thy name ? 

Macb. Tliou 'It be afraid to hear it. 

To. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter 

Than any is in hell. [name 

664 



Ifacb. My name 's Macbeth. 

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce 
More hateful to mine ear. [a title 

Macb. No, nor more fearful. 

Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant: with my 

I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st. [sword 

[They Jight and young Siward is slain. 

Macb. Thou wast born of woman. 

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, . 
Brandish 'd by man that 's of a woman born. [Exit. 

Alarums. Enter Macdufif. 
Macd. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy 
face! 
If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine, 
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms 
Are hired to bear their staves : either thou, Macbeth, 
Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge 
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou sliouldst be ; 
By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune ! 
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarums. 

Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 
Siw. This way, my lord ; the castle 's gently 
render'd : 
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ; 
The noble thanes do bravely in the war; 
The day almost itself professes yours. 
And little is to do. 

Mai. We have met with foes 

That strike beside us. 
Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 

[Exeunt. Alarums. 

SCENE VTll.— Another part of the field. 

Enter Macbeth. 
Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
On mine own sword V whiles I see lives, the gashes 
Do better upon them. 

Enter Macdufif, 

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn! 

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: 
But get thee back ; my soul is too much charged 
With blood of thine already. 

Macd. I have no words : 

My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain 
Than terms can give thee out ! [They fiqht. 

Macb. Thou losest labour : 

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air 
With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed: 
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; 
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
To one of woman born. 

Macd. Despair thy charm ; 

And let the angel whom tliou still hast served 
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
Untimely ripp'd. 

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, 
For it hath cow'd my better part of man ! 
And be these juggling fiends no more believed, 
That palter with us in a double sense ; 
That keep the word of promise to our ear. 
And break it to our hope. I '11 not fight with thee. 

Macd. Then yield thee, coward. 
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time: 
We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are. 
Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, 
' Here may you see the tyrant.' 

Macb. I will not yield, 

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet. 
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
And thou opposed, being of no woman born, 



ACT V. 



3IACBETH. 



SCENE VIII. 



Yet I will try the last. Before my body 

I throw my warlike sliield. l>ay on, Macduff, 

And damu'd be him that first cries ' Hold, enough ! ' 

[Exeunt, fghting. Alarums. 

Metreat. Flnnrhh. Enter, with drum a7td colours, Mal- 
colm, old Siward, Ross, the other Thanes, and Sol- 
diers. 

Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe 
arrived. 

Sue. Soiue must go off: and yet, by these I see, 
So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 

Ross. Your son, my lord, luis paid asoldier's debt : 
He only lived but till he was a man; 
The whicli no sooner had his prowess conflrm'd 
In the unshrinking station where he fought. 
But like a man he died. 

Siw. Then he is dead ? 

Eoss^ Ay, and brought off the field : your cause 
of sorrow 
Must not be measured by his worth, for then 
It hath no end. 

Siw. Had he his hurts before ? 

Ross. Ay, on the front. 

Siw. "Why then, God's soldier be he! 

Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
I would not wish them to a fairer death : 
And so, his kuell is knoll'd. 

Mai. He 's worth more sorrow, 

And that I 'U spend for him. 



Siw. He 's worth no more : 

They say he parted well, and paid his score: 
And so, God be with him ! Here comes newer 
comfort. 

Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head. 

Jl/ac(L Hail, king! for so thou art : behold, where 
stands 
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : 
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
That speak my salutation in their minds; 
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine: 
Hail, King of Scotland ! 

All. Hail, King of Scotland ! [Flourish. 

Mul. We shall not spend a large exper.se of time 
Before we reckon with your several loves, [men, 
And make us even \\\W\ you. My thanes and kins- 
Ilenceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
In such an honour named. AVhat 's more to do, 
Which would be planted newly with tlie time. 
As calling liome our exiled friends abroad 
That fied the snares of watchful tyranny ; 
Producing forth the cruel ministers 
Of this dead butcher and )iis fiend-like queen, 
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands 
Took off her life; this, and what needful else 
Tliat calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
AVe will perform in measure, time and place : 
So, thanks to all at once and to each one. 
Whom we invite to see us crown 'd at Scone. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 




Macduff.— HeAX, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands 
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : 
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl. 
That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
Wliose voices I desire aloud with mine; 
Ha.il, King of Scotland !— Act V., Scene vill. 



665 




HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



DRAMATIS PERSON JE. 



Claudius, King of Denmark. 

Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew to the present 

king. 
Polonius, lord chamberlain. 
Horatio, friend to Hamlet. 
Laertes, sou to Polonius. 
Voltimand, 
Cornelius, 
Rosencrantz, 
Gulldenstern, 
Osric, 

A Gentleman, 
A Priest. 
Marcellus, 1 
Bernardo, J "" 



Francisco, a soldier. 

Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. 

Players. 

Two Clowns, grave-diggers. 

Fortinbras, Prince of Norway. 

A Captain. 

English Ambassadors. 

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and mother to Hamlet. 

Ophelia, daughter to Polonius. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers^ 
and other Attendants. 

Ghost of Hamlet's Father. 

SCENE — Denmark. 



of the Plot of this Pla 



A.CT I. 



SCENE I. 



■ Elsinore. A platform before the 
castle. 



Francisco at his post. Eater to Mm Bernardo. 

Ber. Who's there? [self. 

Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold your- 

Ber. Long live tlie king ! 

Fran. Bernardo '{ 

Ber. He. 

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 

Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, 
Francisco. [cold, 

Fran. For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter 
And I am sick at heart. 

Ber. Have yoii had quiet guard ? 

Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 

Ber. AVcll, good night. 
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 

J'raii. I thinli I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's 
there ? 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 

Mar. O," farewell, honest soldier : 

Who liatli relieved you ? 

Fran. Bernardo has my place. 

Give you good night. [Exit. 

Mar. Holla! Bernardo! 

Ber. Say, 

AVhat, is Horatio there ? 

Hor. A piece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Mar- 
cellus. [night? 

Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to- 
iler. I have .seen nothing. 

Mar. Horatio sa\s 't is but our fantasy, 
And will not lot belief take hold of him 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
Therefore I have entreated him along 
66G 



With us to watch the minutes of this night; 

That if again this appaiition come, 

He may approve our eyes and speak to it. 

Hor. Tush, tush, 't will not appeal-. 

Ber. Sit down awhile ; 

And let us once again assail your ears, 
That are so fortified against our story 
What we have two nights seen. 

Hrir. Well J sit we down, 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all. 
When yond same star that 's westward from the pole 
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, 
The bell then beating one, — 

Enter Ghost. 

Mar. Peace, break thee off ; look, where it comes 
again ! 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that 's dead. 

Mar. Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. 

Ber. Looks it not like tlie king? mark it, Ho- 
ratio, [wonder. 

Hor. Most like: it harrows me with fear and 

Ber. It would be spoke to. 

Mar. Question it, Horatio. 

Heir. What art thou that usurp'st this time of 
Together with that fair and warlike form [night, 
In which the ma,iesty of buried Denmark 
Did sometimes march? by lieaven I charge theCj 

Mar. It is offended. [speak ! 

Ber. See, it stalks away ! 

Hor. Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! 

[Exit Ghost. 

Mar. 'T is gone, and will not answer. [pale : 

Ber. How now, Horatio! you tremble and look 
Is not this something more than fantasy ? 
What think you on 't ? 

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe 
Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 

Mar. Is it not like the king ? 



ACT I. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE II. 



Hor. As thou art to tliyself : 
Such was the very armour he had on 
When he the ambitious Xorway combated ; 
So frown'd he once, wlien, in an angry parle, 
He smote the sledded Polacks ou the ice. 
'T is strange. [hour, 

Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead 
With martial stalk hatli lie gone by our watch. 

Hor. In what particular tliought to work I know 
But in the gross and scope of my opinion, [not ; 
Tins bodes some strange eruption to om- state. 

Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that 
knows, 
Why this same strict and most observant watch 
So nightly toils the subject of the land, 
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
And foreign m;irt for implements of war; 
Why such im|)ress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
Does not divide the Sunilay from the week; 
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day : 
Who is 't that can inform me ? 

Hor. That can I ; 

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, 
Whose image even but now appear'd to us. 
Was, as you know, by Fortiubras of Norway, 
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride. 
Dared to tlie combat ; in which our valiant Hamlet — 
For so this side of our known world esteem'd him — 
Did slay this Fortiubras ; who, by a seal'd compact, 
Well ratified by law and heraldry, 
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands 
Which lie stood seized of, to the conqueror : 
Against the which, a moiety competent 
Was gaged by our king; whicli had return'd 
To the inheritance of Fortiubras, 
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant. 
And carriage of the article design'd. 
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortiubras, 
Of unimproved mettle hot and full. 
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there 
Shark 'd up a list of lawless resolutes. 
For food aud diet, to some enterprise 
That hath a stomach in 't ; which is no other — 
As it doth well appear unto our state — 
But to recover of us, by strong baud 
And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lauds 
So by his father lost : and this, I take it, 
Is the main motive of our preparations, 
The source of this our watch aud the chief head 
Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 

Ber. I think it be no other but e'en so: 
Well may it sort that tliis portentous figure 
Comes armed through our watch ; so like the king 
That was and is the question of these wars. 

Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. 
In the most high aud palmy state of Home, 
A little ere tlie mightiest Julius fell. 
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets : 
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, 
Disasters in the sun ; aud the moist star 
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands 
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse : 
And even the like precurse of tierce events, 
As harbingers preceding still the fates 
And prologue to the omen coming on, 
Have heaven and eartli together demonstrated 
Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 
But soft, behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 

Be-enler Ghost. 
I '11 cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion ! 
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
Speak to me : 

If there be any good thing to be done, 
That may to thee do ease and" grace to me, 



Speak to me: [Cock crows. 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 

Wliicli, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 

O, speak ! 

Or it tliou hast uphoarded in thy life 

Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 

For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 

Speak of it : stay, and speak ! Stop it, Marcellus. 

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan ? 

Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 

Ber. 'T is here ! 

Hor. 'T is here ! 

Mar. 'T is gone! [EmI Ghost. 

We do it w^rong, being so majestical, 
To offer it tlie show of violence; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 
And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. 

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful suminons. I have heard, 
Tiie cock, tliat is the trumpet to the morn. 
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air. 
The extravagant aud erring spirit hies 
To his confine: and of the truth lierein 
This present object made probation. 

j1/ar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. 
The bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; 
Tlie nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm. 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 

Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it. 
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad. 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill: 
Break we our watch up ; and by my advice, 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life, 
Tliis spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. 
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty ? 

Mar. Let 's do 't, I pray ; and I this morning know 
Where we shall find him most conveniently. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A room of state in the castle. 

Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, 
Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords, and Attendants. 
King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's 
The memory be green , and that it us befitted [death 
To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe. 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature 
That we with wisest sorrow tliink on him. 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
The imperial jointress to this warlike state. 
Have we, as 't were with a defeated joy, — 
With an auspicious and a druiiiiing eye. 
With mirth in funeral and willi ilirgc in marriage, 
In equal scale weighing delight and dole, — 
Tiiken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd 
Yciur better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
With this affair along. For all, our thanks. 
Now follows, that you know, young Fortiubras, 
Holding a weak supposal of our worth. 
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death 
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
Cdlleagued with the dream of his advantage. 
He hatli not fail'd to pester us witli message, 
Importing the surrender of those lands 
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law. 
To our most valiant brother. So much for him. 
Now for ourself and for this time of meeting 
667 



-*& ' _^ 



ACT I. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE II. 



Thus much the business is : we have here writ 
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,^ 
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress 
His further gait lierein ; in that the levies, 
The lists and full proportions, are all made 
Out of his subject : and we here dispatch 
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway ; 
Giving to you no further personal power 
To business with the king, more than the scope 
Of these delated articles allow. 
Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. 

Car 1 
* Y { [ In that and all things will we show our duty. 

Kimj. We doubt it nothing : heartily farewell. 

YExeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
And now, Laertes, what 's the news with you ? 
You told us of some suit ; what is 't, Laertes ? 
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes, 
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking ? 
The head is not more native to the heart. 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
What wouldst thou have, Laertes ? 

Laer. My dread lord. 

Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, 
To show my duty in your coronation. 
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 
Mythmiglits and wishes bend again toward France 
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 

Kinij. Have yoij^our father's leave ? What says 
Polonius? [leave 

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow 
By laboursome petition, and at last 
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 
I do beseech you, i^ive him leave to go. 

Kina. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine. 
And thy best graces spend it at thy will ! 
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 

Ham. [A.mle] A little more than kin, and less 
than kind. 

King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you ? 

Ham. Not so, my lord ; I am too much i' the sun. 

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy niglited colour off, 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
Thou know'st 't is common ; all that lives must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 

Queen. H it be. 

Why seems it so particular with thee '? [' seems.' 

Ham. Seems, madam I nay, it is ; I know not 
'T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. 
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage. 
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, 
That can denote me truly : these indeed seem, 
For they are actions that a man might play: 
But I have that within which |>ass('tli show; 
These but the trappings ami llie suits of woe. 

King. 'Tis sweet and coniiiicndalile in your na- 
ture, Hamlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father : 
But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound 
In filial obligation for some term 
To do obsequious sorrow : but to persever 
In obstinate condolement is a course 
Of impious stubbornness ; 't is unmanly grief ; 
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, 
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, 
60S 



An understanding simple and imschool'd: 
For what we know must be and is as common 
As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
Why should we in our peevish opposition 
Take it to heart ? Fie ! 't is a fault to heaven, 
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature. 
To reason most aljsurd ; wliose conmion theme 
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried. 
From tliC lirst corse till he that dieil to-day, 
' Tills nmst be so.' We pray you, tlirow to earth 
This unprevailing woe, and think of us 
As of a father : for let the world take note, 
You are the most immediate to our throne; 
And with no less nobility (if love 
Than that which dearest father bears his son, 
Do I impart toward you. F(U' your intent 
In going back to school in Wittenberg, 
It is most retrograde to our desire : 
And we beseech you, bend you to remain 
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye. 
Our chiefest coiutier, cousin, and our son. 

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
Hamlet : 
I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 

Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 

King. Why, 't is a loving and a fair reply: 
Be as ourself in Denmark. ]Madam, come; 
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace wliereof, 
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell. 
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again, 
Re-speaking"earthly thunder. Come away. 

[Exeunt all but Hamlet. 

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew ! 
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
His canon 'gainst sell-slaughter! OGod! Godl 
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. 
Seem to me all tlie uses of this world! 
Fie on 't ! ah fie ! 't is an unweeded garden. 
That grows to seed ; things raid; and gross in nature 
Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
But two months dead : nay, not so much, not two : 
So excellent a king; that was, to this, 
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother 
That lie niiglit not beteem the winds of heav(>n 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and eartli ! 
Must I remember V why, she wouUl hang on him, 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on : and yet, within a month — 
Let me not think on 't — Frailty, thy name is wo- 
man ! — 
A little month, or ere those shoes were old 
With which she follow'd my poor father's body. 
Like Niobe, all tears : — why she, even she — 
O God ! a beast, that waiitsdiscourse of reason, 
Would have mourn 'd longer — married with my 

uncle. 
My father's brother, but no more like my father 
Than I to Hercules : within a month : 
Ere yet the salt of most unriuliteous tears 
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes. 
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post 
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! 
It is not nor it cannot come to good : 
But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue. 

Enter Horatio, Marcellue, and Bernardo. 
■Hor. Hail to }'our lordship! 
Ham. I am glad to see you well : 

Horatio, — or I do forget myself. [ever. 

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant 
Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I '11 change that 
name with you : 
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? 
Marcellus ? 



ACT I. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE ITT. 



Mar. My good lord — 

Ham. I am very glad to see you. Good even, sir. 
But what, in faith, luake youfrom Wittenberg ? 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so, 
Nor shall you do mine ear that Violence, 
To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself: I know you are no truant. 
But wliat is your affair in Elsiuore '? 
"We "11 teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-studeut ; 
I tliink it was to see my mother's weilding. 

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 

Hum. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral baked 
meats 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
"Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! 
My father! — methinks I see my father. 

Hor. Where, my lord Y 

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once ; he was a goodly king. 

Hum. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, 1 think I saw him yesternight. 

Ham. Saw ? who V 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king my father ! 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
With an attent ear, till I may deliver, 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
Tliis marvel to you. 

Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watcli, 
In the dead vast and middle of the night. 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like yoitr father. 
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe. 
Appears before them, and with solemn march 
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd 
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes. 
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst tliey, dis- 
A Imost to jelly with the act of fear, [tilled 

Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me 
In dreadful secrecy impart they did; 
And I with them the tliird night kept the watch: 
AVhere, as they had deliver'd, both in time. 
Form of the thing, each word made true and good. 
The apparition comes: I knew your father; 
These hands are not more like. 

Ham. . But where was this ? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 

Ham. Did you not speak to it 'i [watch'd. 

Hor. My lord, I did; 

But answer made it none : yet once methought 
It lifted up its head and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it woukl speak ; 
But even then the morning cock crew loud, 
And at the sound it sliruuk in haste away. 
And vanisU'd from oiu' sight. 

Ham. ■ 'T is very strange. 

Hof. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 't is true ; 
And we did think it writ dowTi in our duty 
To let j-ou know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night ? 

^^;.';- } We do, my lord. 

Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 

;^"/- 1 Arm'd, my lord. 

Ham. From top to toe ? 

^"f' I ^ly lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then saw you not his face ? 

Hor. O yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up. 



Ham. Wliat, look'd he frowiiingly '? 
Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than iu anger. 
Ham. Pale or red y 
Hor. Xay, very pale. 

Ham. And flx'd his eyes upon you ? 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amazed you. 
Ham. "\''ery like, very like. Stay 'd it long? 
Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell 
a hundred. 

j,''''[ Longer, longer. 

Hor. Not when I saw 't. 

Ham. His beard was grizzled, — no ? 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
A sable silver'd. 

J Jam. I will watch to-night ; 

Perchance 't will walk again. 

Hor. ,. I warrant it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I '11 speak to it, though heU itself should gape 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
Let it be tenable in your silence still; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue: 
I will requite your loves. So, fare you well : 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I '11 visit you. 

All. Our duty to your honour. 

Ham. Your loves, as inine to you : farewell. 

[E.ceunt all hut Hamlet. 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
I doubt some foul play : would the night were come ! 
Till then sit still, my" soul: foul deeds will rise. 
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's 
eyes. [E.cit. 

SCENE ni. — A room in Poloniub'' house. 
Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark 'd : farewell : 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep. 
But let me hear from you. 

Oph. Do you doubt that ? 

Laer. For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour, 
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, 
A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
Tlie perfume and suppliance of a minute; 
No more. 

Oph. No more but so ? 

Laer. Think it no more : 

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes. 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now, 
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch 
The virtue of his will: but you must fear, 
His greatness weigh 'd, his will is not his own; 
For he himself is subject to his birth: 
He may not, as unvalued persons do. 
Carve for himself ; for on his choice depends 
The safety and health of this whole state ; 
And therefore must his choice be circumscribed 
Unto tlie voice and yielding of that body 
"Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves 
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it [j'ou. 

As he in his particular act and place 
May give his saying deed ; which is no further 
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain, 
If with tcio credent ear you list his songs. 
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open 
To his immaster'd importunity. 
669 



ACT I. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE IV. 



Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister. 
And keep you in tlie rear of your affection, 
Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
The chariest maid is procligal enough. 
If she unmask her beauty to the moon: 
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes : 
The canker galls the infants of the spring. 
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed, 
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
Be wary then ; best safety lies in fear : 
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother. 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
Show me tlie steep and thorny way to heaven; 
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine. 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. 
And recks not his own rede. 

Laer. O, fear »e not. 

I stay too long : but here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 
A double blessing is a double grace ; 
Occasion smiles upon a sec<iinl leave. 

Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, forshame! 
The wind sits in the slioulder of your sail. 
And you are stay'd for. There ; my blessing with 
And these few precepts in thy memory [thee! 

See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue. 
Nor any uniiroportiouM thought his act. 
Be tlioii familiar, but liy no means vulgar. 
Those friends tliou liast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in. 
Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee. 
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; 
Take each man 's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man, 
And they in France of the best rank and station 
Are of a most select and generous chief in that. 
Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
For loan oft loses bdth itself and friend. 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all : to tldne own self be true, 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
Farewell : my lilessing season this in thee! 

Lucr. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 

Fol. Tlietimeinvitesyou; go; your servants tend. 

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well 
AVliat I have said to you. 

Oph. 'T is in my memory lock'd. 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 

Laer. Farewell. [Exit. 

Pol. What is 't, Ophelia, he hath said to you ? 

Oph. So please you.sometliing touching the Lord 

Pol. Marry, well bethiuiglit: [Hamlet. 

'Tis told me, he hatli veiy nit of late 
Given private time to you ; and you yourself 
Have of your audience been most free and boun- 
If it be so, as so 't is put on me, [teous : 

And that in way of caution, I must tell you. 
You do not understand yourself so clearly 
As it beluives my daughter and your honour. 
What is between you ? give me up tlie truth. 

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders 
Of his aflectidii to "me. 

Pol. Affection ! podli ! you speak like a gi-een girl. 
Unsifted in sneh iierilons circumstance. 
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? 

Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 

Pol. Marry, I '11 teach you : think yourself a baby ; 
670 



That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, 
AVliich are not sterling. Tender yourself more 

dearly ; 
Or — not to" crack the wind of tlie poor phrase. 
Running it thus — j'ou '11 tender me a fool. 

Oph. My lord, he hath importuned me with love 
In honourable fashion. 

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 

Ojj/i. And hath given countenance to his speech, 
my lord, 
Witli almost all the holy vows of heaven, [know, 

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do 
When the blood bums, how prodigal the soul 
Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both. 
Even in their promise, as it is a-making. 
You must not take for fire. From this time 
Be somewhat scanterof your maiden presence; 
Set your entreatments at a higher rate 
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, 
Believe so much in him, that he is j-oimg. 
And with a larger tether may he walk 
Than may be given you : in few, Ophelia, 
Do not believe his vows ; for they are brokers, 
Not of that dye which tlieir iiuu'stments show, 
But mere implorators of unholy suits, 
Breathing like sanctified and pinus bawds. 
The better to beguile. This is for all : 
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, 
Have you so slander any moment leisure, 
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. 
Look to 't, I charge you : come your ways. 

Oph. I shall obey, my lord. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The platform. 
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 

Ham. What hour now V 

Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. 

Ham. No, it is struck. [the season 

Hor. Indeed '/ I heard It not ; then it draws near 
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 

{A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance 

shot off, irilhin. 

What does this mean, my lord ? [rouse, 

Hi-mi. The king doth wake to-night and takes his 
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels; 
And, as he drains his draughts of Klienish down. 
The kettle-dvum and trumpet thus bray out 
Tlie triumph of his pledge. 

Hor. Is it a custom ? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is 't : 
But to my mind, though I am native here 
And to the manner born, it is a custom 
More honour'd in the breaeli than the observance. 
This heavy-headed revel east and west 
Makes us "traduced and tax'd of other nations: 
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes 
From our ach ievements, though perform 'd at height , 
The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
So, oft it chances in particular men, 
Tliat for some vicious mole of nature in them. 
As, in their birth — wherein they are not guilty. 
Since nature cannot clioose liis origin — 
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion. 
Oft breaking dciwn the pales and forts of reason, 
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens 
The "form of plausive manners, that these men. 
Carrying, I say, the stam]) of one defect, 
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
Their virtues else — be they as pure as grace, 
As infinite as man may undergo — 
Shall in tlie general censure take corruption 
From that particular fault : the dram of eale 



ACT I. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE V. 



Dotli all the noble substance of a doubt 
To his own scandal. 
Uor. . Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Enter Ghost. 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us I 
Be tiiou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd. 
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell. 
Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 
Thou comest in such a questionable shape 
That I will speak to tiiee: I '11 call thee Hamlet, 
King, fatlier, royal Dane : O, answer me I 
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell 
AVhy thy canonized bones, liearsed in death, 
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd. 
Hath oped Iiis ponderous and marble jaws. 
To east thee up again. What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel 
Eevisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
JIaking night hideous; and we fools of nature 
So horridly to shake our disposition 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
Say, why is tliis ? wherefore ? what should we do ? 
[Ghost beckons Hamlet. 

Hrir. It beckons you to go away with it, 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 

It waves you to a more removed ground : 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear? 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And for my soul, what can it do to that. 
Being a thing immortal as itself ? 
It waves me forth again : I '11 follow it. 

Hen-. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff [lord. 

That beetles o'er his base into the sea, 
And there assume some other horrible form, 
Whieli might deprive your sovereignty of reason 
And draw you into madness ? think of it : 
The very place puts toys of desperation, 
Without more motive, into every brain 
That looks so many fathoms to tlie sea 
And hears it roar beneath. 

Heim. It waves me still. 

Go on ; I '11 follow thee. 

3Iar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hands. 

Hor. Be ruled; you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate erics'out. 

And makes each petty artery in this body 
As hardy as the Xemean lion's nerve. 
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 
By heaven, I '11 make a ghost of him that lets me! 
I say, away ! Go on ; I "11 follow thee. 

[Exeunt Glwtit and Hamlet. 

Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 

liar. Let 's follow ; 't is not fit thus to obey him. 

Hor. Have after. To what issue will this come ? 
■ 3Iar. Something is rotten iu the state of Den- 

Hor. Heaven will direct it. [mark. 

liar. Nay, let 's follow him. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Another part of the platform. 
Enter Ghost and Hamlet. 
Ham. Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go 
Ghost. Mark me. [no further. 

Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come, 

AVhen I to sulphurous and tormentmg flames 
Must render up myself. 



Ham. Alas, jioor ghost ! 

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend tliy serious hearing 
To what I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak; I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt 

Ham. What? [hear. 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit, 
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night. 
And for the day confined to fast in fires. 
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature 
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood. 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 
Thy knotted and cnmbiued locks to part [spheres. 
And each particular liair to stand an end. 
Like quills upon tlie fretful poriientine: 
]>ut this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of tiesh and blood. List, list, O, list ! 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love — 

Hmi. O God ! 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural 

Ham. Murder! [nuirder. 

Ghost. Miu'der most foul, as in the best it is ; 
But tliis most foul, strange and unnatural. 

Ham. Haste me to know 't, that I, with wings as 
As meditation or the thoughts of love, [swift 

May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghost. I find thee apt ; 

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed 
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear : 
'T is given out that, sleeping in my orchard, 
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Deimiark 
Is by a forged process of my d^ath 
Eankly abused : but know, thou noble youth. 
The se'rpent that did sting thy father's" life 
Now wears his crown. 

Ham. O my prophetic soul ! 

My uncle ! 

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast. 
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, — 
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power 
So to seduce ! — won to Ids shameful lust 
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: 

Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
From me, whose love was of that'dignity 
That it went hand in hand even with the vow 

1 made to her in marriage, and to decline 
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! 

But virtue, as it never will be moved. 
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, 
So lust, though to a radiant angel Iruk'd, 
AVill sate itself in a celestial bed. 
And prey on garbage. 

But, soft I methinks I scent the morning air; 
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, 
iMy custom always of the afternoon. 
Upon my secure hour tliy imcle stole, 
AVith juice of cursed heljenon in a vial. 
And in the porches of my ears did pour 
Tlie leperous distilment ; whose eifect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man 
That swift as quicksilver it courses through 
Tlie natural gates and alleys of the body. 
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset 
And curd, like eager droppings into milk. 
The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 
And a most instant tetter bark'd about. 
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust. 
All my smooth body. 
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand 
Of life, of cro-mi. of queen, at once dispatch 'd : 
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sm, 
Uuhousel'd, disappointed, unauel'd, 
G71 



ACT II. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE I. 



No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all my imperfections on my head : 
O, horrible 1 O, horrible ! most horrible ! 
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
Let not tlie royal bed of Denmark be 
A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven 
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
To prick and sting her. Fare thee vi'ell at once ! 
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 
Adieu, adieu 1 Hamlet, remember me. {Exit. 

Ham. O all you host of heaven 1 Qearth ! what else ? 
And shall I couple hell ? O, fie ! Hold, hold, my 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, [heart ; 
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee ! 
Ay, thou poor ghost, w'hile memory holds a seat 
In this distracted globe. Remember thee 1 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I '11 wipe away all trivial fond records. 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
That youth and observation copied there ; 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
AVithin the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven! 
O most pernicious woman ! 

villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
My tables, — meet it is I'set it dowTi, 

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; 
At least I 'm sure it maybe so in Denmark : [ WriUnrj. 
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; 
It is ' Adieu, adieu ! remember me.' 

1 have sworn 't. 

Hoi' I [I''''''"'"] My lord, my lord,— 

Mar. [Withini Lord Hamlet, — 

Hor. [ Withinl Heaven secure him ! 

Ham. So be it ! 

Hor. [Withiii] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord ! 

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy I pome, bird, come. 

^ Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

31<tr. How is 't, my noble lord ? 
Hor. What news, my lord ? 

Ham. O, wonderful ! 

Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 

Ham. No ; you '11 reveal it. 
Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
Mar. Nor I, my lord. 

Ham. How say you, then ; would heart of man once 
But 5'ou '11 be secret ? [think it 'f 

'^fj,.\ } Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ham. There 's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Den- 
But he 's an arrant knave. [mark 

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from 
To tell us this. [the grave 

Ham. Why, right; you are i' the right; 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part : 
You, as your business and desire shall point you; 
For every man has business and desire. 
Such as it is ; and for mine own poor part, 
Look you, I '11 go pray. [lord. 

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my 



Ham. I 'm sorry they offend you, heartily ; 
Yes, 'faith, heartily. 

Hor. There 's no offence, my lord. 

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
And much offence too. Touching this vision here, 
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you: 
For your desire to know what is between us, 
O'ermaster 't as you may. And now, good friends, 
As you are friends, scholars and soldiers. 
Give me one poor request. 

Hor. What is 't, my lord? we will. [night. 

Ham. Never make knovi'n what you have seen to- 

l^j^; I My lord, we will not. 

Ham. Nay, but swear 't. 

Hor. In faith, 

My lord, not I. 

Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 

Ham. Upon my sword. 

3Iar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 

Ghost. [Bcucath] Swear. [truepenny? 

Ham. Ah, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ? art thou there, 
Come on — you hear this fellow in the cellarage — 
Consent to swear. 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 

Ham. Hie et ubique ? then we '11 shift our ground. 
Come hither, gentlemen, 
And lay your luuuls ayiiin upon my sword: 
Never to speak of this that you have heard, 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. [so fast ? 

Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' the earth 
A worthy pioner ! Once more remove, good friends. 

Hor. Oday and night, but this is wondrous si mnt;e I 

Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it wi'leonie. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
But come ; 

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, 
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself. 
As I ijerchance hereafter shall think meet 
To put an antic disposition on. 
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall. 
With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, 
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful plu-ase. 
As ' Well, well, we know,' or ' We could, an if we 
would,' [might,' 

Or ' If we list to speak,' or ' There be, an if they 
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
That you know aught of me : this not to do, 
So grace and mercy at your most need help you. 
Swear. 

Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! [TJiey swear.] 
So, gentlemen, 
With all my love I do commend me to you: 
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
May do, to express his love and friending to yon, 
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time is out of joint: O cursed spite. 
That ever I was born to set it right ! 
Nay, come, let 's go together. [Exeunt. 



.ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A room in Polonius'' house. 



Enter Polonius and Resrnaldo. 
Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Rey- 
Bey. I will, my lord. [naldo. 

C72 



Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- 

Before you visit him, to make mquire [naldo, 

Of his behaviour. 

Bei/. My lord, I did intend it. [sir, 

Pol. Marry, well said ; very well said. Look you. 



ACT II. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE II. 



Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; 
And how, and who, what means, and where they 

keep, 
Wliiit eonipany, at what expense ; and finding 
By tliis eneonipassment and drift of question 
That the}' do Iviiow my son, come you more nearer 
Than your particular demands will touch it: 
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; 
As thus, I know his father ami his friends. 
And in part him : ' do you mark this, Keynaldo ? 

Roi. Ay, very well, my lord. [well : 

Po\. ' And in part him ; but ' you may say ' not 
But, if 't be he I mean, lie 's very wild ; 
Addicted so and so : ' and there put on him 
What forReries you please; marry, none so rank 
As may dishonour him; take heed of that; 
But, sir, such wanton, wild and usual slips 
As are companions noted and most known 
To youth and liberty. 

lic>i. As gaming, my lord, [ling, 

Fo\. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrel- 
Drabbing : you may go so far. 

Iteij. My lord, that would dishonour him. 

Fol. 'Faith , no ; as you may season it in the charge. 
You must not put another scandal on him. 
That he is open to incontinency ; 
That 's not my meaning : but breathe his faults so 

quaintly 
That they may seem the taints of liberty, 
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, 
A savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
Of general assault. 

J?e7. But, my good lord, — 

Fol. "Wherefore should you do this '? 

Be>i. Ay, my lord, 

I would know that. 

Fnl. Marry, sir, here 's my drift ; 

And, I believe, it is a fetch of wit : 
You laying these slight sullies on my son. 
As 't were a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
Mark you. 

Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
Having ever seen in the jirenominate crimes 
The youth you breathe of guilty, be assured 
He closes with you in this consequence ; 
' Good sir,' or so, or ' friend,' or ' gentleman,' 
According to the phrase or the addition 
Of man and country. 

Titni. Very good, my lord. 

Fill. And then, sir, does he this — he does — what 
was I about to say V By the mass, I was about to 
say something : where did I leave ? 

Fey. At ' closes in the consequence,' at ' friend or 
so,' and ' gentleman.' 

Fol. At ' closes in the consequence,' ay, marry ; 
He closes thus : ' I know the gentleman ; 
I saw him yesterday _, or t' otlier day, [say. 

Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as you 
There was a' gaming ; there o'ertook in 's rouse ; 
Tliere falling out at tennis : ' or perchance, 
' I saw him enter such a house of sale,' 
"Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. 
See you now ; 

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth : 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach. 
With windlasses and with assays of bias, 
By indirections find directions out : 
So by my former lecture and advice. 
Shall you my son. You have me, have you not ? 

Rcy. My lord, I have. 

Fol. God be wi' you ; fare you well. 

Feij. Good my lord ! 

Fi>l. Observe his inclination in yourself. 

I'ey. I shall, my lord. 

Fol. And let him ply his music. 

Fdj. AVell, my lord. 

FiA. Farewell ! [Exit Feynaldo. 

43 



Enter Ophelia. 

How now, Ophelia ! what 's the matter ? 

Opli. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so af- 
frighted ! 

Fol. With what, i' the name of God ? 

Ooh. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 
Lord Hamlet, with his d(Uilil('t all unbraced; 
No hat upon his head ; his stockiiiLjs foul'd, 
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; 
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; 
And with a look so piteous in puriiort 
As if he had been loosed out of hell 
To speak of horrors, — he comes before me. 

Fol. Mad for thy love y 

Oph. My lord, I do not know ; 

But truly, I do fear it. 

Fol. What said he ? 

Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard ; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm; 
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
lie falls to such perusal of my face 
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so; 
At last, a little shaking of mine arm 
And thrice his head thus waving \\\\ and dowTi, 
He raised a sigh so piteous and prol'iiuud 
That it did seem to sliattcr all his bulk 
And end his being : that done, he lets me go: 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes; 
For out o' doors he went without their help. 
And, to the last, bended their light on me. 

Fol. Come, go with me : I will go seek the king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love. 
Whose violent property fordoes itself 
And leads the will to desperate undertakings 
As oft as any ijassion under heaven 
Tliat does alHict our natures. I am sorry. 
What, have you given him any hard words of late ? 

Oph. No, my good lord, but, as you did command, 
I did repel his letters and denied 
His access to me. 

Fol. That hath made him mad. 

I am sorry that with better heed and judgment 
I had not quoted him : I fear'd he did but trifle. 
And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jeal- 
By heaven, it is as proper to our age [ousy ! 

To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions 
As it is common for the younger sort 
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king: 
This must be known ; which, being kept close, 

might move 
More grief to hide than hate to utter love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A room In the castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guilden- 

stern, and Attendants. 
King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guilden- 

Moreover that we much did long to see you, [stern ! 
The need we have to use you did provoke 
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
Of Hamlet's transformation ; so call it, 
Sith nor the exterior nor the inward man 
Piesembles that it was. AVhat it sliouhl be. 
More than his father's death, that thus hath put 
So much from the understanding of himself, [him 
I cannot dream of: I entreat you both. 
That, being of so young days brought up with him. 
And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and liaviour, 
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
Some little time : so by your companies 
To draw him on to pleasiu-es, and to gather. 
So nmch as from occasion you may glean, 
AVhether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus. 
That, open'd, lies within our remedy. [you : 

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath muchtalk'dof 
673 



ACT II. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE II. 



And sure I am two men there are not living 
To wliom lie more adheres. If it will please you 
To show lis so much gentry and good will 
As to expend your time with us awhile, 
For the supply and inofit of our hope, 
Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
As fits a king's remembrance. 

Bos. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
Put your dread pleasures more into command 
Tiian to entreaty. 

Ouil. But we both obey, 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent 
To lay our service freely at your feet. 
To be commanded. [stern. 

King. Thanks, Kosencrantz and gentle Guilden- 

Queen. Tlianks, (iuildenstern and gentle Rosen- 
And I beseech you instantly to visit [crautz: 

My too much changed son. Go, some of you, 
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 

Gr'iii'l. Heavens make our presence and our practices 
Pleasant and helpful to him ! 

Queen. Ay, amen ! 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and some 
„ „ . Attendants. 

Enter Polomus. 

Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my good 
Are joyfully return'd. [lord, 

King. Thou still hast been the father of good 
news. 

Pol. Have I, my lord ? I assure my good liege, 
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul. 
Both to my God and to my gracious king : 
And I do think, or else this brain of miiie 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As it hath used to do, that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 

King. O, syieak nf that; that do I long to hear. 

Pol. Give lirst a(hnittance to the ambassadors; 
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 

King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them 
in. [Exit Polonius. 

He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
The head and source of all your son's distemper. 

Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main ; 
His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. 

King. AVell, we shall sift him. 

Re-enter Polonius, wiih Voltimand oncZ Cor- 
nelius. 
Welcome, my good friends! 
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway y 
Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires. 
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd 
To be a preparation 'gainst the Pohick ; 
But, better look'd into, he truly found 
It was against your highness : whereat grieved, 
That so his sickness, age and impotence 
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests 
On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys; 
Receives rebuke from Norway, and in fine 
Makes vow before his uncle never more 
To give the assay of arm.s against your majesty. 
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy. 
Gives liim three tliousand crowns in annual fee, 
And his commission to emjiloy those soldiers, 
So levied as before, against tlie Poluck : 
With an entreaty, herein further shown, 

[Giving a paper 
That it might please you to give quiet pass 
Through your dominions for this enterprise, 
On such regards of safety and allowance 
As therein are set down. 

King. It likes us well ; 

And at our more consider'il time we '11 read, 
Answer, and think upon this business. 
674 



Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour: | 
Go to your rest ; at night we '11 feast together: I 

Most welcome home ! [ 

[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. \ 
Pol. This business is well ended. ' 

My liege, and madam, to expostulate ■ 

What majesty should be, what duty is. 
Why day is day, night night, and time is time, 
Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. | 

Therefore, .since brevity is the soul of wit, j 

And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, i 
I will be brief : your noble son is mad : 
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, j 

What is 't but to be nothing else but mad ? ' 

But let that go. 

Queen. More matter, with less art. 

Pol. Madam, I swear I u.se no art at all. 
That he is mad, 't is true : 't is true 'tis pity; ' 

And pity 't is 't is true: a foolish rtgure; 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant him, then: and now remains 
That we tiiul out the cause of this effect. 
Or rather say, the cause of tliis defect. 
For this effect defective comes by cause : ' 

Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. ' 

Perpend. ( 

I have a daughter — have while she is mine — 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark. 
Hath given me this : now gather, and surmise. 1 

[Reads. | 
' To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most beau- j 
titled Oplielia,'— ! 

That 's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified ' is ! 
a vile phrase : but you shall hear. Thus: [Reads. 
' In her excellent white liosoin, these, etc' \ 

Queen. Caine tliis lr(iui Haudet to her':' 
Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; 1 will be faithful. 

[Reads. 
' Doubt thou the stars are fire ; 

Doubt that the sun dotli move; ! 

Doubt truth to be a liar; | 

But never doubt I love. ' 

'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I 

liave not art to reckon my groans: but that 1 love "3 

thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. ' 

' Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this J 

machine is to him, Hamlet.' n 

This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me, 

And more above, hath his solicitings, 

As they fell out by time, by means and place. 

All given to mine ear. 

King. But how hath she 

Received his love ? ' '. 

Pol. Wliat do you think of me? j i 

Ki)ig. As of a man faithful and honourable. ' 1 
l^ol. I would fain prove so. But wiiat might yo4 J 
think, 3 

When I had seen this hot love on the wing — , 5 
As I perceived it, I must tell you that, ii 

Before my daughter told me — what might you, * 
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
If I had playM the' .jesk or table-book, \ 

Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb, ■ 

Or look'd upon this love with idle sight; \ 

Wliat migld you think ? No, I went round to worl . .■ 
And my yonng mistress thus I did bespeak: ) 

' Lord ilamlet is a prince, out of thy star; \ 

This must not be : ' and then I precei)ts gave her, , 
Tliat she should lock herself from his resort, j 

Admit no messeiigers, receive no tokens. \ 

AVhich d(Uie, she took the fruits of my advice; i 

And lie, rcpulsi-d — a short tale to make — \ 

Fell into a sadness, then into a fast. 
Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness, ;£; 

Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension, '• 
Into the madness wherein now he raves, ^j 

And all we mourn for. 



'»r 

I 



ACT II. 



HA3ILET. 



SCENE II. 



King. Do you think 't is tliis ? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. [that — 

Vol. Hath there been such a time — I 'd faiu know 
That I liave positively said ' 'T is so,' 
AVlien it proved otherwise? 

King. Jfot that I know. 

PoV [Pointing (o his head and shoulder] Take this 
from this, if this be otherwise: 
If pircumstances lead me, I will ftjid 
■\Vhere truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre. 

King. How may we try it further ? 

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four hours 
Here in the lobby. [together 

0((€en. So he does indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I '11 loose my daughter to him: 
Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
Mark the encounter : if he love her not 
"And be not from his reason fall'n thereon. 
Let me be no assistant for a state, 
But keep a farm and carters. 

King. AVe will try it. 

Qiicht. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch 
comes reading. 

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away: 
I '11 board him presently. 

l-kxeunt King, Queen, and Attendants. 

Enter Hamlet, reading. 

O, give me leave : 
How do® my good Lord Hamlet i* 

Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. 

Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 

Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Ham. Then I "would you were so honest a man. 

Pol. Honest, my lord! 

Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, 
is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. 

Pol. That 's very true, my lor<l. 

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead 
dog, being a god kissing carrion, — Have you a 
daughter ? 

Pol. I have, my lord. 

Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is 
a blessing : but not as your daughter may conceive. 
Friend, look to 't. 

Pol. [Aside] How say you by that ? Still harping 
on my daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he 
said I was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone : 
and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity 
for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again. 
What do you read, my lord? 

Ham. Words, words, words. 

Pol. What is the matter, my lord ? 

Ham. Between who ? 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 
• Ham. Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogiie says 
here tliat old men have grey beards, tliat their faces 
are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and 
plum-tree gum and that they have a iilentifu! lack 
of wit, together with most weak hams: all which, 
sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, 
yet I hold it not honesty to iiave it thus set down, 
for yourself, sir, sliould be old as I am, if like a crab 
you could go backward. 

Pol. [Aside] Thouyih this be madness, yet there 
is method in 't. Will you walk out of the air, my 

Bam. Into n}y grave. [lord? 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. [^'ls«7e] How 
pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness 
that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity 
could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will 
leave him, and suddenly contrive tlje means of 
meeting between him and iny daughter. — ISIy hon- 
ourable lord, I win most humbly take my leave of 
you. 



JTa>7i. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing 
that I will more willingly part withal: except my 
life, except my life, except my life. 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 

Hum. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet ; there he 

lios. [2b Potouius] God save you, sir! [is. 

[£.cit Polonius. 

Ouil. My honoured lord! 

Jios. My most dear lord ! 

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost thou, 
Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how 
do ye both ? 

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 

Guil. Happy, in that we are not over-happy; 
On fortune's cap we are not the \ery button. 

Ham. Xor the soles of her shoe ? 

lios. Neither, my lord. 

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
middle of her favours ? 

Oicil. 'Faith, her privates we. 

Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most 
true ; she is a strumpet. What 's the news ? 

Jii'S. None, my lord, but that the world 's grown 
honest. 

Ham. Then is doomsday near: but your news is 
not true. Let me question more in particular: 
what have yon, my good friends, deserved at the 
hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison 
hither? 

Onil. Prison, my lord! 

Ham. Denmark 's a prison. 

Pos. Then is the world one. 

Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many 
confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark being one 
o' tlie worst. 

Pos. We think not so, my lord. 

Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to j'ou; for there is 
nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it 
so : to me it is a prison. 

Ros. Why then, your ambition makes it one; 
'tis too narrow for your mind. 

Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell 
and count myself a king of infinite space, were it 
not that I have liad dreams. 

Guil. Wliicli dreams indeed are ambition, for the 
very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow 
of a dream. 

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 

Bns. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and 
light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. 

Ham. Then are our lieggars bodies, and nur mon- 
archs and outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. 
Shall we to the court ? for, by my fay, I cannot 
reason. 

g'iM I ^^® '^^ ^^^^ upon you. 

Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with 
the rest of my servants, for, to speak to you like an 
honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, 
in tlie beaten way of friendship, what make you at 
Elsinore ? 

Pos. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even jioor in 
thanks; but I thank you: and sure, dear friends, 
my tlianks are too dear a halfiienny. Were you not 
sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free 
visitation? Come, deal justly with me: come, 
come; nay, speak. 

Ginl. What should we say, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, any thing, but to the purpose. You 
were sent for; aiid there is a kind of confession in 
your looks which your modesties have not craft 
enoufh to colotir : I know the good king and queen 
have nt f^i 

675 



ACT II. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCEKE II. 



Bos. To what end, my lord? 

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me con- 
jure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the 
consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our 
ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better 
proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct 
witli me, whether you were sent for, or no ? 

Bos. [Aside to Guil.] What say you ? 

Ham. [Aside] Nay, then, I have an eye of you. — 
If you love me, hold not off. 

Giiil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why ; so sliall my anticipa- 
tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the 
king and queen moult no feather. I have of late — 
but wherefore I know not — lost all my mirth, for- 
gone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so 
heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, 
the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this 
most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave 
o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted 
with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to 
me tlian a foul and pestilent congregation of 
vapours. What a piece of work is a man ! how 
noble in reason ! how infinite in faculty ! in form 
and moving how express and admirable ! in action 
how like an angel ! in apprehension liow like a god ! 
the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! 
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust ? 
man delights not me: no, nor woman neither, 
thougli by your smiling you seem to say so. 

Bos. My lord, there was no such stuff in my 
thoughts. 

Ham. AVhy did you laugh then, when I said ' man 
delights not me ' ? 

Bos. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, 
what lenteu entertaimnent the playel's shall receive 
from you : we coted them on the way ; and hither 
are they coming, to offer you service. 

Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome ; 
his majesty shall have tribute of me; the adven- 
turous knight shall use his ioil and target ; the lover 
shall not sigh gratis ; tlie hunionms man shall end 
his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh 
whose lungs are tickled o' the seie ; and the lady 
shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall 
halt for 't. What players are they ? 

Bos. Even those you were wont to take delight 
in, the tragedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it they travel? their resi- 
dence, both in reputation and profit, was better 
both ways. 

Bos. I think their inhibition comes by the means 
of the late innovation. 

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did 
when I was in the city ? are they so followed ? 

Bos. No, indeed, are they not. 

Ham. How comes it ? do they grow rusty ? 

Bos. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted 
pace : but there is, sir, an aery of children, little 
eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are 
most tyraimically clapped for 't : these are now the 
fashion, and so berattle the common stages — so they 
call tliem — that many wearing rapiers are afraid of 
goose-quills and dare scarce come thither. 

Ham. What, are they cliildren ? who maintains 
'em ? how are they escoted ? Will they pursue the 
quality no longer than they can sing ? will tliey not 
say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to 
common players — as it is most like, if their means 
are no better — their writers do them wrong, to 
make them exclaim against their owni succession? 

Bos. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both 
sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them 
to controversy : there was, for a while, no money 
bid for argument, unless the poet and the player 
went to cuffs in the question. 

Hum. Is 't possible ? 

076 



Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of j 

Ham. Do the boys can-y it away ? [brains. ' 

Bos. Ay, that they dp, my lord; Hercules and 1 

his load too. '■ 

Ham. It is not very strange ; for mine uncle is 

king of Denmark, and those that would make mows ■( 

at him while my fatlier lived, give twenty, forty, \ 

fifty, an liundred ducats a-piece for his picture in 't 

little, '.sblood, there issomethingin this morethau ' 

natural, if pliilosophy could find it out. j 

[Flourish of trumpets within. I 

Ouil. There are the players. \ 

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. i 

Your hands, come then : the appm-teuance of wel- j 

come is fashion and ceremony: let me comply wiih j 

you in this garb, lest my extent to the players, which, ' 

I tell you, must show" fairly outward, should more ,; 

appear like entertainment than yours. You are ' 

welcome: but my uncle-father and amit-mother \ 

are deceived. i 

Ouil. In what, my dear lord ? j 

Ham. I am but mad north-north-west : when the j 

wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw, i 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern; and you too: at J 
each ear a liearer : that great baby you see there is { 
not yet out of his swaddling-clouts. i 

Bos. Happily he's the second time come to them; jl 
for they say an old man is twice a child. 

Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the -"i 
players; mark it. You say right, sir: o' Monday ' 
morning; 'twas so indeed. < 

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. ' 

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When ' 
Roscius was an actor in Rome, — 

Pol. Tlie actors are come hither, my lord. ; 

Ham. Buz, buz! j 

Pol. Upon mine honour, — ' 

Hajn. Then came each actor on his ass, — 

Pol. The best actors in the world, either for trag- j 
edy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, 
hist cirical past oral, triigieal-histoi ieal,tragical-com- 
ical-hisliiriial-pastorai, scene individable, or poem 
unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus 
too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these 
are the only men. 

Ham. O .Tephthah, judge of Israel, what a treas- 
ure liadst tliou ! 

I'nI. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 

Han. AVIiy, 
' One fair daughter, and no more, 

Tlie wliicii lie loved passing well.' 

Pol. [Asiih] Still on my daughter. 

Ham. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? 

Pol. If you call me -Icphthali, my lord, I liavei 
daughter that I love i)as.-iing well. 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows, then, my lord? 

Ham. Why, 

' As by lot, God wot,' 
and then, you know, 

' It came to pass, as most like it was,' — 
the first row of the pious chanson will sliow you 
more; for look, where my abridgment comes. 

Enter four or Jive Players. 
You are welcome, masters; welcome, all. I ami 
glad to see thee well. Welcome, good friends. 0,1 
my old friend! thy face is valanced since I saw! 
thee last : comest thou to beard me in Denmark ?l 
What, my young lady and mistress ! By 'r lady,| 
your ladysliip is nearer to heaven than when I saw^ 
you last, by the altitude of achopine. Pray God, 
your voice, like a piece of uncurrent goUl, be not 
cracked within the ring. Masters, you are all wel- 



i 



ACT IT. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE II. 



come. We '11 e'en to 't like French falconers, fly 
at any thing we see : we '11 have a speecli straight : 
come, give us a taste of your quality ; come, a pas- 
sionate speech. 
First Flay. AVhat speech, my lord? 
Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but 
it was never acted ; or, if it was, not above once ; 
for the play, I remember, pleased not the million; 
'twas caviare to the general: but it was — as I re- 
ceived it, and others, whose judgments in such 
matters cried in the top of mine — an excellent 
play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as 
mucli modesty as cimning. I remember, one said 
there were no sallets in the lines to make the mat- 
ter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might 
indict the author of aflfectation; but called it an 
honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very 
much more handsome than fine. One si)eech in it 
I chiefly loved: 'twas yEneas' tale to Dido; and 
thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of 
Priam's slaughter: if it live in your memory, begin 
at this line: let me see, let me see — 
' The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,' — 
it is not so : — it begins with Pyrrhus : — 
' The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms. 
Black as Ids purpose, did the night resemble 
When he lay couched in the ominous horse. 
Hath nowthis dread and black complexion smear 'd 
With heraldry more dismal ; head to foot 
Now is he total gules; horridly trick'd 
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons. 
Baked and impasted with the parching streets, 
That lend a tj'rannous and damned light 
To their lord's murder : roasted in wrath and fire. 
And thus o'er-sized wth coagulate gore, 
AVitli eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
Old granilsire Priam seeks.' 
So, proceed you. 

Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good 
accent and good discretion. 
Fir^t Play. ' Anon he finds him 

Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique sword, 
Kebellious to his arm, lies where it falls. 
Repugnant to command: unequal match 'd, 
Pyrrhus at Priam drives ; in rage strikes wide ; 
But with the whiS and wind of his fell sword 
Tlie unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ili- 
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top [um, 
Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash 
Takes prisoner Pyrrlius' ear : for, lo! his sword. 
Which was decliuing on the milky head 
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick: 
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood. 
And like a neutral to his will and matter. 
Did nothing. 

But, as we often see, against some storm, 
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, 
The bold winds speechless and tlie orb below 
As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder 
Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus' pause, 
Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work ; 
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
On Mars's armour forged for proof eterne 
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
Now falls on Priam. 

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortufie ! All you gods. 
In general sjnod, take away her power; 
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel. 
And bowl the round nave dovpn the hill of heaven. 
As low as to the fiends ! ' 
Pol. This is too long. 

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. 
Prithee, say on : he 's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, 
or he sleeps : say on : come to Hecuba. 

First Play. ' But who, O, who had seen the mo- 
bled queen — ' 
. Ham. ' The mobled queen ? ' 



Pol. That 's good ; ' mobled ffueen ' is good. 
First Play.'' Run barefoot up and down, threaten- 

ingthe flames 
With bisson rheum ; a clout upon that head 
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, 
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, 
A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; 
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 
'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pro- 
nounced : 
But if the gods themselves did see her then 
AVhen she saw PjTrhus make malicious sport 
In mincing with his sword her husband's Iimb§, 
Tlie instant burst of clamour that she made, 
Unless things mortal move them not at all, 
Would have made milch the burning eyes of 
And passion in the gods.' [heaven, 

Pol. LooTc, whether he has not turned his colour 
and has tears in 's eyes. Pray you, no more. 

Ham. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the 
rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players 
well bestowed ? Do you hear, let them be well used ; 
for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of tlie 
time : after your death you were better have a bad 
epitaph than their ill report while you live. 

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their 
desert. 

Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better: use 
every man after his desert, and who should 'scape 
whipping ? Use them after your own honour anil 
dignity: the less they deserve, the more merit is in 
your bounty. Take them in. 
Pol. Come, sirs. 

Ham. Follow him, friends: we '11 hear a play to- 
morrow. {Exit Poloniiis ifrt/i all the players bxii ii.e 
First.] Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you play 
the Murder of Gonzago ? 
First Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. We '11 ha "t "to-morrow night. You could, 
for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen 
lines, which I would set down and insert in 't, could 
you not V 
First Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Very well. Follow that lord ; and look you 
mock him not. [Exit First Player.] My giiod 
friends, I '11 leave you till night ; you are welcome 
to Elsinore. 
Ros. Good my lord ! 

Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' j'e ; [Exeunt Posencrantz 
and Guildenstern.] Now I am alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am 1 1 
Is it not monstrous that this player here. 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
Could force his soul so to his o\va conceit 
That from her working all his visage wann'd. 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit V and all for nothmg ! 
For Hecnba ! 

What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
That he should weep for her ? What would he do. 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears 
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech. 
Make mad the guilty and appal the free. 
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed 
The very faculties of ejes and ears. 
Yet I. 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
IJke John-a-dreanis. unpregnant of my cause, 
And can say nothing ; no, not for a kiiig, 
Upon whose property and most dear life 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
Wlio calls me villain i* breaks my pate across V 
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face V 
Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i' the 
throat, 

677 



ACT III. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCEJTE I.^ 



As deep as to the lungs ? who does me this ? 

Ha! 

'Swouiids, I should take it : for it cannot be 

But I am piu'e'iu-livei'd and lack gall 

To make ()i)|irc,ssi(in bitter, or ere this 

I should luive lalted all the region kites 

With this slave's offal : bloody, bawdy villain ! 

Ilemorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless yil- 

O, vengeance ! [lain ! 

Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave, 

Tliat I, the son ot a dear father murder'd, 

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 

Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words. 

And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, 

A scullion ! 

Fie upon 't ! fob ! About, my brain ! I have heard 

That guilty creatm-es sitting at a play . 



Have by the very cunning of tlie scene 

Been struck so to tlie soul that presently 

Tliey have proclaim'd then- malefactions; 

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 

With most miraculous organ. I '11 have llieso 

players 
Play something like the murder of my father 
Before mine uncle : I '11 obseoT his looks ; 
I '11 tent him to the quick : if he but blench, 
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen 
May be the devil : and the devil hath power 
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps 
Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 
As he is very potent with such sijirits, 
Abuses me to damn me: I '11 have grounds 
More relative than this : the play 's the thing 
Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. [Exit. 



A.CT III. 



SCENE I. — A room in the castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosen- 
crantz, mid Guildenstern. 
King. And can you, by no drift of circumstance, 
Get from him why he puts on this confusion, 
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ■* 

Itos. He does confess he feels himself distracted ; 
But from what cause he will by no means speak. 

('tuU. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, 
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, 
AVhen we would bring him on to some confession 
Of his true state. 

Quceu . Did he receive you well ? 

Jfo.s. Most like a gentleman. 
Gail. But with much forcing of his disposition. 
Bos. Niggard of question; but, of our demands, 
Most free in his reply. 

Queen. Did you assay him 

To any pastime ? 

Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
AVe o'er-raugUt on the way : of these we told him ; 
And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
To hear of it : they are about the court. 
And, as I think, they have already order 
This night to play before him. 

Pol. 'T is most true : 

And he beseech 'd me to entreat your majesties 
To hear and see the matter. 
King. With all my heart; and it doth much con- 
tent me 
To hear him so inclined. 
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge. 
And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
lios. We shall, my lord. 

[Exeunt Rosenerantz and Guildenstern. 
King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too ; 

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, 
That he, as 't were by accident, may here 
Affront Ophelia : 

Her father and myself, lawful espials, 
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen, 
AVe may of their encounter frankly judge, 
And ga'thei- by liim, as he is behaved, 
If 't be the alfliction ot his love or no 
That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I shall obey you. 

And for vour part, Ophelia, I do wish 
That voiir good beauties be the happy cause 
Of Hamlet's wilclncss: so shall I hope your virtues 
Will bring him to his wonted way again. 
To both your honours. 

Op/i. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen. 

678 



Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so please ': 
you, i 

We will bestow om'selves. [To Op/ieZia] Read omj 
this book ; ' 

That show of such an exercise may colour J 

Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this, — ' 
'T is too much proved — that with devotion's visagei 
And pious action we do sugar o'er J 

The devil himself. J 

King. [Aside] O, 't is too true ! [science !f 

How smart a lush that speech doth give my con-^ 
The harlot's cheek, beaulied with plastering art, ;. 
Is not more ugly to t!ie thing that lieliis it ,,• 

Than is my deed to my most painted word : 
Q heavy burthen ! 

Pol. I hear him coming : let 's withdraw, my lord.: 
[Exeunt King and Polomusf^', 

Enter Hamlet. 
JJo?)?. To be, or not to be : that is the question : 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
And by opposing end them V To die ; to sleep ; 
No more; and by a sleep to say we end 
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, 't is a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep ; 
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there 's the rub 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause: there 's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare luidkin ? who would fardels bear, 
To urunt and sweat under a weary life. 
But that the dread of something after death. 
The uudiscover'd country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, puzzles the will 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
Than lly to others that we know not of V 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast (»f thought. 
And enterprises of great pith and moment 
With this regard their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action.— Soft you nowl 
The fair Ophelia ! Nymph, in thy orisons 
Be all my sins remember'd. 



i 



ACT III. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE II. 



Oph. Good my lord, 

How does your honour for this many a day ? 
Ham. I lumibly thank you; well, well, weU. 
Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours, 
That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 
I pray you, now receive them. 

Ham. Ko, not I ; 

I never gave you aught. [did ; 

Ojih. jly honour'd lord, you kno'w- right well you 
And, with them, words of so sweet breath comijosed 
As made tlie things more rich: theii- perfume lost, 
Take these again; for to the noble mind 
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. 
There, my lord. 

Ham. Ila, ha ! are you honest ? 

0,jh. My lord ? 

Ham. Are you fair ? 

Oph. Wliat means jour lordsliip ? 

Ham. Tliat if you be honest and fair, your hon- 
esty sliould admit no discoui'se to your beauty. 

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better com- 
merce than with honesty V 

Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will 
sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd 
tlian the force of honesty can translate beauty into 
his likeness : this was sometime a paradox, but now 
the time gives it proof. I did love you once. 

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 

Ham. You should not have believed me ; for 
virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we 
shall relish of it : I loved you not. 

Onh. I was the more deceived. 

Hum. Get thee to a nunnery : why wouldst thou 
be a breeder of sinners ? I am myself indifferent 
honest; but yet I could accuse me of such tilings 
tliat it were better my mother liad not borne me; I 
am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more 
offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put 
them in, imagination to give them shajie, or time 
to act them in. What should such fello'\\'s as I do 
crawling lietween earth and heaven y We are arrant 
knaves, all ; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a 
nunnery. Where 's your fatlier ? 

Oph. At home, my lord. 

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he 
may iilay the fool no where but in 's own house. 
Farewell. 

Oph. O, lielp him, you sweet heavens! 

l/((»)i. If thou dost marry, I 'II give thee this plague 
for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as 
snow, thou Shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to 
a nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs 
marry, marry a fool ; for wise men know well 
enough what monsters you make of them. To a 
nunnery, go, and quickly too. Farewell. 

Oyy/i. O lieavenly powers, restore him I 

Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
enough ; God has given you one face, and you make 
yourselves another: you jig, you andjle, and you 
lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your 
wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I '11 no more 
on 't ; it hath made me mad. I say, we will have 
no more marriages: those that are married alreadv, 
•all but one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they 
are. To a nunnery, go. [Kxit. 

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue. 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state, [sword ; 
The glass of fashion and the mould of form. 
The observed of all observers, quite, quite down ! 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows. 
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason. 
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
That uumatch'd form and feature of blown youth 
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me. 
To have seen what 1 have seen, see what I see! 



lie-enter King and Polonius. 

King. Love ! his affections do not that way tend ; 
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, 
Was not like niailness. There 's something in his 
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood; [soul, 
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose 
"Will be some danger: which for to prevent, 
I have in quick determination 
Thus set it down : he shall with speed to England, 
For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
Haply the seas and countries different 
AVitli variable objects shall expel 
This something-settled matter in his heart. 
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus 
From fashion of himself. What think you on 't ? 

Pol. It shall do well : but yet do I believe 
The origin and commencement of his grief 
Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ojihelia ! 
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said; 
We heard it all. My lord, do as you please ; 
But, if you hold it fit, after the play 
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
To show his grief: let her be round with him; 
And I '11 be placed, so please you. in the ear 
Of all their conference. If she find Iiim not, • 

To England send him, or confine him where 
Your wisdom best shall think. 

King. It shall be so : 

Madness in great ones must not uuwatch'd go. 

[Kxeunt. 
SCENE 11.—^ hall in the castle. 

Enter Hamlet and Players. 
Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pro- 
nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but 
if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had 
as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not 
saw the air too much with vour hand, thus, but 
use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, 
as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must 
acquire and beget a temperance that may give it 
smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear 
a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to 
tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- 
lings, who for theniost part are capable of nothing 
but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would 
have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Terma- 
gant; it out-herods Herod : pray you, avoid it. 

First Platj. I warrant your honour. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
discretion lie your tutor: suit the .action to the 
word, the word to the action ; with this special ob- 
sei-vance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of na- 
ture : for anything so o\erdone is from the purpose 
of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was 
and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; 
to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own im- 
age, and the very age and body of the time his 
form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come 
tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, can- 
not but make the judicious grieve; the censure of 
the which one must in your allowance o'erweigli a 
whole theatre of others. O, there be players that 
I have seen play, and heard others praise, and tliat 
highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither 
having the accent of Christians "nor the gait of 
Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and 
bellowed that I have thought some of nature's 
journeymen had made men' and not made them 
well, tliey imitated humanity so abominably. 

First Plaij. I hope we have reformed that indif- 
ferently with us, sir. 

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those 
that play your clowns speak no more than is set 
Aovm for them ; for there be of them that will them- 
selves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spec- 
679 



ACT III, 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE II, 



tators to laugh too ; tliough, in the meantime, some 
necessary question of the play be then to be con- 
sidered : that 's villanous, and shows a most pitiful 
ambition iu the fool that uses it. Go, make you 
ready. \_Exeunt Players. 

Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guilden- 

stern. 
How now, my lord I will the king hear this piece of 
work V 

Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 

17am. Bid the players make haste. [E.cit Po- 
lonius.] Will you two help to hasten them ? 

G«lLlwewill,mylord. 

[Exeunt liosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
Ham. What ho ! Horatio ! 

Enter Horatio. 

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 

Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation coped withal. 

Hor. O, my dear lord, — 

Ham. i^o-Y, do not think I flatter ; 

For what advancement may I hope from thee 
fThat no revenue hast but tiiy good spirits. 
To feed and clothe thee r" Why should the poor be 

llatter'dy 
No, let tlie candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear ? 
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice 
And could of men distinmiish, her election 
Hatli seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been 
As one, in suffering all, tliat suffers nothing, 
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Hast ta'en with ('([ual thanks: and blest are those 
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled. 
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
To sound what stop she please. Give rue that man 
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart. 
As I do thee. — Something too mucli of tliis. — 
There is a play to-niglit before tlie king; 
One scene of it comes near the circumstance 
Which I liave told thee of my father's death: 
I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot, 
Even with tlie very comment of thy soul 
Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt 
Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 
It is a damned ghost that we have seen, 
And my imaginations are as foul 
As Vulcan's stitliy. Give him heedful note ; 
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face. 
And after we will both our judgments join 
In censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord : 

If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing. 
And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 

Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must be 
Get you a place. [idle : 

■Dinush march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polo- 
nius, Ophelia, Eosencrantz, Guildenstern, and 
others. 

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? 

Ham. Excellent, i' faitli; of the chameleon's 
dish : I eat the air, promise-crammed : you cannot 
feed capons so. 

King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet ; 
these words are not mine. 

Hani. No, nor mine now. [To PoZoniws] My lord, 
you played once i' the university, you say? 

Pol. That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a 

Ham. What did vou enact ? [good actor. 

Pol, I did enact .Tulius Ctesar : I was killed i' the 
Capitol ; Brutus killed me. 
680 



Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital 
a calf there. Be the players ready y 

Ros. Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience. 

Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 

Hum. No, good mother, here 's metal more at- 
tractive. 

Pol. {To the King.] O, ho! do you mark that ? 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap 'r' 

[Lying down at Opheliu''s feet. 

Oph. No, my lord. 

Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap ? 

Oijii. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Do you think I meant country matters ? 

Oi/h. I think nothing, my lord. 

Ham. That 's a fair thought to lie between maids' 

Oph. What is, my lord ? [legs. 

Ham. Nothing. 

Uph. You are merry, my lord. 

Ham. Who, I ? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. O God, your only jig-maker. What should 
a man do but be" merry V for, look you, how cheer- 
fidl)- my mother looks, and my father died within 
these two hours. 

Oph. Nay, 't is twice two months, my lord. 

Htm. So long ? Nay tli,gn, let the devil wear 
black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens I 
die two months ago, and not forgotten yet ? Then 
tliere 's hope a great man's memory may outlive his 
life half a year: but, by 'r lady, he must build 
churclies, then ; or else shall he suffer not thinking 
on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ' For, O, 
for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot.' 

Hautboys play. The dumb-show enters. 

Enter a King and a Queen veri/ lovingly ; the Queen em- 
bracing him, and he her. iShe kneels, and makes show of 
protestation unto him. Me takes her up, and declines his 
head upon her neck : lays him down upon a bank of 
flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes 
in afelloii), takes off his crown, kisses it, and pours poison 
in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen re<i(™.s; finds 
the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poi- 
soner, with some tun or three Mutes, comes in again, 
seeming to Imneul wilh her. The dead body is carried 
away. The Poisoner iruoes the Queen with gifts: she 
seems loath and unwtlling awhile, but in the end accepts 
his love. {Exeunt. 

Oph. What means this, my lord 'i 
Ham. Marry, this is michingmallecho; it means 

mischief. 
Oph. Belike this show imports the argument of 

the play. ^ ^ , 

Enter Prologvie. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the players 
cannot keep counsel; they '11 tell all. 

Opth. Will he tell us what this show meant ? 

Ham. Ay, or any show that you '11 sliow him : be 
not you ashamed to show, he '11 not shame to tell 
you what it means. 

Opjh. You are naught, you are naught : I '11 mark 
the play. 

Pro. For us, and for our tragedy. 

Here stooping to your clemency, 

We beg your liearing patiently. [E.xil. 

Ham. Is this a prologue, or tlie posy of a ring 'i 

Oph. 'T is brief, my lord. 

Ham. As woman's love. 

Enter two Players, King and Queen. 
P. King. Full tliirty times hath Phcebus' cart 
gone round 
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, 
And thirty dozen moons with borrow- 'd sheen 
About the world liave times tv.-elve thirties been 
Since love our hearts and Hymen ilid our hands 
Unite commutual in must sacred bands, [moon 
P. Qmen. So many journejs may the sun and 



ACT III. 



HA 31 LET. 



s. 



Make us again count o'er ere love lie done ! 
But, woe is nie, yon are so sick of late, 
So far from cheer and from your former state, 
That I distrust you. Yet, thougli I distrust, 
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
For women's fear and love liolds quantity ; 
In neitlier aught, or in extremity. 
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know ; 
And as my love is sized, my fear is so : 
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; 
Where little fears grow great, great love grows 
there. [shortly too ; 

P. Khvj. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and 
My operant powers their functions leave to do: 
And thou slialt live in this fair world behind, 
Honour'd, beloved ; and haply one as kind 
For Inisbaud shalt thou — ■ 

P. Queen. O. confound the rest ! 

Such lo\e must needs be treason in my breast : 
In seciinil husband let me be accurst ! 
Xoiie wed the second but who kHl'd the first. 
Hani. [Aside] Wormwood, wormwood. [move 

P. Queen. The instances that second marriage 
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love: 
A second time I kill my husband dead, 
Wlien second husband kisses me in bed. [speak; 

P. King. I do believe you think what now you 
But what we do determine oft we break. 
Purpose is but the slave to memory, 
Of violent birth, but poor validity : 
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree; 
But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
Most necessary 't is that we forget 
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
What to ourselves in passion we propose. 
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
The violence of either grief or joy 
Their own enactures with themselves destroy : 
Wliere joy most revels, grief dotli most lament ; 
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
Tliis world is not for aye, nor 't is not strange 
That even our loves should with our fortunes 

cliange ; 
For 't is a question left us yet to prove. 
Whether love lead fortune!^ or else fortune love. 
The great man down, you mark liis favourite Hies ; 
Tlie poor advanced makes friends of enemies. 
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend ; 
For who not needs shall never lack a friend. 
And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 
Directly seasons him liis enemy. 
But, orderly to end where I begun. 
Our wills and fates do so contrary run 
That our devices still are overthrown ; [o\^m : 
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our 
So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
But die tliy thoughts when tliy first lord is dead. 

P. Qufui. -Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven 
light ! 
Sport and repose lock from me dav and night! 
To desjieration turn my trust and'hope 1 
An ancliDr's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
Faeh oppdsile that blanks the face of jov 
:Meet what I wimld liave well and it destrov! 
Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife, 
If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
Ham. If she should break it now! 

P. Kimj. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me 
here awhile ; 
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
The tedious day ■with sleep. [Sleeps. 

P. Queen. ' Sleep rock thy brain; 

And never come mischance between us twain ! 

[Exit. 
Ham. Madam, how like you this play ? 
Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks. 
Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 



King. Have you heard the argument ? ^ 
no offence in 't ':' 

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest ; . 
offence i' the world. 

King. What do you call the play ? 

Ham. The Mouse-trap. Marry, how ? Tropi- 
cally. This play is the image of a murder done in 
Vienna : Gonzago is the didie's name ; his wife, 
Baptista : you .shall see anon ; 't is a knavish piece 
of work : but what o' that 'r* your majesty and we 
that have free souls, it touches us not : let the galled 
jade wince, our withers are um\Tung. 

Enter Lueianus. 
This is one Lueianus, nephew to the king. 
Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 
Ham. I could interpret between you and your 
love, if I could see the puppets dallying. 
Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off 
my edge. 
Oph. Still bettex, and worse. 
Hecm. So you must take your husbands. Begin, 
murderer ; pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. 
Come : ' the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.' 
Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, au(f 
time agreeing ; 
Confederate season", else no creature seeing ; 
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, 
Witli Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
Thy natural magic and dire property. 
On wholesome life usurp immediately. 

[Pour)i the jjoison into the sleeper''s ears. 
Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for 's estate. 
His name 's Gonzago : the story is extant, and writ 
in choice Italian : you shall see anon how the mur- 
derer gets the love of Gouzago's w'ife. 
Oph. The kinj| rises. 
Ham. What, frighted 'with false fire ! 
Queen. How fares my lord? 
PoL Give o'er the play. 
King. Give me some light : away! 
All. Lights, liglits, lights ! 

[Exeunt all but Hamletand Horeitio. 
Ham. Why, let the stricken deer go weep. 
The hart ungalled play ; 
For some must watch , while some must sleep : 
So runs the world way. 
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers — if the 
rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me— with two 
Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellow- 
ship in a cry of plaj^ers, sir 'i' 
Hot. Half a share. 
Ham. A whole one, I. 

For thou dost know, O Damon dear. 

This realm dismantled was 
Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here 
A very, very — pajock. 
Hor. You might have rhymed. 
Ham. O good Horatio, I '11 take the ghost's word 
for a thousand pound. Didst perceive? 
Hor. Very well, my lord. 
Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning? 
Hor. I did verv well note him. 
Ham. Ah, ha ! Come, some music ! come, the 
recorders ! 

For if the king like not the comedy. 
Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy. 
Come, some music ! 

Re-enter Rosencrantz an:? Guildenstern. 
Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with 
Ham. Sir, a whole history. [you. 

Guil. Tlie king, sir, — 
Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? 
Guil. Is in his retirement marvellous distempered. 
Ham. With drink, sir? 

681 i 



ACT III. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE TIT. 



Guil. No, my lord, rather with choler. 

Ham. Your wisdom slioiild sliow itself more 
richer to sisuify tliis to his doctor ; for, for me to 
Ijut him to liis purgation would perhaps plunge him 
into far more, choler. 

Qtdl. Good my lord, put your discourse into some 
frame and start not so wildly from my affair. 

Himi. I am tame, sir: pronounce. 

Quil. The queen, your motlier, in most great 
atlliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 

Quil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of 
the riglit breed. If it shall please you to make me 
a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com- 
mandment: if not, your pardon and my return 
shall he the end of my business. 

Ham. Sir, I cannot. 

Ouil. Wliat, my lord ? 

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit 's 
diseased: but, sir, such answer as I can make, you 
shall command; or, rather, as you say, my mother: 
therefore no more, but to the matter: my mother, 
you say, — 

Ros. Then thus she says; yoitr behaviour hath 
struclc her into amazement and admiration. 

Ihiiu. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a 
motlier ! But is there no sequel at the heels of this 
motlier's admiration ? 

Bos. She desires to speak with you in her closet, 
ere you go to bed. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our 
mother. Have you any furtlier trade with us? 

Bos. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ham. So I do still, by these pickers. and stealers. 

Bos. Good my lord, what is your cause of dis- 
temper y you do, surely, b;ir the cloor upon your own 
liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. 

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Bos. How can that be, when you have the voice 
of the king himself for your succession in Denmark ? 

Ham. Ay, .sir, but 'While the grass grows,' — the 
proverb is something musty. 

Re-enter Players with recorders.^ 
O, the recorders! let me see one. To withdraw 
with you: — why do you go about to recover the 
wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil 'f 

Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love 
is too unmannerly. 

Ham.. 1 do not well understand that. Will you 
play upon this pipe ? 

Quil. My lord, I cannot. 

Ham. I pray you. 

Ouil. Believe me, I cannot. 

Ham. I do beseech you. 

Ouil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 

Ham.. 'T is as easy as lying : govern tliese ventages 
with your linger and thumb^ give it breath witli 
your moutli, and it will discourse most eloquent 
music. Look you, these are the stops. 

Quil. But these cannot I command to any utter- 
ance of harmony; I have not the skill. 

Ham. Why, look you now, liow unworthy a thing 
you make of me ! You would play upon me ; you 
would seem to know my stops; you would jiluck 
out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me 
from my lowest note to the top of my compass: aud 
there is much music, excellent voice, in this little 
organ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sljlood, do 
you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe V 
Call me what instrument you will, though you can 
fret me, yet you cannot play upon me. 

Enter Polonius. 
God bless you, sir! 

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, 
and presently. 

682 



Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that 's almost in 
shape of a camel y 

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. 

Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 

Ham. Or like a whale 't 

Pol. Very like a whale. 

Ham. Then I will come to my mother by and by. 
They fool me to the top of my bent. I will come 
by and by. 

Pol. I "will say so. 

Ham. By and" by is easily said. [Exit Polonius^ 
Leave me, friends. [E.ceunt all but Hamlet. 

'T is now the very witching time of night, 
When churciiyards yawn and hell itself breathes out 
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot 
And do such bitter business as the day [blood. 

Would quake to look on. Soft ! now to my mother, 

heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever 
Tlie soul of Nero enter this firm bosom: 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 

1 will speak daggers to her, but use none; 
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites; 
How in my w^rds soever she be shent. 

To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! [Exit. 

SCENE III. — A room in the castle. 

Enter King', Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 

King. I like him not, nor stands it safe witli us 
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you; 
I your commission will forthwith dispatch, 
And he to England shall along with you: 
The terms of our estate may not endure 
Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow 
Out of his lunacies. 

Quil. We will ourselves provide : 

Most holy and religious fear it is 
To keep those many many bodies safe 
That live and feed upon your majesty. 

Bos. The single and iicculiar life is bound. 
With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
To keep itself from noyanee; liut much more 
Tliat spirit upon whose weal dei)end and rest 
The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
What 's near it with it : it is a massy wheel, 
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount. 
To wliose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
Are mortised and ailjoin'd; which, when it falls, 
Each small aunexment, petty consequence, 
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone 
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 

Kinij. Arm you, I pray you. to this speedy voyage ; 
For we will fetters put ujiiui this fear. 
Which now goes too fi'ee-footed. 

jl":'-} \ We will haste us. 

[Exeunt Bosencrantz and Quildenstern. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. My lord, he 's going to his mother's closet : 
Behind the arras I '11 convey myself, 
To hear the process; I'll warrant she'll tax him 
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, [home: 
'T is meet that sdine more audience than a mother. 
Since nature m:ds;es them partial, shoidd o'erhear 
Tlie speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed, 
And tell you what I know. 

King. Thanks, dear my lord. 

[E.nt Polonius. 
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 
A brotlier's murder. Pray can I not, 
Thouah inclination be as sharp as will: 
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 



ACT III. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE IV. 



Ami, like a man to double business bound, 

I stand in pause where I sliall tirst begin, 

And botli neglect. V.'hat it this cursed hand 

"Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, 

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 

To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy 

But to confront the visage of offence? 

And what 's in prayer biit this two-fold force. 

To be forestalled ere we come to fall, 

Or pardon'd being down ? Then I '11 look up ; 

ISIy fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 

Can serve my turn V ' Forgive me my foul murder ' ? 

That cannot be: since I am still ixissess'd 

Of tliose effects for which I did the murder, 

:My crown, mine own ambition and my queen. 

!May one be pardon'd and retain the offence":' 

In the corrupted currents of this world 

Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, 

And oft 't is seen the wicked prize itself 

Buys out the law : but 't is not so above ; 

There is no shutiling, there the action lies 

In his true nature; and w'e ourselves compell'd, 

Evenio the teeth and forehead of our faults. 

To give in evidence. What then ? wdiat rests '{ 

Try what repentance can : what can it not 'i 

Yet what can it when one can not repent ? 

O \vretched state ! O bosom black as death ! 

O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 

Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! 

Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of 

steel. 
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! 
All may be well. [Ettites and kneels. 

Enter Hamlet. 

Hum. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; 
And now I "11 do "t. And so he goes to heaven ; 
And so am I revenged. That would be scauu'd : 
A villain kills my father; and for that, 
I, his sole son, do this same villain send 
To heaven. 

O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
He took my father grossly, full of bread; 
AVitli all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; 
And how his audit stands vA\o knows save heaven ? 
But in our circumstance and course of thought, 
'T is heavy with him : and am I then revenged, 
To take him in the purging of his soul. 
When he is lit and seasou'd for his passage ? 
No! 

Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid heut : 
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage. 
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed; 
At gaming, swearing, or about some act 
That has no relish of salvation in 't ; 
Then trip liim, that his heels may kick at heaven, 
And thai his soul may be as damn'd and black 
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays: 
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit. 

King. [Ri.-<iuij] My words fly up, my thoughts re- 
main below: 
Words without thoughts never to heaven go. 

[E.cit. 
SCENE IV.— The Queen's closet. 

Enter Queen and Polonius. 
Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home 
to liim: 
Tell liim his i)ranks have been too In-oad to bear with. 
And that your grace hatli screeu'd and stood be- 
tween 
Much heat and him. I '11 sconce me even here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 

itain. [Within] Mother, mother, mother ! 
Queen. I '11 warrant you. 

Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. 

[Polonius hides behind the arras. 



Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. Now, mother, what 's the matter? 

Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of- 
fended, [fended. 

Ham. Mother, you have my father much of- 

Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 
tongue. 

Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet! 

Ham. What 's the matter now ? 

Queen. Have you forgot me ? 

Ham. No, by the rood, not so : 

You are the queen, 5'our husband's brother's wife; 
And — would it were not so! — you are my mother. 

Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can 
speak. [not budge ; 

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall 
You go not till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder 
Help, help, ho I [me ? 

Pol. [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help ! 

Ham. [Drawing] How now ! a rat ? Dead, for a 
ducat, dead ! [3Iakcs a pass through the arras. 

Pol. [Behind] 0, 1 am slain ! [Fcdls and dies. 

Queen. O me, wdiat hast thou done ? 

Ham. Nay, 1 know not : 

Is it the king ? 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! 

Ham. A tiloody deed ! almost asbad, good mother, 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen. As kill a king !" 

Ham. Ay, lady, 't was my word. 

[Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius. 
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! 
I took thee for thy better : take thy fortune ; 
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. 
Leave wringing of your hands : peace ! sit you down, 
And let me" wring your heart ; for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff. 
If damned custom have not brass'd it so 
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou darest wag 
thy tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Ham. Such an act 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, 
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love 
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows 
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul, and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow; 
Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 
With tristful visage, as against the doom. 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ay me, what act, 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this, 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; 
A station like the herald Mercury 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
A combination and a form indeed. 
Where every god did seem to set his seal. 
To give the world assiu-ance of a man : 
Tliis was your husband. Look you now, what fol- 
Ilere is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear, [lows : 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? 
You cannot call it love ; for at your age 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it 's humble, 
683 



ACT III. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE IV. 



And waits upon tlie judgment : and what judgment 

Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have. 

Else could you not have motion ; but sure, that seuse 

Is apoplex'd ; for madness would not err, 

Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thraird 

But it reserved some quantity of choiie. 

To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't 

That thus luith eozen'd you at hoodman-blind ? 

Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 

Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, 

Or but a sickly part of one true sense 

Could not so mojie. 

O shame ! where is thy blush ? Eebellious hell, 

If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, 

To naming youth let virtue be as wax, 

And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame 

When the compulsive ardour gives the charge. 

Since frost itself as actively doth burn 

And reason panders will. 

V"f( 'I. O Hamlet, speak no more : 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; 
And there I see such black and grained spots 
As will not leave their tinct. 

HuTii. Nay, but to live 

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, 
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love 
Over the nasty sty, — 

Queen. O, speak to me no more; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears; 
No more, sweet Hamlet ! 

Ham. A murderer and a villain ; 

A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ; 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule. 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
And put it in his pocket ! 

Queen. No more ! 

Ham. A king of shreds and patches, — 

Enter Ghost. 

Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards ! What would your gracious 

Queen. Alas, he 's mad ! [figure? 

//()(/(. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go l)y 
The important acting of your dread command ? 
O, say ! 

Olwst. Do not forget : this visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But. look, amazement on thy mother sits: 
O, siep between her and her lighting soul : 
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works: 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Hnin. How is it with you, lady ? 

Queen. Alas, how is 't with you, 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
And, as the sleeping soliliers in the alarm, 
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
Starts up, and stands an end. O gentle son, 
Upon tlie heat and tlame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle codl patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Ham. On him, on him! Look ye*, how pale he 
glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones. 
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me ; 
Lest witli this piteous action you convert 
My stern eilects: then what I have to do 
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. 

Qiieen. To whom do you speak this V 

Ham. Do you see nothing there V 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals 
away ! 

684 



My father, in his habit as he lived! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 

[I^xit Ghost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Heim. Ecstasy ! 

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time. 
And makes as healthful music : it is not madness 
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word; which madness 
Would gambol from. JNIother, for love of grace, 
Lay not that Haltering unction to your soul, 
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: 
It will but skin and tlhn the ulcerous place. 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Repent what 's past ; avoid what is to come ; 
And do not spread tlie compost on the weeds. 
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue ; 
For in the fatness of these pursy times 
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, 
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. 

Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in 
twain. 

Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other half. 
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed; 
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, 
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this. 
That to the use of actions fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock or livery. 
That aptly is imt on. Refrain to-night, 
And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next alistiuence: the next more easy; 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
And either .... the devil, or throw him out 
AVitli wonilrous potency. Once more, good night: 
And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I '11 blessing beg of you. For this same lord, 

[Pointing to Pokmius. 
I do repent : but heaven hath jileased it so, 
To punisli me with this and this with me, 
That I nuist be their senuvge and minister. 
I will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gave him. So, again, good night. 
I must be cruel, only to be kind: 
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. 
One word more, good lady. 

Queen. What shall I do ? 

Hnji. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: 
Let the Moat king tempt you again to bed; 
Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you his mouse; 
And let him, fur a i>air of reecliy kisses. 
Or paddling in your neck with liis damn'd fingers. 
Make you to ravel all this matter out, 
That i essentially am not in madness, 
] hit mad in craft . 'T were good you let him know ; 
For who, that 's but a <iueen, fair, sober, wise, 
"Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib. 
Such dear concernings hide ? who would do so ? 
No, in despite of sense and secrecy. 
Unpeg the basket on the house's top. 
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape. 
To try conclusions, in the basket creep, 
And break your own neck down. [lireath, 

Queen. Be thou assured, if words be made of 
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
What thou hast said to me. 

Hnm. 1 must to England ; you know that ? 

Qiieen. Alack, 

I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on. 

Ham. There 's letters seal'd : and my two school- 
fellows. 
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd. 
They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way, 



ACT IV. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCEjVE iit. 



And marshal me to knavery. Let it work; 
For 't is the sport to have tlie enginer 
Hoist with his own petar: and 't shall go hard 
But I will delve one yard below their mines, 
And blow them at tlie moon : O, 't is most sweet, 
AVhen in one line two crafts directly meet. 
This man shall set me packing : 



I '11 lug the guts into the neighbour room. 
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor 
Is now most still, most secret and most grave, 
Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
Come, sir, to draw toward au end with you. 
Good night, mother. 

\_Exeunt severalli/; Hamlet draggiiuj in Folonius, 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — A room in the castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Rosenorantz, and Guilden- 
stern. 

King. There 's matter in these sighs, these pro- 
found heaves : 
You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them. 
Where is your son ? 

Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. 

[Exeunt Roscncrantz and Ouildenatern. 
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-niglit ! 

Kiinj. What, Gertrude y How does Hamlet ? 

Queen. Mad as the sea and wind, wiieu both eon- 
Whieh is the mightier: in Ids lawless fit, [tend 
Behind the arras hearing something stir. 
Whips out his rapier, cries, ' A rat, a rat ! ' 
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills 
Th.e unseen good old man. 

King. O heavy deed I 

It had been so with us, had we been there : 
His liberty is full of threats to all ; 
To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answered ? 
It will be laid to us, whose providence 
Should have kept short, restrain 'd and out of haunt, 
This mad young man : but so much was our love, 
We would not understand what was most lit ; 
But, like the owner of a foul disease. 
To keep it from dividging, let it feed 
Even en the pith of life. Where is he gone ? 

Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd: 
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore 
Among a mineral of metals base, 
Sliows itself pure ; he weeps for what is done. 

King. O Gertrude, come away ! 
Tlie sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
]>ut we will ship him hence: and this vile deed 
AVe must, with all our majesty and skill. 
Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guildenstern ! 

Be-enter Rosenorantz and Guildenstern. 
Friends both, go join you witli some further aid : 
Hamlet in madness hath Polimius slain. 
And from his mother's closet liath he dragg'd him : 
Go .seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body 
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 

[Exeiint Hosencrantz and Gidlden.ttcrn. 
Come, Gertrude, we '11 call up our wisest friends; 
And let them know, both what we mean to do, 

And what 's untimely done 

Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, 
"As level as tlie cannon to his blank. 
Transports his poison 'd shot, may miss our name, 
And hit the woundless air. O, come away ! 
My soul is full of discord and dismay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another room in the castle. 

Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. Safely stowed. 
Gidl. ] IWithin] Hamlet ! Lord Hamlet! 
Ham. What noise? wlio calls on Hamlet? O, 
here they come. 



Enter Rosenorantz and Guildenstern. 

Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead 
body ? [kin. 

Ueim. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis 

Eos. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it 
And bear it to the cliapel. [thence 

Ham. Do not believe it. 

Bos. Believe what ? 

Ham. That I can keep your counsel and not 
mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! 
what replication should be made by the son of a 

Bos. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ? [king ? 

Ham. Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's counte- 
nance, his rewards, his authorities. But such offi- 
cers do the king best service in the end : he keeps 
them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first 
mouthed, to be last swallowed: when he needs 
what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, 
sponge, you shall be dry again. 

Brjs. I understand you not, my lord. 

Ham. I am glad of it : a knavish speech sleeps 
in a foolish ear. 

Bos. My lord, you must teU us where the body 
is, and go with us to the king. 

Ham. The body is with the king, but the king 
is not with the body. Tlie king is a thing — 

Oail. A thmg, my lord ! 

Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, 
and all after. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another room in the castle. 
Enter King, attended. 
King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the 
body. 
How daiigerous~is it that this man goes loose! 
Yet must not we put the strong kiw on him : 
He 's loved of the distracted multitude, 
Wlio like not in their judgment, but their eyes ; 
And where 't is so, the offender's scourge is weigh 'd, 
But never the offence. To bear all smooth and 
This sudden sending him away must seem [even, 
Deliberate pause : diseases desperate grown 
By desperate appliance are relieved, 
Or not at all. „ 

Enter Rosenorantz. 

How now! what hath befall 'n? 
Bos. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, 
We cannot get from him. 
King. But where is he ? 

Bus. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know your 
King. Bring him before us. [pleasure. 

Bos. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 

Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. 

King. Now, Hamlef , where 's Folonius ? 

Ham. At supper. 

King. At supper! where? 

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: 
a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at 
liim. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: 
we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat our- 
selves for maggots : your fat king and your lean 
685 



ACT IV. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE V. 



besgar is but variable service, two dishes, but to 
one table : that 's the end. 

King. Alas, alas ! 

Hum. A man may fish with the worm that hath 
eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of 
that worm. 

King. AVhat dost thou mean by this? 

Hunt. Nothing but to show you how a king may 
go a progress tlirough the guts of a beggar. 

King. Wliere is PoloniusV 

Ham. In heaven; send thither to see: if your mes- 
senger find him not there, seek him i' the other 
place yourself. But indeed, if you find him not 
witliin this month, you shall nose him as you go up 
the stairs into the lobby. 

King. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants. 

Ham. He will stay tUl ye come. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safe- 
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve [ty, — 
For that which thou hast done, — must send thee 

hence 
With fiery quickness ; therefore prepare thyself ; 
The bark is ready, and the wind at help. 
The associates tend, and everything is bent 
For England. 

Ham. For England ! 

King. Ay, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good. 

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 

Hajn. I see a cherub that sees them. But, come; 
for England ! Farewell, dear mother. 

King. Thy loving father, Ilamlet. 

Ham. My mother : father and mother is man and 
wife ; man and wife is one tlesh ; and so, my mother. 
Come, for England ! [Exit. 

King. Follow him at foot ; tempt him with speed 
aboard ; 
Delay it not ; I '11 have him hence to-night : 
Away ! for everything is sealVl and done 
That else leans on the affair : pray you, make haste. 
[Exeunt Rvsencrantz and Guihlenslern. 
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught — 
As my great power thereof may give thee sense, 
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
Pays homage to us — thou mayst not coldly set 
Our sovereign process ; wliicli imports at full, 
By letters congruingto that effect, 
Tiie present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; 
For like the hectic in my blood he rages. 
And tliou must cure me": till I know 't is done, 
Ilowe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. 

[Exit. 
SCENE IV. — A plain hi Bcnmark. 

Enter Fortinbras, a Captain, and Soldiers, 

mardiing. 

For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king : 
Tell liim that, by his license, Fortinbras 
Craves tlie conveyance of a jiromised march 
Over liis kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
If tliat his majesty would aught with us. 
We sliall express our duty in his eye ; 
And let him know so. 

Cap. I will do 't, my lord. 

Far. Go softly on. 

[Exeunt Fortinbras and Soldiers. 

Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and 
others. 
Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these ? 
Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 
Ham. How purposed, sir, I pray you ? 
Cap. Against some part of Poland. 
Ham. Who commands them, sirV 
Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. 
686 



Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir. 
Or for some frontier ? 

Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition. 
We go to gain a little patch of ground 
That hath in it no profit but the name. 
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; 
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole 
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 

Ham. Why_, then the Polack never will defend it. 

Cap. Yes, it is already garrison'd. [ducats 

Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand 
Will not debate the question of this straw: 
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace, 
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 
Wliy the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. 

Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [Exit. 

Bos. Will 't please you go, my lord ? 

Ham. I '11 be with you straight. Goa little before. 
[Exeunt all except Hamlet, 
How all occasions do inform against me, 
And spur my dull revenge ! Wliat is a man, 
If his chief good and market of his time 
Be but to sleep and feed V a beast, no more. 
Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, 
Looking before and after, gave us not 
That capability and god-like reason 
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be 
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 
Of thinking too precisely on tlie event, [dom 

A thought which, quarter'd, hatli but one part wis- 
And ever three parts coward, I do not know 
Why yet I live to say ' Tliis thing 's to do ; ' 
Sith I have cause and will and strength and means 
To do 't. Examples gross as eartli exliort me : 
Witness this army of sucli mass and charge 
Led by a delicate and tender prince, 
Whose spirit with divine ambition puff'd 
Makes mouths at the invisible event. 
Exposing what is mortal and unsure 
To all that fortune, deatli and danger dare, 
Even for an egg-shell. Kightly to be great 
Is not to stir without great argument, 
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw 
When honour 's at the stake. How stand I then. 
That have a father kiird,a motlier stain'd. 
Excitements of my reason and my blood. 
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see 
The imminent death of twenty thousand men. 
That, for a fantasy and trick of tame, 
do to their graves" like beds, fight for a plot 
Where(ni the numbers cannot try the cause. 
Which is not tomb enough and continent 
To hide the slain ? O, from this time forth. 
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! [Exit. 

SCENE V. — Elsinore. A room in the eaatle. 
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman. 

Queen. I will not speak with her. 

Gent. She is importunate, indeed distract : 
Her mood wiU needs be pitied. 

Queen. What would she have V 

Gent. She speaks much of her father ; says she 
hears [her heart ; 

There's tricks i'the world; and hems, and beats 
Siiurns enviously at straws ; speaks tilings in doubt. 
That carrv but half sense : her speech is nothing. 
Yet the uiishaped use of it doth move 
The hearers to collection ; tliev aim at it. 
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; 
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield 
them, [tliought. 

Indeed would make one think there might be 
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 

Hor. 'T were good she were spoken witli ; for she 
may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 



ACT IV. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE V. 



Qncni. Let her come in. [Exit Horatio. 

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
Eacli toy seems prologue to some great amiss: 
!So full of artless jealo'iisy is Ruilt, 
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 

Re-enter Horatio, with Ophelia. 
Oph. Where is tlie beauteous majesty of Denmark ? 
Queen. How now, Ophelia ! 
Oph. [Sing.t] How should I your true love know 
From another one ? 
By his cockle hat and staff, 
And his sandal shoon 
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, wliat imports this song V 
Oph. Say you V nay, pray you, mark. 
[Siii(/i] He is dead and gone, lady, 
He is dead and gone ; 
At his head a grass-green turf, 
At his heels a stone. 

8ueen. Jfay, but, Ophelia, — 
;;/i. Prav you, mark. 
[Si)!(/s] White his shroud as the mountain snow,— 

Enter King. 
Queen. Alas, look liere, my lord. 
Oph. [Sincjs] Larded with sweet flowers ; 
Which bewept to tlie grave did go 
With true-love showers. 
King. How do you, pretty lady ? 
Oph. Well, God 'ild you ! They say the owl was 
a baker's ^ughter. Lord, we know what we are, 
but know not what we may be. God be at your 
table ! 
King. Conceit upon her father. 
Oph. Pray you, let 's have no words of this; but 
when they ask you what it means, say you this : 
[SiHiys.] To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, 
All in the morning betime, 
And I a maid at your window. 

To be your Valentine. 
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes, 

And dupp'd the chamber-door; 
Let in the maid, that out a maid 
Kever departed more. 
King. Pretty Ophelia ! [end on 't : 

Oph. Indeed, la, witliout an oath, I '11 make an 
[Sniys] By Gis and by Saint Charity, 
Alack, and fie for shame! 
Young men will do 't, if they come to 't; 

By cock, they are to blame. 
Quoth slie, before you tumbled me, 

You promised me to wed. 
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun. 
An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
King. How long hath she been thusV 
Ojih. I hope all will be well. We must be patient : 
but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should 
lay him i' the cold ground. My brother shall 
know of it : and so I thank you for your good coun- 
sel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies; good 
night, sweet ladies; goodnight, good night. [Exit. 

King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, 
I pray you. [Exit Horatio. 

O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude, 
Wlien sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
But in battalions. First, her father slain : 
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author 
Of liis own just remove : the people muddied. 
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whis- 
pers, [greenly. 
For good Polonius' death ; and we have done but 
In hugger-mugger to inter him : poor Ophelia 
Divided from herself and her fair judgment. 
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts : 
Last, and as much containing as all these. 
Her brother is Ln secret come from France ; 



Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds. 
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
With pestilent speeches of his father's death ; 
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, 
Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
In ear and ear. O my dear (jertrude,'thia, 
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places 
Gives me superfluous death. " [^1 lio/se witnin. 

Qiieen. Alack, what noise is this ? 

King. Where are my Switzers V Let them guard 
the door. 

Enter another Gentleman. 
What is the matter ? 

Gent. Save yourself, my lord : 

Tlie ocean, overpeering of his list. 
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste 
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him lord; 
And, as the world were now but to begin, 
Antiquity forgot, cu.stom not known. 
The ratiflers and props of every word. 
They cry ' Clioo.se we : Laertes shall be king : ' 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds : 
' Laertes shall be king, Laertes king ! ' 

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry ! 
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs! 

King. The doors are broke. [i^oise within. 

Enter Laertes, armed; Danes follmoing. 

Lacr. Where is this king? Sirs, stand you all 

Banes. No, let 's come in. [without. 

Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 

Banes. We will, we will. 

[They retire vnthout the door. 

Laer. I thank you : keep "the door. O tliou vile 
Give me my father ! [king. 

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 

Laer. That drop of blood that 's calm proclaims 
me bastard. 
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot 
Even here, between the chaste imsmirched brow 
Of my true mother. 

King. What is the cause, Laertes, 

That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? 
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person : 
Tliere 's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
Tliat treason can but peep to wliat it would, 
Acts little of his will. Tell me. Laertes, 
Why thou art thus incensed. Let him go, Gertrude. 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my father? 

King. Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let him demand his fill. [with : 

Lner. How came lie dead ? I '11 not be juggled 
To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil ! 
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit I 
I dare damnation. To this point I stand, 
That both the worlds I give to negligence. 
I^et come what comes ; only I '11 be revenged 
Most throughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay \'ou ? 

Laer. ISIy will, not all the world : 
And for my means, I '11 husband them so well. 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

If you desire to know the certainty 
Of your dear father's death , is 't writ in your revenge, 
That, swoopstake, you wiU draw both friend and foe, 
Winner and loser ? 

Lner. None but his enemies. 

King. Will you know them then ? 

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I '11 ope my 
And like the kind life-rendering pelican, [arms; 
Repast them with my blood. 

King. Why, now you speak 

687 



ACT IV. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCEXE vir. 



Like a good child and a true gentleman. 
That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
And am most sensible in grief for it, 
It shall as level to your judgment pierce 
As day does to your eye. 

Banes. [ Within] Let her come in. 

Laer. How now I what noise is that ? 

He-enter Ophelia. 
O heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt, 
Burn <iut the sense and virtue of mine eye ! 
By lieuven, thy madness shall be paid by'weight. 
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! 
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! 

hciivens I is 't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life? 
Nature is fine in love, and wliere 'tis fine, 

It sends some precious instance of itself 
After the tlnng it loves. 

Oph. [Siny^ 

They bore him barefaced on the bier; 
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny ; 
And in his grave rain'd many a tear : — 
Tare you well, my dove ! [revenge, 

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade 
It could not move thus. 

Oph. [Sings] You must sing a-down a-down. 
An you call him a-down-a. 
O, hoAv the wheel becomes it ! It is the false stew- 
ard, tliat stole his master's daughter. 

Lacr. This nothing 's more than matter. 

Oph. There 's rosemary, that 's for remembrance ; 
pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's 
for thoughts. 

Lacr. A document in madness, thoughts and 
remembrance fitted. 

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines: 
there's rue for you: and here's some for me: we 
may c;ill it herb-grace o' Sundays: O, you must 
wear your rue with a difference. There 's a daisy : 

1 would give you some violets, but they withered 
all when my father died : they say he made a good 
end, — 

[Simjs] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. 
Lari-. Thought aiid affliction, passion, hell itself. 
She turns to favour and to prettiness. 

Oph. [Sing.^] And will he not come again? 
And will he not come again? 

No, no, he is dead : 

Go to thy death-bed: 
He never will come again. 

His beard was as white as snow, 

All flaxen was his poll: 
He is gone, he is gone. 
And we cast away moan: 

God ha' mercy on his soul ! 

And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God be 
wi' ye. [Exit. 

Laer. Do you see this, O God ? 

King. Laertes, I nuist commune with your grief. 
Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
ilake choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt 5'ou and me : 
If by direct or by collateral hand 
They lin<l us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 
Til you in satisl'action; but it not. 
Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
Aiid we shall jointly labour with your sold 
To give it due content. 

Lacr. Let this be so ; 

His means of death, his obscure funeral — 
Ko ti'ophy, sword, nor hatclnnent o'er his bones, 
No noble rite nor formal ostentation — 



Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 
That I must call 't in question. 

Kiug. So you shall; 

And where the offence is let the great axe fall. 
I pray you, go with me. [E.ceimt. 

SCENE VI. — Another room in the castle. 
Enter Horatio and a Servant. 
Hor. What are they that would speak with me? 
iS'eri'. Sailors, sir : they say they have letters for 

you. 

Hor. Let them coma in. [Exit Servant. 

I do not know from what part of the world 
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. 

Enter Sailors. 

First Sail. God bless you, sir. 

Hor. Let him bless thee too. 

First Sail. He shall, sir, an 't please hfti. There 's 
a letter for you, sir: it comes from the ambassador 
that was bound for England; if your name be 
Horatio, as I am let to know it is. 

Hor. [Beads] ' Horatio, when thou shalt have 
overlooked tliis, give these fellows some means to 
the king : they have letters for him. Ere we were 
two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike ap- 
pointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too 
slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the 
grapple I boarded them : on the instant they got 
clear of our ship; so I alone became their prisoner. 
They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy : but 
they knew what they did ; I am to do a good turn 
for them. Let the king have the letters I have 
sent; and reiiair tlum to me with as much speed 
as thou wouldst liy death. I have words to speak 
in thine ear will make thee dumb ; yet are they 
much too light for the bore of the matter. These 
good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosen- 
crantz and Guildenstern hold their course for Eng- 
land : of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. 

' He that tliou knowest thine, Hamlet.' 
Come, I will make you way for these your letters; 
And do 't the speedier, tliat you may direct me 
To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— Another room in the castle. 

Enter King and Laertes. 

King. Now must your conscience my acquittance 
seal. 
And you must put me in your heart for friend, 
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
That he whicli hath your noble father slain 
Pursued my life. 

Lacr. It well appears ; but tell me 

Why you proceeded not against these feats. 
So crimeful and so capital in nature. 
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else. 
You mainly were stirr'd up. 

King. O, for two special reasons ; 

Whiel'i mav to von, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, 
r.ut vet tdiiiethev are strong. The queen his mother 
Lives almost by his looks; and for myself — 
My virtue or niy plague, be it either whicli — 
She 's so conjunctive to my life and soul, 
Tliat, as the star moves ncit but in his sphere, 
I could not but by her. The other motive, 
Why to a public count I might not go, 
Is the great love the general gender bear him ; 
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection. 
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone, 
Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrows. 
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind. 
Would have reverted to my bow again. 
And not where I had aim'd them. 

Lacr. And so have I a noble father lost ; 



ACT IV. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE VII. 



A sister driven into desperate terms, 
Wliose wortli, if praises may go back again, 
Stood cliallenger on mount of all the age 
For her perfections : but my revenge will come. 
King. Break not yom' sleeps for that: you must 
not think 
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull 
Tliat we can let our beard be shook with danger 
And think it pastime. You shortly sliall hear more : 
I loved your f atlier, and we love ourself ; 
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine — 

Enter a Messenger. 
IIow now ! what news ? 

Mc^-s. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet : 

This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 

JyiiKj.Fi-nn Hamlet ! who brought them ? 

3Iess. Sailors, my lord, they say ; I saw them not : 
Tliey were given me by Claudio : he received them 
Of him that brought them. 

King. Laertes, you shall hear them. 

Leave us. [Exit Messenger. 

[Beads] ' High and mighty, You sliall know I am 
set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg 
leave to see your kingly eyes: when I shall, first 
asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion 
of my sudden and more strange return. 

' HA3II.ET.' 

"What should this mean ? Are all the rest come back ? 
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ? 

Lacr. Know you the hand V 

King. 'T is Hamlet's character. ' Naked 1 ' 

And in a postscript here, he says ' alone.' 
Can you advise me ? 

Leier. I 'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come ; 
It warms the very sickness in my heart. 
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
' Thus didest thou.' 

King. If it be so, Laertes — 

As lio'w should it be so V how otherwise ? — 
Will you be ruled by me ? 

Laer. Ay, my lord; 

So you will not o'errule me to a peace. 

King. To thine own peace. If lie be now return'd, 
As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
No more to'undertake it, I will work him 
To an exploit, now ripe in my device. 
Under the which he sliall not choose but fall : 
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe, 
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice 
And call it accident. 

Laer. My lord, I will be ruled ; 

The rather, if you could devise it so 
Tliat I might be the organ. 

King. It falls right. 

You have been talk'd of since your travel much. 
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
Wlierein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts 
Did not together pluck sucli envy from him 
As did that one, and that, in my regard. 
Of the luiworthiest sie^ 

Laer. What part is that, my lord ? 

King. A very riband in the cap of youth, 
Yet needful too ; for youth no less-becomes 
The light and careless livery that it wears 
Than settled age his sables and liis weeds, [since. 
Importing health and graveuess. Two months 
Here was a gentleman of jSTormandy: — 
I 've seen myself, and served against, the French, 
And they can well on horseback: but this gallant 
Had witchcraft in 't ; he grew unto his seat ; 
And to such wondrous doing brought his liorse, 
As he had been incorpsed and demi-natured 
With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my thought, 
Tliat I, in forgery of shapes and tricks. 
Come short of what he did. 

Laer. A Norman was 't ? 

44 



King. A Norman. 

Laer. Upon my life, Lamond. 

ICing. The very same. 

Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch indeed 
And gem of all the nation. 

King. He made confession of you, 
And gave you such a masterly report 
For art and exercise in your defence 
And for your rapier most especially. 
That he cried out, 't would be a sight indeed. 
If one could match you : the scrimers of their nation, 
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, 
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his 
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy 
That he could nothing do but wish and beg 
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him. 
Now, out of this, — 

Laer. What out of this, my lord 'f 

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you ? 
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
A face without a heart ? 

Laer. Why ask you this ? 

ICing. Not that I think you did not love your 
But that I know love is begun by time; [father; 
And that I see, in passages of proof. 
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
There lives within the very flame of love 
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it ; 
And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
For goodness, growing to a plurisy, 
Dies in his own too much : that we would do. 
We sliould do when we would ; for this ' would ' 
And hath abatements and delays as many [changes 
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; 
And tlien this ' should ' is like a spendthrift sigh. 
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the 

ulcer : — 
Hamlet comes back : what would you undertake, 
To show yourself your father's son in deed 
More than in words ? 

Laer. To cut his throat i' the church. 

King. No place, indeed, should murder saiie- 
tuarize; [tes. 

Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laer- 
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber. 
Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home: 
We '11 put on those shall praise your excellence 
And set a double varnish on tlie fame 
The Frenchraan gave you, bring you in fine together 
And wager on your heads: he, being remiss, 
IMost generous and free from all contriving, 
AVill not peruse the foils; so that, with ease, 
Or with a little shufiling, you may choose 
A sword uubated, and in a pass of practice 
Requite liim for yom' father. 

Laer. I will do 't: 

And, for that purpose, I '11 anoint my sword. 
I bought an unction of a mountebank, 
So mortal that, but dip a. knife in it, 
Wliere it draws blood no cataplasm so rare. 
Collected from all simples that have virtue 
Under the moon, can save the thing from death 
That is but scratcli'd withal: I '11 touch my point 
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, 
It may be death. 

King. Let 's further think of this ; 

Weigh what convenience both of time and means 
May fit us to our sliape : if this should fail, [ance. 
And that our drift look through our bad perform- 
'T were better not assay 'd : therefore this project 
Sliould liave a back or second, that might hold. 
If this should blast in proof. Soft ! let me see : 
AVe '11 make a solemn wager on your cunnings : 
I lia "t : 

When in your motion you are hot and dry — 
As make your bouts more violent to that end — 
And that he calls for ch-iiik, I 'U have prepared him 
689 



ACT V. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCEI^E I. 



A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping, 
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, 
Our purpose may hold there. 

Enter Queen. 

How now, sweet queen! 

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel. 
So fast they follow : your sister 's drowu'd, Laertes. 

Laer. Drowu'd! O, where V 

Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook. 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
Tliere with fantastic garlands did she come 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name. 
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them : 
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
When do\vn lier weedy troi)hies and herself 
Fell in tlie weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide ; 
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up : 



Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; 

As one incapable of her own distress, 

Or like a creature native and indued 

Unto that element : but long it could not be 

Till that her garments, heavy witli tlieir drink, 

I'uU'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 

To muddy death. 

Luer. Alas, then, she is drown 'd? 

Queen. Drown'd, drowii'd. 

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
And therefore I forbid my tears : but yet 
It is our trick ; nature her custom holds. 
Let shame say what it will : when tliese are gone. 
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord: 
I have a speecli of tire, that fain would blaze. 
But that this folly douts it. [Exit. 

King. Let 's follow, Gertrude : 

How much I had to do to calm his rage I 
Xow fear I this will give it start again ; 
Therefore let 's follow. [Exeunt. 



A.CT V. 



SCENE l.—A churchyard. 



Enter ttoo Clowns, vnth spades, &c. 

First Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial 
that wilfully seeks her own salvation ? 

Sec. Clo. I tell thee she is ; and therefore make 
her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her, 
and finds it Christian burial. 

First Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned 
herself in her own defence y 

Sec. Clo. Why, 't is found so. 

First Clo. It must be ' se offendendo ; ' it cannot 
be else. For here lies the point : If I drown my- 
self wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hatli 
three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform : 
argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 

Sec. Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,— 

First Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; 
good : here stands the man ; good : if the man go to 
this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, 
he goes, — mark you that; but if the water come 
to him and drowai him, he drowns not himself: 
argal, he that is not guilty of his own death short- 
ens not liis own life. 

iS'cc. Clo. But is this law ? 

First Clo. Ay, marry, is't; crowner's quest law. 

Sec. Clo. Will you ha' the truth on 't ? If this 
had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been 
buried out o' Christian burial. 

First Clo. Why, there thou say'st: and the more 
pity that great "folk should have countenance in 
this world to drown or hang themselves, more than 
their even Cln-istian. Come, my spade. There is 
no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and 
grave-makers : they hold up Adam's profession. 

Sec. Clo. Was he a gentleman? 

First Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 

Sec. Clo. Why, he had none. 

First Clo. What, art a heathen ? How dost thou 
understand the Scripture V The Scripture says 
'Adam digged:' could he dig without arms ? I'll 
put another question to thee: If thou answerest me 
not to the purpose, confess thyself — 

Sec. Clo. Go to. 

First Clo. Wliat is he that builds stronger than 
either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter ? 

Sec. Clo. Tlie gallows-maker ; for that frame out- 
lives a thousand tenants. 

First Clo. I like tliy wit well, in good faith: the 
gallows does well ; but how does it well V it does 
well to those that do ill : now tliou dost ill to say 
(i'.iO 



the gallows is built stronger than the church : argal, 
the gallows may do well to thee. To 't again, come. 

Sec. Clo. ' Who builds stronger than a mason, a 
shipwright, or a carpenter V ' 

First Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 

Sec. Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 

First Clo. To 't. 

Sec. Clo. J.Iass, I cannot tell. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 
First Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, 
for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beat- 
ing; and, when you are asked this question next, 
say 'a grave-maker:' the houses that he makes 
last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: 
fetch me a stoup of liquor. [Exit Sec. Clo. 

[He digs, and sings. 
In youth, when I did love, did love, 

" Methought it was very sweet. 
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, 

O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business 
that he sings at grave-making? [easiness. 

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property oi 
Ham. 'T is e'en so : the hand of little employ- 
ment hath the daintier sense. 
First Clo. [Sings] 

But age, with his stealing steps, 

Ilalli ciaw'd me in his clutch. 
And hath shipped me intil the land. 
As if I had never been such. 

[ Throws up a skidl 
Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and coulc 
sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground 
as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first mur 
der! It might be tlie pate of a politician, whicl 
this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would cirCum 
vent God, might it not? 
Hor. It might, my lord. 

Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say 'Gooci 
morrow, sweet lord ! How dost thou, good lord ? 
This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my 
lord such-ii-one's"horse, when he meant to beg it 
might it not ? , 

Hor. Ay, my lord. 1 

Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my Lady Worm's ; " 
chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a ; 
sexton's spade: here's fine revolution, an we had^ 
tlie trick to see 't. Did these bones cost no morn ; 
the breeding, but to play at logga^ with 'em', 
mine ache to think on 't. 



ACT V. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCI 



First Clo. [Sings] 

A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, 

For aud a shrouding slieet : 
O, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 

[Throas up another skim. 

Ham. There 's another : why may not that be 
the skull of a lawyer i* Where be his quiddities 
now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his 
tricks V why does he siiifer this rude knave now to 
knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, 
and will not tell him of his action of battery ? 
Hum ! This fellow might be in 's time a great 
buyer of land, with liis statutes, his recognizances, 
his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries : is 
this the fine of Ins tines, and the recovery of his re- 
coveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt y 
will liis vouchers vouch him no more of his pur- 
chases, and double ones too, than the length and 
breadth of a pair of indentures ? The very convey- 
ances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and 
must the inheritor himself have no more, ha i* 

Jlor. Not a jot more, my lord. 

H'i.m. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? 

Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. 

Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out 
assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. 
AMiose grave 's this, sirrah ? 

First Clo. Mine, sir. 

[St/i(/s] O, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest 
in -t. 

First Clo. You lie out on 't, sir, and therefore it 
is not yours : for my jjart, I do not lie in 't, and yet 
it is mine. 

Ham. Thou dost lie in 't, to be in 't and say it is 
thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; there- 
fore thou liest. 

First Clo. T is a quick lie, sir ; 't will away again, 
from me to you. 

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 

First Clo. For no man, sir. 

Ham. AVhat woman, then ? 

First Clo. For none, neither. 

Ham. Who is to he buried in 't? 

First Clo. One that was a woman, sir ; but, rest 
her soul, she 's dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is I we must speak 
by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By tlie 
Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken a 
note of it ; the age is grown so picked that the toe 
of the peasant comes so near the heel of the cour- 
tier, he galls his kibe. How long hast thou been a 
grave-maker ? 

First Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to 't 
that day that our last king Hamlet overcame For- 
tinbras. 

Ham. How long is that since ? 

First Clo. Cannot you tell tliat? every fool can 
tell that : it was the very day tliat young Hamlet 
was born; he that is mad, and sent into England. 

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 

First Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall 
recover his wits there; or, if he do not, -it 's no 
great matter there. 

Ham. Whyy 

First Clo. 'T will not be seen in him there ; there 
the men are as mad as he. 

Ham. How came he mad ? 

First Clo. A'ery strangely, they say. 

Ham. How strangely i* 

First Clo. Faith, e'en with losmg his wits. 

Ham. Upon what ground V 

First Clo. Why, here in Denmark : I have been 
sexton here, man and boy, thirty years. [rot ? 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he 



First Clo. I' faith, if he be not rotten be 
die — as we have many pocky corses now 
that will scarce hold the laying in — he will ; 
some eight year or nhie year : a tanner will last you 
nine year. 

Ham. Why he more than another ? 

First Clo. AVhy, sir, his hide is so tanned with 
his trade, that he will keep out water a great while ; 
and your water is a sore decayer of yoiu- whoreson 
dead body. Here 's a skull now ; this skull has lain 
in the earth three and twenty years. 

Ham. Whose was it ? 

First Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was : whose 
do you think it was 'f 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

First Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue I 
a' poured a flagon of Klienish on my head once. 
Tliis same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's 
jester. 

Ham. This? 

First Clo. E'en that. 

Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.'] Alas, poor 
Yorick 1 I knew him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite 
jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath boine me on 
his back a thousand times ; and now, how abhorred 
in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here 
hung those lips that I have kissed 1 know not how 
oft. AVhere be your gibes now V your gambols ? 
your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were 
wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one now, to 
mock your own grinning ? quite chap-fallen V Now 
get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her 
paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; 
niakp her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me 
one thing. 

Hor. AVhat 's that, my lord ? 

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this 
fashion i' the earth ? 

Hor. E'en so. 

Ham. And smelt so ? pah 1 

[Puts down the skull. 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Hora- 
tio 1 Why may not imagination trace the noble 
dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung- 
hole? 

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to con- 
sider so. 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him 
thither with modesty ciidugh, aiid likelihood to lead 
it : as thus : Alexander died, Alexander was buried, 
Alexander returnetli into dust; the dust is earth ; 
of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, 
wliereto he was converted, might they not stop a 
beer-barrel ? 

Imperious Ca?sar, dead and tnrn'd to clay. 

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 

O, that that earth, which kept tlie world in awe, 

Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
But soft ! but soft ! aside : here comes the king. ■ 

Enter Priests, &c. in procession; the Corpse of Ophelia, 
Laertes and Mourners Jollowing ; King, Queen, 
llieir truins, &c. 

The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow? 
And with such maimed rites? Tliis doth betoken 
Tlie corse they follow did with des]ierate hand 
Fordo its own life : 't was of some estate. 
Couch we awhile, and mark. 

{Retiring with Horatio. 

Laer. What ceremony else ? 

Ham. That is Laertes, 

A very noble youth : mark. 

Laer. What ceremony else ? parged 

First Priest. Her obsequies have been as far en- 
As we have warrantise : her death was doubtful ; 
And, but tliat great command o'ersways the order, 
091 



ACT V. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCEKE II. 



She should in ground unsanctiiied have lodged 
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, 
Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her : 
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin craiits. 
Her maide)! strewments and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 
Laer. Must there no more be done ? 
First Priest. No more be done : 

W.e should profane the service of the dead 
^o sing a requiem and sucli rest to her 
As to peace-parted souls. 

Laer. Lay her i' the earth: 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesli 
May violets spring ! I tell tliee, churlish priest, 
A ministering angel sliall my sister be, 
Wlien thou liest howling. 
Ham. Wliat, the fair Ophelia ! 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet : farewell ! 

[Scattering flowers. 
I hoped thou shouldst liave been my Hamlet's wife ; 
I thought thy bride-l)ed to liave deck'd, sweet maid, 
And not have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. O, treble woe 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Deprived thee of ! Hold off the earth awhile, 
Till I liave caught her once more in mine arms: 

[Leaps into the grave. 
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ham. [Advancing] What is he whose grief 
Bears such an empliasis i* whose phrase of sorrow 
Conj incs the wamlering stars, and makes them stand 
Like wiiiiilcr-wdunded hearers"? This is I, 
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave. 

Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 

[Orappling with him. 
Ham.. Thou pray'st not well. 
I prithee, take tliy fingers from my throat ; 
For, thougli I am not splenitive and rash, 
Yet have I sometliing in me dangerous. 
Which let thy wiseness fear : hold off thy hand. 
King. Pluck them asunder. 
Queen. Hamlgt, Hamlet I 

All. Gentlemen, — 
Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 

[The Attendants part them, and they come 
out of the grave. 
Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
Queen, d my son, wluit theme':' 
Hmi. I loved Ophelia : forty thousand brothers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
Make up my sum. AVhat wilt thou do for her V 
King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 
Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou 'It do : 
Woo 't weep V woo 't fight V woo 't fast ? woo 't tear 
Woo 't drink up eisel ? eat a crocodile ? [tliyself V 
I '11 do 't. Dust tlmu come here to whine .■' 
To outface me with leaping in her grave i* 
Be buried quick with her, and so will I: 
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
Millions of acres on us, till our ground. 
Singeing his pate against tlie burning zone. 
Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou 'It mouth, 
1 '11 rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madness : 

And thus awhile the fit will work on liim; 
Anon, as iiatient as tlie female dove, 
Wlien tliat lier golilen couplets are disclosed. 
His silence will sit drooping. 

Ham. Hear you, sir; 

What is the reason that you use me thus ? 
I loved you ever: but it is no matter; 
C92 



Let Hercules himself do what he may, 

Tlie cat will mew and dog will liave liis day. [Exit. 

King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him. 

[Exit Horatio. 

[To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our last 

niglit's speecli ; 
We '11 put the matter to the present push. 
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. 
This grave shall have a living monument: 
An hour of quiet shortly siiall we see ; 
Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n.— A hall in the castle. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 

Ham. So much for this, sir : now shall you see the 
other ; 
You do remember all the circumstance ? 

Hor. Remember it, my lord ! 

Ham. Sir, in my Iiearttlierewasakindof fighting. 
That woukl not let me sleep: methought I lay 
Worse than tlie niutines in the bilboes, llashly, 
And praised be rashness for it, let us know, 
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
Wlien our deep plots do pall: and that should teach 
There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, [us 

Rough-hew tliem how we will, — 

Hor. That is most certain. 

Ham. Up from my cabin, 
My sea-gown scarf 'd about me, in the dark 
Groped 1 to find out them ; had my desire, 
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew 
To mine own room again ; making so bold. 
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio, — 

royal knavery! — an exact command, 
Larded witli many several sorts of reasons 
Importing Denmark's health and England's too, 
With, ho ! such bugs and golilins in my life, 
Tliat, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 

Ko, not to stay the grinding of the axe, 
My head sliould be struck off. 

Hor. Is 't possible ? 

Ham. Here's tlie commission: read it at more 
leisure. 
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed i" 

Hor. I beseech you. 

Ham . Being thus be-netted round with villanjes, — 
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains. 
They had begun the play — I sat me down, 
Devised a new commission, wrote it fair: 

1 once did hold it, as our statists do, 

A baseness to wTite fair and labour'd much 
How to forget that learning, but, sir, now 
It did me yeoman's service: wilt thou know 
The effect of what I wrote V 

Hor. Ay, good my lord. 

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king, 
As England was liis faithful trilnitary. 
As love between tliem like the palm might flourish, 
As peace should still her wlieaten garland wear 
And stand a comma 'tween tlieir amities. 
And many such-like ' As'es of great charge, 
That, on tlie view and knowing of these contents, 
AVithout debatement further, more or less, 
He should tlie Viearers put to sudden death, 
Not shriving-time allow'd. 

Hor. How was this seal'd ? 

Ham. Wliy, even in that was heaven ordiuant. 
I had my fatlier's signet in my purse, 
Wliich was tlie model of tliat "Danish seal ; 
Folded the writ up in form of tlie other, 
. Subscribed it, gave 't the impression, placed it safely. 
The changeling never known. Now, the next day 
Was our sea-fight ; and what to this was sequent 
Thou know'st already. 

Hor. So Guildeusteru and Rosencrantz go to 't. 



ACT V. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE II. 



Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this em- 
ployment ; 
They are not iie<ir my conscience ; their defeat 
Does by their o^\^l insinuation grow: 
'Tis dangerous when tlie baser nature comes 
Between the pass and tell incensed points 
Of mighty opposites. 

Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 

Ham. Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me now 
upon — 
He that liath kill'd my king and whored my mother, 
Popp'd in between the election and my hopes, 
Tliro\\ni out his angle for my proper Irfe, 
And with sucli cozenage — is 't not perfect conscience, 
To quit him with this arm ? and is "t not to be damu'd. 
To let this canker of our natm-e come 
In further evil ? [land 

Hot. It must be shortly known to him fi'om Eng- 
AVliat is tlie issue of tlie business tlxere. 

Ham. It will be sliort: the interim is mine; 
And a man's life 's no more than to say ' One.' 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
Tliat to Laertes I forgot myself; 
For, by the image of my cause, I see 
The portraiture of his: I '11 court his favours: 
But, sure, the liravery of his grief did put me 
Into a towering passion. 

Hor. Peace ! who comes here ? 

Enter Osric. 

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to 
Denmark. 

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this 
water-tly y 

Hor. Xo, my good lord. 

Hum. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 'tis a 
vice to know him. He liath much land, and fertile : 
let a beast be lord of l^easts, and his crib sliall stand 
at tlie king's mess: 'tis a chough; but, as I say, 
spacious in the possession of dirt. 

Ot^r. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, 
I sliould impart a thing to you from his majesty. 

Ha.m. I wiU receive it, sir, with all diligence of 
spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use ; 't is for 
the head. 

Osr. I tliank your lordship, it is very hot. 

Ham. No, believe me, 't is very cold ; the wind is 
northerly. 

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 

Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot 
for my complexion. 

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, — as 
'twere, — I cannot tell how. But, my lord, liis ma- 
jesty bade me signify to you that he lias laid a great 
■wager on your head : sir, this is the matter, — 

Ham. I beseech you, remember — 

[Hamlet rnores him to put on his hat. 

Osr. Nay, good my lord ; for mine ease, in good 
faith. Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes ; 
believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most ex- 
cellent differences, of very soft society and great 
sliowing: indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is 
the card or calendar of gentry, for you shall find in 
hiiT ihe continent of what part a gentleman would 
see. 

ISum. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in 
you; though, I know, to divide him iuventorially 
would dizzy the arithmetic of memory, and yet but 
yaw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in 
the verity of extolnient, I take him to be a soul of 
great article ; and his infusion of such dearth and 
rareness, as, to make true diction of him, his .sem- 
lilable is his mirror; and who else would trace him, 
his umbrage, nothing ni(u-e. 

Osr. Your lordshij) speaks most infallibly of him. 

J.'iim. The concernancy, sir ? why do we wrap the 
gentleman in our more rawer breath ? 



Osr. Sir-? 

Hor. Is 't not possible to understand in another 
tongue V You will do 't, sir, really. 

Ham. What imports the nomination of this gen- 
tleman ? 

Osr. Of Laertes ? 

Hor. His purse is empty already ; all 's golden 
words are spent. 

Ham. Of him, sir. 

Ors. I know you are not ignorant — 

Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you 
did, it would not much apjirove" me. Well, sir ? 

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
Laertes is — 

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- 
pare with him in excellence ; but, to know a man 
w-ell, were to know himself. 

Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon ; but in the im- 
putation laid ou him by them, in his meed he 's un- 
fellowed. 

Ham. What 's his weapon y 

Osr. Kapler and dagger. 

Ham. That 's two of his weapons : but, well. 

Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him six 
Barbary horses : against the which he has iniponed, 
as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with 
their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so : three of 
the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very 
responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, anil 
of very liberal conceit. 

Ham. What call you the carriages ? 

Hor. I knew you must be edified by the margent 
ere you had done. 

Osr. The can-iages, sir, are the hangers. 

Ham. The phrase would be more german to the 
matter, if we could carry cannon by our sides: I 
would it might be hangers till then. But, on : six 
Barbary horses against six French swords, their 
assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages ; that's 
the French bet against the Danish. AVhy is this 
' imponed,' as you call it ? 

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen 
passes between yourself and him, lie shall not ex- 
ceed you three hits: he hath laid on twelve for 
nine; and it would come to immediate trial, if 
your lordship ^'ould vouchsafe the answer. 

Ham. How if I answer ' no ' ? 

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your per- 
son in trial. 

Hum. Sir, I will walk here in tlie hall : if it please 
his majesty, 'tis the breathing time of day with 
me; let the foils be brouglit, tlie gentleman willing, 
and the king hold his puri«isi', I will win for liiiii 
an I can ; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame 
and the odd hits. 

Osr. Shall 1 re -deliver you e'en so ? 

Hani. To this effect, sii-; after what flourish 
your nature will. 

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. 

//(()/(. Yours, yours. [Exit Osric] He does well 
to commend it liimself ; there are no tongues else 
for 's turn. 

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on 
his head. 

Ham. He did comply with his dug, before lie 
sucked it. Thus has he — and many more of the 
same bevy that I know the drossv age dotes on — 
only got the tune of the time and'outward habit of 
encounter; a kind of j'esty colleition, which car- 
ries them through and through the most fond and 
winnowed o])inious; and do but blow them to their 
trial, the bubbles are out. 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to 

you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that 

you attend him in the hall : he sends to know if 

693 



ACT V. 



HAMLET. 



SCENE II. 



your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that 
you will take longer time. 

Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they fol- 
low the king's pleasure : if his htness speaks, mine 
is ready; now or whensoever, provided I be so able 
as now. 

Lord. Tlie king and queen and all are coming 

Ham. In happy time. [down. 

Lord. The queen desires you to use some gentle 
entertaiiniu'iit to Laertes before you fall to play. 

Hmi. She w^-11 instructs nie. [Exit Lord. 

Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 

Ham. I do not think so: since he went into 
France, I have been in continual practice ; I shall 
win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how 
ill all 's here about my heart : but it is no matter. 

Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 

Ham. It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind of 
gain-giving, as would perhaps trouble a woman. 

Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it : I 
will forestal their repair hither, and say you are not 
fit. 

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury : there 's a spe- 
cial providence in tlie fall of a sparrow. If it be 
now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will 
be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the 
readiness is all : since no man has aught of what 
lie leaves, what is 't to leave betimes V 

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, arid 
Attendants with foils, dec. 
King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand 
from me. 
\Tlie Xing puts Laertes'' hand into HamlcVs. 
Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I've done you 
But pardon 't, as you are a gentleman. [wrong ; 
This presence knows. 

And you must needs have heard, how I am punish 'd 
With sore distraction. What I have done, 
That might your nature, honour and exception 
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
Was 't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes ? Never Ilandet : 
If Hamlet from hiujself be ta'en away. 
And wlien he"s not lumseU' does wrong Laertes, 
Then Hamlet does it not, Ilandet denies it. 
Wlio does it, tlien V His madness : K 't be so, 
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd ; 
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
Sir, in tliis audience. 
Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts. 
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house. 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. I am satisfied in nature. 

Whose motive, in tliis case, should stir me most 
To my revenge: but in my terms <if Imnour 
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement. 
Till by some elder masters, of known lionour, 
I have a voice and precedent of peace, 
To keep my name migored. But till that time, 
I do receive your ofler'd love like love. 
And will not wrong it. 

Ham. I embrace it freely ; 

And will this brother's wager frankly play. 
Give us the toils. Come on. 

Laer. Come, one for nie. 

Ham. 1 '11 be your foil, Laertes : in mine igno- 
rance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, 
Stick fiery off indeed. 

Laer. Y'ou mock me, sir. 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, yoiuig, Osric. Cousin 
Hamlet, 
You know the wager ? 

Ham. Very well, ray lord ; 

Y''our grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side. 
694 



King. I do not fear it ; I have seen yo.u both : 
But since lie is better'd, we have therefore odds. 

Laer. Tliis is too heavy, let me see another. 

Ham. Tliis likes me well. These foils have aU a, 
length ? [Thet/ prepare to play. 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Set nie the stoups of wine upon that table. 
If Hamlet give tlie first or second hit. 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
Let all the Viattlenu'iits tlii-ir urdnance fire; 
The king sliall drink to Ilainlet's better breath; 
And in the cup an union sliall he tlirow, ' 
liicher than that which fom' successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me thecups; 
And let tlie kettle to the trumpet speak. 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without. 
The cannons to tlie heavens, the lieavens to earth, 
' Now tlie king drinks to Hamlet.' Come, begm : 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 

Hum. Come on, sir. 

Laer. Come, my lord. [Tliey play. 

Ham. One. 

Laer. No. 

Ham. Judgment. 

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 

Laer. Well; again. 

King. Stay; give me druik. Hamlet, this pearl 
Here 's to thy health. [is thine ; 

[Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off uithhi,. 
Give him the cup. 

Ham. I '11 play this bout first ; set it by awhile. 
Come. [Thty play.'] Another hit; what say you ? 

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. He 's fat, and scant of breath. 

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows: 
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good madam ! 

King. Gertrude, do not drink. 

Qiu'en. I will, my lord ; I pray you, pardon me. 

King. [Aside] It is the poison'd cup : it is too late. 

Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by. 

Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 

Laer. My lord, I '11 hit him now. 

King. I do not think 't. 

Laer. [Asid.e] And yet 't is almost 'gamst my con- 
science. 

Ham . Come, for the third, Laertes : you but dally ; 
I pray you, pass witli your best violence; 
I am afeard you make a wanton of me. 

Leer. .Say you so':' come on. [They play. 

Osr. Notliing, neither way. 

Laer. Have at you now! 
[Lo.crles mmnds Hamlet; then, in smjfling, they 
change rajjiers, and Hamlet wounds Laa'tes. 

King. Part them; they are incensed. 

Ham. Nay, come, again. [The Queen falls. 

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 

Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, my 

Osr. How is 't, Laertes':' [hn-d'? 

Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, 
I am justly kill'd with mhie own treachery. [Osric ; 

Ham. How does tlie queen V 

King. She swounds to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink,— O my dear 
Hamlet, — 
Thedrink, the drink! I am poison'd. [Dies. 

Ham. O villany ! IIo ! let the door he lock'd : 
Treachery ! Seek it out. 

Laer. It is liere, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slain ; 
No medicine in the world can do tliee good ; 
In thee there is not half an hour of life ; 
Tlie treaclierous instrument is in tliy hand, 
Unbated and enveuoiu'd : the foul jii-actiee 
Hatli turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie, 
Never to rise again : thy mother 's poison'd : 
I can no more: the king, the king 's to blame. 



ACT y. 



HA 31 LET. 



SCENE II. 



Ham. Tlie point! — envenom'd too! 
Then, venom, to thy work. \^Stabs the King. 

All. Treason ! treason ! 

Eiiiij. O, j'st defend me, friends; I am but hurt. 

Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned 
Drink off this potion. Is thy union here ? [Dane, 
Follow my mother. [Kimj dies. 

Laer. He is justly served ; 

It is a poison temper 'd by himself. 
Exchange forgiveness with me, noljle Hamlet : 
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, 
Nor thine on me ! [Dies. 

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow thee. 
I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu ! 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance. 
That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
Had I but time — as this fell sergeant, deatli, 
Is strict in his arrest — O, I could tell you — 
But let it be. Horatio, I am dead ; 
Thou livest ; report me and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfied. 

Hor. Xever believe it : 

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane : 
Here 's yet some liquor left. 

Ham. As thou 'rt a man. 

Give me the cup: let go ; by heaven, I "11 have 't. 

good Horatio, what a wounded name. 

Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind 
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, [me ! 

Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath hi pain, 
To tell my story. [March afar off, and x/iof v:ithin. 
What warlike" noise is this ? 

Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from 
To the ambassadors of England gives [Poland, 
This warlike voUey. 

Ham. O, I die, Horatio ; 

The potent poison quite o'er-crows mv spirit : 

1 cannot live to hear the news from England ; 
But I do prophesy the election lights 

On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ; 
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, 
Wliich have solicited. The rest is silence. [Dies. 
Hor. Xow cracks a noble heart. Good night, 
sweet prince ; 
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 
Why does the drum come hither ? [March icithin. 

Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, 

and others. 
Fort. Where is this sight V 



Hor. What is it ye would see V 

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. 

Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death. 
What feast is toward in thine eternal ceU, 
That thou so many princes at a shot 
So bloodily hast struck 'f 

First Amh. The sight is dismal; 

And our affau-s from England come too late : 
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing, 
To tell him his commandment is fulflird. 
That Rosencrantz and Guiklenstern are dead: 
Where should we have our thanks ? 

Hor. . Not from his mouth, 

Had it the abOity of life to thank you : 
He never gave commandment for tlieir death. 
But since, so jump upon this bloody question, 
You from the Polack wars, and you from England, 
Are here arrived, give order that these bodies 
High on a stage be placed to the view ; 
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world 
How these things came about: so shall you hear 
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts. 
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters. 
Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause, 
And, in this upsliot, piurposes mistook 
Fall'n on the inventors' heads : all this can I 
Truly deliver. 

Fort. Let us haste to hear it, 

And call the noblest to the audience. 
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune : 
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, 
Wliich now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 

Hor. Of that I shall liave also cause to speak, 
And from his mouth wdiose voice wiU draw on 

more : 
But let this same be presently perform 'd. 
Even wiiile men's minds are wild ; lest more mis- 
chance. 
On plots and errors, happen. 

Fort. Let four captains 

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage; 
For he was likely, had he been put on. 
To have proved most royally: and, for his passage, 
The soldiers' music and the rites of war 
Speak loudly for him. 
Take up the bodies : such a sight as this 
Becomes the held, but here shows much amiss. 
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. 

[A dead march. Exeunt, hearing off the dead 
bodies; after which a peal of ordnance is 
shot off. 




ffiim.'rt— Al.is. pour Yorick' [Taka llii UuU.] I kuew him, Horatio: 
a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.— Act V., Scene i. 



695 




KING LEAE. 



BBAMATIS PEBSON^. 



Lear, King of Britain. 

King of France. 

Duke of Burgundy. 

Dulse of Cornwall. 

Duke of Albany. 

Earl of Kent. 

Earl of Gloucester. 

Edgar, son to Gloucester. 

Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester. 

Curan, a courtier. 

Old Man, tenant to Gloucester. 

Doctor. 

Fool. 

[For an A 



SCENE I. — King Lear''s jxdace. 



Oswald, steward to Goneril. 

A Captain employed by Edmund. 

Gentleman attendant on Cordelia. 

A Herald. 

Servants to Cornwall. 

Goneril, 1 

Regan, > daughters to Lear. 

Cordelia, J 

Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers, Soldiers, 
and Attendants. 



SCENE — Britain. 



of the Plot of this Play, see Page LXV.J 

A^CT I. 



Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. 

Kent. I thought the king had more affected the 
Duke of Albany than Cornwall. 

Gloii. It did always seem so to us : but now, in 
the dlivision of tlie kingdom, it appears not wliieh 
of the dulies he vahies most ; for equalities are so 
weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice 
of e'ither's moiety. 

Kent. Is not this your son, my lord ? 

Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge : 
I have so often bluslied to acknowledge him, that 
now I am brazed to it. 

Kent. I cannot conceive you. 

Oloic. Sir, this young fellow's mother could : 
whereupon she grew round- wombed, and had,indeed, 
sir, a son for her cradle ere slie had a husband for 
her bed. Do you smell a fault V 

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue 
of it being so proper. 

Olou. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some 
year eliler than this, who yet is no dearer in my ac- 
count : though this knave" came something saucily 
into the world before he was sent for, yet was his 
mother fair; there was good sport at his making, 
and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you 
know this noble gentleman, Edmund y 

Edm. No, my lord. 

Glou. My lord of Kent : remember him hereafter 
as my honourable friend. 

Edm. My services to your lordship. 

Kent. I mnst love you, and sue to know you better. 

Edm. Sir, 1 shall study deserving. 

Glou. He hatli l)ei-u out nine vears, and away he 
shall again. The king is coming. 

Sennet. Enter King Lear, Corn-wall, Albany, 
Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants. 
Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
Oloii. I shall, my liege. [Gloucester. 

[Exeunt Gloucester niir? Edmund. 
Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker pur- 
pose. 

696 



Give me the map there. Know that we have divided 
In three our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age ; 
Conferring them on younger strengths, wliile we 
Uuburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Corn- 
And you, om' no less loving son of Albany, [wall, 
AVe have this hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
May be prevented now. The princes, France and 

Burgundy, 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love. 
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, 
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daugh- 
Since now we will divest us, both of rule, [ters, — 
Interest of territory, cares of state, — 
Which of you sliall we say doth love us most ? 
That we our lai'grst Ijouuty m, y ej:tend 
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, 
Our eldest-born, speak first. 

Gon. Sir, I love you more than words can wield 
tlie matter; 
Dearer than eye-sight, space, i id liberty; 
Beyonil wliat ian be valued, r'- h or rare; 
No less than life, with grace, he..Jth, beauty, honour ; 
As much as child e'er loved, or father found; 
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
Beyond all manner of so nuich I love you. 

Gor. [Atiidc] What shall Cordelia do? Love, 
and be silent. [this, 

Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to 
With shadowy forests and with clianiiiains rich'd, 
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
AVe make thee lady : to thine and Albany's issue 
Be this perpetual. AVhat says our second daughter, 
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall ? Speak. 

Ee'j. Sir, I am made 
Of the self-same metal that my sister is. 
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
I find she names my very deed of love ; 
Only she comes too short : that I profess 
Mvself an enemy to all other ioys, 
AVliich the most' precious square of sense possesses; 
And find I am alone felicitate 
lu your dear highness' love. 



ACT I. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE I. 



Cor. [Aside] Then poor Cordelia ! 

And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love 's 
More riclier than my tongue. 

Lenr. To thee and tliine hereditary ever 
Eemain this ample third of ouv fair kingdom? 
Xo less in space, validity, and pleasure. 
Than that conferral on Goneril. Now, our joy. 
Although the last, not least ; to whose young love 
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy 
Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say to draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak. 

Cor. Nothing, my lord. 

Lear. Xothing ! 

Cor. Xothing. 

Lear. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. 

Cor. Unhaiipy that I am, I cannot heave 
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty 
Accordhig to my bond ; nor more nor less. 

Lear. IIow, how, Cordelia ! mend your speech a 
Lest it may mar your fortunes. [little, 

Cor. Good my lord, 

You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I 
Keturu those duties back as are right fit. 
Obey you, love you, and most honour you. 
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say 
They love you all? Haply, when I sliall wed. 
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry 
Half my love with him, half my care and duty: 
.Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
To love my father all. 

Lear. But goes thy heart with this? 

Cor. Ay, good my lord. 

Lear. So young, and so untender? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so ; tliy truth, then, be thy dower : 
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun. 
The m.vsteries of Hecate, and the night; 
By all the operation of the orbs 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be; 
Here I discdaim all my paternal care, 
Propinciuity and property of blood. 
And as a stranger to my heart and me [Scythian, 
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous 
Or he that makes his generation messes 
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
Be as well neigldjoiur'd, pitied, and relieved. 
As thou my sometime daughter. 

Kent. Good my liege, — 

Lear. Peace, Kent ! 
Come not between the dragon and his wrath. 
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest 
On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight ! 
So be my grave my peace, as here I give [stirs? 
Her father's heart from her! Call France; who 
Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, 
AVith my two daughters' dowers digest this third : 
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry lier. 
I do invest you jointly with my power. 
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects [course, 
That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly 
AVith reservation of an hundred knights. 
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 
The name, and all the additions to a king; 
Tlie sway, revenue, execution of the rest. 
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm. 
This coronet part betwixt you. [Giviivi the crown. 

Kent. Koyal Lear, 

AVhom I have ever honour'd as my king. 
Loved as my father, as my master fidlow'd. 
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 

Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the 
shaft. 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
The region of my lieart : be Kent unmannerly. 
When Lear is mad. AVhat wilt thou do. old "man ? 
Think 'st thou that duty Aui"' have ''r ad to speak, 



When power to flattery bows? To plainness hon- 
our 's bound, 
AVhen majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom ; 
And, in thy best consideration, check [ment, 

This hideous rashness: answer my life my jndg- 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound 
Reverbs no hollowness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 

Kent. My life I never held but as a pa\Mi 
To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, 
Thy safety being the motive. 

Leeir. Out of my sight ! 

Kent. See better, Lear ; and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine ej e. 

Lear. Now, by Apollo, — 

Kent. Now, by Apollo, king, 

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 

Lear. O, vassal! miscreant! 

[Lai/ing his hand on his sword. 

Ccn'n } Dear sir, forbear. 

Kent. Do; 
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon thy find disease. Revoke thy doom; 
Or, wlulst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
I '11 tell thee thou dost evil. 

Lear. Hear me, recreant ! 

On thine allegiance, hear me ! 
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
AVluch we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride 
To come between our sentence and our power, 
AVhich nor our nature nor our place can bear. 
Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
Fi\'e days we do allot thee, for provision 
To shield tliee from diseases of the world; 
And on the sixth to turn thy hated back 
Upon our kingdom: if, on tjie tenth day following. 
Thy banish 'd truidi be found in our dominions. 
The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter, 
This shall not be revoked. [appear, 

Kent. Fare thee well, king: sith thus tliou wilt 
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. 
[To Cordelia] Tlie gods to their dear shelter take 

thee, maid. 
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! 
[To Began and Goneril] And your large speeches 

may your deeds approve. 
That good "effects may spring from words of love. 
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; 
He '11 shape his old course in a coiuitry new. [Exit. 

Flourish. Be-cntcr Gloucester, tcitli France, 
Burgundy, ctnd Attendants. 

Glou. Here 's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 

Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
AVe first address towards you, who with this king 
Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least, 
AVill you require in present dower with her. 
Or cease your quest of love ? 

Bur. Most royal majesty, 

I crave no more than hath your lughness offer'd. 
Nor will you tender less. 

Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 

AVhen she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands: 
If aught within that little seeming substance. 
Or all of it, witli our displeasure pieced. 
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace. 
She 's there, and she is yours. 

Bur. I know no answer. 

Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes. 
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, [oath, 

Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our 
Take her, or leave her ? 

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ; 

Election makes not up on such conditions. 
697 



ACT I. 



KING LEAE. 



SCEXE II, 



Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power that 
made me, 
I tell you all her wealth. [To France] Tor you, 

great klug, 
I would uot from your love make such a stray, 
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
To avert your liking a more worthier way 
Tluiu on a wretch whom natm'e is ashamed 
Almost to acknowledge hers. 

France. This is most strange, 

That she, that even but now was your best object. 
The argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
Most best, most dearest, should in this Irice of time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence 
Must be of such unnatural degree. 
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
FaH'n into taint: which to believe of her, 
Must be a faith that reason without miracle 
Could uever plant in me. 

Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, — 

If for I want that glib and oily art. 
To speak and purpose not ; since what I well intend, 
I '11 do 't before I speak, — that you make known 
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, 
That hath deprived me of your grace and favour ; 
But even for want of that for which I am richer, 
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
As I am glad lliave not, tliough not to have it 
Hath lost me in your liking. 

Lear. Better thou [better. 

Hadst uot been born than not to have pleased me 

France. Is it but this, — [i tardiness in nature 
"Which often leaves the history unspolie 
That it intends to do ? ]SIy lord of Burgundy, 
What say you to the lady ? Love 's not love 
When it is mingled witij regards that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her ? 
She is herself a dowry. 

Bw. Royal Lear, 

Give but that portion which yourself proposed, 
And here I take Cordelia by the baud. 
Duchess of Burgundy. 

Lear. iSTothing: I have sworn; I am firm. 

Bur. I am sorry, then, you have so .lost a father 
That you must lose a husband. 

Cor. Peace be with Bm-gundy ! 

Since that respects of fortune are his love, 
I shall not be his wife. 

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, 
being poor ; 
Most choice, forsaken ; and most loved, despised ! 
Tliee and tliy virtues here I seize upon : 
Be it lawful I take up what 's cast away, [neglect 
Gods, gods ! 't is strange that from their cold'st 
My love should kmdle to inflamed respect. 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
Is queen of us, of ours, iiiid our fair France: 
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy 
Can buy tliis unprized precious maid of me. 
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind : 
Thou losest here, a better Avhere to find. [for we 

Lear. Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; 
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
That face of liers again. Therefore be gone 
Without our ^race, our love, our benison. 
Come, noble Burgmidy. 

[Flourish. Exeunt all but France, Ooncril, 
Began, and Cordelia. 

France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 
Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you are ; 
And like a sister am most loath to call 
Your faults as they are named. Use well our father : 
To your professed bosoms I commit him: 
But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, 
698 



I would prefer him to a better place. 
So, farewell to you both. 

Beg. Prescribe uot us our duties. 

Gon. Let your study 

Be to-content your lord, who hath received you 
At fortvme's ahns. You have obedience scanted. 
And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 

Cor. Time shall mifold what plaited cunning 
hides : 
Wlio cover faults, at last shame them derides. 
Well may you prosper 1 

France. Come, my fair Cordelia. 

[Krcunt France and Cordelia. 

Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what 
most nearly appertams to us both. I think our 
father will hence to-night. 

Bey. That's most certain, and with you; next 
month with us. 

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is ; the 
observation we have made of it hath not been little : 
he always loved our sister most; and with what 
poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears 
too grossly. 

Beg. 'T is the infirmity of his age : yet he hath 
ever but slenderly known himself. 

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath 
been but rash ; then must we look to receive from 
his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed 
condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness 
that infirm and choleric years bring with them. 

Bey. Such unconstant starts are we like to have 
from him as this of Kent's banishment. 

Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking 
between France and him. Pray you, let's hit 
together : if our father carry authority with such 
dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his 
will but offend us. 

Bey. We shall further think on 't. 

Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat, 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The Earl of Gloucester''s castle. 
Enter Edmund, with a letter. 
Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law 
My services are bound. Wherefore should I 
Sliuid in tiie plague of custom, and permit 
The curidsity of nations to deprive me. 
For tliat I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines 
Lag of a brother i' Why bastard V wherefore base ? 
"When my dimensions are as well compact. 
My mind as generous, and my shape as true. 
As honest madam's issue'? Why brand they us 
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? 
Who, in tlie lusty stealth of nature, take 
More composition and fierce quality 
Tlian doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops. 
Got 'tween asleep and wake ? Well, then, 
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land : 
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund 
As to the legitimate: fine word,— legitimate! 
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, 
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
Shall top tlie legitimate. I grow : I prosper : 
Now, gods, stand up for bastards! 

Enter Gloucester. 
Glou. Kentbanish'd thusi and France in choler 
parted ! _ , . , 

And the king gone to-night ! subscribed his power I 
Confined to exhibition 1 All this done 
Upon the gad ! Edmund, how now ! what news .'' 
Edm. So please your lordship, none. 

[Butting up the letter. 
Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that 
Edm. I know no uevrs, my lord. [letter Y 



ACT I. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE TI. 



Olou. What paper were you reading ? 

Edm. Nothing, my lord. 

Olou. No ? AVhat needed, tlien, that terrible dis- 
patch of it into your poeket ? the quality of noth- 
ing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: 
come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. 

Eihn. I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter 
from iny brother, that I have not all o'erread ; and 
tor so much as I have perused, I hud it not fit for 
your o'er-lookmg. 

GUm. Give me the letter, sir. 

Edm. I shall offend, either to detam or give it. 
The contents, as iu part I understand them, are to 

Gkia. Let 's see, let 's see. [blame. 

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he 
wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. 

Glo. \Beads\ ' This policy and reverence of age 
makes the world bitter to the best of our times ; 
keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot 
relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bond- 
age iu the oppression of aged tyranny ; who sways, 
not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to 
me, that of this I may speak more. If our father 
^vould sleep tiU I waked him, you should enjoy 
half his revenue for ever, aud live the belovetl of 
yviur brother, Edgar.' 

Hum — conspiracy! — 'Sleep till I waked him, — 
you should enjoy half his revenue,' — My sou Edgar ! 
Had he a hand to write this ? a heart and brain to 
breed it iu 'i — When came this to you 't who brought 
it? 

Edm. It was not brought me, my lord; there's 
the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the case- 
ment of my closet. 

(T?oii. You know the characterto be your brother's? 

Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
swear it were his; but, iu respect of that, I would 
faiu think it were not. 

Ghiu. It is his. 

Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his 
heart is not in the contents. 

Glou. Ilatli he never heretofore sounded you in 
this busiuess ? 

Edm. Never, my lord : but I have heard him oft 
maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and 
fathers declining, the father should be as ward to 
the son, and the son manage his revenue. 

Olou. O villain, villain f His very opinion in 
the letter ! Abhorred villain 1 Unnatural, detested, 
brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, 
seek him; I '11 apprehend him : abominable villain ! 
Where is he ? 

Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall 
please you to suspend your indignation against my 
brotlier till you can derive from him better testi- 
mony of his intent, you shall run a certain course ; 
where, if you violently proceed against him, mis- 
taking his purpose, it would make a great gap in 
your own honour, and shake iu pieces the heart of 
lii.s obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, 
that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your 
honour, and to no further pretence of danger. 
Gr'tow. Thuik you so ? 

Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place 
you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by 
an am-ieular assurance have your satisfaction ; and 
that without any further delay than this very 

Glou. He cannot be such a monster — [evening. 

Edm. Nor is not, sure. 

Glou. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely 
loves him. Heaven and earth] Edmund, seek him 
out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame the 
V)usiness after your own wisdom. I would unstate 
myself, to be in a due resolution. 

Edm. I will seek liim, sir, presently : convey the 
, business as I shall find means, andacquaiut you 



Glou. These late eclipses in the sun and moon por- 
tend no good to us : tliough the wisdom of nature 
can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself 
scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friend- 
ship falls off , brothers divide: in cities, mutinies ; 
in covmtries, discord ; in palaces, treason; and the 
bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain 
of mine comes under the prediction ; there 's son 
against father : the king falls from bias of nature ; 
there 's father against child. We have seen the 
best of our time : machinations, hollowness. treach- 
ery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to 
our graves. Find out tliis villain, Edmund ; it shall 
lose thee nothing ; do it carefully. And the noble 
and true-hearted Kent banished ! his offence, hon- 
esty ! 'T is strange. [Exit. 

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world, 
that, when we are sick in fortune, — often the surfeit 
of our ow'n behaviour, — we make guilty of our dis- 
asters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we 
were villains by necessity ; fools by heavenly com- 
pulsion ; knaves, thieves, and Ireacliers, by spherical 
predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by 
an enforced obedience of planetary iufiuence ; and 
all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on : an 
admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his 
goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My 
father compounded with my "mother under the 
dragon's tail ; and my nativity was uuder Ursa 
major; so that it follows, I am rough and lech- 
erous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the 
maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my 
bastardizing. Edgar — 

Enter Edgar, 
aud pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old 
comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a 
sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do por- 
tend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. 

Edy. II<iw now, brother Edmund ! what serious 
contemplation are you iu ? 

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I 
read this other day, what should follow these 
eclipses. 

Edg. Do you busy yourself about that ? 

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed 
unhappily ; as of unnaturaluess between the child 
and the parent; deatli, dearth, dissolutions of ancient 
amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledic- 
tions against king and nobles ; needless ditlidences, 
banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nup- 
tial breaches, and I know not what. 

Edt). How long have you been a sectary astro- 
nomical '? 

Edm. Come, come; when saw you my father 
last y 

Edg. Why, the night gone by. 

Edm. Spake you with him V 

Edg. Ay, two hom-s togetlicr. 

Edm. Parted you in good terms ? Found you no 
displeasure in him by word or countenance 'f 

Edg. None at all. 

Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have 
offended him : and at my entreaty forbear his pres- 
ence till some little time hath qualified the heat of 
his displeasm'e; which at this instant so rageth in 
him, that with the mischief of your person it would 
scarcely allay. 

Edg.' Some villain hath done me wrong. 

Edm. That 's my fear. I pray you, have a conti- 
nent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes 
slower ; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, 
from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord 
speak : pray ye, go ; there 's my key : if you do stir 
abroad, go armed. 

Edg. Armed, brother! 

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best ; go armed: 
699 



ACT I. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IV. 



I am no honest man if there be any good meaning 
towards you : I liave told you what I have seen and 
heard ; but faintly, nothing like the image and hor- 
ror of it : pray you, away. 

Edij. Shall I hear from you anon ? 

Edm. I do serve you in this business. [Exit Edgar. 
A credulous father! and a brother noble, 
Whose nature is so far from doing harms, 
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty 
My practices ride easy ! I see the business. 
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit : 
All with me 's meet that I can fashion fit. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — Tlie Bule of Albamfs palace. 
Enter Goneril, and Os'wald, her steward. 

Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for 
chiding of his fool? 

Ostv. Yes, madam. 

Gon. By day and night he wrongs me ; every hour 
He flashes into one gross crime or other. 
That sets us all at odds: I '11 not endure it: 
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, 
I will not speak with him ; say I am sick : 
If you come slack of former services. 
You shall do well ; the fault of it I '11 answer. 

Osw. He 's coming, madam ; I hear him. 

[Horns icithin. 

Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please. 
You and your fellows; I 'I<1 have it come to ques- 
If he dislike it, let him to our sister, [tion: 

Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
Kot to bi' o\('r-ruled. Idle old man, 
That still would manage those authorities 
That he hatli given away! Now, by my life. 
Old fools are babes again ; and must beused 
With checks as flatteries, — when they are seen 
Remember what I tell you. [abused. 

Osw. Well, madam, [you ; 

Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among 
What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows so : 
I woidd breed from hence occasions, and I shall. 
That I may speak: I '11 write straight to my sister. 
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE TV.— A hall in the same. 

Enter Kent, disguised. 
Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
That can my speech defuse, my good intent 
May carry tlirough itself to that full issue 
For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish 'd Kent, 
If thou canst serve wliere thou dost stand condemn 'd. 
So may it come, tliy master, whom thou lovest. 
Shall find thee full of labours. 

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and 
Attendants. 

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it 
ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now ! what art 

Kent. A man, sir. [thou? 

Lrar. What dost thou profess? what wouldst 
thou with us ? 

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; to 
serve him truly that will put me in trust; to love 
him that is honest; to converse with him that is 
Avise, and says little; to fear judgment; to light 
wlien I cannot choose ; and to eat no fish. 

Lear. What art thou? 

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor 
as the king. 

Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for 
a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou ? 

Kent. Service. 

Lear. Wlio wouldst thou serve ? 

Kent. You. 

700 



Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ? 

Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your counte- 
nance which I would fain call master. 

Lear. What 's that ? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. What services canst thou do ? 

Kent. I can keeii honest counsel, ride, nm, mar 
a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes- 
sage bluntly : that which ordinary men are fit for, 
I am qualified in ; and the best of me is diligence. 

Lear. How old art thou ? 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for 
singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thmg : I 
have years on my back forty eight. 

Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if I like 
thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from 
thee yet. Dinner, ho , dinner ! Where 's my knave ? 
my fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither. 

[Exit an Attendant. 

Enter Oswald. 
You, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter ? 

Osw. So please you, — [Exit. 

Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the 
clotpoll back. [Exit a Knight.] Where 's my fool, 
ho ? I think the world 's asleep. 

He-enter Knight. 
How now ! where 's that mongrel ? • [well. 

Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not 

Leair. Why came not the slave back to me when 
I called him. 

Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest 
manner, he would not. 

Lear. He would not ! 

Knight. My lord, I know not wliat the matter is; 
but, to my judgment, your highness is not enter- 
tained with that ceremonious affection as you were 
wont ; there 's a great abatement of kindness ap- 
pears as well in the general dependants as in the 
duke himself also and your daughter. 

Lear. Ha ! sayest thou so ? 

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I 
be mistaken ; for my duty cannot be silent when I 
think your highness Wronged. 

Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own 
conception : I have perceived a most faint neglect 
of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own 
jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and pur- 
pose of unkindness: I will look further into 't. 
But where 's my fool ? I have not seen him this 
two days. 

Knight. Since my young lady 's going into France, 
sir, the fool hath much pined away. 

Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. 
Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with 
her.' [Exit an Attendant.] Go you, call hither my 
fool. [Exit an Attendant. 

Re-enter Oswald. 
O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? 

Osw. My lady's father. 

Lear. ' My lady's father'! my lord's knave : you 
whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 

Osw. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech 
your pardon. 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal ? 
[Striking him. 

Osiv. I '11 not be struck, my lord. 

Kent. Nor tripped neither, you base foot-ball 
player. [ Tripping up h i'.s h c c Is. 

Lear. I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and 
I '11 love thee. 

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away! I '11 teach you dif- 
ferences: away, away! If yciu will measure your 
lubber's length again, tarry: hut away! go to; 
have you wisdom? so. [Pushes Oswahl out.' 



ACT I, 



KING LEAR. 



SCEXE IV. 



Lear. Xow, my friendly knave, I thank thee : 
there 's earnest of thy service. [Ginng Kent money. 

Enter Fool. 
Fool. Let me hire liim too : here 's my coxcomb. 
[Offering Kent liis cap. 
Lear. Ho'n' now, my pretty knave! how dost thou r" 
Fool. Sirrah, yon were best take my coxcomb. 
Ketn. Why, fool ? 

Fool. Why, for taking one's part that 's out of 
favour : nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind 
sits, thou 'It catch cold shortly : there, take my cox- 
comb : why, this fellow has banished two' on 's 
daughters, and did the third a blessing against his 
will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my 
coxcomb. How now, nuncle ! Would I had two 
coxcombs and two daughters ! _ 

Lcnr. Why, my boy V 

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I 'Id keep my 
coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of 
tby daughters. 
Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
Fool. Truth 's a dog must to kennel ; he must be 
whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by 
the lire and stink. 

Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! 

Fool. Sirrah, I '11 teach thee a speech. 

Lear. Do. 

i^ooL Mark it, nuncle: 

Have more than thou showest, 
Speak less than thou knowest, 
Lend less than thou owest. 
Ride more than thou goest, 
Le'tirn more than thou trowest, 
Set less than thou throwest : 
Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
And keep in-a-door, 
And thou shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score. 
Kent. This is nothing, fool. 
Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd 
lawyer; you gave me nothing for 't. Can you 
nialce no use of nothing, nuncle? 

Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out 
of nothing. 

Foejl. [To Kent] Prithee, tell him, so much the 
rent of his land comes to : he will not believe a fool. 
Lear. A bitter fool! 

Foejl. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be- 
tween a l.iitter fool and a sweet fool ? 
Lieir. Xo, lad; teach me. 
Fiol. That lord that counsel! "d thee 
To give away thy land. 
Come place him here by me. 

Do thou for him stand : 
The sweet and bitter fool 

Will presently appear; 
The one in motley here. 
The other found out there. 
Leeir. Dost thou call me fool, boy ? 
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; 
that thou wast born with. 
Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
.Fool. No, faith, lords and great men will not let 
me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part 
on 't : and ladies too, they will not let me have all 
fool to myself ; they'll be snatching. Give me an 
egg, nuncle, and I '11 give thee two crowns. 
Lear. What two crowns shall they be ? 
Foe)l. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, 
and eat up the meat, the two crov.'us of the egg. 
When thou clovest thy croiATi' 1' the middle, and 
gavest away both parts, thou Ijorest tliy ass on thy 
back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald 
crown, when thou gavest thy gr)Iilen one away. If 
I speak like myself in this, let'him be whipped that 
first finds it so. 



[Sinejlnej] Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; 
For wise men are grown foppisli. 
They know not how their wits to wear, 
Their manners are so apish. 
Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, 
sirrah ? 

Foul. I have iised it, nuncle, ever since thou 
madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou 
gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own 
breeches, 

{Sinejingi Then they for sudden joy did weep. 
And I for sorrow sung. 
That such a king should play bo-peep, 
And go the fools among. 
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach 
thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. 
Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we '11 have you whipped. 
Fejol. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters 
are: they'll have me wliipped for speaking true, 
tliou 'It have me whipped for lying; and sonietimes 
I am whipped for holding my peace. I luul rather 
be any kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would 
not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o' both 
sides, and left nothing i' the middle: here comes 
one o' the parings. 

Enter Qoneril. 

Lear. How now, daughter! what makes that 
frontlet on ? Methinks you are too much of late i' 
the fro'mi. 

Fetrjl. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst 
)io need to care for her frowning ; now thou art an 

without a figure: I am bettertlian thou art now; 

1 am a fool, thou art nothing. [2b Gon.] Yes, for- 
sooth, I will hold my tongue ; so your face bids me, 
though you say nothing. Mum, "mum. 

He that keeps nor crust nor crum, 
Weary of all, shall want some. 
[Pninting to Leetr] That 's a shealed peascod. 

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, 
But other of your insolent retinue 
Do hourly ciiri) and quarrel ; breaking forth 
In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, 
I had thought, by making this well known unto you, 
To have found a safe redress ; but now grow fearful, 
By what yourself too late have spoke and done. 
That you protect this course, and put it on 
By your allowance; which if you should, the fault 
^^'ould not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, 
Which, in the tender of a wholesome vreal, 
]Miglit in their working do you that offence, 
Wliich else were shame, that then necessity 
Will call discreet proceeding. 

Fool. For, you trow, nuncle. 
The hedge-sjiarrow fed the cuckoo so long, v 
That it 's had it head bit off by it young. 
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 

Lear. Are you our daughter? 

Gon. Come, sir, 
I would you would make use of that good wisdom. 
Whereof I know you are fraught ; and put away 
These dispositions, tliat of lafe transform you 
From what you rightly are. 

Ffjol. May not an ass know when the cart draws 
the horse ? Whoop, .Jug ! I love thee. 

Leetr. Doth any here know me ? This is not Lear : 
Dotli Lear walk thus ? speak thus ? Where are his 
Either his notion weakens, his discernings [eyes ? 
Are lethargied— Ha ! waking ? 't is not so. 
AVho is it that can tell me who I am ? 

Feiol. Lear's shadow. 

Leeir. I would learn that ; for, by the marks of 
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be 
false persuaded I had (Uuigliters. 

Fool. Wliich they will make an obedient father. 

Lear. Yoiur name, fair gentlewoman ? 

Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' the favour 
701 



ACT I. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE V. 



Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 

To understanil my punxises aright: 

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. 

Ilfere do you keep a hundred knights and squires; 

Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, 

That this our court, infected with their manners, 

Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 

Make it more like a tavern or a brothel 

Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak 

For instant remedy : be then desired 

By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 

A little to disquantity your train ; 

And the remainder, that shall still depend. 

To be such men as may besort your age. 

And know themselves and you. 

Lear. Darkness and devils ! 

Saddle my horses ; call my train together. 
Degenerate bastard I I '11 not trouble thee : 
Yet have I left a daughter. 

Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd 
Make servants of their betters. [rabble 

Enter Albany. 

Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — [To Alh.'\ O, 
sir, are you come ? 
Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. 
-Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted lieud, 
More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child 
Than the sea-monster ! 

Alh. Pray, sir, be patient. 

Lear. [To Gon.'] Detested kite! thou liest: 
My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
That all particulars of duty know. 
And in the most exact regard support 
The worships of their name. O most small fault, 
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show I 
Tliat, like an engine, wrencli'd my frame of nature 
From the (ix'd place; drew from iuy heart all love, 
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, 

[Strikinr) Ms head. 
And thy dear judgment out ! Go, go, my people. 

Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
Of what hath moved you. 

Lear. It may be so, my lord. 

Hear, nature, hear ; dear goddess, hear ! 
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend 
To make this creature fruitful ! 
Into her womb convey sterility ! 
Dry up in her the organs of increase ; 
And from her derogate body never spring 
A babe to honour her! If she must teem. 
Create her child of spleen ; that it may live. 
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her ! 
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
With cadent tears tret channels in her cheeks ; 
Turn all lier mother's pains and benefits 
To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
To have a thankless child I Away, away ! [E.vit. 

Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes 
this ? 

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause ; 
But let his disposition have that scope 
That dotage gives it. 

lie-enter Lear. 
Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap ! 
Within a fortnight ! 
Alb. What 's the matter, sir ? 

Lear. I'll tell thee: [To Gon.] Life and death! 
I am ashamed 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; 
That these hot tears, wliich break from me per- 
force, [thee ! 
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon 
The untented woundings of a father's curse 
7(.i2 



Pierce every sense about thee ! Old fond eyes, 
Beweep this cause again, I '11 pluck ye out. 
And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this V 
I^et it be so : yet have I left a daughter. 
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
She '11 tlay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find 
Tliat I '11 resume the shape "which thou dost think 
I have cast off forever: thou shalt, I warrant thee. 
[Exeunt Lear. Kent, and Attendants. 
Gon. Do you mark that, my lord Y 
Alb. I cannot be so partial^ Goneril, 
To the great love I bear you, — 

Gon. Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! 
[To the Foot] You, sir, more knave than tool, after 
your master. 
Fool. Kuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take 
the fool with thee. 

A fox, when one has caught her. 
And such a daughter, 
Should sure to the slaughter. 
If my cap would buy a halter : 
So the fool follows after. [Exit. 

Gon. This man hath had good counsel: — a hun- 
dred knights ! 
'T is politic ancl safe to let him keep [dream. 

At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every 
Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, 
He may enguard his dotage with their powers. 
And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say ! 
Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
Gon. Safer than trust too far : 

Let me still take away the harms I fear. 
Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. 
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister : 
If she sustain him and his hundred knights, 
Wheu I have show'd the unfitness, — 

He-enter Oswald. 

How now, Oswald ! 
What, have you writ that letter to my sister 'i 

Osw. Yes, madam. 

Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse : 
Inform her full of my particular fear; 
And thereto add such reasons of your own 
As may compact it more. Get you gone ; 
And hasten your return. [Exit Osiccdd.] No, no, 

luy lord. 
This miiky gentleness and course of yours 
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon. 
You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom 
Than praised for harmful mildness. 

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell: 
Striving to better, oft we mar what 's well. 

Gnn. Nay, then — 

AJb. Well, well ; the event. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Court before the same. 

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Lear. Go you before to Gloucester with these let- 
ters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any 
thing you know tlian comes from her demand out 
of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, 1 
shall be there afore you. 

Kent. I will not s'leep, my lord, till I have deliv- 
ered your letter. [Exit. 

Fool. If a man's brains wei;e in 's heels, were 't 
not in danger of kibes ? 

Lear. Ay, boy. 

Fool. Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall 
ne'er go slip-shod. 

Lear. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee 
kindly ; for thongli "she 's as like this as a crab 's 
like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 



ACT II. 



nWG LEAR. 



SCENE I. 



Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? 

Fnol. Slie will tastf as like this as a' crab does to 
a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the 
middle on 's face":' 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side 's nose ; 
that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. 

Lear. I did her wrong — 

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell ? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a snail has a 

Lear. Why ? " [house. 

Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it away 
to his daughters, and leave his horns williout a case. 

Leur. I will forget my uatiu-e. So kind a father! 
Be my horses ready ? 

Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. Tlie reason 
why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty 

Lear. Because they are not eight ? [reason. 



Fool. Yes, indeed : thou wouldst make a good 
fool. 

Lear. To take 't again perforce ! Monster ingrati- 
tude! 

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I 'Id have thee 
beaten for being old before thy time. 

Lear. How 's that ? 

Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou 
hadst been wise. 

Lear. O. let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! 
Keep me in temper : I would not be mad ! 

Enter Gentleman. 
How now ! are the horses ready 'i 
Gent. Ready, my lord. 

Lear. Come, boy. [departure, 

Fonl. She that 's a maid now, and lauglis at my 

Shall not be a maid long, unless things lie cut 

shorter. " [Exeunt. 



.ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Earl of GZoiicesfcr's castle. 

Enter Edmund, and Curan meets him. 

Edm. Save thee, Curan. 

Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your father, 
and given liim notice that the Duke of Cornwall and 
Began his duchess will be here with him this night. 

Edm. How comes that ? 

Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard Qf the 
news abroad ; I mean the whispered ones, for they 
are yet but ear-kissing arguments ? 

Edm. Not I : pray you, what are they ? 

Cur. Have you lieard of no likely wars toward, 
'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany ? 

Edm. Not a word. 

Cur. You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, 
sir. [Exit. 

Edm. The duke be here to-night? The better! 
This weaves itself perforce into my business, [best ! 
My father hath set guard to take my brother; 
And I have one thing, of a queasy question. 
Which I must act : briefness and fortune, work ! 
Brother, a word ; descend : brother, I say ! 

Enter Edgar. 
My father watches : O sir, fly this place ; 
Intelligence is given wliere you are hid ; 
You have now the good advantage of the night : 
Have you not spoken 'gainst tlie Duke of Cornwall ? 
He 's coming hither ; now, i' the night, i' tlie liaste. 
And Regan with him; have you notliing said 
Uyion his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany ? 
Advise yourself. 

Edij. I am sure on 't, not a word. 

Edm. I hear my father coming : pardon me ; 
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you : 
Draw ; seem to defend yourself ; now quit you well. 
Yield : come before my father. Light, ho, here ! 
. Fly, brother. Torches, torches ! So, farewell. 

[Exit Edgar. 
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 

[ Wounds his arm. 
Of my more fierce endeavour : I have seen drunkards 
Do more than this in sport. Father, father ! 
Stop, stop! No help ? 

Enter Gloucester, and Servants loith torches. 

Ghm. Now, Edmund, where 's the villain ? [out, 

Edm. Here stood lie in the dark, his sharp sword 
Muinliling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
To stand auspicious mistress, — 

Glou. But where is he ? 



Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 

Glou. Where is the villain, Edmund ? 

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he 
could — 

Glou. Pursue him, ho ! Go after. [Exeunt some 
Servants.] By no means what ? 

Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your Icrd- 
But that I told him, the revenging gods [ship ; 

'Gainst pan-icides did all their thunders bend ; 
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, 
Seeing how loathly opposite I .stood 
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion. 
With liis preparetl sword, he charges home 
My unprovided body, lanced mine arm: 
But when he saw my l)est alarum'd spirits, 
Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, 
Or whether gasted by the noise I made, 
Full suddenly he fled. 

Glou. Let him fly far: 

Not in this land shall he remain luicaught ; 
And found— dispatch. The noble duke my master. 
My worthy arch and patron, comes to-uigiit: 
By his authority I will proclaim it. 
That he wliich finds Iiim shall deserve our thanks, 
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ; 
He that conceals him, death. 

Edm. When I dissuaded liim from his intent, 
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech 
I threaten'd to discover liim: he replied, 
' Tliou unpossessing bastard ! dost thou think. 
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal 
Of any tru.st, virtue, or worth in thee [deny,— 

Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should 
As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce 
My very character, — I 'Id turn it all 
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: 
And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
If they not thought the profits of my death 
AVere very pregnant and potential spurs 
To make thee seek it.' 

Glou. Strong and fasten'd villain ! 

Would he deny his letter ? I never got him. 

[Tuclrt u-ithiti. 
Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he 

comes. 
All ports I '11 bar; the villain shall not 'scape; 
The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture 
I will send far and near, that all tlie kingdom 
May have due note of him ; and of my land. 
Loyal and natural bov. I '11 work the means 
To make thee capable. 

703 



ACT II. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IT. 



Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. 

Corn. How now, my noble friend ! since I came 
hitlier, 
Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. 

Beg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too sliort 
Which can pursue the offender. How dost , my lord ? 

Glou. O, madam, my old heart is crack 'd, it 's 
crack'd ! 

J?cf/. What, did my father's godson seek your life ? 
He whom my father named? your Edgar? 

Olou. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid ! 

Meg. Was he not companion witli the riotous 
Tliat tend upon my father ? Pcniglits 

Glou. I know not, madam : 't is too bad, too bad. 

Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. 

Beg. No marvel, then, though he were ill affected : 
'T is they have put him on the old man's death, 
To liave the expense and waste of his revenues. 
I liave this present evening from my sister 
Been well iiiform'dof them; and with such cautions, 
Tliat if tliey come to sojourn at my house, 
I '11 not be there. 

Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Began. 

Edmund, I hear tliat you have shown your father 
A child-like office. 

Ed^n. 'T was my duty, sir. 

Olou. He did bewray his practice ; and received 
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 

Corn. Is he pursued ? 

Glou. Ay, my good lord. 

Cor)!. If he be taken, he shall never more 
Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose. 
How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, 
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
So much commend itself, you shall be ours : 
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; 
You we first seize on. 

Edm. I shall serve you, sir, 

Truly, however else. 

Glou. For him I thank your grace. 

Corn. You know not why we came to visit you, — 

Beg. Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed 
night: 
Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, 
Wherein we must have use of your advice: 
Our father he hath writ, so hatli our sister. 
Of differences, which I best thouglit it tit 
To answer from our home ; the several messengers 
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, 
Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow 
Your needful counsel to our business, 
Wliich craves the instant use. 

Glou. I serve you, madam : 

Your graces are right welcome. ^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Before Gloucester's castle. ' 

Enter Kent and Oswald, severedly. 

Osiv. Good dawning to thee, friend : art of this 
house ? 

Kent. Ay. 

Osw. Where may we set our horses ? 

Kent. V the mire. 

Osio. Pritliee, if thou lovest me, tell me. 

Kent. I love tliee not. 

Osio. Why, then, I care not for thee. 

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would 
make thee care for n)e. 

Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee 

Kent. Fellow, I know thee. [not. 

Osw. What dost thou know me for ? 

Kent. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken 
meats ; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, tliree-suit- 
ed, hundred-pound, flltliy, worsted-stocking knave ; 
a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, 
glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue ; one- 
704 



trunk-inheriting slave ; one that wouldst be a bawd, 
in way of good service, and art notliing but tlie 
coniiHisition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, 
and tlie son and heir of a mongrel bitch : one whom 
I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou de- 
niest the least syllable of thy addition. 

Osu-. Wliy, wliat a monstrous fellow art thou, 
thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee 
nor knows thee ! 

Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to 
deny thou knowest me ! Is it two days ago syice I 
tripped up thy heels, and beat thee before the 
king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it benight, 
yet the moon shines; I '11 make a sop o' the moon- 
shine of you : draw, you whoreson cullionly barber- 
monger, draw. [Braicing his sivord. 

Osw. Away! I have nothing to do witli thee. 

Kent. Dravf, you rascal: you come with letters 
against the king; and take vanity the puppet's 
part against the royalty of her father: draw, you 
rogue, or I '11 so carbonado your shanks : draw, you 
rascal ; come your ways. 

Osw. Help, hoi murder! help! 

Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; 
yoii neat slave, strike. [Ijeating him. 

Osio. Help, ho! murder! murder! 

Enter Edmund, toith his rapier drawn, Cornwall, 
Regan, Gloucester, anel Servants. 

Edm. How now! What 's the matter ? 

Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please: 
come, I '11 flesh ye; come on, young master. 

Glou. Weapons ! arms ! What 's the matter here ? 

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives : 
He dies that strikes again. What is the matter? 

Beg. The messengers from our sister and the 

Ccirn. What is your difference ? speak. [king. 

Osw;. I am scarce in breatli, my lord. 

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred j'our 
valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in 
thee : a tailor made tliee. [a man ? 

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make 

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or a painter 
could not have made him so ill, though he had be«u 
but two hours at the trade. 

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? 

Osv:. This ancient rutiian, sir, whose life I have 
spared at suit of liis gray beard, — 

Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary 
letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will 
tread this unbolted vilhiin into mortar, and daub 
the wall of a jakes with liim. Spare my gray beard. 

Corn. Peace, sirrah ! [you wagtail? 

You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? 

Kent. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. 

Corn. Why art thou angry ? "[sword, 

Kent. Tliat such a .slave as this should wear a 
Wlio wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as 
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain [tliese. 
Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every 
Tliat in the natures of their lords rebel ; Qiassiou 
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; 
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
With'every gale and vary of tlieir masters, 
Knowing nought, like dogs_, but following. 
A plague upon your epileptic visage ! 
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool ? 
Goose, if I liad you upon Sarum plain, 
I '11 drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow? 

Glou. How fell you out ? say tliat. 

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy 
Than I and such a knave. [liis offence ? 

Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? AVliat 's 

A'e)i(. His countenance likes me not. [nor hers. 

Crjrn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, 

Kent. Sir, 't is my occupation to be plain : 



ACT II. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IV. 



I have seen better faces in my time 
Than stands on any shoulder that I see 
Before me at this instant. 

Corn. Tliis is some fellow, 

Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect 
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 
Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, 
An lionest mind and plain, he nmst speak truth ! 
All they will take it, so; it not, he 's plain. [uess 
Ti;f-Re kind of knaves I know, which in this plaiu- 
H;.rb<iiu- more craft and more corrupter ends 
Than twenty .silly ducking observants 
That stretcli their duties nicely. 

Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, 
Under the allowance of your great aspect, 
"Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire 
On flickering Phcebus' front. — 

Corn. What mean'st by this ? 

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you cliscom- 
mend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer : lie 
that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain 
knave; which for my part I will not be, though }. 
should win your displeasure to entreat me to 't. 
Corn. What was the offence y(jji gave him y 
Osw. I never gave him any : 
It pleased the king his master very late 
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; 
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, 
Tripp 'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd, 
And init upon him such a deal of man, 
That worthied him, got praises of the king 
For him attempting who was self-subilucil; 
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 
Drew on me here again. 

Kent. Kone of these rogues and cowards 

But Ajax is their fool. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks I 

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart, 
AVe 'II teach you — 

Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn : 

Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; 
On whose employment I was sent to you : 
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice 
Against the grace and person of my master. 
Stocking his messenger. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! As I have life 
and honour, 
There shall he sit till noon. [too. 

Iteg. Till noon ! till night, my lord; and all night 
Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog. 
You should not use me so. 
Bey. Sir, being his knave, I will. 

Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour 
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks ! 
[^IStocks brought out. 
GIoii. Let me beseech your grace not to do so : 
His fault is much, and the good king his master 
Will check him for 't : your imrposed low correction 
Is such as basest and contemned "st wretclies 
For pilferings and most connnon trespasses 
Are punisliM with : the king must take it ill, 
That he "s so siiulitly valued m his messenger. 
Should 1 ave him thus restrain'd. 

Corn. I '11 answer that. 

Beg. My sister may receive it much more worse, 
To have her gentleman abused, assaulted. 
For following her affairs. Put in his legs. 

[Kent is put in the stocks. 
Come, my good lord, away. 

[Exeunt all hut Gloucester and Kent. 
Gldu. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 't is the duke's 
, pleasure. 
Whose disposition, all the world well knows, 
AVill not be rubb'd nor stopp'd : I '11 entreat for thee. 
Kent. Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and 
travell'd hard : 
Some time 1 shall sleep out, the rest I '11 whistle. 
45 



A good man's fortune may grow out at heels : 
Give you good morrow ! 

Glou. The duke 's to blame in this : 'twill be ill 
taken. [Exit. 

Kent. Good king, that must approve the common 
Thou out of heaven's benediction couiest [saw, 
To the warm sun! 

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 
That by thy comfortable beams I may 
Peruse this letter ! >.'othing almost sees miracles 
But misery : I know 't is from Cordelia, 
AVho hath most fortunately been inform 'd 
Of my obscured course ; and shall find time 
From this enormous state, seeking to give 
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatch'd, 
Take vantage, lieavv eyes, not to behold 
This sliamcful kxh^ing. 

Fortune, good night : smile once more ; turn thy 
wheel ! [Slaps. 

SCENE III.— A wood. 

Enter Edgar. 
Edq. I heard myself proclaim 'd ; 
And by the happy hollow of a tree 
Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place, 
That guard, and most unusual vigilance. 
Does not attend my taking. Wliiles I may 'scape, 
I will preserve myself: and am bethought 
To take the basest and most poorest shape 
That ever penury, in contempt of man. 
Brought near to beast : my face I '11 grime with filth ; 
Blanket my loins ; elf all my hair in knots ; 
And with presented nakedness out-face 
The winds and persecutions of the sky. 
The country gives me proof aiul i)recedent 
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices. 
Strike in their iiumb'd and mortified bare arms 
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; 
And with this horrible object, from low farms. 
Poor jieUing villages, sheep-cotes, and mills. 
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers. 
Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod ! poor 'f om ! 
That 's something yet : Edgar I nothing am. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. — Before Gloucester'' s castle. Kent in 
the stocks. 

Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. 

Lear. 'T is strange that they should so depart 
from home. 
And not send back my messenger. 

Gent. As I learn 'd, 

The night before there was no purpose in them 
Of this remove. 

Kent. Hail to tliee, noble master ! 

Lear. Ha ! 
Makest thou this shame thy pastime ? 

Kent. Xo , my lord . 

Fool. Ha, ha ! he wears cruel garters. Horses 
are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, 
monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: wlien a 
man "s over-lusty at legs, then "he wears wooden 
nether-stocks. [took 

Lear. What 's he that hath so much thy place mis- 
To set thee here 'i" 

Kent. It is both he and she; 

Your son and daughter. 

Lear. No. 

Kent. Yes. 

Lear. No, I .say. 

Kejit. I say, yea. 

Lear. No, no, they would not. 

Kent. Yes, they have. 

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 

Lcur. They durst not do '1 ; 

705 



ACT II. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IV. 



They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than 

murder, 
To do upon respect such violent outrage : 
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
Coming from us. 

Kent. My lord, when at their home 

I did commend your highnrss' letters to them, 
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
Stew'd in his haste, halt lirealhless, panting forth 
From Goneril his mistress salutations; 
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission. 
Which presently tlicy read : on whose contents, 
They summoned up t heir meiny, straight took horse ; 
Commanded me to follow, and attend 
The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
And meeting here the other messenger. 
Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison'd mine, — 
Being the very fellow that of late 
Display 'd so saucily against your highness, — 
Having more man than wit about me, drew: 
He raised the house with loud and coward cries. 
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
The shame which here it suffers. 

Fool. Winter 's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly 
that way. 

Fathers that wear rags 

Do make their children blind; 
Bnt fathers that bear bags 

Shall see their children kind. 
Fortune, that arrant whore. 
Ne'er turns the key to the poor. 
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours, 
for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year. 
Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my 
heart ! 
Hysterica passio, do\vn, thou climbing sorrow. 
Thy element 's below ! Where is this'daughter ? 
Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 
Lear. Follow me not ; 

Stay here. [Exit. 

' Gent. Made you no more offence but what you 
speak of V 

Kent. None. 
How chance the king comes with so small a train ? 
Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that 
question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
Kent. Why, fool ? 

Fool. We '11 set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
thee there's no labouring i' the winter. All that 
follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind 
men ; and there 's not a nose among twenty but 
can smell him that 's stinking. Let go thy hold 
when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break 
thy neck with following it; but the great one that 
goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a 
wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine 
again: I would have none but knaves follow it, 
since a fool gives it. 

Tliat sir which serves and seeks for gain. 

And follows but for form. 
Will pack when it begins to rain. 

And leave thee in the storm. 
But I will tarry; the fool will stay. 

And let the wise man fly: 
Tlie knave turns fool that runs away; 
The fool no knave, i>erdy. 
Kent. Where learned you tliis, fool ? 
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. 

He-enter Lear, loitli Gloucester. 
Lear. Deny to speak with me ? They are sick ? 
they are weary ? 
They have travell'd all the night ? Mere fetches; 
The images of revolt and flying off. 
Fetch me a better answer. 
706 



GJou. Jly dear lord, 

You know the fiery quality of the duke ; 
How unremoveable and tix'd he is 
In his own course. 

Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! 
Fiery ? what quality i* Why, Gloucester, Glou- 
cester, 
I 'Id speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife. 

Glou. Well, my good lord, I have inform 'd them 
so. [man y 

Lear. Inform 'd them ! Dost thou understand me, 

Glou. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the 
dear father [vice : 

Would with his daughter speak, commands her ser- 
Are they inform 'd of this ? My breath and blood ! 
Fiery V the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that — 
No, but not yet : may be he is not w'ell: 
Infirmity doth still neglect all office 
Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves 
When nature, being oppress 'd, commands the muid 
To suffer with the body: I 'II forbear; 
And am iilVn out with my more headier will, 
To take the indisposed and sickly fit 
For the sound man. Death on my state ! wherefore 
[Looking on Kent. 
Should he sit here ? This act persuades Ine 
That this remotion of the duke and her 
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. 
Go tell the duke and 's wife I 'Id speak with them, 
Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear me, 
Or at their chamber-door I '11 beat the drum 
Till it cry slee]) to death. 

GJou. i would have all well betwixt you. [Exit. 

Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart! but, 
down ! 

Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the 
eels when she put 'em i' the paste alive; she knap- 
ped 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried 
' Dowii, wantons, down ! ' 'T was her brotherthat, 
in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay. 

Enter Corn'wall, Regan, Gloucester, and Ser- 
vants. 

Lear. Good morrow to you both. 

Corn. Hail to your grace ! 

[Kent is set at lihertij. 

IRefj. I am glad to see your highness. 

Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what 
reason 
I have to think so : if thou shonldst not be glad, 
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb. 
Sepulchring an adultress. [To Kent] O, are you 
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan, [free!' 
Thy sister 's naught : O Began, she hath tied 
Sharp-tooth 'd unkiudness, like a culture, here : 

[Points to his heart. 
I can scarce speak to thee; thou 'It not believe 
With how ilepraved a quality — O Regan ! 

Biij. I pray you, sir, take patience T I have hope 
You less know how to value her desert 
Than she to scant her duty. 

Lear. Say, how is that ? 

Berf. 1 cannot think my sister in the least 
Would fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance 
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
As clears her from all blame. 

Lear. My curses on her I 

Bcfi. O, sir, j'ou are old ; 

Nature in you stands on the very verge 
Of her confine : you should be ruled and led 
By some discretion, that discerns your state 
Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you. 
That to our sister you do make return ; 
Say you have wrong 'd her, sir. 

Lear. Ask her forgiveness i* 



ACT IT. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IV. 



Do you but mark how this becomes the house : 
' Dear daughter, I confess that I am okl ; [^Kneeling. 
Age is unnecessary : on my knees I beg 
Tliat you '11 vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.' 

lieij. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly tricks: 
Return you to my sister. 

Lear. \^Risinrj\ Never, Regan : 

She liath abated me of half my train ; 
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue, 
Most serpent-like, upon tlie very heart : 
All the stored vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, 
You taking airs, with lameness ! 

Corn. Fie, sir, fie ! 

Lenr. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding 
Into her scornful eyes ! Infect lier beauty, [tiames 
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
To fall and blast her pride ! 

Beij. O the blest gods ! so will you wish on me, 
When the rasii mood is on. [curse : 

Lriir. No, Regan, thou slialt never have my 
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
Thee o'er to harshness: her eyes are fierce ; but thine 
Do comfort and not burn. 'Tis not in thee 
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, 
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes. 
And in conclusion to oppose tlie bolt 
Against my coming in: thou better know'st 
The offices of nature, bond of cliildliood, 
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
Wliereiu I thee endow'd. 

Beg. Good sir, to the purpose. 

Lear. "NYho put my man i' the stocks y 

\_Tucket icitliin. 

Corn. What trumpet 's that ? 

Beg. I know't, my sister's: this approves her 
Tliat she would soon be here. [letter, 

Enter Oswald. 

Is your lady come ? 
Lear. T!iis is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride 
Dwells in tlie fickle grace of her he follows. 
Out, varlet, from my sight ! 

Corn. What means your grace ? 

Lear. Who stock'd my servant y Regan, 1 have 

good hope [lieavens, 

Thou didst not know on 't. Who comes here ? O 

Ihiter Goneril. 
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. 
Make it your cause;" send down, and take my part! 
[To Gon!\ Art not ashamed to look upon this beard? 

Regan, wilt thou take her by the liand? 

Ci>n. AVliy not by the liand, sir? How have I 
All "s not offence tliat indiscretion finds [offended? 
And dotage terms so. 

Lear. O sides, you are too tough ; 

Will you yet hold? How came my man i' the stocks? 

(hrn. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders 
Deserved much less advancement. 

Lenr. You ! did j'ou ? 

■ Beg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
If, till the expiration of your month. 
You will retm-n and sojourn witli my sister. 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me: 

1 am now from liome, and out of that provision 
AVhich sliall he needful for your entertainment. 

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 
No, rather I al)jure all roofs, and clioose 
To wage against the enmity o' the air; 
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 
Necessity's sharp pinch ! Return with her? 
Why, the hot-blooded France, tljat dowerless took 
Our youngest born, I could as well lie brought 
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 



To keep base life afoot. Return with her ? 

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 

To this detested groom. [I'ouiting at Oswald. 

Oon. At your clioice, sir. 

Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad : 
I will not trouble thee, my cliild ;. farewell : 
We '11 no more meet, no more see one another: 
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daugliter ; 
Or rather a disease that 's in my flesh, 
Which I must needs call mine : thou art a boil, 
A plague-sore, an embossed carlnmcle. 
In my corrupted blood. Rut I '11 not cliide thee ; 
Let sliame come when it will, I do not call it : 
I do not bid the tliunder-bearer shoot. 
Nor tell tales of thee to higli-judging Jove: 
Mend when tliou canst; be better at thy leisure: 
I can be patient : I can stay witli Regan, 
I and my hundred knights. 

Beg. Not altogether so : 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister ; 
For those that mingle reason with your passion 
ilust be content to think you old, and so — 
But she knows what she does. 

Lear. Is this well spoken ? 

Beg. I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers ? 
Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger 
Speak 'gainst so great a number ? How, in one 
Sliould many people, under two commands, [house, 
Hold amity ? 'T is liard : almost impossible. 

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive at- 
tendance 
From those that she calls servants or from mine ? 

Beg. Wliy not, my lord ? If then they clianced 
to slack you. 
We cotild control them. If you will come to me, — 
For now I spy a danger, — 1 entreat you 
To bring but five and t\\enty : to no more 
Will I give place or notice. 

Lear. I gave you all — 

Beg. And in good time you gave it. 

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ; 
But kept a reservation to he foUow'il 
Witli such a number. What, must I come to you 
AVith five and twenty, Regan ? said you so ? 

Beg. And speak 't again, my lord ; no more with 
me. [favour'd, 

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- 
When others are more wicked; not being the worst 
Stands in some rank of praise. [To Ooii.] 1 '11 go 

with thee ; 
Tliy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty. 
And thou art twice her love. 

Gon. Hear me, my lord : 

Wliat need you five and twenty, ten, or five, 
To follow in a house where t^vice so many 
Have a command to tend you ? 

Beg. What need one ? 

Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
Allow not nature more tlian nature needs, 
Man's life 's as cheap as beast's : tliou art a lady ; 
If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st. 
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true 
need, — [need ! 

You heavens, give me that patience, patience I 
You see me liere, you gods, a poor old man, 
As full of grief as age ; wretched in botli ! 
If it be you tliat stir these daughters' hearts 
Against tiieir father, fool me not so mucli 
To liear it tamely; touch me with noble anger. 
And let not women's weapons, water-drops^ 
Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural hags, 
I will have such revenges on you both. 
That all the word shall — I will do such things, — 
707 



ACT IIT. 



KING LEAR. 



SCEIfE II. 



What tliey are, yet I know not ; but tliey shall be 
The terrors of the earth. You think I 'll weep ; 
No, I '11 not weep : 

I have I'ull cause of weeping ; but this heart 
Shall break into a hundred thousand Haws, 
Or ere I '11 weep. O tool, I shall go mad ! 

[£'.(;cu?it Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool. 
Storm and tempest. 

Corn. "Let us withdraw ; 't will be a storm. 

Beg. This house is little : the old man and his 
people 
Cannotbe well bestow'd. 

Groii. 'T is his own blame ; hath put himself from 
rest, 
And must needs taste liis folly. 

Jieg. For his particular, I '11 receive him gladly, 
But not one follower. 

Cro?i. So am I purposed. 

Where is my lord of Gloucester V 

Cwn. Poilow'd the old man forth : he is return'd. 



He-enter Gloucester. 

Ghzi. The king is in high rage. 

Corn. Whither is he going ? 

Oloii. He calls to horse; but will I know not 
wliither. [self. 

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way ; he lead.s hirn- 

Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stav. 

Gloii. Alack, the night comes on, and the lileak 
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about [winds 

There 's scarce a bush. 

Beg. O, sir, to wilful men, 

The injuries that they themselves jirocure 
Must be their schoolmasters. Slmt up your doors : 
lie is attended with a desperate train ; 
And what tliey may incense him to, being apt 
To have liis ear aliused, wisdom bids fear, [night : 

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild 
My Itegan counsels well : come out o' the storm. 

[£'xC!(J!i. 



^CT III. 



SCENE l. — AheatJi. 



Storm still. Enter Kent and a Gentleman, 
meeting. 

Kent. Who 's there, besides foul weather? 

Gent. One minded like the weather, most unqui- 

Kent. I know you. AVhere 's the king ? [etly. 

Gent. Contending with the fretful element ; 
Bids the wind lilow the earth into the sea, 
Or swell the curled waters "bove the main, [hair. 
That things might change or cease; tears his white 
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, 
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of; 
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 
The to-and-frci-i'iintlicting wind and rain, [couch. 
This night, wlierein the cub-drawn bear would 
The lion and the belly-pincheil wolf 
Keep their fur dry. unbonneted he runs, 
And bids what will take all. 

Kent. But who is with him ? 

Gent. None but the fool ; who labours to outjest 
His heart-struck injuries.' 

Kent. Sir, I do know you ; 

And dare, upon the warrant of my note, 
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division. 
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 
Witli mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; 
Who have — -as who have not, that their great stars 
Tlironed and set high ? — servants, who seem no less, 
Wliieli are to France the spies and speculations 
Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen, 
Either in suuffs and packings of the dukes, 
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
Against the old kind king; or something deeper, 
Wliereof perchance tliose'are but furnishings; 
But, true it is, frmii France there comes a power 
Into this scatter'd kingdom ; wlio already. 
Wise in our negligenci^ liave secret feet 
In some of our best jiorts, and are at point 
To show their open lianncr. Now to you : 
If on my credit you dare build so far 
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
Some that will thank you, making just report 
Of how unnatm-al and bemadding sorrow 
The king hath cause to plain. 
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding ; 
And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer 
This ofHce to you. 

Gent. I will talk further with you. 

Kent. No, do not. 

For confirmation that I am much more 
708 



Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take 
AVhat it contains. If yon shall see Cordelia, — 
As fear not but you sliall, — show lier this ring; 
And ."he will tell you who your fellow is 
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm ! 
I will go seek the king. [say ? 

Gent. Give me your hand: have you no more to 
Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all 
yet ; [your jiain 

That, when we have foimd the king, — "in which 
That way, I '11 this, — he that first lights on him 
Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE Ti.~Anothtr imrt of the heath. Storm still. 

Enter Lear and Fool. 

Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage ! 

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout [blow! 

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the 

cocks ! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts. 
Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thun- 
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! [tier, 
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, 
That make ingrateful man ! 

Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house 
is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good 
nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing: here's 
a night pities neither wise man nor fool. [rain ! 
Lear. Rumble thy bellyful ! Spit, fire ! spout, 
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daugliters; 
I tax not you, you elements, with uiikiiidness; 
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 
You owe me iio s\ibscription : then let fall 
Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man: 
But yet I call vou servile ministers, 
That have with two i.crniciiius daughters join'd 
Your high-eimender'd battles 'gainst a head 
So old and white as this. O ! O ! 't is foul I 

Fool. He that has a house to put 's head in has a 
good head-i>iece. 

The cod-piece that will house 

Before the heail has any. 
The heart and he .shall louse; 

So lit^ggars marry many. 
The man that makes his toe 

What he his heart should make, 
Shall of a corn cry woe. 
And tiu'n his sleep to wake. 



ACT ITT. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IV. 



For there was never yet fair woman but she made 
moutlis in a glass. 

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience ; 
I will say notliins;. „ 

•' " Enter 'K.ent. 

Kent. Who 's there V 

Fciol. Marry, here 's grace and a cod-piece ; that 's 
a wise man and a fool. [uiglit 

Kent. Alas, sir, are you here V things that love 
Love not siieli nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark. 
And make them keep tlieir caves : since I was man, 
Such sheets of tire, such bursts of horrid tliunder, 
Sucli groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
Uemember to liave heard : man's nature cannot carry 
The affliction nor tlie fear. 

Lear. Let the great gods, 

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads. 
Find out their enemies now. Trenibli", tliou wretch. 
That hast within thee undivnlgi'd crimes, 
Unwhipp'd of justice : hide thrf, tliou bloody hand ; 
Thou perjured, and tliou siiuuhir man of virtue 
That art incestuous: ciiililf, to i>ieces shake, 
That under covert and convenient seeming 
Ilast practised on man's life : close pent-up guilts, 
Kive your concealing continents, and cry 
Tliese dreadful summoners grace. I am a man 
More sinn'd against than sliming. 

Kent. ' Alack, bare-headed! 

Gracious my lord, hard liy here is a liovel; 
Some friendsliip will it lend fou 'gainst the tempest: 
Repose j'ou tliere; while I to this hard house — 
More harder than the stones whereof 't is raised ; 
Which even but now, demanding after you, 
Denied me to come in— return, and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 

Lear. My wits begin to turn. 

Come on, my boy : how dost, my boy V art cold ? 
I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow? 
The art of our necessities is strange, [hovel. 

That can make vile things precious. Come, your 
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
That 's sorry yet for thee. 

Fool. [Si)iiiiii<i] lie that has and a little tiny wit, — 
AVilh hey, ho, the wind and the rain, — 
Must make content with his fortunes fit. 
For the rain it rainetli every day. 

Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to 
this ho\'el. [Exeunt Lear and Kent. 

Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. 
I '11 speak a prophecy ere I go : 

When priests are more in word than matter; 

When brewers mar their malt with water; 

When nobles are their tailors' tutors ; 

No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors; 

When every case in law is right ; 

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; 

When slanders do not live in tongues; 
, Nor cutpurses come not to tlirongs ; 

When usurers tell their gold i' tlie held; 

And bawds and whores do churches build ; 

Then shall the realm of Albion 

Come to great confusion : 

Then comes the time, who lives to see 't, 

That going shall lie used with feet. 
This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before 
his time. [Exit. 

SCENE lll.—Oloucester''s castle. 

Enter Gloucester and Edmund. 
Glmt. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- 
natural dealing. When I desired their leave that I 
mi j;ht pity him, they took from nie the use of mine 
own liouse; charged me, on pain of their perpetual 
displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for 
Lim, nor any way sustain him. 



Edm. Most savage and unnatural ! 

Glou. Go to; say you nothing. There's a divi- 
sion betwixt tlie dukes; and a worse matter tluiii 
that: I have received a letter tins night; 'tis dan- 
gerous to be spoken; I have locked the letter in my 
closet: these injuries the kiiifj now bears will be re- 
venged home; there 's part of a power already foot- 
ed: we must incline to the king. I will seek him, 
and privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk 
with the duke, that my charity be not of him per- 
ceived: if he ask for uie, I am ill, and gone to bed. 
Though I die for it, as no less istlireatened me, the 
king my old master must be relieved. Tliere is 
some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be 
careful. * [E.dt. 

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, sliall the duke 
Instantly know; and of that letter too : 
This seems a fair deserving, ami must draw me 
That which my father loses ; no less than all : 
The younger rises when the old doth fall. [E.dt. 

SCENE IV. — The heath. Before a hovel. 

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, 
The tyranny of the open night's toorougli [enter: 
For nature to endure. [Storm ^liU. 

Lear. Let me alone. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Wilt break my heart ? 

Kent. I had rather break mine own. Good my 
lord, enter. [tious storm 

Lear. Tliou think 'st 'tis much that this conten- 
Invades us to the skin : so "t is to thee ; 
But where the greater malady is fix'd. 
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou 'Idst shun a bear ; 
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea. 
Thou 'Idst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the 

mind's free, 
The body's delicate: the temiiesl in my mind 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else 
Save what beats there. Filial ingral itude ! 
Is it not as this mouth sliould tear this hand 
For lifting food to 't ? But I will punish home : 
No, I will weep no more. In such ;i niglit 
To shut me out ! Pour on ; I will endure. 
In such a night as tliis! O Regan, Goneril! 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; 
No more of that. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Prithee, go in thyself ; seek thine own ease : 
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
On things would hurt me more. But I '11 go in. 
[To the Fool] In, boy; go first. You houseless 

poverty, — 
Nay, get thee in. I '11 pray, and then I '11 sleep. 

[Fool goes in. 
Poor naked WTetches, wlieresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these V O, I have ta'eii 
Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel. 
That thou mayst shake the supertlux to them. 
And show the heavens more just. 

Edii. [Within] Fathom and half, fathom and half ! 
Poor Tom! 

[The Fool rims out from the hovel. 

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. 
Help me, help me ! 

Kent. Give me thy hand. Who 's there ? 

Fool. A spirit, a spirit : he says his name 's poor 
Tom. 

Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there 1' 
the straw? Come forth. 

709 



ACT III. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IV. 



Enter Edgar disyuised as a madman. 

Edg. Away ! tlie foul fiend follows me ! 
Through the sharp luiwthorn blows the cold wiud. 
Hum ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 

Jjcar. Ilast thou given all to thy two daughters? 
And art thou eouie to this? 

Ed(i. Wlio liives any thing to poor Tom? w'hora 
the toul lienii liath led through tire and through 
flauie, and through ford and whirlipool, o'er bog and 
quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, 
and halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge ; 
made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trottiug- 
horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own 
sliadow for a traitor. 'Bless thy live wits ! Tom 's 
a-cold, — O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from 
whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor 
Tom some cliarity, wliom the foul fiend vexes: 
there could I have him now, — and there, — and 
there again, and there. {Slorin still. 

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to 

this pass ? [all ? 

Couldst thou save nothing ? Didst thou give tliem 

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we )iad 
been all shamed. [air 

Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous 
Hang fated o'er men's faults light ou thy daughter.5 ! 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. [natiire 

Leai-. Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdued 
To such alowuess but his unkind daughters. 
Is it tlie fasliion, that discarded fathers 
Sliiiiild have thus little mercy on their flesh? 
Judicious punishment ! 't was tlus flesh begot 
Tliiise pelican daughters. 

Ed>i. Pilli:;ork sat on PiUicock-hiU : 
Halloo, hallo..,!.,,), loo! 

Fdiil. Tliis cold night will turn us all to fools and 
mailmen. 

Ed[i. Take heed o' tlie foul fiend : obey thy pa- 
rents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit 
not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet 
heart ou proud array. Tom 's a-cold. 

Lear. What hast "thou been ? 

Edij. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; 
that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap ; served 
the lust of my mistress' heart, and did the act of 
darkness with her ; swore as many oaths as I spake 
words, an. I broke them in the sweet face of heaven: 
one that slept iu the contriving of lust, and waked 
to doit: wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in 
woman out-paramo ured the Turk : false of heart, 
light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in 
stealth, wolf in greediness, di.ig in madness, lion 
in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the 
rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman: 
keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of 
plackets, thy pen from lendei-s' books, and defy the 
foul fiend. 

Still through th.e hawthorn blows the cold wind : 
Says suum, mun, lia, no, nonny. 
Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa ! let him trot by. 

[Sliyrm still. 

Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to 
answer with thy uncovered body this extremitv of 
the skies. Is man no more than this ? Consuler 
him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast 
no hide, the slieep no woo], the cat no perfume. 
Ha ! here 's tliree on 's are so]ihisticated ! Thou art 
the thiiiu- itself.: unacconunodated man is no more 
but such a, poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. 
Off, off, you tendings! come, unbutton liere. 

[Tearhui ufflih clothes. 

Fool. Prithee, nmicle, be contented ; 't isanauahtv 
night to swim in. Now a little Are in a wild (ielil 
were like an old lecher's lieart ; a small spark, all 
the rest ou 's body cold. Look, here comes a walk- 
ing fire. 

710 



Enter Gloucester, with a torch. 

Ed(j. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he 
begins at curfew, and walks till the fii-st cock; he 
gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and 
makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and 
hurts the poor creature of earth. 

S. Withold footed thrice the old ; 
He met the nl,ght-mare, and her nine-fold; 
Bid her alight. 
And her troth plight. 
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee! 

Kent. How fares your grace? 

Lear. AVhat 's he? 

Kent. Who 's there ? What is 't yon seek ? 

Gloti. What are you there? Your names? 

Edy. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, 
the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water ; 
that m the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend 
rages, eats cow-dung for sallets ; swallows the old 
rat and the ditch-dog ; drinks the green mantle of 
the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to 
tithing, and stock -punished, and imprisoned; who 
hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his 
body, liorse to ride, and weapon to wear; 
But mice and rats, and such small deer. 
Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkiu ; peace, thou 
fiend ! 

Glou. What, hath your grace no belter company ? 

Edij. The prince of ^larkness is a gentleman : 
Modo he 's call'd, and Mahu. [lord, 

Glou. Our fiesh and blood is grown so vile, my 
That it doth hate what gets it. 

Edy. Poor Tom 's a-cold. 

(V/o(i. Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer 
To obey in all your daughters' hard commands: 
Though their injunction be to bar my doors. 
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon J'OU, 
Yet have I ventiued to come seek you out. 
And brin.g you where both fire and food is ready. 

Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher. 
What is the cause of thunder ? [house. 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; go into the 

Lear. I '11 talk a word with this same learned 
What is your study ? [Theban. 

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 

Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 

Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord; 
His wits begin to unsettle. 

Glou. Canst thou blame him ? [Storm still. 

His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent! 
He said it would be thus, poor banish 'd man! 
Tliou say 'st the king grows mad; I '11 tell thee, friend, 
I am ahnost mad myself : I had a son, 
Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my life, 
But lately, very late: 1 loved liim, fiiend ; 
No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee, 
Tlie grief hath crazed my wits. What anight 'stlii^'' 
I do beseech your grace, — 

Lear. O, cry you mercy, sir. 

Noble philosopher, your company. 

Edi/. Tom 's a-cold. [warm. 

Glou. In, fellow, there, into the hovel : keep thee 

Lear. Come, let 's in all. 

Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him; 

I will keep still with my j)hilosopher. 

Kent. Good my lord, soothe him; let him take 
tlie fellow. 

Glou. Take him you on. 

Kent. Sirrah, come on; go along with us. 

Lear. Come, good Athenian. 

Glou. No worils. nn words: hush. 

Edg. Child Kowlan.l to tlie dark tower came. 
His word was still, — Fie, foil, and fum, 
I smell the blood of a British man. [E.ccunt. 



ACT III. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE VI. 



SCENE v.— Gloucester's aistJe. 

Enter Corn-wall and Edmund. 
■" Corn. I will luive oiy revenge ere I depart his 
house. 

JSdm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that 
nature tlius gives way to loyalty, something fears 
me to think of. 

Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
brotlier's evil disposition made liim seek liis death ; 
but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable 
badness in himself. 

£(1111. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 
repent to be just ! This is "the letter lie spoke of, 
wliicli approves liim an intelligent party to the ad- 
vantages of France. O Iieavens! that this treason 
were not, or not I the detector! 

Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 

Edm. If tlie matter of tliis paper be certain, you 
have mighty business in hand. 

C'lni. True or false, it hath made thee earl of 
Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he 
may he ready for oiu' apiireliension. 

Edm. [A^'idr] If I find liim comforting the king, 
it will stuff his su.spicion more fully. — I will per- 
severe in my coin'se of loyalty, though the conflict 
be sore between that and my blood. 

Corn. I will lay trust ujion thee; and thou shalt 
find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — A chamher in a farmhouse adjoining 
the castle. 

Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool, and 
Edgar. 

Glou. Here is better than the open air ; take it 
thankfully. I will jiiece out the comfort with what 
addition I can : I will not be long from you. 

Kent. All the power of his wits have given way 

to his impatience: the gods reward your kindness! 

[Exit Oloucester. 

Edij. Frateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is 
an angler in tlie lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, 
and beware the foul flend. 

Ff'ol. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman 
be a gentleman or a yeoman ? 

Lear. A king, a king! 

Fool. No, he 's a yeoman that has a gentleman to 
liis son ; for he 's a mad yeoman that sees liis son a 
gentleman before him. 

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits 
Come hissing in upon 'em, — 

Edg. The foul tiend bites my back. 

Fool. He 's mad that trusts in the tameness of a 
wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a wliore's oath. 

Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them straight. 

[To Edi/ar] Come, sit thou here, most learned Jus- 

ticer; [she foxes! 

[To the Foot] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you 

Edjj. Look, where he stands and glares ! AYant- 
est thou eyes at trial, madam ? 

Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me, — 

Fool. Her boat hath a leak, 

And she must not speak 
Why she dares not come over to thee. 

Edg. The foul hend haunts poor Tom in the 
voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's 
belly for two white herring. Croak not, black 
angel; I have no food for thee. 

Kent. How do you, sir V Stand you not so amazed : 
AVill you lie down and rest upon tlie cushions ? 

Lear. I '11 see their trial first. Bring in the evi- 
dence, [place; 
[To Edgar] Thou robed man of justice, take thy 
[To the'FooI] And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity. 
Bench by his side: [To Keiil] you are o' the com- 
Sit you too. [mission, 



Edg. Let us deal justly. 

iSleepest or wakest thou, jolly sliepherd ? 

Thy sheep be in the corn ; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
Pur ! the cat is gray. 

Leeir. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here 
take my oath before this honourable assembly, she 
kicked the poor king her father. 
Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is you name Gon- 
Lear. She cannot deny it. [eril "■' 

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. 
Lear. And here 's another, whose warp'd looks 
proc-laim 
What store her heart is made on. Stop her there ! 
Arms, arms, sword, fire ! Corruption in the place! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape V 
Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 
Kent. O pity ! Sir, where is the patience now. 
That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 

Edg. [Aside] My tears begin to take his part so 
They '11 mar my counterfeiting. [much, 

Lear. The little dogs and all. 
Tray, Blanch , and Sweet-heart , see , they bark at me. 
Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, 
you curs ! 

Be thy mouth or black or white, 
Tooth that poisons if it bite; 
Mastiff, greyhoimd, mongrel grim, 
Hound or spaniel, brach or lym, 
Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, 
Tom will make them ^^•ecp and wail : 
For, with throwing thus my head. 
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 
Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and 
fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. 
Leetr. Then let them anatomize Regan ; see what 
breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in 
nature that makes these hard hearts? [To Edx/ar] 
You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only 
I do not like the fashion of your garments : you 
will say they are Persian attire; but let them be 
changed. 
Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile. 
Leea-. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw" tlie 
curtains : so, so, so. AVe '11 go to supper i' the morn- 
ing. So. so, so. 
Fool. And I '11 go to bed at noon. 

Ee-entcr Gloucester. 

Glou. Come hither, friend : where is the king my 
master ? [gone. 

Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are 

Glou. Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms ; 
I have o'erheard a plot of death uyion him : 
There is a litter ready; lay him in 't, [meet 

And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt 
Both welcome and )initection. Take up thy master: 
If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, 
With thine, and all that offer to defend liim, 
Stand in assured loss: take up, take up; 
And follow me, that will to some provision 
Give thee quick conduct. 

Kent. Oppressed nature sleeps: 

This rest might yet have balniM thy broken senses, 
AVhich, if convenience will nut allow, 
Stand in hard »cure. [To the Foul] Come, help to 

bear thy master ; 
Thou must not stay behind. 

Glou. Come, come, away. 

[Exeunt all but Edr/ar. 

Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
AA'lio alone suffers suffers most i' the mind, 
I>eaviiig five things and happy shows behind : 
But then the mind much .sufferance doth o'erskip, 
AVhen grief liai.li mates, and bearing fellowship. 
711 



ACT III. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE A'TT. 



II(W light and portable my pain seems now, 
AVlien tliat wliieli maizes me bend makes tlie king 
He chiided as 1 fatlier'd ! Tom, away! Paow, 

Mark tlie liigh noises ; and tliyself bewray, 
■\Vlien false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles 

thee. 
In tliy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee. 
"What will liap more to-night, safe 'scape the king! 
Lurk, lurk. [jBxiJ. 

SCENE Yll.— Gloucester'' s castle. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, cmd 
Servants. 

Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband; 
show him this letter : the army of France is lauded. 
Seek out the villain Gloucester. 

[Exeunt some of the Servants. 

Beg. Hang him instantly. 

Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 

Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, 
keep you our sister company: the revenges we are 
bound to take upon your traitorous father are not 
fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you 
are going, to a most festinate preparation : we are 
bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and in- 
telliL^fut betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: fare- 
well, my lord of Gloucester. 

Enter Oswald. 
How now! where 's the king y [lience: 

Osw. My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him 
Some five or six and thirty of his knights. 
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; 
AVho, witli soiiK! otiiev of the lords dependants. 
Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast 
To have well-armed friends. 

Corn. Get liorses for your mistress. 

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 
Corn. Edmund, farewell. 

[Exeunt Goneril, Edmund, and Oswald. 
Go seek the traitor Gloucester, 
Pinion him like a thief, brin" him before us. 

[Exeunt other Servants. 
Though well we may not pass upon his life 
Without tlie form of justice, yet our power 
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
May blame, but not control. Who 's there ? the 
traitor ? 

Enter Gloucester, brought in bi/ two or three. 
Reg. Ingratef ul fox ! 't is he. 
Corn. Bind fast liis corky arms. 
Glou. What mean your graces 'i Good my friends, 
consider 
You are my guests : do me no foul play, friends. 
Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him. 

Beg. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor ! 

Glou. Unmerciful lady as you are, I 'm none. 
Corn. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt 
find — [Began plucks Jris beard. 

Ghu. By tlie kind gods, 't is most ignobly done 
To pluck me by the beard. 
Beg. So white, aud such a traitor ! 
Glou. Naughty lady. 

These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin, 
Will quicken, and accuse thee: I jyii your host: 
With robbers' hands my hospitable favours 
You should not ruffle tlius. What will you do ? 
Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from 

France ? 
Beg. Be simple answerer, for we know the truth. 
Corn. And what confederacy have you with the 
traitors 
Late footed in the kingdom ? 

Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic 
Speak. [king ? 

712 



Glou. I have a letter guessingly set down. 
Which came from one that 's of a neutral heart, 
And not from one opposed. 

Corn. Cunning. 

Beg. And false. 

Corn. Where hast thou sent the king y 

OIou. To Dover. 

Beg. W heref ore to Dover ? Wast thou not charged 
at peril — 

Corn. Wherefore to Dover ? Let him first answer 
that. 

Glou. 1 am tied to the stake, and I must stand tlie 
course. 

Beg. Wherefore to Dover, sir? 

Glou. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed llesli stick lioarisli fangs. 
The sea. with such a storm as his bare head 
In hell-black night endured, would have buoy'd up. 
And quench VI the stelled fires : 
Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain. 
If wolves had at thy gate liowl'd that stern time. 
Thou shouldst have said ' Good porter, turn the key,' 
All cruels else subscribed : but I shall see 
The winged vengeance overtake such children. 

Corn. See 't shall thou never. Fellows, hold the 
Upon these eves of thine I '11 set my foot. [chair. 

Glou. He tiiat will think to live till he be old, 
Give me some lielp ! O cruel ! O you gods ! 

Beg. One side will mock another ; the other too. 

Corn. If you see vengeance, — 

First Serv. Hold your hand, my lord : 

I have served you ever since I was a child ; 
But better service have I never done you 
Than now to bid you hold. 

Beg. How now, you dog ! 

First Serv. If you did wear abeard upon your chin, 
I 'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean ? 

Corn. My villain! [The;/ draw and fight. 

First Serv. Nay, then, come on, aud take the 
chance of anger. [thus ! 

Beg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up 
[Takes a sword, anil runs at hint behind. 

First Serv. O, I am slain ! My lord, you have 
one eye left 
To see some mischief on him. O ! [Dies. 

Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly ! 
Where is thy lustre now > [Edmund V 

Glou. All dark and comfortless. Where 's my son 
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, 
To quit this horrid act. 

Beg. Out, treacherous villain ! 

Thoii call'st on him that hates thee : it was he 
That made the overture of Wiy treasons to us; 
Who is too good to pity thee. 

Glou. O my follies ! then Edgar was abused. 
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 

Jieg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell 
His way to Dover. [Exit one with Gloucester.] How 
is 't, my lord ? how look you ? 

Corn. I have received a hurt : follow me, lady. 
Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this slave 
Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace: 
Untimely conies this hurt : give me your arm. 

[Exit Cornwall, led by Began. 

Sec. Serv. I '11 never care what wickedness I "do. 
If this man come to good. 

Third. Srrv. If she live long, 

And in the end meet the old course of deatih. 
Women will all turn monsters. [Bedlam 

Sec. Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the 
To lead him where he would : his roguisli madness 
Allows itself to any thing. 

Third Serv. Go thou : I '11 fetch some flax and 
whites of eggs 
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help 
him ! [Exeunt severally. 



ACT IV. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE TI. 



^^OT IV. 



SCENE I.— Tlie heath. 



Enter Edgar. 
EiT'i. Yet Ijetter thus, ;iii(l kiidwn to be contemn'd, 
Than" still eonteiiiuM uiiil fiatter'd. To be worst, 
The lowest and most dejected thine; of fortune, 
Stands still in esiieranee, lives not in fear : 
The lamentable change is from the best : 
The worst returns to laushter. AVelcome, then, 
Tlioii unsubstantial air that I embrace! 
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the -worst 
Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here V 

Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man. 
My father, poorly led ? World, world, O world ! 
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
Life would not yield to age. 

Uld Man. O. my good lord, I have been your 
t«nant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore 
years. 

Glou. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone : 
Tliy comforts can do me no good at all ; 
Thee they may hurt. 

Old 2Ian. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 

Glou. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes ; 
I stumbled when I saw : full oft 't is seen. 
Our means secure us, and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, 
The food of thy abused father's wrath ! 
Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
I 'Id say I had eyes again ! 

QUI Man. ' How nowM "Who 's there ? 

Ei!(j. [Aside] O gods ! AVho is 't can say ' I am at 
I am ^vorse than e'er I was. [the worst ' ? 

Old Man. 'T is poor mad Tom. 

Edij. [Aside] And worse I may be yet : the worst 
So long as we can say ' This is tlie woi"st.' [is not 

Old Man. Fellow, where goest ? 

Glou. Is it a beggar-man ':* 

Ohl Man. ^Madman and beggar too. 

Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ; 
Which made me think a man a worm : my son 
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind 
AVas then scarce friends with him; I have heanl 

more since. 
As flies to wanton boj's, are we to the gods. 
They kill us for their sport. 

Ed'j. [Aside] How should this be ':' 

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, 
Angering itself and others. — Bless thee, master! 

Glou. Is that the naked fellow? 

Ohl .Van. Ay, my lord. 

Glou. Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake. 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love; 
And bring some covering for tins naked soul. 
Who I "11 entreat to lead me. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, he is mad. 

Glou. 'T is the times' plague, when madmeu lead 
the blind. 
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; 
Above the rest, he gone. 

Old Man. I "11 bring him the best 'parelthat I have, 
Come on 't wliat will. [Exit. 

Gloa. Sirrah, naked fellow, — 

Ed(j. Poor Tom's a-cold. [^Isi'cZf] I cannot daub 
it further. 

Glou. Come hither, fellow% 

Edg. [Aside] And yet I must. — Bless thy sweet 
eyes, they bleed. 

Glou' Know'st thou the way to Dover? 

Edf;. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot- 
path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good 



wits: bless thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend ! 
five tiends have been in poor Tom at once : of lust, 
as Obidicut ; Hobbididanca^ prince of dumbness ; 
Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibberti- 
gibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since pos- 
sesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless 
thee, ma.ster! 

Glou. Here, take this purse, thou whom the 
heavens' plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched 
Makes tlice tlic happier: heavens, dial so still! 
Let the superlluous and lust-dieted man. 
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ; 
So distribution should undo excess, 
And each man have enough. Dost thou know 

Edg. Ay, master. [Dover ? 

Glou. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep: 
Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear 
With something rich about me : from that place 
I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm : 

Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Before the Dul:e of Albany'' s palace. 
Enter Goneril and Edmund. 
Gon. Welcome, my lord : I marvel our mild hus- 
Not met us on the way. [band 

Enter Oswald. 

Xow. where 's your master ? 

Osw. Madam, within ; but never man so changed. 
I told him of the army that was landed; 
He .smiled at it : I told him j'ou were coming; 
His answer was 'The worse:' of Gloucester's 
And of the loyal service of his son, • [treachery, 
When I inform 'd him, then he call'd me sot. 
And- told me I had turn'd the wrong side out : 
AVhat most he should dislike seems pleasant to him ; 
What like, offensive. 

Gon. [To Edni.] Then shall you go no further. 
It is the eowish terror of his spirit. 
That dares not undertake: he '11 not feel WTongs 
Which tie him to an answer. Ourwisheson the way 
^[ay prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother ; 
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers: 
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 
Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear, 
If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech; 
[Giving a favour. 
Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
AVould stretch thy .spirits up irito the air: 
Conceive, and fare thee well. 

Edm. "Yours in the ranks of death. 

Gon. My most dear Gloucester! 

[E.xit Edmund. 
O, the difference of man and man ! 
To thee a woman's services are due: 
My fool usurps my body. 

Osic. Madam, here comes my lord. 

„ [Exit. 

Enter the Duke of Albany. 

Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 

Alb. O Goneril ! 

You are not worth the diist which the rude wind 
Blows in your face. I fear your disposition : 
That nature, which contemns its origin, 
Cannot be border'd certain in itself ; 
She that herself will sliver and disbranch 
713 



ACT IV. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE IV. 



From lier material sap, perforce must wither 
And come to deadly use. 

Gon. 'So more; the text is foolish. 

^1/6. AVisikim and Hoodness to the vile seem vile : 
Filths savouiliut thrniselves. AVha-t have you done? 
Tigers, not daughlers,%\vhat have you perform'd? 
A father, and a gracious agfil man, [lick, 

Whose reverence even tlie head-lugg'd bear would 
Most barbarous, most degenerate ! have you madded. 
Could my good brother suffer you to do it ? 
A luau, a prince, by him so benefited I 
If tliat the heavens do not their visible spirits 
Send quickly down to tame these vile oti'ences, 
It will come, 

Humanity must perforce prey ou itself, 
Like monsters of the deep. 

Qon. Milk-liver'd man! 

Tliat bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs ; 
AVho hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
Thineliouourfrom thy suffering; that not know'st 
Fools do those villains pity who are punisliM 
Ere they have done their mischief. Where 's thy 

drum y 
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land ; 
Willi plumed helm thy slayer begins threats ; 
Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest 
'Alack, why does he so V ' 

Alh. See thyself, devil I 

Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 
So horrid as iu woman. 

Gon. O vain fool ! ■ [shame, 

Alh. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for 
Be-monster not thy feature. Were 't my fitness 
To let these hands obey my blood, 
Tliey are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
Thy Uesli and bones : howe'er thou art a fiend, 
A woman's shape doth shield thee. 

Gon. Marry, your manhood now — 

Enter a Messenger. 

Alh. What news ? [dead ; 

Mass. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall 's 
Slain by Ids servant, going to put out 
The other eye of Gloucester. 

Alh. Gloucester's eyes ! 

Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with re- 
morse. 
Opposed against the act, bending his sword 
To his great master; who, thereat enraged, 
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead ; 
But not witliout that harmful stroke, which since 
Hath pluck'd him after. 

Alh. This shows you are above, 

You justicers, that these our nether crimes 
So speedily can venge ! But, O poor Gloucester I 
Lost he his other eye ? 

Mess. Both, both, my lord. 

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ; 
'T is from your sister. 

Go]i. [Aside] One way I like this well ; 

But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, 
ilay all tlie building in my fancy pluck 
Upon my liateful life: another way, 
The uews is not so tart. — I '11 read, and answer. 

[Exit. 

Alh. Where was his son when they did take his 

Mess. Come with my lady hither. [eyes ? 

Alh. He is not here. 

Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again. 

Alh. Knows he the wickedness ? [him; 

Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 't was he inform 'd against 
And quit the house on purpose, that their punish- 
Might have the freer course. [meut 

Alh. Gloucester, I live 

To thank thee for the love thou show'dst tlie king. 

And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend : 

Tell me what more thoii know'st. [Exeunt. 

714 



SCENE III. — Tlie French camp near Dover, 
Enter Kent and a Gentleman. 

Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly 
gone back know you the reason V 

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, 
which since his coming forth is thought of; which 
imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, 
that his personal return was most required and 
necessary. 

Kent. Who hath he left behind him general ? 

Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far. 

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any 
demonstration of grief i* [presence ; 

Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my 
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
Her delicate cheek; it secm'd she was a queen 
Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like. 
Sought to be king o'er her. 

Kent. O, then it moved her. 

Gent. Not to a rage; patience and sorrow strove 
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears 
Were like a better way: those hajipy sniilets, 
Tliat play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
What guests were in her eyes ; which parted thence, 
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief, 
Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved, 
If all could so become it. 

Kent. Made she no verbal question ? 

Gent. 'Faith, once or twice she heaved the name 
of ' father ' 
Pantmgly forth, as if it press 'd her heart : 
Cried 'Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies ! sisters! 
Kent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' the 
Let pity not be believed!' There she shook [night? 
Tlie holy water from her heavenly eyes, 
And clamour moisten 'd : then away she started 
To deal with grief alone. 

Kent. It is the stars, 

The stars above us, govern our conditions; 
Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? 

Gent. No. 

Kent. Was this before the king return 'd ? 

Gent. No, since. 

Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' the 
Who sometime, in hisbetter tune, remembers [town; 
What we are come about, and by no means 
Will yield to see his daughter. 

Gent. Why, good sir? 

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his own 
uukindness, 
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her 
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
To his dog-hearted daugliters, these things sting 
His mind so veiioniously, that burning shame 
Detains him from Cordelia. 

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman ! 

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you 

Gent. 'T is so, they are afoot. [heard not ? 

Kent. Well, sir, I 'll bring you to our master Lear, 
And leave you to attend him : some dear cause 
AVill in concealment wrap me up awhile ; 
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go 
Along with me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The same. A tent. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Cordelia, Doctor, 
and Soldiers. 
Cor. Alack, 't is he : why, he was met even now 
As mad as the vex'd sea ; singing aloud ; 
Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds. 
With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 



ACT IV. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE VI. 



In our sustaining coru. A century send forth ; 

ISearcli every acre iu the higli-sro\vn field, 

And bring him to our eye. lExil an Ojjiccr.] "What 

can man's wisdom 
In tlie restoring Iiis bereaved sense ? 
lie tliat helps him take all my outward worth. 

Duct. There is means, madam : 
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 
The wliich he lacks ; that to provoke in lum, 
Are many simples operative, whose power 
AVill close the eye of anguish. 

Cur. All blest secrets, 

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, 
Spring with my tears ! be aidant and remediate 
In the good man's distress ! Seek, seek for him ; 
Lest his ungovern"d rage dissolve the life 
That wants the means to lead it. 

JEnter a Messeng-er. 

il/t s. Xews, madam ; 

Tlie British powers are marching hitlierward. 

Cor. 'T is known before : our preparation stands 
111 expectation of them. O dear father. 
It is thy business that I go about ; 
Therefore great France 

My mourning and important tears hath pitied. 
No blowni ambition doth our arms incite. 
But love, dear love, and our aged father's right : 
Soon may I hear and see him I [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Ghticester''s castle. 
Enter Regan and Os'wrald. 

Beg. But are my brother's powers set forth ? 

O.-'ir. Ay, madam. 

Ii( ;/. Himself iu person there ? 

0.s(c. Madam, with much ado : 

Your sister is the better soldier. 

Jiey. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at 
home ? 

Om\ No, madam. [him ? 

liiy. What might import my sister's letter to 

Osiv. I know not, lady. 

Beg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. 
It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out. 
To let him live : where he arrives he moves 
All hearts against us : Edmund, I tliink, is gone, 
In pity of his misery, to dispatcli 
His nighted life : moreover, to descry 
The strength o' the enemy. Petter. 

Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with my 

Beg. Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with 
The ways are dangerous. [us ; 

Osw. I may not, madam : 

My lady charged my duty in this business. 

Beg. Why should she write to Edmund ? Might 
not you 
Trans]>ort her piu'poses by word ? Belike, 
Something — I know not what: I'll love thee much. 
Let me unseal the letter. 

Osw. Madam, I had rather— 

Beg. I know your lady does not love herhusband; 
I am sure of that : and at her late licing here 
She gave strange usillades and most sjjeaking looks 
To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom. 

Osw. I, madam ? 

Beg. I speak in understanding ; you are, I know 't : 
Therefore I do advise you, take tius note: 
My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have Uilk'd; 
And more convenient is he for my liand 
Than for ynur lady's : j'ou may gather more. 
If you do tind him, pray you, give him this ; 
And when your mistress hears thus much from you, 
I pray, desh'e her call her wisdom to her. 
So, fare you well. 

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor. 
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 



Osw. Would I could meet him, madam I I sliould 

What party I do follow. [show 

Beg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Fields near Dover. 

Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a 
peasant. 

Glou. AVhen shall we come to the top of that 
same hill V [hour. 

Edg. You do climb up it now: look, how we la- 

Gha. Methinks the gromid is even. 

Edg. Horrible steep. 

Hark, do you hear the sea ? 

Glou. No, truly. 

Edg. Why, then , your other senses grow imperfect 
By your eyes' anguish. 

Glou. So may it be, indeed : 

Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st 
In better phrase and matter than thou didst. 

Edg. You "re much deceived : in nothing am I 
But in my garments. [changed, 

Glou. Slethinks you 're better spoken. 

Edg. Come on, sir; here 's the place : standstill. 
How fearful 
And dizzy 't is, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air 
Show scarce so gross as beetles : half-way down 
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade ! 
Methinks he seems no bigger than^is head : 
The IJshermen, that walk upon the beach. 
Appear like mice ; and yond tall anchoring bark, 
Diniinisli'd to her cock ; her cock, a buoy 
Almost too small for sight : the murmuring surge. 
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, 
Cannot be heard so high. I 'II look no more ; 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Tojiple "down headlong. 

Glou. Set me where you stand. 

Edg. Give me your hand : you are now within- a 
foot 
Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
Would I not leap upright. 
• Glou. Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel 
AVell worth a poor man's taking: fairies and gods 
Prosper it with thee ! Go thou farther olf ; 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. 

Glou. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair 
Is done to cure it. 

Glou. [Kneeling] O you mighty gods! 
This world I do renounce, and, in your sights, 
Shake patiently my great affliction off: 
If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills. 
My snuff and loathed part of nature should 
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him ! 
Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He falls forward. 

Edg. Gone, sir: farewell. 

And 3et I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of life, when life itself 
Yields to the theft : had he been where he thought. 
By this, had thought been past. Alive or dead y 
Ho, you sir! friend! Here you, sir! speak! 
TIius might he pass indeed: yet he revives. 
What are you, sir? 

Glou. Away, and let me die. 

Edg. Iladst thou been aught but gossamer, feath- 
So many fathom down precipitating, [ers, air. 

Thou 'dst sliiver'd like an egg: "but thou dost 

breathe ; 
Hast heavy substance ; bleed 'st not; speak'st; art 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude [soimd. 
Which thou liast perpendicularly fell : 
Thy life 's a mii'acle. Speak yet again. 
715 



ACT IV. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE vr. 



Ghn. But Imve I fairii, or no? 

EiVj. From 1 1 If drcai I summit of this clialky bourn. 
Look up a-lieight; tlit- slirill-gorged lark so far 
Cannot be seen or lieard : do but look up. 

Glou. Alack, I have no eyes. 
Is wretchedness deprived that benefit, 
To end itself by death y 'T was yet some comfort, 
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, 
And frustrate his proud will. 

Edy. Give me your arm : 

Up : so. How is 't ? Feel you your legs 'f You 

Glriu. Too well, too well. [stand. 

Edg. This is above all strangeness. 

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
Which parted from you V 

Glmi. A poor unfdrtuiiate beggar. 

Edg. As I stood here below, melhouglit his eyes 
Were two full moons; he had a tliousand noses. 
Horns whelk'd and waved like the cniidged sea: 
It was some Bend; therefore, thciu liaiipy fatlier. 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them hon- 
Of men's impossibilities, liave preserved thee, [ours 

Glnu. I do remember now: henceforth I '11 bear 
Affliction till it do cry out itself 
' Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you speak 
I took it for a man; often 'twould say [of, 

' The fiend, the fiend :' he led me to that place. 

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. But who 
comes here V 

Enter Ijear , fantastically dressed with wild floiccrs. 
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
His master thus. 

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining; I 
am the king himself. 

Edg. O thou side-piercing sight ! 

Lear. Nature 's above art in that respect. There 's 
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow 
like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. 
Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of 
toasted cheese will do 't. There 's my gauntlet ; I '11 
prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, 
well flown, bird! i' the clout, 1' the clout: liewgh! 
Give the word. , 

Edg. Sweet marjoram. 

Lear. Pass. 

Glou. I know that voice. 

iear. Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They 
flattered me like a dog ; and told me I had white 
hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. 
To say ' ay ' and ' no ' to every thing that I said ! — 
' Ay ' and ' no ' too was no good divinity. Wlien 
the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to 
make me chatter: when the thunder would not 
peace at my bidding; there I found 'em, there I 
smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' tlieir 
words: they told me I was every thing; 'tis a lie, I 
am not ague-proof. 

Glou. Tlie trick of that voice I do well remem- 
Is 't not the king i* [ber : 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. 
I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? 
Adultery ? 

Thou Shalt not die : die for adultery ! No : 
The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly 
Does lecher in my sight. 

Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard son 
AVas kinder to his father than my daughters 
Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
To 't, luxury, pell-mell ! for I lack soldiers. 
Behold yond simpering dame, 
AVhose face between her forks in-esages snow ; 
That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
To hear of pleasure's name ; 
The fitchew, nor the soiled liorse, goes to 't 
With a more riotous appetite. 
716 



Downi from the waist they are Centaurs, 

Though women all above : 

But to the girdle do the gods inherit, 

Beneath is all the fiends. 

There 's hell, there 's darkness, there 's the sulpliur- 

ous pit. 
Burning, scalding, stench, consumption: fie, fie, 
fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good 
apothecary, to sweeten my imagination : there 's 
money for thee. 

Glou. O, let me kiss that hand ! 

LcMr. Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mortality. 

Gluu. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me? 

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind 
Cupid; I "11 not love. Bead thou this challenge; 
mark but the penning of it. [one. 

Glou. Were all the letters suns, I could not see 

Edg. I would not take this from report ; it is, 
And my heart breaks at it. 

Lear. Bead. 

Glou. AVliat, with the case of eyes ? 

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No eyes 
in your head, nor no money in. your purse ? Your 
eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light : yet 
you see how this world goes. 

Glou. I see it feelingly. 

Lear. AVhat , art mad ? A man may see how this 
world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: 
see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. 
Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handj'- 
dandy, whicli is the justice, which is the thief? 
Th(ui hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar ? 

Glou. Ay, sir. 

Leeir. And the creature run from the' cur ? There 
thou mightst behold the great image of authority : 
a dog 's obeyed in office. 

Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand ! [back ; 
Why dost thou lash that wliore ? Strip thine own 
Tho'u hotly lust'st to use her in that kind [cozenfr. 
For whicJi thou wliipp'st lier. The usurer hangs the 
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do a])pear; 
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold. 
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it. 
None does oifend, none, I say, none ; I '11 able 'em : 
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
And, like a scurvy politician, seem [now: 

To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, 
Pull off my boots : harder, harder: so. 

Edg. O,' matter and impertinency mix'd! 
Reason in madness ! 

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloucester : 
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: 
Thou know'st, the first lime that we smell the air. 
We wawl and cry. I will i)reach to thee : maik. 

Glou. Alack, alack the day! [come 

Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are 
To this great stage of fools: this a good block; 
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
A troop of horse with felt: I '11 put 't in proof; 
And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law, 
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill! 

Enter a Gentleman, wilh Attendants. 

Gent. O, here he is: lay hand upou him. Sir, 
Your most dear daughter — 

Learr No rescue ? " What, a prisoner ? I am even 
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well : 
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons ; 
I am cut to the brains. 

Gent. You shall have any thing. 

Lear. No seconds ? all myself ? 
Whv, this would make a man a man of salt, 



ACT IV. 



KIXG LEAR. 



SCENE VII. 



To use bis eyes for garden water-pots, 
Av, and laying autumn's dust. 

'Gent. Good sir, — 

Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. "What! 
I will be jovial : come, "come ; I am a king, 
My masters, know you that. 

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 

Leur. Then there "s life in 't. Xay, if you get it, 
you shall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 

\Ej:it running; Atienihinls follmc. 

Gent. A sight most pitiful iu the meanest wTetch, 
Past speaking of in a king ! Thou hast one daughter, 
"Who redeems nature from the general curse 
"Wliich twain have brought her to. 

Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 

Gent. Sir, speed you : what 's your will ? 

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle tow:ard? 

Gent. Most sure and vulgar : every one hears that, 
■Which can distinguish sound. 

JEdg. But, by 5'our favour, 

How near 's the other army ? 

Gent. Is' ear and on speedy foot ; the main descry 
Stands on the hourly thought. 

Edg. I thank you, sir : that 's all. 

Gent. Though that the queeu on special cause is 
Her army is moved on. [here, 

Edg. I thank you, sir. 

[Exit Gent. 

Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from 
Let not my worser spirit tempt me agaiu [me ; 

To die before you please ! 

Edg. "Well pray you, father. 

Glou. IJow, good sir, what are you ? [blows ; 

Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune's 
"Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows. 
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
I "11 lead you to some biding. 

(_flfiu. Hearty thanks : 

The bounty and the benison of heaven 
To boot, and boot ! 

Enter Oswald. 

Osu\ A proclaim 'd prize ! Most happy ! 
Tiiat eyeless liead of thine was first framed flesh 
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, 
Briefly thyself remember : the sword is out 
That must destroy thee. 

Glou. Now let thy friendly hand 

Put strength enough to 't. [Edgar interposes. 

Os'c. "\Vherefore, bold peasant. 

Barest thou support a publish'd traitor ? Hence ; 
Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. 

Osic. Let go, slave, or thou diest ! 

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor 
volk pass. An chud ha' liin zwaggered out of my 
life, 't would not ha' bin zo longas 't is by a vort- 
night. Nay, come not near th' old man ; keep out, 
che vor ye, or ise try whether your costard or my 
ballow lie the harder : chill be plain with vou. 

Osw. Out, dunghill ! 

Edg. Cliill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter 
vorVour foins. 

[Theij light, and Edgar knocJcs him doicn. 

Osic. Slave, thou hast slain me : villain, take my 
If ever tliou wilt thrive, bury my body; [iiurse : 
And give the letters which thou Qnd'st about me 
■ To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out 
Upon the British party : O, untimely death ! [Dies. 

Edg. I know thee well : a serviceable villain ; 
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress 
As badness would desire. 

Glou. "What, is he dead ? 

Edg. .Sit you down, father; rest you. 
Let 's see these pockets : the letters that he speaks of 
May be my friends. He 's dead ; I am only sorry 



He had no other death 's-man. Let us see : 
Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blame us not : 
To know our enemies' minds, we 'Id rip their hearts ; 
Their papers, is more lawful. 

[lieuds] ' Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. 
You have many opportunities to cut him off : if 
your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully 
offered. There is nothing done, if he return the 
conqueror : then am I the prisoner, and his bed my 
gaol; from the loathed warmth wliereof deliver me, 
and supply the place for your labour. 
' Your — wife, so I would say — 

'Aifectionate servant, 

• GOXERIL.' 

undistinguish'd space of woman's will! 
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ; 

And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands, 

Thee I '11 rake up, the post unsanctified 

Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time 

"With this ungracious paper strike the sight 

Of the death-practised duke ; for him "t is well 

That of thy death and business I can tell. 

Glou. The king is mad : how stiff is my vile sense, 
Tliat I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract : 
So slioidd my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, 
And woes by wrong imaginations lose 
The knowledge of themselves. 

Edg. Give me your hand : 

[Drum afar off. 
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum : 
Come, father, I '11 bestow you with a fiiend. 

[E.ceimt. 

SCENE "VII. — A tent in the French camp. Lear 

on a bed asleep, soft music playing ; Gentleman, 
and others attending. 

Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Doctor. 

Cor. Othou good Kent, how shall I live and work, 
To match thy goodness ? My life will be too short. 
And every measure fail me. 

A'()!(. To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid. 
All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so. 

Cor. Be better suited : 

These weeds are memories of those worser hours : 

1 prithee, put them off. 

Kent. Pardon me, dear madam ; 

Yet to be knowTi shortens my made intent : 
My boon I make it, that youknow me not 
Till time and I think meet. 

Cor. Then be 't so, my good lord. [To the Doctor] 
How does the kiiig 'f 

Doct. Madam, sleeps still. 

Cor. O you kind gods. 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
Tlie untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up 
Of this child-changed father ! 

Doct. So please your majesty 

That we may wake the king : he hath "slept long. 

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 

Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Doct. Be by, good madam , when we do awake him ; 
I doubt not of his temperance. 

Cor. Very well, [there! 

Doct. Please you, draw near. Louder the music 

Cor. O my dear father! Restoration hang 
Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms tliat my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ' 

Kent. Kind and dear princess ! 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white 
flakes 
Had challenged pity of them. "Was this a face 
717 



ACT V. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE I. 



To be opposed against the warring winds ? 

To stand against the deep dread-bolted tliunder? 

Ill the most terrible and nimble stroke 

Of (luick, cross lightning V to watch — poor perdu ! — 

With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog, 

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 

Against my lire; and wast thou fain, poor father, 

To hovel tiiee with swiue, and rogues forlorn. 

In short and musty straw '? Alack, alack ! 

'T is wonder that thy life and wits at once 

Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him. 

I)oci. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. [majesty? 

Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your 

Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the 
Tliou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound [grave : 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 

Cor. Sir, do you linow me ? 

Lear. You are a spirit, I know : when did you die ? 

Cor. Still, still, far wide! 

Doct. He 's scarce awake : let him alone awhile. 

Lea.r. Where have I been '? Where am I ? Fair 
daylight ? 
I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity. 
To see another thus. I know not what to say. 
I will not swear these are my hands : let 's see ; 
1 feel this pin prick. Would I were assured 
Of my condition 1 

Cor. O, look upon me, sir. 

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me: 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear. Pray, do not mock me : 

I am a very foolish fond old man. 
Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less ; 
And, to deal plainly, 
I fear I am not in my perfect mind. 
Metbinks I should know you, and know this man ; 
Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant 



What place this is ; and all the skill I have 
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not 
AVhere I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me ; 
For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
To be my child Cordelia. 

Cor. And so I am, I am. 

Lear. Be your tears wet ? yes, 'faith. I pray, weep 
If you have poison tor me, I will drink it. [not : 
1 know you do not love me ; for your sisters 
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
You have some cause, they have not. 

Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Am I in France ? 

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 

Lear. Do not abuse me. 

JUoct. Be comforted, good madam : the great rage, 
You see, is kill'd in him : and yet it is danger 
To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 
Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more 
Till further settling. 

Cor. Will 't please your liighness walk ? 

Lear. You must bear with me : 

Pray you now, forget and forgive : I am old and 

foolish. {Exeunt all but Kent and Gentleman. 

Or lit. Ilnlils it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall 
was so slain ? 

Knit. Most certain, sir. 

Gent. Who is conductor of his people? 

Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester. 

Gent. They say Edgar, his banished son, is with 
the Earl of Kent in Germany. 

Kent. Report is changeable. 'T is time to look 
about; the powers of the kingdom approach apace. 

G(nt. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. 
Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 

Kent. My point and period will be throughly 
wrought. 
Or well or ill, as this day's battle 's fought. [Exit. 



.ACT ^. 



SCENE I. — The British camp, neeir Dover. 

Enter, loith drum and colours, Edmund, Regan, 
Gentlemen, and Soldiers. 

Edm. Know of the duke if his last purpose hold. 
Or wiiether since he is advised by aught 
To change the course : he 's full of alteration 
And self -reproving : bring his constant pleasure. 

[3'o a Gentleman, who (joes out. 

lierj. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 

Edm. 'T is to be doubted, maflkm. 

Iic(j. Now, sweet lord. 

You know the goodness I intend upon you : 
Tell me — but truly — but then speak the truth. 
Do you not love my sister ? 

Edm. In honour 'd love. 

Beg. But have you never found my brother's way 
To the forfended place ? 

Edm. That thought abuses you. 

licg. I am doubtful that ynu have been conjunct 
Andbosom'd with licr, as far as we call hers. 

Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 

Beg. I never shall endure her : dear my lord, 
Be not familiar with her. 

Edm. Fear me not : 

She and the duke her husband ! 

Enter, with drum and colours, Albany, Goneril, 
and Soldiers. 
Gon. [Aside'\ I had rather lose tb.e battle than that 
Should loosen liim and me. [sister 

All). Our very loving sister, well be-niet. 
Sir, this I hear; the king is come to his daughter, 
With others whom the rigour of our state 
718 



Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest, 
I ne\t'r yet was valiant: for tliis business, j 

It toiuhcth us, as France invades our land, , 

Not l)ol(ls the king, with others, whom, I fear, 1 
Most just and heavy causes make oppose. j 

Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 

Beg. Why is this reason 'd? ■ 

Gem. Combine together 'gaiiist the enemy ; '< 

For these domestic and particular broils 
Are not the question here. 

Alb. Let 's tlien determine ; 

With the ancient of war on our iirocecdings. ; 

Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. \ 

Beg. Sister^you '11 go with us ? 

Gcfn. No. 

Beg. 'T is most convenient ; pray you , go with us. 

Gon. [Asi(le\ 0,ho, I know the riddle. — I will go. 

As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised. 

Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man so 
Hear" me one word. [poor, 

Alb. I '11 overtake you. Speak. ' 

[Exeunt all hnt Alhnnj and Edgar. \ 

Edg. Before you fight the battle, ii])e this letter. J 
If you have victory, let the tnnnpct sound '\ 

For him that brought it : wrctclicd though I seem, 
I can produce a champion that will juove , 

What is avouched there. If you miscarry. 
Your business of tlie world hath so an end, i 

And machination ceases. Fortune love you ! 1 

Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. ' 

Edg. I was forbid it. 

When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, 
And I '11 appear again. j 



ACT V. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE ITI. 



Alh. Why, fare thee well: I will overlook thy 
paper. „ „ , , \_Exit Edyar. 

Re-enter Edmund. 

Edm. The enemy 's in view ; draw up your powers. 
Here is the guess of tlieir true strength and forces 
]5y diligent discovery ; but your hasie 
Is" now'^urged on you. 

Alb. AVe will greet the time. [Exit. 

Edm. To both these sisters have I sworu my love ; 
Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
Are of the adder. Which of them sliall I take ? 
Both? one? orneither? ^'either can be enjoy'd, 
If both remain alive: to take the widow 
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; 
And hardly sliall I carry out my side. 
Her liusband being alive. Now then we '11 use 
His countenance for the battle; which being done, 
Let her who would be rid of him devise 
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 
AVhich he" intends to Lear and to Cordelia, 
The battle done, and they within our power, 
Shall never see his pardon; for my state 
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [E.cit. 

SCENE II. — Afield between the tico camps. 

Alarum imthin. Enter, with drum and colours, Lear, 
Cordelia, and Soldiers, over the stage; and exeunt. 

Enter Edgar and Gloucester. 

Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree 

For your good host ; pray that the right may thrive : 

If ever I return to you again, 

I 'II bring you comfort. 

Glou. Grace go with j'ou, sir! 

[Exit Edgar. 

Alarum and retreat within. Ec-enter Edgar. 
Edg. Away, old man; give me thy hand ; away! 
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en : 
Give me thy hand; come on. 
G'oi!. No farther, sir; a man may rot even here. 
Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must 
' endure 
Their going hence, even as their coming hither : 
J. Ripeness is all: come on. 
I Glou. And that 's true too. [E.ceunt. 

SCENE in. — Tlie British camp near Dover. 

Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, Edmund; 
Lear and Cordelia, prisoners ; Captain, Soldiers, lOc. 

Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard. 
Until their greater pleasures first be known 
That are to censure them. 

Cur. We are not the first 

Who, with best meaning, have incurrtl the worst. 
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown. 
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters V 

Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let 's away to prison : 
We two alone will sing like birds i' tlie cage: 
"W'hen thou dost ask me blessing, I '11 kneel down. 
And ask of thee forgiveness : so we '11 live. 
And pray, and sing," and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of court news; and we '11 tattv with them too, 
Wlio loses and who wins ; who 's in, who 's out ; 
f And take upon 's the mystery of things. 

As if we were God's spies: and we '11 wear out. 
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones. 
That ebb and flow by the moon. 

Edm. Take them away. 

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, [thee? 
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught 
He that parts us sliall bring a brand from heaven, 
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ; 
The good-years shall devour them, flesh and fell, 



Ere they shall m ake us weep : we '11 see 'em starve first. 
Come. [E.au.nt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 

Edm. Come hither, captain; hark. 
Take thou this note [(jiving a iiaper] ; go follow them 

to prison : 
One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost 
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men 
Are as the time is : to be tender-minded 
Does not become a sword : thy great employment 
Will not bear question; either say thou 'It do 't, 
Or thrive by other means. 

Capt. I '11 do 't, my lord. 

Edm. About it ; and i^Tite happy wlieu thou hast 
J^Iark, I say, instantly; and carry it so [done. 

As I have set it down. 

Capt. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats; 
If it be man's work, I '11 do 't. [Exit. 

Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
another Captain, and Soldiers. 

Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain, 
And fortune led you well: you have the captives 
That were the opposites of "this day's strife: 
We do require them of you, so to use them 
As we shall find their merits aud our safety 
May equally determine. 

Edm. Sir, I thought it fit 

To send the old and miserable king 
To some retention and appointed guard ; 
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, 
To pluck'the common bosom on his side, 
And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes [queen; 
Which do command them. With him I sent the 
My reason all the same; and they are ready 
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
AVhere }"ou shall hold j'our session. At this time 
We sweat and lileed : the friend hath lost his friend ; 
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed 
By those tliat feel their sharpness : 
The question of Cordelia and her father 
Requires a fitter place. 

Alb. Sir. by your patience, 

I hold you but a subject of this war, 
Not as a brother. 

lieg. That 's as we list to grace him. 

Metliinks our pleasure might have been "demanded, 
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers; 
Bore the commission of my place and person ; 
The which immediacy may well stand up, 
And call itself your brother. 

Gon. Not so hot: 

In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
More than in your addition. 

Beg. In my rights, 

By me invested, he compeers the best. [you. 

'Gon. That were the most, if he should husband 

Jicg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 

Gon. Holla, holla! 

Tliat eye that told you so look'd but a-sqnint. 

licg. Lady, I am not well; else I shoidd answer 
From a full-flowing stomach. General, 
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony; 
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine: 
Witness the world, that I create thee here 
My lord and master. 

Gon. Mean you to enjoy him ? 

Alb. The let-alone lies not'm your good will. 

E'hn. Nor in thine, lord. 

Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 

Reg. [To Edmund] Let the drum strike, and prove 
my title thine. 

Alb. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmimd, I arrest thee 
On capital treason; and, in thine attaint, 
Thisgilded serpent [^wjD^iiigfoGo)!.]. Foryourclaim, 
I bar it in the interest of my wife ; [fair sister, 

'T is she is sub-contracted to this lord. 
And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
719 



ACT V. 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE III. 



If you will marry, make your loves to me, 
My lady is bespoke. 

Qon. An interlude! [pet sound: 

Alh. Thou art arm'd, Gloucester: let the trum- 
If none appear to prove upon thy head 
Tliy lieinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
There is my pledge [throwing down a ylove] ; I '11 

prove it on tliy heart, 
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 

Beg. Sick, O, sick ! 

Gon. [Aside] If not, I '11 ne'er trust medicine. 

Edm. Tliere 's my exchange [tlirowing down a 
glove] ; what in the world he is 
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies: 
Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach, 
On him, on you, who not 'f I will maintain 
My truth and honour firmly. 

Alb. A herald, ho! 

JSdm. A herald, ho, a herald! 

Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers, 
All levied in my name, have in my name 
Took their discharge. 

Jieg. My sickness grows upon me. 

A lb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent. 

[Exit Began, led. 
Enter a Herald. 

Come hitlier, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, — 
And read out this. 

Ci(;it. Si nmd, trumpet! [A trumpet sounds. 

Her. [Bedils] ' If any man of quality or degree 
within tl'ie lists of the army will maintain upon 
Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a 
manil'dlil traitor, let him appear by the third sound 
of tlic trumpet : he is bold in his defence.' 

Edin. .Sound! \First Trumpet. 

Her. Again ! [Second Trumpet. 

Her. Again! [Third Trumpet. 

[Trumpet answers witfdn. 

Enter Edgar, at the third sound, armed, with a 
trumpet before him. 

Alb. Ask him his pui'poses, why he appears 
Upon this call o' the trumpet. 

Her. What are you ? 

Your name, your quality ? and why you answer 
This present summons ? 

Edg. Know, my name is lost ; 

By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit : 
Yet am I noble as the adversary 
I come to cope. 

Alb. Which is that adversary ? 

Edg. What 's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of 
Gloucester ? 

Edm. Himself: what say'st thou to him? 

Edg. Draw thy sword. 

That, if my speech offend a noble heart. 
Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine. 
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours, 
!My oatli, and my profession : I protest, 
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, 
Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune. 
Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor; 
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy fatlier; 
Conspirant' 'gainst tliis liigli-illustrious prince; 
And, from tlie extrenicst upward of thy head 
To the descent an:l dust lielow tliy foot, 
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'No,' 
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent 
To prove upon tliy heart, whereto I speak, 
Tliou liest. 

Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name; 
But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike. 
And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, 
What safe and nicely I might well delay 
By rule of knighthood, I disdain aijd spurn : 
Back do I toss tliese treasons to thy liead ; 
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; 
720 



Which, for they yet glance liy and scarcely bruise, 
Tills sword of mine sliall give them instant way, 
Wliere they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak ! 
[Alarums. Theyjight. Edmundfalls. 

Alb. Save him, save him ! 

Gon. This is practice, Gloucester: 

By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer 
An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish 'd, 
But cozen'd and beguiled. 

Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, 

Or with this paper shall I stop it : Hold, sir: 
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil: 
No tearing, lady ; I perceive you know it. 

[Gives the letter to Edmund. 

Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine : 
Who can arraign me for 't ? 

Alb. Most monstrous ! oh ! 

Know'st thou this paper ? 

Gon. Ask me not what I know. [Exit. 

Alb. Go after her : she 's desperate ; govern her. 

Edm. What you have charged me with, that have 
I done ; 
And more, much more ; the time will bring it out : 
'T is pa.st, and so am I. But what art thou 
Tliat hast this fortune on me ? If thou 'rt noble, 
I do forgive thee. 

Edg. Let 's exchange charity. 

I am no less in blood than thou art. Edmund; 
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
Make instruments to plague us: 
The dark and vicious place where thee he got 
Cost him his eyes. 

Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 't is true; 

The wheel is come full circle ; I am here. 

Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy 
A^ royal nobleness: I must embrace thee : 
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever x 
Did hate thee or tliy father ! 

Edg. Worthy prince, I know 't. 

Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 
How have you known the miseries of yoiu' father ? 

Edg. By nursing them , my lord. List a brief tale ; 
And when 't is told, O, that my heart would burst ! 
Tlie bloody proclamation to escape. 
That follow'd me so near, — O, our lives' sweetness! 
That we the pain of deatli would hourly die 
Rather than die at once! — taught me to shift 
Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance 
That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit 
Met I my father witli his bleeding rings, 
Their precious stones new lost : became his guide, 
Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from despair; 
Never, — O fault ! — reveal'd myself unto him, 
Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd : 
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
Told him my pilgrimage : but his flaw'd heart, 
Alack, too weak'the conflict to support ! 
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
Burst smilingly. 

Edm. Tills speech of yours hath moved me, 
And shall percliance do good : but speak you on ; 
You look as you had something more to say. 

Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in; 
For I am almost ready to dissolve, 
Hearing of this. 

Edg. This would have seem'd a period 

To such as love not sorrow ; but anotlier. 
To amplify too much, would make much more. 
And top extremity. 

Wliilst I was big in clamour came there in a man. 
Who, liaving seen nie in my worst estate, 
Sliunn'd my abliorr'd society ; but then, finding 
Who 'twas that so endured, witli his strong arms 
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
As he 'Id burst heaven ; threw him on my father ; 



ACT V. 



KING LEAR. 



SCEN^E III. 



Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him 

That ever ear received: wliich in recounting 
• His grief grew puissiiut, and tlie strings of life 

Began to crack : twice then the trumpets sounded, 

And there 1 left him tranced. 
AVj. But who was this y 

Eihj. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent ; who in disguise 

FollowVl liis enemy king, and did him service 

Improper for a slave. 

Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife. 

Gent. Help, help, O, help! 

Eihj. What kind of help ? 

Alb. Speak, man. 

Edg. What means that bloody knife ? 

Gent. 'T is hot, it smokes ; 

It came even from the heart of — O, she's dead! 

Alb. Who dead ? speak, man. 

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister 
By her is poisoned ; she hath confess "d it. 

Edin. I was contracted to them both : all three 
Xow marry in an instant. 

Edg. Here comes Kent. 

Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead : 
This judgment of the heavens, that makes ustremble, 
Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 

Enter Kent. 

O, is this he ? 
Tlie time will not allow tlie compliment 
A\'hich very manners m-ges. 

Kent. I am come 

To bid my king and master aye good night : 
Is he not here V 

Alb. Great thing of ns forgot ! 

Speak, Edmund, where 's the king ? and where 's 
See"st thou this object, Kent ? ' [Cordelia ? 

[The bodies of Gontril and Began are brought in. 

Kent. Alack, why thus y 

Ed in. Yet Edmund was beloved: 

The one the other poison 'd for my sake. 
And after slew herself. 

Alb. Even so. Cover their faces. 

Edm. I pant for life : some good I mean to do, 
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, 
Be brief in it, to the castle ; for my writ 
Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia : 
Nay, send in time. 

Alb. Run, run, O, run ! 

Edg. To who, my lord ? Who hath the office ? send 
Thy token of reprieve. 

Ediii. Well thought on : take my sword, 
Give it tlie captain. 

Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgnr. 

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
To lay the blame upon her own despair. 
That she fordid herself. 

Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence 
awhile. [Edmund is borne ofi'. 

He-enter Lear, idth Cordelia decid in his arms; 

Edgar, Captain, and others following. 
. Lear. Howl, howl, hovkl, howl ! O, you are men 

of stones : 
Had I your tongues and eyes, I 'Id use them so 
That heaven's vault should crack. She 's gone for 
I know when one is dead, and when one lives; [ever! 
She 's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass ; 
If that !ier breath will mist or stain the stone, 
AVhy, then she lives. 
Kent. Is this the promised end ? 

Edg. Or image of that horror ? 
Alb. Fall, and cease! 

Lear. This feather stirs; she lives ! if it be so. 
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 
That ever t have felt. 
46 



Kent. [Kneeling] O my good master ! 

Lear. Prithee, "away. 

Edg. 'T is noble Kent, your friend. 

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all ! 
I might have saved her ; now she 's gone for ever ! 
Cordelia, Cordelia ! stay a little. Ha ! 
AVhat is 't thou say'st ? Her voice was ever soft. 
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. 
I kiird the slave that was a-hanging thee. 
' Capt. 'T is true, my lords, he did. 

Lear. Did I not, fellow ? 

I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion 
I would have made them skip : I am old now. 
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you ? 
Mine eyes are not o' the best : I '11 tell you straight. 

Kent. If fortune brag of two she loved and hated, 
One of them we behold. 

Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent ? 

Kent. The same, 

Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius ? 

Lear. He 's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
He '11 strike, and quickly too : he 's dead and rotten* 

Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man, — ' 

Lear. I '11 see that straight. 

Kent. That, from your lirst of difference and de- 
Have follow'd your sad steps. [cay, 

Lear. You are welcome hither. 

Kent. Nor no man else ; all 's cheerless, dark, and 
deadly. 
Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves. 
And desperately are dead 

Lear. > Ay, so I think. 

Alb. He knows not what he says: and vain it is 
That we present us to him. 

Edg. "^'ery bootless. 

Enter a Captain. 

Capt. Edmund is dead, mv lord. 

Alb. That 's but a trifle here. 

You lords and noble friends, know our intent. 
AVhat comfort to this great decay may come 
Sliall be applied : for us, we will resign, 
During the life of this old majesty. 
To him our absolute power: [lo Edgar and Kent] 

you, to your rights; 
With boot, and such addition as your honoiu'S 
Have more than merited. All friends shall taste 
The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
The cup of their deservings. O, see, .see ! 

Lear. And my poor fool is liang'd ! No, no, no 
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, [life! 
And thou no breath at all ? Thou 'It come no more, 
Never, never, never, never, never ! 
Pray you, undo this button : tl.ank you, sir. 
Do you see this ? Look on licr, look, her lips. 
Look there, look there ! [Dies. 

Edg. He faints! My lord, my lord! 

Kent. Break, heart ; I prithee, break ! 

Edg. Look up, my lord. 

Kent. Vex not his ghost : O, let him pass ! he 
hates him much 
ThaL would upon the rack of this tough world 
Stretch him out longer. 

Edg. He is gone, indeed. 

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endured so long: 
He but usurp 'd his life. 

^1/6. Bear them from hence. Our present business 
Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar] Friends of my 

soul, you twain 
Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain. 

Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go ; 
My master calls me, I must not say iio. 

Alb. The weiglit of this sad time we must obey;. 
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
The oldest hath borne most : we that are yoiing 
Shall never see so mucli, nor live so long. 

[Exeunt, with a deact march. 
7-2.1 




OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



DRAMATIS FEB SON JE. 



Duke of Venice. 
Brabantio, a senator. 
Other Senators. 

Gratiano, brother to Brabantio. 
Lodovico, kinsman to Brabantio. 
Othello, a noble Moor in the service of the Vene- 
tian state. 
Cassio, his lieutenant, 
lago, his ancient. 
Boderigo, a Venetian gentleman. 



Montano, Othello's predecessor in the government 

of Cyprus. 
Clown, servant to Othello. 
Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio and wife to 

Othello. 
Emilia, wife to lago. 
Bianca, mistress to Cassio. 

Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Gentlemen, Musi- 
cians, and Attendants. 

SCENE — Venice : a Sea-port in Cyprus. 



[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, 



LXV.] 



A^CT I. 



SCENE I.— ymice. A street. 



Enter Roderigo cwirZ lago. 

Bod. Tush ! never tell me ; I take it much un- 
kindly 
That thou, lago, who hast had my purse 
As if the strini4's were thine, shouldst know of this. 

lafjo. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : 
If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
Abhor me. [hate. 

Bod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy 

layo. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones 
of the city, 
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
Off-capp'd to him : and, by the faith of man, 
I kuow my price, I am worth no worse a place : 
But lie, as loving his own pride and purposes, 
Evades them, witli a bombast circumstance 
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; 
And, in conclusion, 

Nonsuits my mediators ; for, ' Certes,' says he, 
'I have already chose my otlicer.' 
And what was he ? 
Forsooth, a great arithmetician, 
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 
A fellow almost dannrd in a fair wife; 
That never set a squadion in the field, 
Nor the division of a battle knows 
More than a sjiinster; unless tlie bookish theoric, 
Wherein the toged consuls can propose • 

As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice, 
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election : 
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof 
At Rhodes, at f 'y])nis and on otlier grounds 
Christian and lioiUhcii, must be be-lee'd and calm'd 
By debitor and crcililor: this counter-caster, 
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, [cient. 
And I — God bless the mark! — his Moorship's an- 

Bod. By heaven, I rather would have been his 
hangman. [service, 

lago. Why, there 's no remedy; 'tis the curse of 
Preferment goes by letter and affection, 
And not by old gradation, where each second 
Stood heir to the Crst. Now, sir, be judge yourself, 
722 



Whether I in any just term am affined 
To love the Moor. 

Bod. I would not follow him then. 

Iwjo. O, sir, oontent you ; 
I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
Cannot be truly follow'd. You sliall mark 
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave. 
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass. 
For nought but provender, and when he 's old, 

cashier'd: 
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are 
Who, triiiimM in forms and visages of duty. 
Keep yet their liearts attending on themselves. 
And, ilirowiug but shows of service on their lords, 
Do well thrive by them and when they have lined 
their coats [soul ; 

Do themselves homage: these fellows liave some 
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, 
It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
AVere I the Moor, I would not be lago: 
In following him, I follow but myself; 
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
But seeming so, for my peculiar end : 
For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
The native act and figure of my heart 
In eonii)linient extern, 'tis not long after 
But I A\ill wear my heart upon my sleeve 
For daws to peck at : I am not wiiat I am. 

Bod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, 
If he can carry 't thus ! 

lago. Call up her father, 

Rouse him : make after him, jxiisoii Iiis delight, 
Procliiiiii liim in the streets; incense her kinsmen. 
And, tlnuigh he in a fertile climate dwell, 
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, 
Yet throw sucli changes of vexation on 't, 
As it may lose some colour. 

Bod. itere is her father's house ; I '11 call aloud. 

Lign. Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell 
As wlieii, by night and negligence, the fire 
Is spied in populous cities. 

Bod. What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! 



ACT I. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE II. 



lago. Awake ! what, ]io, Brabantio ! thieves ! 
thieves ! thieves ! 
Look to your house, your daugliter and your bags ! 
Tliieves! thieves! 

Brabantio appears ahove, at a window. 

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons ? 
What is the matter there V 

Hod. Siguier, is all your family within ? 

Idcjo. Are your doors lockVl Y 

Jli-a. Wliy, wherefore ask you this V 

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you 're robb'd ; for shame, put 
on your gown ; 
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul ; 
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram 
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise ; 
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell. 
Or else the devU will make a grandsire of you : 
Arise, I say. 

Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? 

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my 

Bra. Not I : what are you V [voice Y 

Rod. My name is Roderigo. 

Bra. The worser welcome : 

I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors : 
In honest plainness tliou hast heard me say 
My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in madness, 
I'eing full of supper and distempering draughts. 
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 
To start my quiet. 

Bod. Sir, sir, sir, — 

Bra. But thou must needs be sm-e 

My spirit and my place have in them power 
To make this bitter to thee. 

Rod. Patience, good sir. 

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? this is 
My house is not a grange. [Venice ; 

Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 

In simple and pwre soul I come to you. 

larjo. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will 
not serve God, if tlie devil bid you. Because we 
come to do you service and you think we are ruf- 
fians, you'll have your daughter covered with a 
Barbary horse ; you '11 have your nephews neigli to 
you ; you '11 have coursers for cousins and gennets 
for germans. 

Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? 

lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your 
daughter and the Moor are now making the beast 
with two backs. 

Bra. Thou art a vUlain. 

lago. You are — a senator. 

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Rod- 
erigo. [you. 

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech 
If 't be yoiir pleasure and most wise consent. 
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter. 
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night. 
Transported, with no worse nor better guard 
But with a knave of conunon liire, a gondolier. 
To the gross clasps of a lascivious iloor, — 
If this be known to you and your allowance, 
We tlien have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; 
"But if you know not this, my manners tell me 
AVe have your wrong rebuke. Do tot believe 
That, from the sense of all ci\'ility, 
I thus would play and trifle with your reverence : 
Your daughter, if you liave not given her leave, 
I say again, hath made a gross revolt; 
Tying her duty, beauty, wit an<l fortunes 
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger 
Of liere and every where. Stra iglit sat isf y yourself : 
If she be in her chamber or your house. 
Let loose on me the justice of the state 
For thus deluding you. 

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho ! 

Give me a taper ! call up all my people ! 



This accident is not unlike m.f dream : 
Belief of it oppresses me aheady. 
Light, I say ! light ! [Exit above, 

lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you : 

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, 
To be produced — as, if 1 stay, I shall — 
Against tlie Moor : for, I do know, the state, 
However this may gall him with some check, 
Cannot with safety cast him, for he 's embark'd 
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, 
Whi-ch even now stand in act, that, for their souls, 
Another of his fathom they have none. 
To lead their business : in which regard. 
Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains. 
Yet, for necessity of present life, 
I must show out a flag and sign of love, [find him. 
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely 
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search ; 
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Exit. 

Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants with 
torches. 

Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is; 
And what 's to come of my despised time 
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 
Where didst thou see her ? O unhapiiy girl ! 
Witli the Moor, say'st thou r' Who would be afather ! 
How didst thou know 't was she V O, she deceives me 
Past thought! What said she to you? Get more 

tapers ; 
Raise all my kindred. A' e they married, think von y 

Rod. Truly, I think they are. [the blood ! 

Bra. O heaven ! How got she out ? O treason of 
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds 
By what you see them act. Is there iiot charms 
By which the property of youth and niaidhood 
May be abused ? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
Of some such thing ? 

Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed. 

Bra. Call up my brother. O, would you had 
had her ! 
Some one way, some another. Do j'ou know 
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? 

Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please 
To get good guard and go along with me. [call ; 

Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I '11 
I may command at most. Get weajions, ho ! 
And raise some special ofiicers of night. 
On, good Roderigo : I '11 deserve your pains. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE n.— Another street. 

Enter Othello, lago, and Attendants with torches. 

lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain 
Yet "do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience, [men. 
To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity 
Sometimes to do me service : nine or ten times 
I had thought to have yerk'd him here imder the 

0th. 'T is better as it is. [ribs. 

Togo. Nay, but he prated. 

And s])oke such scurvy and provoking terms 
Against your honour 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir, 
Are you fast married ? Be assured of this, 
Tliat the magnifico is much beloved, 
And hath in his effect a voice potential 
As double as tlie duke's: he will diviu-ce you ; 
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
The law, with all his might to enforce it on, 
Will give him cable. 

0th. Let him do his spite ; 

My services which I have done the signiory 
Sliall out-tongue his complaints. 'T is yet to know,— 
Which, when I know tliat boasting is an honour, 
I shall promulgate — I fetch my liife and being 
From men of royal siege, and my demerits 
723 



ACT I. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE III. 



May speak iinbonneted to as proud a fortune 

As this tliat I liave reacli'd: for know, lago, 

But that I love the ijt'ntle Desdemona, 

I would not Biy uiilmused free condition 

Put into circuinstriplicm and confine [yond ? 

For the sea's worth. J5ut,look! what lights come 

lago. Tliose are the raised father and his friends : 
You were best go in. 

Olh. Not I ; I must be found : 

ily parts, my title and my perfect soul 
yiiall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? 

lago. By Janus, I think no. 

Enter Cassio, and certain Officers icith torches. 

0th. The servants of tlie duke, and uiy lieutenant. 
Tlie goodness of the night upon you, friends! 
What is the news? 

Cus. The duke does greet you, general, 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance. 
Even on the instant. 

0th. What is the mattei-, think you ? 

Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine : 
It is a business of some heat : the galleys 
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night at one another's heels. 
And many of the consuls, raised and met. 
Are at tlie duke's already : you have been hotly 

call'd for; 
When, being not at your lodging to be found. 
The senate liath sent about three several quests 
To search you out. 

0th. 'T is well I am found by you. 

I will but spend a word here in the house, 
And go with you. [Exit. 

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here V 

lago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land 
carack : 
If it prove lawful prize, he 's made for ever. 

Cas. I do not understand. 

lago. He 's married. 

Cas. „ ^ , „ To who V 

Re-enter Othello. 

lago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go? 
0th. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 
lago. It is Brabantio. General, be advised ; 
He comes to bad intent. 

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers icith 
torches and iveapons. 

0th. Holla ! stand there ! 

Jtod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Era. Down with him, thief ! 

[They draw on both sides. 

lago. You, Eoderigo! come, sir, I am for you. 

Oih. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew 
will rust them. 
Good signior, you shall more command with years 
Than with your weapons. 

-Bra. O tiiou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd 
my daughter ? 
Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; 
For I '11 refer me to all things of sense, 
If she In cliains of magic were not bound, 
Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, 
So opposite to mai'riage that slie shunn'd 
Tlie wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
Piuu from lier guardage to the sooty bosom 
Uf sucli a thing as thou, to fear, not to dcliglit. 
Judge me the world, if 't is not gross in sense 
Tliat thou hast practised on her with foul charms. 
Abused her delicate youth witli drugs or minerals 
Tliat weaken motion : 1 '11 have 't disputed on; 
'T is pnilialile and palpabli' to tliinkiiig. 
I tlierefore apprehend and do attach thee 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
724 



Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. 
Lay hold upon him : if lie do resist, 
Subdue liim at his peril. 

Oth. Hold your hands, 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
Without a prompter. Where will you that I go 
To answer this your charge V 

Era. To prison, till fit time 

Of law and course of direct session 
Call thee to answer. 

Oth. What if I do obey ? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied, 
Whose messengers are here about my side, 
Upon some present business of the state 
To bring me to him V 

First Off. 'T is true, most worthy signior; 

The duke 's in council, and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 

Era. How ! the duke in council! 

In this time of the night ! Bring him away : 
Mine 's not an idle cause : the duke himself, 
Or any of my brothers of the state. 
Cannot but feel this wrong as 't were their own ; 
For if such actions may have passage free. 
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE III. — A council-chamber. 

The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers 
attending. 

Enke. There is no composition in these news 
That gives them credit. 

.First Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd ; 

My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. 

Euke. And mine, a hundred and forty. 

Sec. Sen. And mine, two hundred : 

But tliough they jump not on a just account, — 
As in these cases, where the aim reports, 
'Tis oft with difference — yet do they all confirm 
A Tiu-kish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 

Euke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: 
I do not so secure me in the error. 
But the main article I do approve 
In fearful sense. 

Sailor. [Within] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho! 

First Off. A messenger from the galleys. 

Enter a Sailor. 

Eule. Now, what 's the business ? 

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Khodes; 
So was I bid report hei'e to the state 
By Signior Angelo. 

Euke. How say you by this change ? 

iirst Sen. This cannot be. 

By no assay of reason : 't is a pageant. 
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider 
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, 
And let ourselves again but understand, 
That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
So may he with more facile question bear it, 
For that it slaiids not in siicli warlike brace, 
But altogether larks the abilities [this, 

That Rhodes is dress 'd in: if we make thought of 
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful 
To leave tliat latest which concerns him first, 
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain. 
To wake and wage a danger profitless. 

E)ik( . Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Pihodes. 

First Oil'. Here is more news. ■ 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes. 
Have there injointed them with an after lleet. 
First Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you 
guess '? 



ACT I. 



OTHELLO. 



SCEIfE III. 



Mtss. Of tliirty s;iil : and now tliej' do re-stem 
Their backward coiu'se, bearing with frank appear- 
ance 
Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montane, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 
AVith his free duty rcconiniends you tlius, 
And prays you to believe him. 

Duke. 'T is certain, tlien, for Cj'prus. 
Marcus Luccicos, is not lie in town ? 

First Sen. He 's now in Florence. 

JDuke. AVrite from us to him ; post-post-haste dis- 
patcli. [Moor. 

First Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant 

Enter Brabantio, Othello, lago, Roderigo, and 
Officers. 

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ 
Against the general enemy Ottoman. [you 

[2b Brabantio] I did not see you; welcome, gentle 

signior ; 
We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 

Dra. So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon 
me; 
Xeither my place nor auglit I heard of business 
Ilath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general 
Take hold on me, for my particular grief [care 

Is of so flood-gate and oVrlii'ariiig nature 
Tliat it engluts and swallows other sorrows 
And it is still itself. 

Duke. Why, what 's the matter ? 

Bra. My daughter! O, my daughter! 

Duke and Sen. Dead V 

^ Bra. Ay, to me ; 

She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; 
For nature so preposterously to err. 
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
Sans witchcraft could not. 

Duke. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding 
Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You sliall yourself read in the bitter letter 
■ A_fter your own sense, yea, though oiu- proper son 
Stood in your action. 

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 

Here is the man, this ISIoor, whom now, it seems, 
Your special mandate for the state-afCairs 
Ilath hither brought. 

Duke and Sen. We are very sorry for 't. 

Duke. [To OthrUn] What, in your own part, can 
you say to this ? 

Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 

0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signlors, 
My very noble and approved good masters. 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter. 
It is most true; true, I have married her: 
The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I iii my speech. 
And little bless'd with the soft jihrase of peace: 
For since these arms of mine liad seven years' pith, 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used 
Their dearest action in the tented held'. 
And little of this great world can I speak. 
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle. 
And therefore little shall I grace my cau.se 
In speaking for myself. Yet, liy your gracious 
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver [patience. 
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what 

charms, 
What conjuration and what mighty magic, 
For such proceeding I am charged withal, 
I won his daughter. 

Bra. A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
Bhi.sh'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country, credit, every thing. 
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look ou ! 



It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect 
That will confess perfection so could err 
Against all rules of nature, and must be driven 
T(i tiiid out practices of cunning hell, 
AVhy this should be. I tlierefcire vouch again 
Tliat witli some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
Or with some dram conjured to this effect. 
He wrought upon her. 

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof, 

Without more wider and more overt test 
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seiniiug do iirefer against him. 

First Sen. But, Utlu-llo, speak: 
Did you by indirect and Inrced courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affecticms? 
Or came it by request and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordeth > 

0th. I do beseech you, 

Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
And let her speak of me before her father: 
If you do find me foul in her report. 
The trust, the office I do hold of you, 
Xot only take away, but let your sentence 
Even fail upon my life. 

Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 

0th. Ancient, conduct them ; you best know the 
place. [Exeunt lago and Attendants. 

And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
I do confess the vices of m'y blood. 
So justly to your grave ears I '11 present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love. 
And she in mine. 

Duke. Say it, Othello. 

0th. Her father loved me ; oft invited me; 
Still question'd me the story of my life. 
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes. 
That I have pass'd. 

I ran it througli, even from my boyish days. 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it; 
Wherein I sjiake of most disastrous chances. 
Of moving accidents by flood and field, [breach. 
Of hair-bnailtl] scapes i' the imminent deadly 
Of licing taken h\ the insolent foe 
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence 
And portance in my travels' history: 
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, [lieaven. 
Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch 
It was my hint to speak,— such was the process; 
And of the Cannilials tliat each other eat. 
Tilt' Antliri>i)0]iliagi and men whose heads 
])(! grciw beneath their shoulders. This to hear 
Would DesdcuKina seriously incline: 
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence: 
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch. 
She 'Id come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse: which I observing, 
Took once a iiliant hour, and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart 
That I would all my jiilgrimage dilate, 
AVhereof by parcels slie had something heard, 
But not in'tentively : I did consent. 
And often did beguile her of her tears, 
AVheu I did sjieak of some distressful stroke 
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done. 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 
'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful : [strange. 
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd 
That heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd 

nie. 
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: 
She loved me for the dangers I had jiass'd, 
And I loved her that she did |iity them. 
Tliis only is the witchcraft I have used: 
Here comes the lady ; let her witness it. 
725 



OTHELLO: 



SCENE IIT. 



Enter Desdemona, lago, and Attendants. 

Duke. I think tliis tale would win my daughter 
Good Braliaiitio, [too. 

Take up this mangled matter at the best: 
JIi'u do their broken weapons rather use 
Tluin their bare hands. 

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak : 

If she confess that she wa.s half the wooer, 
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
Light on the man ! Come hither, gentle mistress : 
Do you perceive in all this noble company 
Wliere most you owe obedience 'i 

Bes. My noble father, 

I do perceive here a divided duty: 
To you I am bound for life and education; 
^fy life and education both do learn me 
How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; 
I am hitlierto your daughter: but here 's my hus- 
And so much duty as my mother sliow'd [band, 
To you, preferring you before her fa! her, 
So much I challenge that I may profess 
Due to the Moor my lord. 

Bra. God be wi' you ! I have done. 

Please it your gi-ace, on to the state-affairs : 
I had rather to adopt a child than get it. 
Come hither, ^Sluor: 

I here do give thee that with all my heart 
Whicli, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
I woulil Ivfcp from thee. For your sake, jewel, 
I am glad at soul I have no other child ; 
For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 
To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. 

Duke. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sen- 
tence, 
"Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers 
Into your favour. 

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended 
By seeing the worst, wliich late on hopes depended. 
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone 
Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
What cannot be preserved when fortune takes 
Patience her injury a mockery makes. [thief; 

The robb'd that smiles steals something from the 
He robs himself that spends a lincitlcss grief. 

-Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; 
We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
He bears the sentence well that nothing bears 
But the free comfort which from thence he hears, 
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow 
That, to pay grief, must of i)oor patience borrow. 
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall. 
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: 
r.ut W(irds are words; I never yet did hear 
That tlie luuised heart was pierced through the ear. 
1 humbly beseech you, proceed to the alTairs of state. 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preiiaratiou 
makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of tlie 
place is best known to you; and tliougli we have 
tliere a substitute of most allowed suilieiency, yet 
opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a 
ninre safer voice on you: you must therefore be 
content to slubber the gloss of yo\ir new fortimes 
with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 

0th. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
Hath made the llinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of ilnwn : I do agnize 
A natural and i)roniiit alacrity 
I fiud in hardness, ami do unilertake 
These present wars against tlic^ Ottomites. 
Must hundily thercfme l)eniling to your state, 
1 crave lit dispositi<in for my wife. 
Due reference of place and exhibition. 
With such accommodation and besort 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please, 

Be 't at her father's. 

726 



Bra. I '11 not have it so. 

0th. Nor I. 

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 

To put my father in impatient thoughts 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear ; 
And let me find a charter in your voice, 
To assist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona ? 

Defi. That I did love the Moor to live with him, 
My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world : my heart 's subdued 
Even to the very quality of my lord: 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind, 
And to his honours and his valiant parts 
Did I my soul and fortunes con.secrate. 
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
A moth of peacej and he go to the war, 
Tlie rites for which I love him are bereft me, 
And I a heavy interim shall support 
By his dear absence. Let me go with him. 

0th. Let her have your voices. 
Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not. 
To please the jialate of my appetite. 
Nor to comply with heat — tlie young afEects 
In me defunct — and proper satisfaction. 
But to be free and bounteous to her mind: 
And heaven defend your good souls, that you think 
I will your seridus and great business scant 
For she is willi nie : nn," when liglit-wing'd toys 
Of feather'd Cupid seel witli wanton dulbiess 
My speculative and olliced instruments. 
That my dispoi-ts corrupt and taint my business, 
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm. 
And all indign and base adversities 
Make head against my estimation ! 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
Either for her stay or going : the affair cries haste. 
And speed must answer it. 

J^irst Sen. You must away to-night. 

0th. With all my heart. 

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we '11 meet 
Othello, leave some officer behind, [again.- 

And he shall our commission bring to you; 
With such things else of quality and respect 
As doth import you. 

0th. So please your grace, my ailcient ; 

A man he is of honesty and trust : 
To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
With what else needful your good grace shall think 
To be sent after me. 

Duke. Let it be so. 

Good night to every one. [To Brah.] And, noble 
If virtue no delighted beauty lack, [signior. 

Your son-in-law"is far more fair than black, [well. 

First Sen. Adieu, brave Moor; use Desdemona 

Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see : 
She has deceived her father, and may thee. 

[Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c. 

0th. My life upon her faith ! Honest lago. 
My Desdemona must I leave to thee: 
I prithee, let thy wife attend on her; 
And bring them after in the best advantage. 
Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matters and direction. 
To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. 

Bod. Tago, — 

laf/o. What say'st thou, noble heart ? 

Bod. What will I do, thinkest thou V 

layo. Why, go to bed, and .sleep. 

Bod. I will incontinently dro\^^l myself. 

lago. If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. 
Why, thou silly gentleman ! 

liod. It is silliness to live when to live is tor- 
ment ; and then have we a prescription to die when 
death is our physiciau. 



ACT IT. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE I. 



Ingo. O villanous ! I have looked upon the world 
for four times seven ye;rrs; and since I could dis- 
tinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never 
found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I 
would say, I wouM drown myself for tlie love of a 
guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a 
baboon. 

Rod. What should I do ? I confess it is my shame 
to be so fond ; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. 

lago. Virtue ! a flg ! 't is in ourselves that we are 
thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the 
which our wills are gardeners ; so that if we will 
plant nettles, orsow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up 
thyme, supply it witli one gender of herbs, or dis- 
tract it with many, either to have it sterile with 
idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power 
and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If 
the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason 
to poise another of sensuality, the blood and base- 
ness of our natures would conduct us to most pre- 
posterous conclusions : but we have reason to cool 
our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted 
lusts, whereof I take this that you call love to be a, 
sect or scion. 

Bod. It cannot be. 

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a per- 
mission of tlie will. Come, be a man. p'own tliy- 
self ! drown cats and blind puppies. . ''p>e pro- 
fessed me thy friend and I confess me- iSit to thy 
deserving with cables of perdurable touglmess; I 
could never better stead thee thaiuiow. Put money 
in thy purse ; follow thou the wars ; defeat thy fa- 
vour "with an usurped lieard ; I say, put money in thy 
purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long 
continue her love to the Moor, — put money in thy 
pm'se, — nor he his to her: it was a violent com- 
mencement, and thou shalt see an answerable se- 
questration : — put but money in thy purse. These 
floors are changeable in their wills ": — fill thy purse 
with money: — the food that to him now is as lus- 
cious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as 
coloquintida. bhe must change for youth : when 
she is sated with his body, she will find the error of 
her choice: she must have change, she must : there- 
fore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs 
damn thyself, do it a more delicate way tlian drown- 
ing. Make all the money thou canst : if sanctimony 
and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a 



supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wdts 
and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her : there- 
tore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is 
clean out of the way : seek thou rather to be hanged 
in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go 
without her. 

Rod. AVilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend 
on the issue ? 

lago. Thou art sure of me : — go, make money : — I 
have told thee often, and 1 re-tell thee again and 
again, I hate the Moor : my cause is liearted ; thine 
hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our 
revenge against him; if thou canst cuckold him, 
thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are 
many events in the womb of time which will be de- 
livered. Traverse ! go, provide thy money, We 
will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. 

Rod. Where shall we meet 1' the morning? 

lago. At my lodging. 

Rod. I '11 be with thee betimes. 

lago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Koderigo ? 

Rod. What say you ? 

lago. Ko more of drowning, do you hear ? 

Rod. I am changed : I '11 go sell all my land. 

[Exit. 

lago. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ; 
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane. 
If I would time expend with such a snipe, 
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor ; 
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
He has done my office : I know not if 't be true ; 
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind. 
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
The better shall my purpose work on him. 
Cassio 's a proper man : let me see now : 
To get his place and to plume up my will 
In double knavery — How, liow y — Let 's see: — 
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear 
That he is too familiar with his wife. 
He hath a person and a smooth dispose 
To be suspected, framed to make women false. 
The Moor is of a free and open nature. 
That thiidis men honest that but seem to be so, 
And will as tenderly be led by the nose 
As asses are. 

I have 't. It is engender'd. Hell and night 
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's 
light. [£xit. 



J^CT II. 

SCENE I. — A Sea-iwrt in Cijprus. An open place Be not enshelter'd and embay 'd, they are drown'd ; 
near the quay. It is impossible they bear it out. 



Enter Montano and two Gentlemen. 

Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea ? 

First Gent. Nothmg at all : it is a high-wrought 
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, [flood ; 
Descry a sail. 

Mon. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land ; 
.A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: 
If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea. 
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, 
Can hold the mortise ? What shall we hear of this ? 

Sec. Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet : 
For do but stand upon the foaming shore. 
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous 

mane. 
Seems to cast water on the burning bear. 
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : 
I never did like molestation view 
On the enchafed flood. 

Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 



Enter a third Gentleman. 

Third Gent. Xews, lads ! our wars are done. 
The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
That their designment halts : a noble ship of Venice 
Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance 
On most part of their fleet. 

Mon. HowM is this true? 

llurd Gent. The ship is here put in, 

A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, 
Ijieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, 
Is come on shore : the Moor himself at sea. 
And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 

3Ion. I am glad on 't ; 't is a worthy governor. 

niird Gent. But this same Cassio, though he speak 
of comfort 
Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly. 
And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were parted 
With foul and violent tempest. 

Mon. Pray lieavens he be ; 

For I have served him, and the man commands 
727 



ACT II. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE I. 



Like a full soldier. Let 's to the seaside, lio ! 
As well to see the vessel that 's coiue in 
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, 
Even till we make the main and the aerial blue 
xVn indistinct regard. 

T7iir(i! Gcnl. Come, let 's do so; 

For every minute is expectancy 
Of more arrivance. 

Enter Cassio. 

Can. Tl}anks, you the valiant of this warlike isle, 
That so approve the Jloor! O. let the heavens 
Give him defence against the elements, 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. 

Moil. Is he well shipp'd? 

Can. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
Of \n-y expert and approved allowance ; 
Tliercfore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 
Stand in bold cure. 

, [^1 cry within ' A sail, a sail, a sail ! ' 

Enter a fourth Gentleman. 

Cas. What noise ? 

Fourth Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o' 
the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry ' A sail ! ' 

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the {jovernor. 

[Otins heard. 

Sec. Gent. They do discharge their shot of cour- 
Our friends at least. [tesy : 

Cas. I pray yon, sir, go forth, 

And give us truth who 'tis "that is arrived. 

Sec. Gent. I shall. [Exit. 

3Ion. But, good lieutenant, is your general wived V 

Cas. Most fortunately: he halli achieved a maid 
That paragons description and wild fame; 
One that excels the ijuirks of lilazoniug pens, 
And in the essential vesture of creation 
Does tire the ingener. 

Re-enter second Gentleman. 

How now ! who has put in ? 

Sec. Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 

Cus. Has had most favourable and liappy spe(!d : 
Tempests themselves, high seas aiL<l lidwliiig winds, 
The gutter'd rocks ami congregated sands, — 
Traitors ensteei)M to clog I'Uv guiltless keel,— 
As liaviug sense of lieauty, do omit 
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 

3Ion. What is she ? 

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap- 
Left in the condu.'t of the bold lago, [tain, 
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts 
A se'nniglit's speed. Cireat .IiH'c, (.)thelio guard. 
And swell Ills sail with thine own powerful breath. 
That he may l>less this liay witli his tall sliip, 
]\Iake love's (|nick pants in Desdemona, 's arms, 
(iive renew'd lire to our extincted spirits, 
And bring all Cyprus comfort ! 

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, lago, Boderigo, aiifZ 
Attendants. 

O, behold, 
The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
Ye nu'U of Cyjirus, let her have your knees. 
Hail to thee, lady ' and the grace of heaven, 
Before, behind tliee and on every hand, 
Enwheel thee round ! 

Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 

What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 

Cas. He is not yet arrived : nor know I aught 
But that he 's well and will be shortly here. 
Des. O. but I fe;ir — How lost youcompany ^ 
Cas. The great contention of tlie sea and skies 
Parted our fellowsliip — But , hark ! a sail. 

[ Within 'A sail, a sail ! ' Guns heard. 
723 



Sec. Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel : 
This likewise is a iriend. 

Cas. See for the news. [Exit Gentleman, 

Gootl ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia] AV el- 
come, mistress: 
Let it not gall your patience, good lago, 
That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding 
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. 

[Kissiny her. 

lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips 
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
You 'Id have enough. 

Des. Alas, she has no speech. 

Iiiijo. In faith, too much : 
I find it still, when I have list to sleep : 
ilarry, before your ladyshi]), I grant. 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart. 
And chides with thinking. 

Eniil. You have little cause to say so. [doors, 

I(((jo. Come on, come on : yon are pictures out of 
Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens, 
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended. 
Players in your housewifery , and liousewives in your 

Des. O, lie upon thee, slanderer! [beds. 

lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk : 
You rise to play and go to bed to work. 

Emil. ■^'ou shall not write my praise. 

luijc „, No, let me not. 

Des. ''■-, at wouldst thou write of me, if thou 
shoiii'lst praise me r* 

7(100. O gt'utle lady, do not juit me to 't ; 
For I am nothing, if not critical. 
• Des. Come on, assay. There 's one gsne to the 

lago. Ay, madam. [harbour? 

Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
Come, how wouldst thou iiraise me ? 

lago. I am aliout it: Imt indeed my invention 
Conies from my pate as birdlime does from frizc; 
It plucks out brains and all: but my IMu.se labours. 
And thus she is deliver'd. 
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, 
The one 's for use, the other nseth it. [witty V 

Des. Well praised! How if she bo black and 

lago. If she be black, ami thereto have a wit, 
She "11 find a white that shall her blackness lit. 

Des. Wcu'se and worse. 

Eiiiil. How if fair and fooli.sh? 

lago. She never yet was foolish that was fair; 
For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 

Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make fools 
laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast 
thou for her that 's foul and foolish V 

[ago. There "s none so loul and foolish thereunto, 
But does foiil pranks which fair and wise ones do. 

Des. O heavy ignorance! thou |iniisest the worst 
best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a 
deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority 
of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very 
malice itself ? 

lago. She that was ever fair and never proud, 
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, 
Never lackM gold and yet went never gay. 
Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I niay,' 
She that lieing anger'd, her re\-enge being nigh. 
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure lly. 
She that in wisdom never was so frail 
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail, 
She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, 
See suitors following and not lo<dv behind. 
She was a wight, if ever such wight were, — 

Des. To do what ? 

lago. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. 

Des. O most lame and imiiotent conclusion! Ho 
not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy hus- 
band. How say you, Cassio y is he not a most pro- 
fane and liberal counsellor '{ 



ACT IT. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE I. 



Viis. lie si>e;i!;s lionie, iiuuliim : vim r.i;iy relish 
liiin iiKin' ill tlic sulilicr tluiii in tlii'si'linhir." 

/(((/o. {.Uiih} Ik' takes hci- by till" iKiliii: ay, well 
said, wliisiwr: with as little a web as this will I 
ensnare as great a tly as Cassio. Ay, smile iipon 
lier, do; I will gyve thee in thine own eoiirtship. 
You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as 
these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been 
better yon had not kissed your three liusjers so oft, 
which now auain you are most apt to play the sir 
in. Very ij;ood ; well kissed ! an excellent courtesy ! 
't is so, indeed. Yet again your lingers to your 
lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! 
Y'lVum}irl irithiu.] The Moor 1 1 know his trumpet. 

Ciiri. "T is truly so. 

Ih.f. Ijct 's meet him and receive him. 

Cits. Lo, where he conies! 

Enter Othello and Attendants. 

0th. O my fair warrior! 

Dis. My dear Othello! 

0th. It gives me wonder great as my content 
To see ymi here before me. O my soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest come such calms, 
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! 
And let the labouring bark climb hills of .seas 
Olympus-high and duck again as low 
As hell 's from heaven I If it were now to die, 
'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, 
My soul hath her content so absolute 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

B(s. The heavens forbid 

But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
Even as our days do grow ! 

Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers! 

I cannot speak enough of this content ; 
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 
And this, and this, the greatest discords be 

[A'i'.s.sv'iiy her. 
That e'er our hearts shall make ! 

htgri. [Aside] O, you are well tuned now! 
But "I '11 set down the pegs that make this nuisic, 
As honest as I am. 

Oth. Come, let us to the castle. 

News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are 

drown'd. 
IIow does my old acquaintance of this isle ? 
Honey, you shall lie well desired in Cyprus; 
1 have found great love amongst them. O my 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote [sweet, 

In mine own comforts. I jirithee, good lago, 
Go to the bay and disembark my coffers: 
Bring thou the master to tlie citadel ; 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 
Poes challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona, 
Once more, wefl met at Cyiirus. 

[Kaitnl Oth.clli), Disdriimna, and Attendants. 

Tagn. Uo thou meet me presently at the harbour. 
Conie hither. If thou be'st valiaiit, — as, they say, 
base men being in love have then a nobility in 
their natures more than is native to them,— list 
me. The lieutenant to-night watches on the court 
of guard: — lirst, 1 must tell thee this — Desdemona 
is" directly in love with him. 

lied. S\"\l\\ him! why, "t is not possible. 

/((;/(/. Lay tliy tinger thus, and let thy soul be in- 
slructed. Mark me with wliat violence she tirst 
loved the McHir, but for bragging and telling her 
fantastical lies: and will she love him still for 
prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her 
eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have 
to look on the devil? 'Wlieii the bldod is made 
ilull witli the act df sport, there slKUild be. again to 
inllame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, love- 
liness in favour, sympathy in years, manners and 
beauties; all wliich the Moor is defective in; now, 



for want of these required conveniences, her del- 
icate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to 
heave the gorge, disrelish and abluu' tlie Moor; 
very nature will instruct her in it and ccunpel her 
lo some second choice. Now, sir, this granted, — 
as it is a most pregnant and unforced iiositiiui, — 
who stands so cminenl in the degive id' this for- 
tune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no 
further coii.scionable than in putting on the mere 
form of civil and humane .seeming, for the better 
compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affec- 
tion? why, none; why, none; a slipper and subtle 
knave, a "tinder of o<-casions, that has an eye can 
stamp and counterl'eit advantages, thougli true 
advantage never jiresent itself; a devilisli knave. 
Besides, the knave is liaiid.sonie, young, and hath 
all those recpiisites in bim that "folly and green 
minds look after: a iiestilent coniiilele knave ; and 
the woman hath found him already. 

h'od. I cannot believe that in her; she 's full of 
most blessed ciuidition. 

Iihjo. Blessed lig's-end ! the wine she drinks is 
made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would 
never have loved the Moor! Blessed pudding! 
Didst tiuui not see her iiaddle with the palm of his 
hand? didst not mark that? 

Hod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but courtesy. 

/'((/"• Leclu'rv.by this hand ; an index and obscure 
jindogue to the history id' lust and foul thoimhts. 
Thi'v met sonearwitli their lips that their lirOaths 
embraced togetlier. \'illaiioiis thoughts, Hoderigo ! 
when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at 
hand conies the master and main exercise, the in- 
corporate coiichisiou, I'isli ! But, sir, be you ruled 
by me: I have brought y(ui from \'enice. Widcli 
you to-night; for the command, 1 "11 lay 't uiion you. 
Cassio knows you not. 1 '11 not be fur from you : do 
yon lind some occasion to anger Cassio, either by 
speaking loo loud, or tainting his discipline; or 
from what other conr.se you please, which tlie time 
sliall more favourably minister. 

Ii-od. Well. 

Jitiji). Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and 
haply may strike at yon : provoke him, that he may ; 
for even out of-tlial w ill I cause these of Cyprus to 
mutiny ; whose qualilieat ion shall come into no true 
taste again but by tlie <lisplantiiig of Cassio. So 
shall yon have a shorter journey to your desires by 
the means I shall then have to prefer them ; andth.e 
imiiediment most prolilably removed, without tliG 
which there were no exiicctation of our pros|ierity. 

Hod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any op- 
l>orUinity. 

!<iilo. i warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the 
citadel ; I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Fare- 
well. 

Hod. Adieu. [Exit. 

logo. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; 
That she loves him, 't is apt and of great credit; 
The Moor, liowbeit that 1 endure him not, 
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature. 
And I dare think he "11 prove to Desdemona 
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; 
Xot out of ;ibs(diite lust, though penulventuro 
I stand accountant for as great a sin, 
But iiartly led to diet my revenge. 
For that I do snsiiect the lusty Moor 
Ifatli leap'd iido my seat ; the thought whereof 
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwai'ds; 
And nothing can or shall content my soul 
Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, 
Or failing so, yet that 1 put the Moor 
,\t least into a jealousy so strong 
Tliat judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, 
I If tliis |ioor trash of \'eiiice, whom I trash 

For liis (luick Inmting, stand the imtting on, 
1 I '11 have our Michael Cassio on the hip, 

72'J 1 



ACT II. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE III. 



Abuse liiin to the Moor in the rank garlj — 

For I fear Cassio with my niglit-cap too — 

Make tlie Moor thank nie, love nie and reward me, 

For making him egregiously an ass 

And practising upon liis i)eaee and quiet 

Even to madness. 'T is liere, but yet confused : 

Knavery's plain face is never seen till used. {Exit. 

SOENEII.— J.strfef. 
Enter a Herald v>Uh a proclamatioti ; People following. 
Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our nolile and valiant 
general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, im- 
porting tlie mere perdil ion of t lie Turkish licet, every 
man put himself into trinmpli ; some to dance, some 
to make bonfli'es, each man til wliat sport and revels 
his addiction leads him : for, licsidcs these liencllcial 
news, it is the celebration <>f liis nuiitial. So niucli 
was his pleasm"e should be in-orlaimed. All ollices 
are open, and there is full liliiTty of feasting from 
this present hour of five till thelirll have told eleven. 
Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our nolile gen- 
eral Othello! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ hall in the castle. 

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
Attendants. 
0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night : 
Let 's teach ourselves tliat honourable stop, 
Not to outsport discretion. 

Cas. lago hath direction what to do ; 
But, notwithstanding, witli my personal eye 
Will I look to 't. 

0th. lago is most honest. 

Michael, good night : to-morrow with your earliest 
Let me have speech with you. [To Desdemona] Come, 

my dear love, 
•Tlie purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; 
That profit 's yet to come 'tween me and you. 
Good night. 

[Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

Enter lago. 

Cas. "Welcome, lago ; we must to*the watch. 

lago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 't is not yet ten 
o' tlie clock. Our general cast us thus early for the 
love of his Desdemona : who let us not therefore 
blame: he hath not yet made wanton the niglit 
with her ; and she is sport for .love. 

Cas. She 's a most exquisite lady. 

lago. And, I '11 warrant her, full of game. [ture. 

Cas. Indeed, she 's a most fresh and delicate crea- 

larjn. What an eye she has! methinks it sounds 
a parley of provocation. [modest. 

Cas. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right 

lac/o. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum 

Cas. Slie is indeed perfection. [to love? 

layo. Well, happiness to tlicir sheets ! Come, lieu- 
tenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without 
are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have 
a measure to the health of black Othello. 

Cas. Not to-night, guild lago : I have very poor 
and unhapi)y brains for drinking : I could well wish 
courtesy would invent some other custom of enter- 
tainment. 

layo. O, they are our friends ; but one cup : I 'II 
drink for you. 

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that 
was craftily qualified too, and, behold, wliat inno- 
vation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the in- 
firmity, and dare not task my weakness with any 
more. 

lago. What, man ! 't is a night of revels : the 
gallants desire it. 

Cns. Where are they ? 

lago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. 
730 



Cas. I '11 do 't ; but it dislikes me. [Exit. 

lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 
With that which he hath drunk to-night already, 
He '11 be as full of quarrel and offence 
As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool 

Roderigo, 
Whom love liatli turn'd almost the wrong side out, 
To Desdemona hath to-night caroused 
Potations jiottle-ileep ; and he 's to watch : 
Three lads of Cyprus, nolile swelling spirits. 
That hold their honours in a wary distance. 
The very elmieuts of tliis warlike" isle. 
Have I to-night fluster'd with (lowing cups. 
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 

drunkards. 
Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
That may offend the isle. — But here tliey come : 
If consequence do but approve my dream. 
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. 

He-enter Cassio ; with him Montano and Gentle- 
men; Servants folloicing vjiih wine. 
Cas. 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already. 
3fon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, as 
I am a soldier. 

lago. Some wine, ho ! 
[Si)!(/«] And let me the canakin clink, clink ; 
And let me the canakin clink : 
A soldier 's a man ; 
A life 's but a span ; 
Why, then, let a soldier drink. 
Some wine, boys ! 

Cas. 'Fore God, an excellent song. 

lago. I learned it in England, where, indeed, they 

are most potent in pot t ing : your Dane, your German, 

and your swag-bellied Hollander — Drink, ho ! — are 

nothing to j'our English. [ing? 

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drink- 

lago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your 

Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow your 

Almain ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the 

next pottle can be filled. 

Cas. To the health of our general ! [lice. 

3Ion. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I '11 do you jus- 
lago. O sweet England! 

King Stephen was a worthy peer, 

His breeches cost him but a crown; 
He held them sixpence all too dear. 

With that he calfd the tailor lown. 
He was a wight of high renown, 

And thou art but of low degree : 
'T is pride that pulls the couiitry down ; 
Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
Some wine, ho ! [other. 

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the 
lago. Will you hear 't again V 
Cas. No : for I hold hiin to be unworthy of his 
place that does those things. Well, God 's above 
all ; and there be souls must be saved, and there be 
souls must not be saved. 
logo. It 's true, good lieutenant. 
Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the gen- 
eral, nor any man of quality, — I hope to be saved. 
logo. And so do I too, lieutenant. 
Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the 
lieutenant is to be saved liefore the ancient. Let 's 
have no more of this; let 's to our affairs. — Forgive 
us our sins ! — Gentlemen, let 's look to our business. 
Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk : this is my 
ancient ; this is my right hand, and this is my left : 
I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and 
speak well enough. 
All. Excellent well. 

Cas. Wliy, very well then; you must not think 
then that I am drunk. [Exit. 

3fon. To the platform, masters; come, let 's set 
the watch. « 



ACT IT. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE ITT. 



Imjo. You see this fellow that is gone before ; 
He is a soldier fit to stand by C*sar 
And give direction : and do but see his vice ; 
'Tis to his virtue a just eiiuiuox, 
The one as long as the other : 't is pity of him. 
I fear the trust Othello puts him in, 
On some odd time of his infirmity, 
AVill shake this island. 

Mon. But is he often thus ? 

icit/o. 'T is evermore the prologue to his sleep : 
He 'll watch the horologe a double set, 
If drink rock not his cradle. 

Mon. It were well 

The general were put in mind of it. 
Perhaps he sees it not ; or his good nature 
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
iViid looks not ou his evils : is not this true ? 

Enter Roderigo. 

layo. [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo! 
I pray you, after the lieutenant ; go. [Exit Roderigo. 

Mon. And 't is great pity that the noble Moor 
Should hazard sucli a place as his own second 
With one of an ingraft infirmity: 
It were an honest action to say 
So to the Moor. 

layo. Not I, for this fair island : 

I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
To cure him of this evil — But, hark ! what noise ? 
[Cry witkin: 'Help! help!' 

Be-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 
Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! 
3Ion. What 's the matter, lieutenant ? 

Cas. A knave teach me my duty ! 
I '11 beat the knave into a twiggeu bottle. 
Eod. Beat me ! 
Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue ? 

[Striking Roderigo. 
Mon. Nay, good lieutenant ; 

[Staying him. 
I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 
• CVt*. Let me go, sir. 

Or I '11 knock you o'er the mazzard. 
Mon. Come, come, you 're drunk. 

Cas. Drunk! " [They fight. 

lago. [Aside to Roderigo] Away, I say ; go out, 
and cry a mutiny. [Exit Roderigo. 

Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen; — 
Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montauo, — sir ; — 
Help, masters ! — Here 's a goodly watch indeed ! 

[Bell rings. 
Who 's that which rings the bell ? — Diablo, ho ! 
The town Avill rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold! 
You will be shamed for ever. 

Re-enter Othello and Attendants. 

0th . What is the matter here ? 

Mon. 'Zounds, I bleed still ; I am hurt to t!ie 
death. [Faints. 

0th. Hold, for your lives! [gentlemen, — 

lago. Hold, ho! Lieutenant, — sir, — Montauo, — 
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for 
shame! [tliis? 

0th. Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth 
Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that 
AVhich heaven hath I'orbid the Ottomites? 
For Christian shame, jmt by tliis barbarous brawl : 
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage 
Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. 
Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle 
Prom her propriety. What is the matter, masters ? 
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving. 
Speak, who began this V on thy love, I charge thee. 

lago. I do not know: friends all but now, even 
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom [now, 



Devesting them for bed ; and then, but now — 
As if some planet had unwitted men — 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
Any beginning to this peevish odds; 
And would in action glorious I had lost 
Those legs that brought me to a part of it ! 

0th. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot ? 

C'ts. I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. 

0th. Worthy Montauo, you were wont be civil ; 
The gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure: what 's the matter. 
That you unlace your reputation thus 
And spend your rich opinion for the name 
Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it. 

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger : 
Your officer, lago, can inform you, — [me. — 

While I spare speech, which something now offends 
Of all that I do know: nor know I aught 
By me that 's said or done amiss this night; 
Unless self -charity be sometimes a vfce, 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin 
Wlien violence assails us. 

0th. Now, by heaven, 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
And passion, having my best judgment collied, 
Assays to lead the way : if I once stir. 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on; 
And he that is approved in this offence. 
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
Sliall lose me. What ! in a town of war. 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
To manage private and domestic quarrel. 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 
'Tis monstrous. lago, who began 't ? 

Mon. If partially affined, or leagued in office, 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
Thou art no soldier. 

lago. Touch me not so near: 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth 
Than it should do offence to Micliael Cassio; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing \\Tong him. Thus it is, general, 
ilontano and myself being in speech. 
There comes a fellow crying out for help ; 
And Cassio following him with determined sword, 
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue. 
Lest by his clamour — as it so fell out — 
The town might fall in friglit : he, swift of foot, 
Outran my purpose; and I return 'd the rather 
For tliat I heard the clink and fall of swords. 
And Cassio higli in oath; which till to-night 
I ne'er might say before. When I came back — 
For this was brief — I found them close together, 
At blow and thrust ; even as again they were 
When you yourself did part them. 
More of this matter cannot I report: 
But men are men ; the best sometimes forget : 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him. 
As men in rage strike those that wish them best. 
Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received 
From him that tied some strange indignity, 
Which patience could not pass. 

0th. I know, lago. 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter. 
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee ; 
But never more be officer of mine. 

Re-enter Desdemona, attended. 
Look, if my gentle love be not raised up ! 
I '11 make thee an example. 
l>es. AVhat's the matter? 

731 



ACT IT. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE III. 



Oth. All 's well now, sweeting : come away to bed. 
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon : 
Lead him off. [To Montnno, who is kd off. 

lago, look with care about tlie town, 
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. 
Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life 
To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. 
[Exeunt all but Ingo and Cassia. 

lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant V 

Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 

lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I 
have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal 
part of myself, and what remairiS is bestial. My 
reputation, lago, my reputation! 

Ia(jo. As I am an honest man, I thought you had 
received some bodily wound; tlicre is' more sense 
in that than in reputation. IleputatiDu is an idle 
and most false imposition : oft got without merit, 
and lost without deserving : you have lost no rep- 
utation at all, unless you repute yourself such a 
loser. What, man ! there are ways to recover the 
general again: you are but now cast in his mood, 
a punishment more in policy than in malice; even 
so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright 
an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's 
yours. 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than to de- 
ceive so good a commander with so slight, so 
drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk ? 
and speak parrot ? and squabble ? swagger V swear V 
and discour.se fustian with one's own shadow':' O 
thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name 
to be known by, let us call thee devil! 

lago. What was he that you followed with your 
sword V Wliat had he done to you V 

Cas. I know not. 

lago. Is 't possible V 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing 
distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O 
God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths 
to steal away their brai}is! that we slpiuld, with 
joy, pleasance, revel and applause, transform our- 
selves into beasts ! 

lago. Why, but you are now well enough : how 
came you thus recovered ? 

Cas. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to 
give place to the devil wrath : one unperfectness 
shows me another, to make me frankly despise 
myself. 

lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler : as 
the time, the place, and the condition of this coun- 
try stands, I could heartily wish this had not be- 
fallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your 
own good. 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall 
tell me I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths 
as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. 
To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and 
presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate 
cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. 

lago. Come, come, good Vine is a good familiar 
creature, if it be well used : exclaim no more aixainst 
it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think 1 love 
you. 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk ! 

lago. You or any man living may be dnmk at a 
time, man. I '11 tell yon what you shall do. Our 
general's wife is now the general: I may say so in 
this respect, for that he liath devoted and given up 
himself to tlie contemplation, mark, and denote- 
ment of her parts and graces: confess yourself 
freely to her; importune her help to put you in 
your place again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, 
732 



so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her 
goodness not to do more than she is requested: 
this broken joint between you and her husband en- 
treat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any 
lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow 
stronger than it was before. 

Cas. You advise me well. 

lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and hon- 
est kindness. 

Cos. I tliink it freely; and betimes in the morn- 
ing I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to un- 
dertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes if 
they check me here. 

lago. You are in the right. Good night, lieu- 
tenant; I must to the watch. 

Cas. Good night, honest lago. [Exit. 

lago. And what 's he then that says I play the 
When thisadvice is free I give and honest, [villain i* 
Probal to thinking and indeed the course 
To win the ]Miior again Y For 't is most easy 
The inclining Dt-silrmona to subdue 
In any honest suit : she 's framed as fruitful 
As the free elements. And then for her 
To win the Moor — were 't to renounce his baptism, 
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, 
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love. 
That she may make, unmake, do what she list, 
Even as her appetite shall play the god 
With his weak function. How am I then a villain 
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, • 
Directly to his good 'f Divinity of hell ! 
When devils will the blackest sins put on. 
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
As i do now: for whiles this honest fool 
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes 
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
I '11 pour this pestilence into his ear, 
That she repeals him for her body's lust; 
And by how much she strives to do him good, 
She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
So will I turn her virtue into pitch, 
And out of her own goodness make the net 
That shall enmesh tliem all. 

lie-enter Roderigo. 

How now, Roderigo I 

Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. 
My money is almost spent; I have been to-night 
exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue 
will be, 1 shall have so much experience for my 
pains, and so, with no money at all and a little 
more wit, return again to "\'euice. 

lago. How poor are they that have not patience! 
What wound did ever heal but by degrees ? 
Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witch- 
craft ; 
And wit depends on dilatory time. 
Does 't not go well y Cassio hatli beaten thee. 
And thou, by that small liurt, hast cashier 'd Cassio: 
Tliough other tilings grow fair against the sun, 
Yet fruits tliat blossom lirst will first be ripe: 
Content tliyself awhile, liy the mass, 't is morning; 
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. 
Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: 
Away, I say; thou slialt know more hereafter: 
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Jiodcrigo.] Two things 

are to be done: 
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; 
I '11 set her on ; 

Myself the while to draw the Moor apart. 
And bring iiim jump when he may Cassio find 
Solicilinghis wife: ay, that "s the way : 
Dull not de^'iee by coldness and delay. [Exit, 



ACT in. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE II] 



^CT III. 



SCENE 1.— Before the castle. 



Enter Cassio and some Musicians. 
Cas. ^Masters, play here ; I will content your pains ; 
Something that 's "brief ; and bid ' Good morrow, 
general.' ^ ^, [Musii:. 

Enter Clown. 

Co. Why, masters, have your instruments been 
in Naples, that they speak i'"tbe nose thus? 

First Mhs. How, sir, how ! 

Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments ? 

First Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail. 

First Mus. AVhereby hangs a tale, sir ? 

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind-instrument that 
I know. But, masters, here 's money for you : and 
the general so likes your music, that he desires you, 
for Tove's sake, to make no more noise with it. 

First 3his. Well, sir, we will not. 

Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, 
to 't again : but, as they say, to hear music the gen- 
eral does not greatly care. 

First Mus. We have none such, sir. 

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I '11 
away : go ; vanish uito air ; away ! 

[Exeunt 3{usicians. 

Cas. TJost thou hear, my honest friend ? 

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear 
you. 

Cas. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There 's a poor 
piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that at- 
tends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there 's 
one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech : 
wilt thou do this ? 

Clo. Slie is stirring, sir : if she will stir hither, I 
shall seem to notify unto her. 

Cits. Do, good my friend. [Exit Clown. 

Enter lago. 

In happy time, lago. 

lago. You have not been a-bed. then ? 

Cas. Why, no; the day had broke 
Before we parted. I have made bold, lago, 
To send in to your wife : my suit to her 
Is, that she will to virtuous' Desdemona 
Procure me some access. 

laijo. I 'U send her to you presently ; 

And I '11 devise a mean to draw the iloor 
Out of the way, that your converse and business 
May be more free. 

Cas. I humbly thank you for 't. [Exit lago.'l I 
never knew 
A Florentine more kind and honest. 

Enter Emilia. 

Emil. Good morrow, good lieutenant : I am sorry 
For your displeasure ; but all will sure be well. 
The general and his wife are talking of it ; 
And she speaks for you stoutly : the Moor replies. 
That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus 
And great affinity and that in wholesome wisdom 
He might not but refuse you, but he protests he 

loves you 
And needs no other suitor but his likings 
To take the safest occasion by the front 
To bring you in again. 

Cas. Yet, I beseech you, 

If you think fit, or that it may be done. 
Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
With Desdemona alone. 

Ewil. Pray you, come in: 

I will bestow you where you shall have time 
To speak your bosom freely. 

Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — A room in the castle. 
Enter Othello, lago, and Gentlemen. 
0th. These letters give, lago, to the pilot ; 
And by him do my duties to the senate : 
That done, I will be walking on the works; 
Repair there to me. 
Ja<jo. Well, my good lord, I "11 do 't. 

0th. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we .see 't ? 
Gent. We '11 wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 

SCENE ni. — The garden nf the castle. 
Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Bcs. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in thy behalf. 

Emil. Good madarn,do: I warrant it grieves my 
husband. 
As if the case were his. 

Ues. O. that 's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, 
But I will have my lord and you again [Cassio, 
As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Boimteous madam. 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He 's never any thing but your true servant. 

Des. I know 't ; I thank you. You do love my lord : 
You have known him long ; and be you well assui'ed 
He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but. lady. 

That policy may either last so long, 
Or feed uj)on such nice and waterish diet, 
Or lireed itself so out of circumstance, 
That, I being absent and my place supiilied, 
My general will forget my love and ser\-ice. 

-Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here 
I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee, 
If I do vow a friendship,"! '11 perform it 
To the la.st article : my lord shall never rest; 
I '11 watch him tame and talk him out of patience; 
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ; 
I '11 intermingle every thing he does 
With Cassio's suit : therefore be merrv, Cassio; 
For thy solicitor shall rather die 
Than give thy cause away. 

Emil. Madam, here comes my lord. 

Cas. Madam, I '11 take my leave. 

Bes, Why, stay, and hear me speak. 

Cas. Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease. 
Unfit for mine own purposes. 

Dcs. Well, do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 

Enter Othello and lago. 

lago. Ha ! I like not that. 

Oih. What dost thou sav ? 

larjo. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not what. 

0th. Was not that Cassio parted from mv wife : 

lago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I cannot "think it. 
That he would steal away so guilty-like. 
Seeing you coming. 

0th. I do believe 't was he. 

Des. How now, my lord ! 
I have been talking with a suitor here, 
A man that languishes in your displeasirre. 

0th. Who is 't you mean ? 

Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good mv lord. 
If I have any grace or power to move you, 
His present reconciliation take ; 
For if he be not one that truly loves you, 
That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, 
I have no judgment in an honest face : 
I prithee, call him back. 

Cth. Went he hence now ? 

Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled 
733 



ACT III. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE III. 



That lie bath left part of liis grief with me, 
To suffer with liiin. Good love, call him back. 

Oth. ^'ot now, sweet Desileiaona; some other time. 

Des. But shall 't be shortly ? 

Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

JDes. Shall 't be to-night at supper y 

Oth. No, not to-night. 

JJt&. To-morrow dinner, then ? 

Oth. I shall not dine at home ; 

I meet the captains at the citadel. [morn ; 

Dcs. Why, then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday 
On Tuesday noon, or night ; on Wednesday morn : 
I prithee, name the time, but let it not 
Exceed three days: in faith, he 's penitent; 
And yet his trespass; in our common reason — 
Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
Out of their best — is not almost a fault 
To incur a private check. When shall he come V 
Tell me, Otliello : I wonder in my soul, 
AVhat you wnvdd ask me, that I should deny, 
Orstand so niammeriug on. What ! Michael Cassio, 
That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly. 
Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much, — 

Oth. Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; 
I will deny thee nothing. 

I)cs. Why, this is not a boon ; 

'T is as I should entreat you wear your gloves. 
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, 
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit 
To your own person : nay, when I have, a suit 
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed. 
It shall be full of poise and difficult weight 
And fearful to be granted. 

Oth. I will deny thee nothing: 

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
To leave me hut a little to myself. 

Des. Shall I deny you V no : farewell, my lord. 

Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona: I '11 come to thee 
straight. 

-Des. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you ; 
Whate'er you be, I am obedient. 

[Exnint Desdemona and Emilia. 

Oth. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my soul, 
But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 
Chaos is come again. 

laifo. My noble lord, — 

Oik. What dost thou say, lago ? 

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady. 
Know of your love ? 

Oth. Hedid,fromfirst tolast : why dost thou ask ? 

lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; 
No further harm. 

Oth. Why of thy thought, lago ? 

lago. I did not think lie had been acquainted 
with her. 

Oth. O, yes; and went between us very oft. 

Icif/o. Indeed! [intliat? 

Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed : discern 'st thou aught 
Is he not honest V 

lago. Honest, my lord ! 

Oih. Honest ! ay, honest. 

laqo. My lord, for aught I know. 

Oih. What dost thou think ? 

laifo. Think, my lord ! 

Oih. 'Think, my lord ! 

By heaven, he echoes me. 
As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean some- 
thing : 
I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, 
AVhen Cassio left my wife : what didst not like 'i 
And when I told thee he was of my counsel 
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst ' Inde*d ! ' 
And didst contract and purse thy brow together. 
As if thou then hudst shut up in thy braiii 
734 



Some horrible conceit : if thou dost love me. 
Show me thy thought. 

laiio. My lord, you know I love you. 

Oth. I think thou dost ; 

And, for I know thou 'rt full of love and honesty. 
And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them 

breath, 
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 
For such things in a false disloyal knave 
Are tricks of custom, but in a man tliat 's just 
They are close delations, working from the heart 
That passion cannot rule. 

lago. For Michael Cassio, 

I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. 

Oth. I think so too. 

lago. Men slionld be what they seem ; 

Or those that be not, would they might seem none! 

Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

lago. Why, then, I think Cassio 's an honest man. 

Oih. Nay, yet there 's more in this : 
I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings. 
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of 
The worst of words. [thoughts 

Jugo. Good my lord, pardon me : 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. [false ; 
Utter my thoughts V Why, say they are vile and 
As where 's that palace whereinto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not ? who has a breast so pure, 
But some imcleaidy apprehensions * 

Keep leets and hnv-chiys and m session sit 
With meditations lawfuiy 

Ollt. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago. 
If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

lago. I do beseech you — 

Though I perchance am vicious in my guess. 
As, I'confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not — that your wisdom yet, 
From one that so imperfectly conceits. 
Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble 
Out of his scattering and unsure observance. 
It were not for your quiet nor your good. 
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom. 
To let you know my thoughts. 

Oth. What dost thou mean ? 

lago. Good name in man and woman, dear my 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : [lord. 

Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, 

nothing ; 
'T was miue,""t is his, and has been slave to thou- 
But he that filches from me my good name [sands; 
Hobs me of that which not enriches him 
And makes me poor indeed. 

Oth. By heaven, I '11 know thy thoughts. 

lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand ; 
Nor shall not, whilst 't is in my custody. 

Oth. Ha! 

lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on: that cuckold lives in bliss 
AVho, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; 
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves ! 

Oth. O misery! 

lago. Poor and content is rich and rich enough. 
But "riches fineless is as \hhi\- as winter 
To him that ever fears he sliall be poor. 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
From jealousy ! 

Oth. Why, why is this ? 

Think'st thou I 'Id make a life of jealousy. 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions ? No ; to be once in doubt 
Is (iiice to be resolved : exchange me for a goat, 
When I shall turn the business of my soul 



ACT III. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE ITT. 



To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, [ous 

Matching thy inference. 'T is not to make me jeal- 
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 
Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; 
Where virtue is, tliese are more virtuous: 
Kor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt : 
For she had eyes, and chose me. Xo, lago ; 
I 'II see before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; 
And on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love or jealousy ! 

laijo. I am glad of it ; for now I shall have reason 
To show the love and duty that I bear you 
With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound, 
Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio ; 
Wear j'our eye thus, not jeak)us nor secure : 
I would not have your free and noble nature, 
Out of self -bounty, be abused ; look to 't : 
I know oiu" couutry disposition well ; 
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
They dare not show their husbands ; their best con- 
science 
Is not to leave 't undone, but keep 't unknown. 

0th. Dost thou say so ? 

lago. She did deceive her father, rnaiTying you ; 
And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks, 
She loved them most. 

0th. And so she did. 

laijo. . Why, go to then; 

She that, so young, could give out such a seeming. 
To seel her father's eyes up close as oak — 
He thought 'twas witchcraft — but I am much to 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon [blame ; 
For too much loving you. 

0th. I am bound to thee for ever. 

lago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 

Oih. !N"ot a jot, not a jot. 

lago. V faith, I fear it has. 

I hope you wall consider what is spoke 
Comes "from my love. But I do see you 're moved : 
I am to pray you not to strain my speech 
To grosser issues uor to larger reach 
Than to suspicion. 

0th. I will not. 

lago. Should you do so, my lord, 

My speech should fall into such vile success 
As my thouglits aim not at. Cassio 's my worthy 
My lord, I see you 're moved. [friend — 

0th. Xo, not much moved : 

I do not think but Desdemona's honest, [think so ! 

lago. Long live she so ! and long live you to 

0th. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 

lago. Ay, "there "s the point: as — to be bold with 
Not to affect many proposed matches [you — 

Of her own clime.complexion, and degree. 
Whereto we see in all tilings nature tends — 
Foh! one may suiell in sucli a will most rank. 
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. 
But pardon me; I do not in position 
Distinctly speaic of her; though I may fear 
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 
Jlay fall to match you with her country forms 
Ayd happily repent. 

0th. Farewell, farewell: 

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; 
Set on thy wife to observe : leave me, lago. 

lago. [Go('ii(/]My lord, I take my leave, [doubtless 

0th. Why did I marry ? This honest creature 
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 

lago. [Returning'] My lord, I would I might en- 
treat your honour 
To scan this thing no further; leave it to time: 
Though it be tit that Cassio have his place. 
For, sure, he tills it up with great ability. 
Yet, if you please to hold him otf awhile. 
You sliall by that perceive him and his means : 



Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
With any strong or vehement importunity; 
jNIuch will lie seen in that. In tlie mean time, 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears — 
As worthy cause I have to fear 1 am — 
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 

0th. Fear not my government. 

lago. I once more take my leave. [Exit. 

0th. This fellow 's of exceeding honesty. 
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit. 
Of huuian dealings. If I do prove her haggard, 
Tliough that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
I "Id whistle her off and let her'down the wind, 
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black 
And have not those soft parts of conversation 
That chamberers have, or for I am declined 
Into the vale of years, — yet that 's not much — 
Slie 's gone. I am abused ; and my relief 
JSIust be to loathe her. O curse of marriage. 
That we can call these delicate creatures ours. 
And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad, 
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, 
Thau keep a corner in the thing I love 
For others' uses. Yet,'t is the plague of great ones ; 
Prerogatived are they less than the base; 
'T is destiny unshunnable, like death : 
Even then this forked plague is fated to us 
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes : 

Re-enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! 
I '11 not believe 't. 

Des. How now, my dear Othello ! 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
By you invited, do attend your presence. 

0th. I am to blame. 

Bes. Why do j-ou speak so faintly ? 

Are you not well ? 

0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 

Des. 'Faith, that 's with watching; 'twill away 
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour [again: 
It will be well. 

0th. Your napkin is too little : 

[He puts the handkerchief from him; and it drops. 
Let it alone. Come, I '11 go in with you. 

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exeunt Othello and D(Mli:iaona. 

Emil. I am glad I have found this naiikin : 
This was her first reniembrance from the ^Moiir: 
My wa5T\'ard husband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token, 
For he conjured her she should ever keep it. 
That she reserves it evermore about her 
To kiss and talk to. I '11 have the work ta'eu out, 
And give 't lago : what he will do with it 
Heaven knows, not I ; 
I nothing but to please his fantasy. 

Re-enter lago. 

Ingo. How now ! what do you here alone ? 

Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you. 

/(((/o. A thing for me ? it is a common thing" — 

Ehnl. Ha! 

Jago. To have a foolish wife. 

Emil. O, is that all 'f What will you give me now 
For that same handkerchief? 

Ingo. What handkerchief i* 

Eiail. What handkerchief! 
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona; 
That which so often you did bid me steal. 

lagit. Hast stol'n it from her V 

Emil. No, 'faith; she let it drop by negligence, 
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up. 
Look, here it is. 

lago. A good wench ; give it me. 

Em il. What will you do with 't, that you have been 
To have me filch it ? [so earnest 

735 



ACT III. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE III. 



lago. [Snatching it] Why, what 's that to you ? 

Eriiil. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
Give 't me again : poor lady, she '11 run mad 
When she shall lack it. 

lauo. Be not acknown on 't ; I have use for it. 
Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin. 
And let him find it. Trifles light as air 
Are to the jealous confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ : this may do something. 
The Moor already changes with my poison : 
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons. 
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, 
But with a little act upon the blood, 
Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so : 
Look, where he comes I 

He-enter Othello. 

Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world. 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou owedst yesterday. 

0th. Ha ! ha ! false to me V 

lago. Why, how now, general! no more of that. 

0th. Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the 
I swear 't is better to be much abused [rack : 

Than but to know 't a little. 

lago. How now, my lord ! 

0th. What sense had I of her stol'n hours of lust ? 
I saw 't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me: 
I slept the next night well, was free and merry ; 
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips: 
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n, 
Let him not know 't, and he 's not robb'd at all. 

Jago. I am sorry to hoar this. 

0th. I had lit'en happy, if the general camp, 
Pioners antl all, had tasted lier sweet body. 
So I ]ind iidtliing known. O, now, for ever 
Farewell the trancpiil mind! farewell content! 
Farewt'll the plmiieil troop, ami the big wars, 
That niakf aniliition virtue! O, farewell! 
Farewell the neii^hiiig steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife. 
The royal banner, and all quality, 
Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war! 
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
Tlie immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
Farewell ! Othello's occupatiim 's gone ! 

lago. Is 't possible, my lord V 

Otli. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore, 
_Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof; 
'Or, by the worth of man's eternal soul. 
Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 
Than answer my waked wrath ! 

lago. Is 't come to this ? 

Oth. :Make me to see't; or, at the least, so prove 
That the proljation bear no hinge nor loop [it, 

To hang a (loul)t on ; or woe upon thy life ! 

lago. Jly noble lord, — 

Oth. If thou dost slander her and torture me. 
Never ]>ray more; abandon all remorse; 
On h(irror"s head horrors accumulate; 
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed; 
For nothing canst thou to damnation add 
Greater than that. 

lago. O grace ! heaven forgive me ! 

Are you a man V have you a soul or sense V 
God be wi' you ; take mine office. O wretched fool. 
That livest to make thine honesty a vice! 

monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world, 
To be direct and honest is not safe. 

1 thank you for tliis jn'ofit; and from hence 

I '11 love no friend, sith love breeds such offence. 

Oth. Nay, stay: thou shouldst be honest. 

lago. I should be wise, for honesty 's a fool 
And loses that it works for. 

Oth. By the world, 

736 



I think my wife be honest and think she is not ; 
I think that thou are just and think thou art not. 
I '11 have some proof. Her name, that was as fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black 
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives. 
Poison, or fire, or suffoeatin" streams, 
I '11 not endure it. Would I were satisfied! 

lago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
I do repent me that I put it to you. 
You would be satisfied V 

Oth. Would ! nay, I will. ' [lord ? 

lago. And may: but, how? how satisfied, my 
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on — 
Behold her topp'd i* 

Oth. Death and damnation! O! 

lago. It were a tedious dithculty, I think. 
To bring them to that prospect : damn them then, 
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster 
More than their own ! What then V how then V 
What shall I say ? Where 's satisfaction y 
It is impo.ssible you should see this. 
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say. 
If imputatioii and strong circumstances. 
Which lead directly to the door of truth. 
Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't. 

Oth. Give me a living reason she 's disloyal. 

lago. I do not like the office : 
But, sith I am enter 'd in this cause so far, 
Prick 'd to 't by foolish honesty and love, 
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately; 
And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 
I could not sleep. 

There are a kind of men so loose of soul, 
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs: 
One of this kind is Cassio : 
In sleep I heard him say ' Sweet Desdemona, 
Let us be wary, let us liide our loves; ' 
And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, 
Cry ' O sweet creature ! ' and then kiss me hard. 
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots 
That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg 
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and then 
Cried ' Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor! ' 

Oth. O monstrous! monstrous! 

lago. Nay, this was but his dream. 

Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion: 
'T is a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 

lago. And this may help to thicken other proofs 
That do demonstrate thinly. 

Oth. ■ I '11 tear her all to pieces. 

lago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing done ; 
She may be honest yet. Tell me Viut tliis, 
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief 
Spotted with strawlierries in your wife's hand ? 

Oth. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. 

lago. I know not that: but such a liandkerchief — 
I am sure it was your wife's — did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

Oth. If it be that,— 

lago. If it be that, or any that was hers. 
It sjieaks against her with the other proofs. 

Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 
Now do I see 't is true. Look here, lago ; 
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. 
'T is gone. 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted tlirone 
To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, 
For 't is of aspics' tongues ! 

lago. Y''et be content. 

Oth. O, blood, blood, blood! [change. 

Jago. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may 

Oth. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
AVliose icy current and compulsive course 



ACT III. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE IV. 



Ne'er feels rctiriiiir el)li, but keeps due on 

To the rroiiniitic and the llcllpspoiit, 

Even so luy l)l(iu(ly th<)u>;hts, with violent pace, 

Sliall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love. 

Till that a capable and wide revenge 

Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven, 

[Kaech] In the due reverence of a sacred vow 

I here engage my words. 

lago. Do not rise yet.- 

[Ju!cc?s] Witness, you ever-lmrning lights above, 
You elements that clip us round about. 
Witness that here lago doth give up 
The execution of his wit, hands, heart. 
To wrong'd Othello's service ! Let him command. 
And to obey sliall be in me remorse, 
AVhat bloody business ever. 

Oth. I greet thy love. 

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance boun- 
Aud will upon the instant put thee to 't: [teous, 
"Within these three days let me hear thee say 
Tliat t'assio 's not alive. 

hum. My friend is dead ; 't is done at yom' request : 
But let her live. 

Oth. Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her! 
Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw. 
To furnish me with some swift mp ans of death 
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 

laijo. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Before the castle. 
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 

Dcs. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant 
Cassio lies? 

Clo. I dare not say he lies any where. 

Des. Why, man V 

Clo. He 's a soldier, and for one to say a soldier 
lies, is stabbing. 

Des. Go to : where lodges he ? 

Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you 
wliere I lie. 

I>cs. Can any thing be made of this ? 

Clo. I know not where he lodges, and for me to 
devise a lodging and say he lies here or he lies 
there, were to lie in mine own tliroat. 

Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by 
report ? 

Clo. I will catechize the world for him; that is, 
make questions, anil by them answer. 

Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him I 
have moved my lord on his behalf, and hope all will 
be well. 

Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's 
wit ; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [Exit. 

I)es. Where should 1 lose that handkerchief, 

Einil. I know not, madam. [Emilia V 

I)cs. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
Full of crusadoes: and, but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking. 

Emil. Is he not jealous ? 

lies. Who, he ? I think the sun where he was 
Drew all sucli humours from him. [liorn 

'Eiuil. Look, where he comes. 

Bes. I will not leave him now till Cassio 
Be call'd to him. „ _ 

Enter Othello. 
How is 't with you, my lord ? 

Oth. Well, my good lady. [Aside] O, hardness 
to dissemble ! — 
How do you, Desdemona? 

Des. Well, my good lord. 

Oth. Give me your hand : this hand is moist, my 
lady. 

D?s. It yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow. 

Oth. This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart: 
47 



Hot, hot, and moist : this Iiand of yours requires 
A sequester from lilicrty, lasting and prayer, 
Much castigation, exercise di-vout; 
For here 's a young and sweating devil here, 
Tliat commonly rebels. 'T is a good hand, 
A frank one. 

Des. You may, indeed, say so ; 

For 't was that hand that gave away my heart. 

Oth. A liberal hand: the hearts of old gave 
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts, [hands ; 

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 

Oth. What promise, chuck ? [promise. 

Des. I have seut to bid Cassio come speak with 
you. 

Oth. 1 have a salt and sorry rheum offends me ; 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord. 

Oth. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

Oth. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, my lord. 

Oth. That is a fault. 

That handkerchief 
Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
She was a charmer, and could almost read [kept it, 
Tlie thoughts of people: she told her, wWle she 
"T wiinld make her amialile and subdue my father 
Entirely to her love, but if she lost it 
Or maile a gift of it, my father's eye 
Shiiulil liold her loathed and his spirits should hunt 
After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
To give it her. I did so : and take lieed on 't ; 
Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
To lose 't or give 't away were such perdition 
As nothing else could match. 

Des. Is 't possible ? 

Oth. 'T is true : there 's magic in the web of it : 
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 
The sun to course two hundred compasses, 
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work ; 
The worms were hallow'd that did lireed the silk; 
And it was dyed in mummy which the skilful 
Conserved of maidens' hearts. 

De%. Indeed ! is 't true ? 

Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to 't well. 

Des. Then would to God that I had never seen 't ! 

Oth. Ha! wherefor£? 

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash ? 

Oth. Is 't lost? is 't gone? speak, is" it out o' the 

Des. Heaven bless us ! [\\'ay ? 

Oth. Say you ? 

Des. It is not lost ; but what an if it were ? 

Oth. How! 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 

Oth. Fetch 't, let me see 't. 

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now. 
This is a trick to put me from my sint : 
Pray you, let Cassio be received again. 

dth. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind mis- 

Des. Come, come; [gives. 

You '11 never meet a more sufficient man. 

Oth. The handkerchief! 

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 

Oth. The handkerchief ! 

Des. A man that all liis time 

Hath founded his good fortunes on your love, 
Shared dangei-s with vou, — 

Oth. The handkerchief! 

Des. In sooth, you are to blame. 

Oth. Away! [Exit. 

Emil. Is not this man jealous? 

Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
Sure, there 's some wonder in this handkerchief : 
I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 

Emil. 'T is not a year or two shows us a man : 
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food ; 
737 



ACT JV. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE I. 



They eat us huiifterly, and when tliey are full, 
They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my husband ! 

Enter Cassio and lago. 

lago. There is no other way ; 't is she must do 't : 
And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. 

Des. IIow now, good Cassio ! what 's the news 
with you ? 

Cas. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech you 
That by your virtuous means I may again 
Exist, and be a member of his love 
AVhom I with all the office of my heart 
Entirely honour : I would not be delay 'd. 
If my offence be of such mortal kind 
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows, 
Xor purposed merit in futurity. 
Can ransom me into his love again, 
Bnt to know so must be my benefit ; 
So shall 1 clothe me in a forced content, 
And shut myself up in some other course, 
To fortune's alms. 

D(s. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio! 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him, 
Were he in favour as in luimour alter'd. 
So hoJp me every spirit s;iiictitied. 
As I have spoken for you all my liost 
And stood within the blank of liis displeasure 
For my free speech ! you must awhile be patient : 
AVhat 1 can do I will ; and more I will 
Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 

lago. Is my lord angry ? 

Emil. He went hence but now. 

And certainly in strange unquietness. 

lago. Can he be angry ? I have seen the cannon. 
When it hath blown his ranks into the air, 
- And, like the devil, from his very arm 
Puff'd his own brother : — and can he be angry ? 
Something of moment then : I will go meet him : 
Tliere 's matter in 't indeed, if he be angry. 

Des. I prithee, do so. [Ex.it lago. 

Something, sure, of state, 
Either from Venice, or some unltatch'd practice 
!Made demonstrable herein Cyprus to liim, 
Hatli puddli'd his clear spirit ; and in such cases 
Men's natures wrangle witli inferior tilings, 
Though great ones are tlieir object. 'T is even so ; 
For let our linger aclie, and it indues 
Our other healthfid members even to that sense 
Of pain: nay, we must tliinlc men are not gods. 
Nor of them look for such observances 
As fit the bridal. Beslirew me mncli, Emilia, 
I was, unluuidsonie warrior as I am, 
Arraigning his uid;iniliiess with my soul; 
Hut now I lind I liad siil'orn'd the witness, 
And he 's indicted falsely. 

Emil. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you 
think, 



And no conception nor no jealous toy 
Concerning you. 

ill .•-■. Alas tlie day ! I never gave him cause. 

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so; 
They are not ever jealous for the cause, 
But jealous for they are jealous : 't is a monster 
Begot upon itself, born on itself. 

h<x. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's 

Etnil. l.aily. amen. [mind! 

l)cs. I willgoseek liim. Cassio, walk hereabout: 
If I do find him fit, I "11 move your suit 
And seek to effect it to my uttermost. 

C'cts. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Bianca. 

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 

Cas. What make you from home ? 

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca V 
I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 

lUan. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
Wliat, keep a week away 'i' seven days aiid nights? 
Eiglit score eight hours "i* and lovers' absent hours. 
More tedious than the dial eight score times "i' 

weary reckoning ! 

Cos. Pardon me, Bianca : 

1 have this while with leaden tlioughts been press 'd ; 
But I shall, in a more continuate time. 

Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 

[Oiling her Desdemona^s handkerchief. 
Take me this work out. 

Bian. O Cassio, whence came this ? 

This is some token from a newer friend: 
To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
Is 't come to this 'f Well, well. 

Cets. Goto, woman! 

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth. 
From whence you have them. You are jealous now 
That this is from some mistress, some remembrance : 
No, in good troth, Bianca. 

llian. Why, whose is it ? 

Cas. I know not, sweet : I found it in my cham- 
I like the work well: ere it be demanded — [ber. 
As like enough it will — I "Id have it copied : 
Take it, and do 't ; and leave me for tliis time. 

Eian. Leave you! wherefore y 

C'«s. I do attend here on the general ; 
And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
To have him see me woman'd. 

Bian. Why, I pray you ? 

Cas. Not that I love you not. 

Bian. But that you do not love me. 

I pray you, bring me on the way a little. 
And say if I shall see you soon at night. 

Cas. 'T is bnt a little way that I can bring you; 
For I attend here : but I '11 see you soon. 

Bian. 'T is very good ; I must be circumstanced. 

[Exeunt. 



J^CT IV. 



SCENE I.— Cyprus. Before the castle. 

Enter Othello and lago. 

lago. Will you tliink so ? 

Oih. Think so, lago! 

lago. What, 

To kiss in private ? 

Oth. An unauthorized kiss. 

lago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed 
An hour or more, not meaning any harm 'f 

Oth. Naked in lied, lago, and not mean harm! 

It is liyiKierisy against the devil: 

They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, [lieaven. 

The devil theix virtue tempts, and they tempt 

738 



lago. So they do nothing, 't is a venial slip: 
But if I give my wife a handkerchief,— 

Oth. What then ? 

lago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord; and, being 
She inay, I think, bestow 't on any man. [hers, 

Oth. Slie is protectress of her honour too : 
May she give that ? 

lago. Her iKuiour is an essence that 's not seen; 
They have it very oft that have it not: 
But, for the handkerchief. — 

Olh. By heaven, I would most gladly liave forgot 
Thou said'st — O, it conies o'er my memory, [it. 
As dotli the raven o'er the infected house, 
Boding to all — he had my handkerchief. 



ACT IV. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE I. 



lago. Ay, what of that ? 

0th. That "s not so good now. 

laijo. " AVhat, 

If I had said I had seen him do you WTong ? 
Or heard him say, — as Icnaves be such abroad, 
"Wlio liaving, by their own importunate suit. 
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
Convinced or sapplied them, cannot choose 
But tliey must blab — 

0th. Hath he said any thing? 

layo. He liatli, my lord ; but be you well assured, 
Xo more than lie "lluuswear. 

0th. What hath he said ? 

laijo. 'Faith, that he did — I kuow not what he 

Oth. Wliat? whaty [did. 

Inijo. Lie — 

Oth. With her? 

laijo. With her, on her; what you will. 

Oth. Lie with her! lie ou lier! We say lie on 
her, when they belie her. Lie with her! that's 
fulsome. — Handkerchief — confessions — handker- 
chief! — To confess, and be hanged tor his labour; 
— first, to be hanged, and then to confess. — I trem- 
b'.e at it. Nature would not invest herself in such 
shadowing passion without some instruction. It 
is not words that shake me thus. Pish! Noses, 
ears, and lips. — Is "t possible ? — Confess — hand- 
kerchief ! — O devil ! {Falls in a trance. 

/(((/o. AVork on, [caught; 

My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are 
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, 
All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord! 
My lord, I say I Othello! 

Enter Cassio. 

How now, Cassio ! 

Cns. What 's the matter ? 

Ingo. iSIy lord is fall'n into an epilepsy : 
This is his second lit; he had one yesterday. 

Cos. Rub him about the temples. 

lago. No, forbear; 

The "lethargy must liave his quiet course : 
If not, he foams at mouth and by and by 
Brealis out to savage madness. "Look, he stirs: 
Do you withdraw yoiu'self a little while. 
He will recover straight: when he is gone, 
I would on great occasion speak with you. 

[Exit Cassio. 
How is it, general ? have you not hurt your head ? 

Oik. Dost thou mock me? 
, layo. I mock you ! no, by heaven. 

Would you would bear your fortune like a man ! 

Oth. A horned man 's a monster and a beast. 

lago. There "s many a beast then in a populous 
And many a civil monster. [city, 

(.Hh. Did lie confess it ? 

I'igo. Good sir, be a man ; 

Thiiik every bearded fellow that 's but yoked 
May draw witli you : there 's millions liow alive 
That nightly lie in those unproper Ijeds [ter. 

Which they dare swear peculiar: your case is bet- 
O, 't is the spite of liell, the fiend's "arch-mock. 
To lip a wanton in a secure couch. 
And to suppose her cliaste ! No, let me know; 
And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 

Oth. O, thou art wise ; 't is certain. 

lago. Stand you awhile apart ; 

Confine yourself but in a patient list. 
Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your grief — 
A passion most unsuiting such a man — 
Cassio came hither: I shifted him away. 
And laid good 'sense upon your ecstasy. 
Bade him anon return and here speak with me ; 
The which he promised. Do but encave yourself. 
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, 
That dwell in every region of his face; 
For I will make him tell the tale anew. 



Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
He hath, and is again to cope your wife: 
1 say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience; 
Or i shall say you are all in all in spleen. 
And nothing of a man. 

Oth. Dost thou hear, lago? 

I will be found most cunning in my patience; 
But — dost thou hear? — most bloody. 

lago. Tliat 's not amiss ; 

But yet keep time in all. Will you witlidraw ? 

[Otliello retires. 
Now will I question Cassio of Bianea, 
A housewife that by selling her desires 
Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature 
That dotes on Cassio; as "t is the strumpet's plague 
To beguile many and be Ijeguiled by one: 
He, when he hears of her, cainiot refrain 
From the excess of laughter. Here lie comes: 

Re-enter Cassio. 
As lie shall smile, Othello shall go mad; 
And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures and liglit behaviour, 
t^nite in the \\Tong. How do yon now, lieutenant ? 

('as. The worser that you give me the addition 
Whose want even kUls me. 

lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on 't. 
[Speaking loioer] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's 
How quickly should you speed! [power, 

Cas. Alas, poor caitiff ! 

Oth. Look, how he laughs already ! 

Tago. I never knew woman love man so. [me. 

Cds. Alas, poor rogue! I think, i' faith, she loves 

Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 

lago. Do you hear, Cassio ? 

Oth. Now he importunes him 

To tell it o'er: go to; well said, well said. 

lago. She gives it out that you shall marry her: 
Do you intend it ? 

Cas. Ha, ha, ha! 

Oth. Do you triumph, Roman ? do you triumph ? 

Cas. I marry her! what? a customer! Prithee, 
bear some charity to my wit; do not think it so 
unwliolesome. ita, ha,ha! 

Oth. So, so, so, so : tliey laugh that win. 

layo. 'Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry 

Cas. Prithee, say true. [lier. 

lago. I am a very villain else. 

Oth. Have you scored me ? AVell. 

Cas. This is tlie monkey's own giving out: she 
is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love 
and flattery, not out of my promise. 

Oth. lago beckons me ; now he begins the story. 

Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me in 
every jilace. I was the other day talking on the 
sea-Viank with certain Venetians; and thither comes 
the baulile, and, liy this hand, she falls me thus 
about my neck — 

Oth. Crying ' O dear Cassio ! ' as it were : his ges- 
ture imports it. 

Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me ; so 
hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! 

Oth. Now he tells how she plucked him to my 
cliamber. O, I see that nose of yom's, but not that 
dog I shall throw it to. 

f Vis. Well, I must leave lier company. 

logo. Before me! look, where she conies. 

Cas. "Tis such another fitchew! marry, a per- 
fumed one. 

Enter Bianea. 

What do you mean by this haunting of me? 

Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you I 
What did yon mean by that same handkerchief you 
gave me even now ? I was a fine fool to take it. I 
must take out the work ? — A likely jiiece of work, 
that you should find it in your chamber, and not 
know who left it there 1 This is some minx's token, 
730 



ACT IV. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE I. 



and I must take out the work? There; give it 
your hobby-horse ; wheresoever you liad it, I 'II 
take out no work on 't. 

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca! how now! 
how now ! 

0th. By heaven, that should be ray handkerchief! 

Bum. An you'll come to supper to-night, you 
may; an you will not, come when you are next 
prepared for. [-Exit. 

Ligo. After her, after her. 

Cas. 'Faith, I must; she '11 rail in the street else. 

logo. Will you sup tlierey 

Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 

lam. Well, I may chance to see you; for I 
■would very fain speak with you. 

Cas. Prithee, come ; will you 'i 

Im/o. Goto; say no more. [ExH Cassio. 

Oih. [Advuncinij'] How shall I murder him, lago V 

lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his 

0th. O lago! [vice? 

lago. And did you see the handkerchief '? 

Oih. Was that "mine? 

lago. Yours, by this hand: and to see how he 
prizes the foolish woman your wife! she gave it 
him, and he hath given it his whore. 

0th. I would have him nine years a-killing. A 
fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 

lago. Nay, you must forget that. 

Oih. Ay, let her rot, uikI perish, and be damned 
to-night; for she shall not live: no, my heart is 
turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. 
0,tlie world hath not a sweeter creature : she might 
lie by an emperor's side and command him tasks. 

lago. Nay, that 's not your way. 

Oih. Hang her! I do but say what she is: so 
delicate with her needle: an admirable musician: 
O! she will sing the savageness out of a bear: of 
so high and plenteous wit and inveutiou : — 

lago. She 's the worse for all this. 

Oih. O, a thousand thousand times: and then, 
of so gentle a condition! 

lago. Ay, too gentle. 

Oth. Nay, that 's certain : but j'et the pity of it, 
lago! O lago, the pity of it, lago ! 

lago. If you are so foiid over her iniquity, give her 
patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, it comes 
near nobody. 

Oth. I will chop her into messes : cuckold me ! 

lago. O, 't is foul in her. 

Oih. With mine officer! 

lago. That 's fouler. 

Oih. Get me some poison, lago; this night: I '11 
not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty 
unprovide my mind again: this iii.i^ht, lago. 

lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her 
bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 

Oih. Good, good: the justice of it pleases: very 
good. 

lago. And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker : 
you shall hear more by midnight. 

Oth. Excellent good. {A trumpet within.] What 
trumpet is that same ? 

lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'T is Lodo- 

vico [him. 

Come from the duke: and, see, your wife is with 

Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 
Lod. Save you, worthy general ! 
Oth. With all my heart, sir. 

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. 
[Gives him a letter. 
Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 

[Opens the letter, and reads. 
Des. And what 's the news, good cousin Lodovico? 
lago. I am very glad to see you, signior ; 
Welcome to Cyprus. 
Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio ? 
740 



lago. Lives, sir. [lonl 

Des. Cousin, there 's faH'n between him an<l my 
An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. 

Oth. Are you sure of that ? 

Des. My lord ? [will — ' 

Otii. [Heads] 'This fail you not to do, as you 

Lod. He did not call ; he 's busy in the i)aper. 
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio? 

Des. A most unhappy one : I would do much 
To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 

Oth. Fire and brimstone ! 

Des. My lord ? 

Oth. Are you wise ? 

Des. What, is he angrj' ? 

Lod. May be the letter moved him; 

For, as I think, they do command him home. 
Deputing Cassio in his government. 

Des. Trust me, I am glad on 't. 

Oth. Indeed ! 

Des. JSIy lord ? 

Oth. I am glad to see you mad. 

Des. Why, sweet Othello, — 

Oth. [Striking her] JifiyW. 

Des. I have not deserved this. [Venice, 

Lod. My lord, this would not be believed in 
Though I shoulcl swear I saw 't : 't is very much : 
Make her amends ; she weeps. 

Oth. O devil, devil ! 

If that the earth could teem with woman's tears. 
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. 
Out of my sight ! 

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going. 

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady : 
I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 

Oth. Mistress! 

Des. My lord ? 

Oth. AVhat would you with her, sir? 

io(Z. Who, I, my lord ? 

Oth. Ay ; you did wish that I would make her 
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, [turn: 
And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep.; 
And she 's obedient, as you say, obedient, 
Very oliedieiit. Proceed you in your tears. 
Concerning tliis, sir, — O well-painted passion! — 
I am coninumded home. Get you away; 
I '11 send for you anon. Sir, I obey the mandate, 
And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt ! 

[Keit Desdemona. 
Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-uight, 
I do entreat that we may sup togetlier : 
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. — Goats an(^ 
monkeys ! [E.dt. 

Lod. Is tills the noble Moor whom our full EOUu\,e 
Call all in all sufficient ? Is this the nature 
Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid vir- 
The sliot of accident, nor dart of cliance, [Uie 

Could neither graze nor pierce ? 

logo. He is much dianged. 

Lod. Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain ? 

lago. He 's that he is: I may not breathe my cen- 
sure. 
What he might be. — if what he might he is not — 
I would to heaven he were ! 

Loel. What, strike his wife! 

lago. 'Faith, that was not so well; yet would I 
That stroke would prove the worst ! [knew 

Lod. Is it his use ? 

Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
And new-create this fault ? 

lago. Alas, alas ! 

It is not honesty in me to speak 
What I have seen and known. You shall observe 
And his own courses will denote him so [him, 

That I may save my siieech : do but go after. 
And mark how he continues. 

Lod. I am sorry that I am deceived in him. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT TV. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE II. 



SCENE n. — A room in the castle. 

Eater Othello and Emilia. 

Oth. You have seen nothing then ? 

Emil. Nor ever lieard, nor ever did suspect. 

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and slie to- 
getlier. 

Emil. But then I saw no harm, and tlien I heard 
Each syllable that breatli made up between them. 

Oth. What, did they never wliisper 'i 

Emil. Never, my lord. 

• Oth. Nor send you out o' the way 'f 

Emil. Never. 

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor 

Emil. Never, my lord. [nothing 'i 

Oth. That 's strange. 

Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other. 
Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom. 
If any wretch have put this in your head. 
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse! 
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true. 
There 's no man happy ; the purest of their wives 
Is foul as slander. 

Oth. Bid her come hither: go. 

[Exit Emilia. 
She says enough ; yet she 's a simple bawd 
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
A closet lock and key of villanous secrets : 
And yet she '11 kneel and pray ; I have seen her do't. 

Enter Desdemona with Emilia. 

Des. My lord, what is your will ';' 

Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither. 

Des. What is your pleasure ? 

Oth. Let me see your eyes ; 

Look in my face. 

Bcs. What liorrible fancy 's this ? 

Oth. [To Emilia] Some of your function, mistress ; 
Leave procreants alone and shut the door ; 
Cough, or cry ' hem,' if any body come : 
Your mystery, your mystery: nay, dispatch. 

[E.cit Emilia. 

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech 
I understand a fury in your words, [import V 

But not the words. 

Oth. Why, what art thou ? 

Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 

And loyal wife. 

Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils tliemselves 
Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double 
Swear thou art honest. [damn'd : 

Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 

Oth. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as 
hell. [I false V 

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom ? how am 

Oth. O Desdemona ! away ! away ! away ! 

Des. Alas the heavy day ! Why do you weep ? 
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord ? 
If haply you my father do suspect 
An instrument of this your calling hack, 
Lay not your blame on me : if you have lost him. 
Why, I have lost him too. 

Oth. Had it pleased heaven 

To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd 
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head, 
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips, 
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, 
I should have found in some place of my soul 
A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me 
A fixed figure for the time of scorn 
To point his slow immoving finger at ! 
Yet could I hear that too ; well, very well : 
]5tit there, where I liave ganier'd up my heart, 
AVliei-e either I must live, or bear no lii'e ; i 

The fountain from the which my current runs, 



Or else dries up; to be discarded thence! 
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads [there. 

To knot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion 
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin,^ 
Ay, there, look grim as hell ! 

Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. 

Oth. O, ay; as summer llies are in the sliambles. 
That quicken even with bhiwing. O thou weed. 
Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet 
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst 
ne'er been born ! 

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed '? 

Oth. Was this fair pajier, this most goodly book, 
Made to write ' wliore ' upon ? What committed! 
Committed ! O tliou public commoner! 
I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
That would to cinders burn up modesty, 
Did I but speak thy deeds. Wliat committed ! 
Heaven stops the nose at it and the moon winks, 
Tlie liawily wind that kisses all it meets 
Is luish'd within tlie Imllow mine of earth. 
And will not hear it. What committed ! 
Impudent strumpet ! 

Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 

Oth. Are not you a strumpet V 

Des. No, as I am a Christian : 

If to preserve this vessel for my lord 
From any other foul unlawful touch 
Be not to he a strumpet, I am none. 

Oth. What, not a whore ? 

Des. No, as I shall he saved. 

Oth. Is 't possible ? 

Des. O, heaven forgive us ! 

Oth. I cry you mercy, then : 

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice 
That married with Othello. [Itaising his voice] 

You, mistress, 
That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
And keep the gate of hell ! 

He-enter Emilia. 

Yon, you, ay, you! 
We have done onr course ; there 's money for your 

pains : 
I pray you, turn the key and keep our counsel. 

[Exit. 

Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive ? 
How do you, madam V how do you, my good lady ? 

Des. 'Faith, half asleep. 

Emil. Good madam, what 's the matter with rny 

Des. With who V [lord? 

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 

Des. Who is thy lord ? 

Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady. 

Des. I have none: do not talk to me, Emilia; 
I cannot weep ; nor answer have I none. 
But what should go liy water. Prithee, to-night 
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets: remember; 
And call thy husband hither. 

Emil. Here 's a change indeed! [Exit. 

Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet. 
How have I been behaved, that he might stick 
The small'st opinion on my least misuse? 

Re-enter Emilia with lago. 
lago. What is your pleasure, madam ? How is 't 

with you ? 
Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach young 
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks : [babes 
He might have chid me so; for, in good faith, 
I am a child to chiding. 
laf/n. What 's the matter, lady ? 

Einil. Alas, lago, my lord hath so bewhored her, 
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, 
As true hearts cannot bear. 
Des. Am I that name, lago ? 
layo. "What name, fak lady ? 

7-11 



ACT IV. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE IIT. 



i>f,«. Sucli as she says my lord did say I was. 

Emih Up t-aird Iut wlime; a Vn'iiiiar in his drink 
Could not have laid siudi tcruis iiiJoii his callat. 

Jwjo. Why did he so? 

Des. I do not know; I am sure I am none such. 

In(jo. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day ! 

Emil. Ilath she forsook so many noble matches, 
Iler father and her country and her friends. 
To be call'd whore? would it not make one weep? 

Des. It is my wretched- fortune. 

irtr/o. Beshrew him for 't ! 

How comes this trick upon him ? 

Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 

Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, 
Some busy and insinuating rogue, 
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office. 
Have not devised this slander; I '11 be hang'd else. 

lago. Fie, there is no such man ; it is impossible. 

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him! 

Emil. A halter i)ardon him ! and hell gnaw his 
bones ! [piiny ? 

Why should he call her whore ? who keeps her com- 
What place ? what time ? what form ? what likeli- 
hood ? 
The Moor's abused by some most villanous knave. 
Some base notorinus knave, some s<-urvy fellow. 

heaven, that siu-li coJiii)aiuons thou'ldst unfold. 
And put in every honest hand a wiiip 

To lasli the rascals naked through the world 
Even from the east to the west ! 

Jityo. Speak within door. 

Eriiil. O, fie upon them ! Some such scpiire he was 
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without. 
And made you to sus|)ect me with the Moor. 

JiKjo. You are a fool ; go to. 

Des. O good lago. 

What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of heaven, 

1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : 
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love. 
Either in discourse of thouglit or actual deed, 
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, 
Delighted them in any other form ; 

Or that I do not yet, and ever did. 

And ever will — tliough he do shake me off 

To beggarly divorcement — love him dearly. 

Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much; 

And his unUiiidiiess may defeat my life. 

But never taint my love. I cannot say ' whore : ' 

It does abhor me now I speak the word ; 

To do the act that might the addition earn 

Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 

IfKjo. I pray you, be content ; 't is hut his humoiu" : 
Tlie business of the state does him offence, 
And he does chide with you. 

Des. If 't were no other, — 

lago. 'T is but so, I warrant. 

[Trumpets ivithin. 
Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
Tlie messengers of Venice stay the meat: 
Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Roderigo. 
How now, Roderigo ! 

Jiod. I do not find that thou dealest justly with me. 
' laijn. What in the contrary ? 

Rod. Every day thou daffest me with some de- 
vice, lago ; and rather, as it seems to me now, 
keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest 
me with the least advantage of liope. I will indeed 
no longer endure it, nor am I yet persuadcil to jiut 
up in peace what already 1 have foolishly suffered. 

lago. Will you hear me, Hoderigo? 

Jind. 'Faith, I have heard too much, for your 
words and performances are no kin together. 

layo. You charge me most unjustly. 
742 



Hod. With nought but truth. I have wasted 
myself out of my means. Tlie jewels you have 
had from me to deliver to Desdenjona would half 
have corrui)ti'd a votarist: you have told me she 
hath received tlieni and returned me exjiectations 
and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, 
but I hnd none. 

IiKjo. Well; goto; very well. 

Hod. Very well ! go to ! I cannot go to, man ; 
nor 'tis not very well: nay, I think it is scurvy, 
and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 

lago. Very well. 

Hi'mI. I tell you 't is not very well. I will make 
myself known to Desdemona : if she will return me 
my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my 
unlawful solicitation ; if not, assure yourself I will 
seek .satisfaction of you. 

Ingii. You have said now. 

Jiod. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest 
intendment of doing. 

lago. Why, now 1 see there 's mettle in thee, and 
even from this instant do build on thee a better 
opinion than ever before. Give me thy band, Rod- 
erigo: thou hast taken against me a most just ex- 
ception ; but yet, I protest, I have dealt most di- 
rectly in thy affair. 

Bod. It hath not ap]ieared. 

lago. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and 
your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. 
But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, 
which I have greater reason to believe now than 
ever, I mean purpose, courage and valour, this 
night show it : if thou the next night following en- 
joy not Desdemona, take me from this world with 
treachery and devise engines for my life. 

Hod. Well, what is it ? is it within reason and 
compass ? 

lago. Sir, there is especial commission come from 
Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 

Jiod. Is that true ? why, then Othello and Des- 
demona return again to Venice. 

lago. O, no; he goes into Mauritania and takes 
away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his aliode 
be lingered here by some accident : wherein none can 
be .so detcruiiiKitc as the removing of Cassio. 

Bod. How do you mean, removing of him ? 

lago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's 
place: knocking out his brains. 

Jiod. And that you would have me to do? 

lago. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a 
right. He sups to-night with a harlotry, and thither 
will I go to him : he knows not yet of his honour- 
able fortune. If you will watch his going thence, 
which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and 
one, you may take him at your pleasure : I will be 
near to second your attempt, and he shall fall be- 
tween us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go 
along with me; I will show you such a necessity in 
his death that you shall think yourself bound to 
put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the 
uight grows to waste : about it. 

Jiod: I will hear further reason for this. 

Jago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another room in the castle. 

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, 

and Attendants. 

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, troulile yourself no 

further. 
Oih. O. pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk. 
Lod. Madam, gooil-night; I humbly thank your 

ladyship. 
Des. Your honour is most welcome. 
0th . AVill you walk, sir ? 

0,-1 Desdemona , — 
Des. My lord? „ ~ ,., 



ACT V. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE I. 



0th. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be re- 
turned fortliwith: dismiss your attendant there: 
look it be done. 

Des. I will, my lord. 

[Ejuiiit Otli< Uo, Loclovico, and Attendants. 

Einil. Hiiw giH's it now V lie looks gentler than lie 

Des. He says he \Yill return incontinent; [did. 
He hath couinianded me to go to bed, 
And bade me to dismiss you. 

IJmil. Dismiss me ! 

Bes. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu: 
We must not now displease him. 

S)iiil. I would you had never seen him! 

D(s. So would not 1: my love doth so approve him, 
That even hisstnlibornness, his checks, his frowns, — 
Prithee, unpin me. — liave grace and favour in them. 

Einil. 1 have laid those sheets you bade me on 
the bed. 

Bes. All 's one. Good faith, how foolish are our 
If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me [minds ! 
In one of those same sheets. 

£mil. Come, come, you talk. 

Bes. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara: 
Slie WHS in love, and he she loved proved mad 
And did forsake her : slie had a song of ' willow ; ' 
An old thing 't was, but it express'd her fortune, 
And she died singing it : tliat song to-night 
Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do, 
But to go hang my head all at one side. 
And sing it like [loor Barbara. Prithee, dispatch. 

Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ? 

Bes. if o, unpin me here. 

This Lodovico is a proper man. 

Emit. A very handsome man. 

Bes. He speaks well. 

Eiiiil. I know a lady in Venice would have walked 
barefoot to Palestine for a touch of liis netlier lip. 

Bes. [SingiiKj] The poor soul sat sighing by a syc- 
amore tree, 
Sing all a green willow ; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee. 

Sing willow, willow, willow; 
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her 
Sing willow, willow, willow ; [moans; 

Her salt tears fell from her, and soften 'd tlie 
I>ay by these : — [stones ; — 

['Sinijinij] Sing willow, willow, willow; 
Prithee, hie thee; he '11 come anon : — [land. 

[Singiny] Sing all a green willow must be my gar- 
Let nobody blame him ; his scorn I approve, — 
Kay, that 'snot next. — Hark! who is 't that knocks? 

Emil. It 's the wind. 

Bis. ['"iiiii.iiii'j] I call'd my love false love ; but what 
said he then ';* 

Sing willow, willow, willow : 



If I court moe women, you-'ll couch with moe 
men. — 
So, get thee gone ; good-night. Mine eyes do itch ; 
Doth that bode weeping'? 

Emil. 'T is neither here nor there. 

Bes. I have heard it said so. O, these men, these 
men ! 
Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia, — 
That there be women do abuse their husbands 
In such gross kind '? 

Emil. There be some such, no question. 

Bes. Wonldst thou do such a deed for all the 

Emil. Why, would not you ? [woi-ld '? 

Bes. No, by this heavenly light ! 

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light; 
I might do 't as well i' the dark. [world '? 

Bis. Wonldst thou do such a deed for all the 

Emil. The world's a huge thing: it is a great 
For a small vice. [price 

Bes. In troth, I think thou wonldst not. 

Emil. In troth, I think I should ; and undo 't 
when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a 
thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, 
nor tor gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty 
exhibition; but, for the whole world, — why, who 
would not make her husband a cuckold to make 
him a monarch V I should venture purgatory for 't. 

Bes. Beshrew me, it I would do sucli a wrong 
For the whole world. 

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wi'ong i' tlie 
world ; and having the world for your labour, 't is 
a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly 
make it right. 

Bes. I do not think there is any such woman. 

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many to the vantage 
as would store the world they played for. 
]5ut I do think it is their husbands' faults 
If wives do fall : say that they slack their duties. 
And pour our treasures into foreign laiis, 
Or else break out in i)eevisli jealousies. 
Throwing restraint upon us : or say they strike us. 
Or scant our former liaving in despite; 
Why, we have galls, and though we liave some grace, 
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know 
Their wives have sense like them : they see and smell 
And have their palates both for sweet and sour, 
As husbands have. What is it that they do 
When they change us for others '^ Is it sport ? 
I think it is: and doth affection breed it? 
I think it doth : is 't frailty that thus errs ? 
It is so too: and have not Ve aifections. 
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have ? 
Then let tlieui use us well : else let them know. 
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so. [send, 

Bes. Good night, good night : heaven me such uses 
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend ! [Exeunt. 



^CT V^. 



SCENE 1.— Cyprus. A street. 



Enter lago and Roderigo. 
lago. Here, stand behind this bulk; straight 
will he come: 
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home : 
Quick, quick ; fear nothing ; I '11 be at thy elbow : 
It makes us, or it mars us; think on that. 
And fix most firm thy resolution. 
Hod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in 't. 
lago. Here, at thy hand: behold, and take thy 
stand. [Retires. 

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons : 
'T is but a man gone. Forth, my sword : he dies. 



lago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to 

the sense. 
And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill 

Cassio, 
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other. 
Every way makes my gain: live Roderigo, 
He calls nie to a restitution large 
Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him, 
As gifts to Desdemona; 
It must not lie: if Cassio do remain. 
He hath a daily beauty in his life 
That makes me ugly ; and, besides, tlie Moor 
May unfold me to him; there stand I in much 

peril : 
No, he must die. But sr : I hear him coming. 
743 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE II. 



Enter Cassio. 
Bod. I know bis gait, 'tis lie. — Villain, thou 
diest ! [il/nA'e*; a pass at Cassio. 

Cas. That thrust liad been mine enemy indeed, 
Bnt that my coat is better than thou know'st: 
I will make proof of thine. 

[Draws, and wmmds Roderigo. 

Bod. O, I am slain ! 

I [larjo from behind wounds Cassio in the leg, and exit. 

Cas'. I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho ! murder 1 

murder! ^ ^ _,., „ [Falls. 

Enter Othello. 

0th. The voice of Cassio : lago keeps his word. 

Bod. O, villain that I am ! 

0th. It is even so. 

Cas. O, help, ho ! light ! a surgeon ! 

0th. 'Tis he: — O brave lago, honest and just, 
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong ! 
Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies dead, 
And your unblest fate hies: strumpet, I come. 
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are 

blotted ; 
Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be 
spotted. [Exit. 

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano. 
Cas. What, hoi no watch? no passage? murder! 
murder! [ful. 

Gra. 'T is some mischance ; the cry is very dire- 
Cos. O, help ! 
Lod. Hark! 

Bod. O wretched villain ! 
Lod. Two or three groan : it is a heavy night : 
These may be counterfeits : let 's think 't unsafe 
To come in to the cry without more help. 
Bod. Kobody come ? then shall I bleed to death. 
•Lod. Hark! 

Be-enter lago, with a light. 

Gra. Here 's one comes in his shirt, with light 
and weapons. 

lago. Whose 's there? whose noise is this that 
cries on m>u\ler ? 

Lod. We do not know. 

lago. Did not you hear a cry ? 

Cas. Here, here! for heaven's sake, help me! 

lago. AVliut "s the matter ? 

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 

Lod. The same indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 

lago. What are you liere that cry so grievously? 

Cas. lago ? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains! 
Give me some help. [this ? 

lago. O me, lieutenant! what villains have done 

Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout. 
And cannot make away. 

lago. O treacherous villains ! 

What are you there? come in, and give some help. 
[To Lodovico and Gratiano. 

Bod. O, help me here ! 

Cas. That 's one of them. 

lago. O murderous slave ! O villain ! 

[Stabs Roderigo. 

Bod. O damn'd lago! O inhuman dog! 

lago. Kill men i' the dark! — Where be these 
bloody thieves? — 
How silent is this town ! — Ho ! murder ! murder ! — 
What may you be ? are you of good or evil ? 

Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 

lago. Signior Lodovico ? 

Lod. He, sir., . [villains. 

lago. I cry you mercy. Here 's Cassio hurt by 

Gra. Cassio! 

lago. How is 't, brother ! 

C«s. My leg is cut in two. 

Lago. !Marry, heaven forbid! 

Light, gentlemen : I '11 bind it with my shirt. 
744 



Enter Bianca. 

Bian. AVhat is the matter, ho? who is 't that cried? 

lago. Who is 't that cried ! 

Lian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 

Cassio, Cassio, Cassio ! [pect 
lago. O notable strumpet ! Cassio, may you sus- 

Who they should be that have thus mangled you? 

Cas. No. [seek you. 

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have been to 

lago. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair, 
To bear him easily hejice ! 

Bian. Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio! 

lago. Gentlenieu all, I do suspect this trash 
To be a party in this injury. 
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come; 
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no ? 
Alas, my friend and my dear countryman 
lloderigo! no: — yes, sure: — O heaven ! Roderigo. 

Gra. What, of Venice ? 

lago. Even he, sir: did you know him ? 

Gra. ' Know him! ay. 

lago. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle pardon ; 
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners. 
That so neglected you. 

Gra. I am glad to see you. 

lago. How do you, Cassio ? O, a chair, a chair! 

G')«. Roderigo ! 

lago. He, he, 't is he. [A chair brought in.] O, 
that 's well said ; the chair. 
Some good man bear him carefully from hence ; 

1 '11 fetch the general's surgeon. [2'o Bianca] For 

you, mistress, [sio. 

Save you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cas- 

Was my dear friend : what malice \\ ;is lirtween you ? 

Cas. None in the world ; nor do I know tlie man. 

lago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale? O, bear 

him out o' the air. 

[Cassio and Boderigo are home off. 
Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, mistress ? 
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye ? 
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.* 
Rehold her well: I pray you, look upon her: 
Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak. 
Though tongues were out of use. 

Enter Emilia. 

Enil. 'Las, what 's the matter ? what 's the 
matter, husband ? 

lago. Cassio hath here been set' on in the dark 
By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped : 
He 's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 

Einil. Alas, aond Ljeiitlt'nian! alas, good Cassio! 

lago. This is the fruit otwhorhig. Prithee, Emilia, 
Go know of Cassio where he sui)p'd to-night. 
[To Bianca] What, do you shake at that ? 

Biaii. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore 
shake not. 

lago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. 

Emil. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet ! 

Bian. I am no strumpet ; but of life as honest 
As you that thus abuse me. 

Emil. As I ! foh ! fie upon thee ! 

lago. Kind gentlemen, let 's go see poor Cassio 
dress 'd. 
Come, mistress, you must tell 's another tale. 
Emilia, run you to the citailel. 
And tell my "lord and ladv what hath happ'd. 
Will you go on ? I pray. [Asi,h] This is the night 
That either makes me or fordoes me quite. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A bedchamber in the castle: Desdemona 
in bed asleep) ; a light burning. 

Enter Othello. 
0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — 



ACT V. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE in. 



It is the cause. Yet I "11 not shed her blood ; 

Noi' scar that whiter skin of hers tlian snow, 

And sniootli as monumental alabaster. 

Yet she must die, else she "11 betray more men. 

Put out tlie light, and then put out the light: 

If I quench thee, thou tlaming minister, 

I can again thy former light restore, 

Sliould I repent me : but once imt out thy light, 

Thou eunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 

I know not wliere is tliat Promethean heat [rose. 

That can thy light relume. When I have pluck 'd the 

I cannot give it; vital growth again. 

It must needs wither : I '11 smell it on the tree. 

[Kissiny her. 
Ah, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
Justice to break her sword I One more, one more. 
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee. 
And love thee after. One more, and this the last : 
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. 1 must weep, 
But they are cruel tears: this sorrow "s heavenly; 
It strikes where it doth love. • She wakes. 

jDf.s-. "Who 's there > Othello ? 

0th. Ay, Desdemona. 

Des. AVill you come to bed, my lord ? 

0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona ? 

Dcs. Ay, my lord. 

Olh. If you bethink yourself of any crime 
Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace, 
Solicit for it straight. 

Bes. Alas, niv lord, what do vou mean by that ? 

0th. Well, do it. and be brief : I will walk by : 
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; 
Xo ; heaven forfend '. I would not kill thy soul. 

Bes. Talk you of killing V 

Oih. Ay, I do. 

Bes. Then heaven 

Have mercy on me ! 

0th. Amen, vrith all my heart ! 

Bes. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. 

0th. Hum! 

Bes. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then 
When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not, 
Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear. 

0th. Think on thy sins. 

Bes. They are loves I bear to you. 

0th. Ay, and for that thou diest. 

Bes. That death 's unnatural that kills for loving. 
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? 
Some bloody pass'ion shakes yom- very frame : 
These are portents; but yet I hoix;, I hope. 
They do not point on me. 

Oih. Peace, and be still ! 

JL^es. I will so. Wliat's the matter V [thee 

Oth. That handkerchief which I so loved and gave 
Thou gavest to Cassio. 

Bes. No, by my life and soul ! 

Send for the man, and ask him. 

Oth. Sweet soul, take heed. 

Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy death-bed. 

Bes. Ay, but not yet to die. 

Oth. ■ Yes, jn-esently : 

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
For to deny each article with oath 
Oannot remove nor choke the strong conception 
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 

Bes. Then Lord have mercy on me ! 

Oth. I say, amen. 

Bes. And have you mercy too I I never "did 
Offend you in my life ; never loved Cassio 
But with such general warranty of heaven 
As I might love ; I never gave him token. 

Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's hand. 

perjured woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
And makest me call what I intend to do 

A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 

1 saw the liandlierchief. 

Bes. He found~it then ; 



I never gave -it him : send for him hither; 
Let him confess a truth. 

Otii. He hath confess'd. 

Bes. What, my lord ? 

Olh. That he hath used thee. 

Bes. How? unlawfully? 

Oth. Ay. 

Bes. He will not say so. 

Oth. Xo, his mouth is stopp'd; 

Honest lago hath ta"en order for "t. 

Bes. O! my fear interprets: what, is he dead? 

Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
Had stomach ivr them all. 

Bes. Alas I he is betray'd and I undone, [face ? 

Oth. Out, strumpet! weep 'st thou for him to my 

Bes. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not ! 

Otli... Down, strumpet ! 

Bes. Kill me to-morrow: let me live to-night! 

Otli. Kay, if you strive, — 

Bes. But half an hour! 

Otli. Being done, there is no pause. 

^es. But while I say one prayer ! 

Oth. It is too late. 

[He stifles her. 

Emil. [Trft/ii/!] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my 
lord, mv lord ! [dead ? 

Oth. What noise is this ? Not dis.'}, ? not yet quite 
I that am cruel am yet merciful; 
I would not have thee linger in thy pain : 
So, so. 

£mil. [Within] What, ho! my lord, mv lord! 

Oth. Who "s there ? 

Emil. [Within] O, good my lord, I would speak 
a word with you ! 

Oth. Yes: 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's dead. 
'T is like she comes to speak of Cassio's death. — 
The noise was here. Ha! no more moving ? 
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were 't good :-^ 
I think she stirs again : — no. What 's best to do ? 
If she come in, she '11 sure speak to my wife: 
ily wife ! my wife ! what wife ? I have no wife. 
O, insupportable! O heavy hour! 
]\Ietliinks it slmuld be now a huge eclipse 
Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe 
Should yawn at alteratiim. 

Erfiil. [ Within] I do beseech you 

That I may speak with you, O, good my lord! 

Oth. I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia: 
Soft ; by and by. Let me the curtains draw. 
Where art thou ? [Unlocks the door. 

Enter Emilia. 
What 's the matter with thee now ? 

Emil. O, my good lord, yonder 's foul murders 

0;/i. What, now? [done! 

Emil. But now, my lord. 

Oth. It is the very error of the moon : 
She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, 
And makes men mad. 

Emil. Cassio, my lord,hathkiirda young Venetian 
Call'd Roderigo. 

Oth. Roderigo kill'd ! 

And Cassio kill'd ! 

E}nil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 

Oth. Not Cassio kill'd ! then murder 's out of tune, 
And sweet revenge grows harsh. 

Bes. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 

Emil. Alas, what cry is that ?. 

Oth. That! what? 

Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice. 
Help! help, ho! help! O lady, spetjk again ! 
Sweet Desdemona ! O sweet mistress, speak! 

Bes. A guiltless death I die. 

Emil. O. who hath done this deed ? 

Bes. Nobody ; I myself. Farewell : 
Commend me "to my kind lord : O, farewell! [Bies. 

Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd ? 
745 



^CT V. 



OTHELLO. 



5CENE II. 



Emil. Alas, who knows ? 

0th. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 

Emil. She salil so : I must needs report tlie truth. 

0th. Slie's, like a liar, gone to burning hell : 
'T was I that kill'd her. 

Etnil. O, the more angel she, 

And you the Ijlacker devil ! 

0th. She turii'd tn fully, and she was a whore. 

Emil. Thou dost lielie lier, and thou art a devil. 

0th. She was false as water. 

Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 

That she was false: O, she was heavenly true! 

Otii. C'assid dill top her; ask thy husband else. 
O, I were claiun'd beneath all depth in hell, 
Kut that I did jiroeecd u|)on .just grounds 
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all. 

Emil. Mv husliund! 

Olh. Thy husliand. 

Emil. That siie was false to wedlock ? 

Otli. Ay, with Cassici. >,'ay. had she been true, 
If heaven W(udd make me sueli another world 
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, • 

I 'Id not have sold her for it. 

Emil. My husband ! 

0th. Ay, 't was he that told me first : 

An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
That sticks on filthy deeds. 

Emil. My husband ! 

0th. What needs this iteration, woman? I say 
thy husband. [love! 

Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks with 
My husband say that she was false ! 

Olh. He, woman; 

I say thy husband: dost understaml the word V 
My "friend, thy husband, honest, houest lago. 

Emil. If he say so, may his pernicinus soul 
Hot half a grain a day ! he lies to tiie heart : 
Sh'e Avas too fond of her most filthy bargain. 

Oth. Ha! 

Emil. Do thy worst : 
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven 
Than thou wast worthy her. 

Oth. Peace, you were best. 

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do me 
As I have to be hurt. O gull ! (J dolt ! [harm 

As ignorant as dirt! thou bast done a deed — • 
I care not for tliy sword; I "11 make tiiee known, 
Tlu.u'4h I lost twenty lives.— Help! Iielp, ho! help ! 
The Moor ha til kill'd my mistress ! Murder ! murder ! 

Enter Montano, Gratiano, lago, and others. 

Moa. What is the matter ? How now, general ! 

Emil. O, are you come, lago ? you have done well, 
That men must lay their murders on your neck. 

Ora. What is the matter V 

Emil. DisproN'e this villain, if thou be'st a man : 
He says thou tcild'st him that his wife was false: 
I know thou didst not, thou 'rt not such a villain: 
Speak, for my heart is full. 

hiijo. 1 tiild hiui wliat I thought, and told no more 
Than what he found himself was ai)t and true. 

Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false ? 

Iwjo. I did. 

Emil. You told a lie; an odious, damned lie: 
I'pdu my sciul, a lie, a wicked lie. 
She false with C'assio! — did you say with Cassio? 

liiijo. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your 
tongue. [to speak : 

Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; I am bound 
My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed, — 

'All. O heavens forfend ! 

Emil. And your reports liave set the murder on. 

Oth. Nay, stare not, masters: it is true, indeed. 

Ora. 'T is a strange truth. 

Mon. O monstrous act ! 

Emil. Villany, villany. villany ! 

I think upon 't, I think : I .imell 't : O villany !— 
740 



I thought so then : — I '11 kill myself for grief : — 

villany, villany ! [home. 
Iu(iii. What, are you mad V I charge you, get you 
Emil. ttiMid gentlemen, let nie have leave to speak: 

'T is iirdjier 1 obey him, but not now. 
Perchance, lago, I will ne'er go liome. 

Oth. O ! O !"0 ! [iie falls on the led. 

Emil. Nay, lay thee down and roar; 

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent 
That e'er did lift up eye. 

Oth. {lUsing] O, she was foul ! 

1 scarce did know you, uncle : there lies jour niece, 
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 
I know this act shows horrible and grim, [stoin 'd : 

Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy fatliei 's 
dead : 
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now. 
This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
Yea, curse his better angel from his side, 
And fall to reprobation. 

Oth. 'T is pitiful; but yet lago knows 
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
A tlunisand times comnutted; Cassio confess'd it: 
And she did gratify his amorous works 
With that recognizance and pledge of love 
Which I first gave her: I sa\v it in his hand: 
It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
My father gave my mother. 

Emil. O heaven"! O heavenly powers I 

Ia(j(i. Come, hold your peace. 

Eiuil. 'Twill out, 'twill out : I peace! 

No, I will speak as liberal as tlie north : 
Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, 
All, all, cry shame against me, j'et I '11 speak. 

/'(;/". Be wise, and get you home. 

Eudl. I will not. 

{lago ofj'ers to stab Emilia. 

Gra. ■ Fie! 

Your sword upon a woman ? [speak 'st of 

Emil. O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou 
I founct by fortune and did give my husband; 
For often, with a solemn earnestness. 
More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle, 
He begg'd of me to steal it. 

Lujo. Villanous whore ! 

Eiiiil. She give it Cassio! no, alas! I fomid it, 
And I did give 't my husband. 

lago. Filth, thou liest ! 

Emil. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen. 
O murderous coxcomb! what should such a fool 
Do with so good a woman ';' 

Oth. Are there no stones in heaven 

But what serve for the thunder i' — Precious villain ! 

{He runs at lago: lago, from hcliiml, stahs 

E))rilia, and ait. 

Gra. The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his 
wife. 

Emil. Ay, ay : O, lay me by my mistress' side. 

Gra. He 's gone, but his wife 's kill'd. [weapon, 

Mon. 'T is a notorious villain. Take you this 
Whicli I have here recover 'd from the Moor: 
Come, guard the door without; let him not pass. 
But kill him rather. I '11 after that same villain, 
For 't is a damned slave. 

[Exeunt Montano and Gratiano. 

Oth. I am not valiant neither, 

But every puny whipster gets my sword: 
But why should honour outlive honesty? 
Let it go all. 

Emil. What did thy song bode, lady ? 

Hark, canst thou hear me '? I will iday the swan, 
And die in music. [Singing] "\Villow, willow, 

willow. — 
Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor; 
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ; 
So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Dies. 



ACT V. 



OTHELLO. 



SCENE II. 



(Jlh. I liave anotlier we.ipoii in this cliamber; 
It is a sword of .Spain, tlie ic;"e-l)i'ool<"s temper : — 
O, here it is. Untie, I must eome fortli. [dear: 

Gra. [Witlihi] It tliou altemjit it.it will cost thee 
Thou hast no weajion, and iierforce must suffer. 

Oth. Look in upon me tlien and speak with lue, 
Or, naked as 1 am, I will assault thee. 

Re-enter Gratiano. 

Gra. What is the matter ? 

Oth. Behold, I have a weapon ; 

A better never did itself sustain 
Upon a soldier's thii;h : I have seen the daj% 
That, with this little arm and this good sword, 
I have made my way through more impediments 
Than twenty times your stop: but, O vain boast! 
"Who can control his fate ? 'tis not so now. 
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon 'd; 
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, 
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
Do you go back dismay 'dV 't is a lost fear ; 
Man but a rush against Othello's breast. 
And he retires. Where should Othello go ? 
Xow, how dost thou look now "y O ill-starr'd wench ! 
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt, 
This look of thine will hurl my sonl from heaven, 
And tiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl ! 
Even like thy chastity. O cursed slave ! 
Whip me, ye devils. 

From the i)os.session of this heavenly sight ! 
Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur! 
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid lire! 
ODesdemona! iJesdemoua! dead! 
Oh! Oh! Oh! 

Eater Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a 
chair, and OfBcers with lago, prisoner. 

Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate 
man ? 

Oth. That "s he that was Othello: here I am. 

Lod. Where is that viper ':' bring the villain forth. 

Oth. I look down towards his feet: but that's a 

If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee, [fable. 

[ Wounds laijt). 

Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 

lago. I bleed sir: but not kill'd. 

Oth. I am not sorry neither; I 'Id have thee live ; 
For, in my sense, 't is happiness to die. 

Lod. O thou Othello, that wert once so good, 
Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave, 
What shall be said to thee';' 

Oth. Why, any thing : 

An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. 

Lod. This wretch hath part confess 'd his villany : 
Did you and he consent in Ca.ssio's death ';* 

Oth. Ay. 

('as. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 

Oth. I do believe it, and I ask you i)ardon. 
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-tlevil 
AVhy he liath thus ensnared my soul and body ? 

lago. Demand me nothing : what you know, you 
know : 
From this time forth I never will speak word. 

Lod. What, not to pray "^ 

(Via. Torments will ope your lips. 

Oth. Well, thou dost l:>est. 

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hatli befall'n, 
Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter 
Found in the pocket of the slain Eoderigo ; 



And here another : the one of them imports 
The death of Cassio to be undertook 
By Roderigo. 

Oth. O viUain ! 

Cas. Most heathenish and most gross! 

Lod. Xow here's another discontented paper, 
Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems, 
Ho(leri,i;o meant to have sent this damned villain; 
But that belike lago in the interim 
Came in and satistied him. 

Oth. O the pernicious caitiff ! 

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
That was my wife's':' 

Cas. I found it in my chamber: 

And he himself confess'd but even now 
That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose 
"Which wrought to his desire. 

Oth. Ofool! fool! fool! 

Cas. There is besides in Eoderigo 's letter, 
How he upbraids lago, that lie made him 
]5rave me upon the watch ; whereon it came 
That I was east : and even but now he spake, 
After long seeming dead, lago liiu't him, 
lago set him on. 

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us : 
Your power and your command is taken off. 
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave. 
If there be any cunning cruelty 
That can torment him much and hold him long, 
It shall be his. You shall clo.se prisoner rest, 
Till that the nature of your fault be known 
To the Venetian state.' Come, bring him away. 

Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before you go. 
I have done the state some service, and they know "t. 
No more of that. I pray you, in your letters. 
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate. 
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, 
Xor set down aught in malice: then must you 

speak 
Of one that loved not wisely but too well ; 
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought 
Perplex 'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand. 
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away [eyes, 
Kicher than all his tribe; of one whose subdued 
Albeit unused to the melting mood. 
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this; 
And say besides, that in Aleppo once, 
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, 
I took by the throat the circumcised dog. 
And .smote him, thus. {Utahs himself. 

Lod. O bloody period ! 

Gra. All that 's spoke is marr'cL 

Oth. I kiss "d thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but 

Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [this; 

[Falls on the hed, and dies. 

Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no 
For he was great of heart. [weapon; 

Lod. [To lago] O Spartan dog. 

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea! 
Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; 
This is thy work : the object poisons sight ; 
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep tlie house. 
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
For they succeed on you. To you, lord governor, 
Remains the censureof this hellish villain ; 
The time, the place, the torture: O, enforce it! 
Myself will straight aboard ; and to the state 
This heavy act with heavy heart relate. [Exeunt. 
747 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATEA. 



BRAJIAllS PERSONS. 



Mark Antony, 

Octavius Csesar, 

M. ^milius Lepidus, 

Sextus Pompeius. 

Domitivis Enobarbus, 

Ventidius, 

Eros, 

Scarus, 

Dercetas, 

Demetrius, 

Philo, 

MecEenas, 

Agrippa, 

Dolabella, 

ProcLileius, 

Thyreus, 

Gallus, 

Menas, 

Menecrates 

Varrius, 



friends to Autonv. 



friends to Cssar. 



friends to Pompey. 



attendants on Cleopatra. 



Taurus, lieutenant-general to Cffisar. 

Canidius, lieutenant-general to Antony. 

Silius, an olficer in Ventidius's army. 

Euphronius, an ambassador from Antony to Caesar. 

Alexas, 

Mardian, a Eunuch, ] 

Seleucus, 

Diomedes, 

A Soothsayei 

A Clown. " 

Cleopatra, queen of Egypt. 

Octavia, sister to Csesar and wife to Antony. 

Charmian, 

Iras, 



attendants on Cleopatra. 



Olficers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
SCENE — In several parts of the Soman empire. 



[For an Analysis of the Plot of this Play, see page LXVI.] 



^CT I. 



SCENE I. — Alexandria. Arooinin CleripaUxOs 
pfddce. 

Enter Demetrius and Philo. 
Phi. Nay, but tliis dotage of our geiierars 
O'errtow.s the measure: those his goodly eyes, 
That o'er the files and musters nf the war 
Have a'low'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, 
Tlie oilicp and devotion iit their view 
I'pon a tawny froid : his captain's heart, 
"Whieh in the scuffles of great lights hath burst 
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper, 
And is become tlie bellows and the fan 
To cool a gipsy's lust. 

Flourish. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, her Ladies, 
the Train, with Eunuchs fanning he^. 

Look, where they come: 
Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
The triple pillar of the world transform 'd 
Into a strumpet's fool : behold and see. 

Clco. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 
Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be 

reckon 'd. 
Cleo. I '11 set a bourn how far to be beloved. 
Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
new earth. 

Enter an Attendant. 
Att. News, my good lord, from Rome. 
Ant. Grates me : the sum. 

Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony : 
Fulvia perchance is angry ; or, who knows 
If the scarce-bearded Cresar have not sent 
His powerful mandate to- you, ' Do this, or this ; 
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that; 
Perform 't, or else we damn thee.' 
748 



Ant. How, my love! 

Cleo. Perchance! nay, nnd most like: 
You must not stay here humcr. xnur dismission 
Is come from Ca;sar; tliiTrfcuc inar it, Antony. 
Where 's Fulvia's process ? Ca-sars I would say ? 

both ? 
Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's queen, 
Thon blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine 
Is Ca-sar's In imager: else so thy clieek pays shame 
When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messen- 
gers ! 

Ant. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch 
Of tlie ranged empire fall ! Here is my space. 
Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life 
Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair 

[Emhracing. 
And such a twain can do 't, in which I bind, 
On pain of punishment, the world to weet 
We stand up peerless. 

Cleo. Excellent fahsehood ! 

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? 
I '11 seem the fool I am not; Antony 
Will be himself. 

Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. 

Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours. 
Let 's not confound the time witli confcrciicf liarsh : 
There 's not a minute of our lives should stntc-li 
Without some jileasure now. What .sport tu-night ? 

Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 

Ant. Fie, \\Tangling queen ! 

Whom every thing becomes, to elude, to laugh, 
To weep; whose every passion fully strives 
To make itself, in thee, fair and admired ! 
No messenger, hut thine; and all alone 
To-night we '11 wander through the streets and note 



ACT I. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE IT. 



The qualities of people. Come, my queen; 
Last uij^lit you did desire it : speak not to us. 

[Exiimt Ant. and Clco. tcith their train. 

Dern. Is Ca?sar with Antonius prized so slight ? 

Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
He comes too short of that great property 
Which still should go with Antony. 

Dem. I am full sorry 

That he approves the common liar, who 
Tlius .speaks of him at Rome: but I will hope 
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Another room. 

Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, and a Sooth- 
sayer. 

Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything 
Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, Where's the 
soothsayr-r tliat you praised so to the ipieen V O, that 
I knew tills husband, which, you say, must charge 
his horns with garlands! 

Akx. Soothsayer! 

Sooth. Your will? [things? 

Char. Is this the man ? Is 't you, sir, that know 

Sooth. In nature's iuBnite book of secrecy 
A little I can read. 

Alex. Show him your hand. 

Enter Bnobarbus. 

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly ; wine enough 
Cleopatra's health to drink. 

Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 

Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 

Char. Pray, then, foresee me one. 

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 

Char. He means in flesh. 

Iras. Xo, you shall paint when you are old. 

Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 

Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 

Char. Hush ! 

Sooth. You shall be more bel^ving than beloved. 

Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 

Alex. Nay, hear him. 

Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let me 
be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow 
them all: let me have a child at lifty,to wliom Herod 
of Jewry may do homage : find meto marry me with 
Octavius C'aisar, and companion me with my mis- 
tress. 

Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom j'ou serve. 

Char. O excellent! I love long life better than 
figs. [fortune 

Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former 
Than that which is to approach. 

Char. Then belike my children shall have no 
names : prithee, how many boys and wenches must 
I have? 

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb. 
And fertile every wish, a million. 

Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 

Alex. You think none but your sheets are privy 
to your wishes. 
■ Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. 

Alex. AVe '11 know all our fortunes. 

Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
shall be — drunk to bed. [else. 

Iras. There 's a palm presages chastity, if nothing 

Char. E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth 
famine. 

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. 

Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- 
nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell 
her but a worky-day fortune. 

Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 

Iras. But how, but how ? give me particulars. 

Sooth. I have said. 



Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she ? 

Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune 
better than I, where would you choose it ? 

Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! 
Alexas, — come, his fortune, his fortune ! O, let 
him marry ii woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I 
beseech thee! aud let her die too, and give him a 
worse ! and let worse follow worse, till the worst of 
all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a 
cuckold ! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though 
thou deny me a matter of more weight"; good Isis, 
I beseech thee ! 

Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that praj'er of 
the people ! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a 
handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow 
to behold a foul knave uncuckolded : therefore, dear 
Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly ! 

Char. Amen. 

Alex. Lo,now, if it lay in their hands to make me 
a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but 
they 'Id do 't ! 

Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony. 

Cliar. Not he ; the queen. 

Enter Cleopatra. 
Cleo. Saw you my lord ? 
Eno. No, lady. 

Cleo. "\Vas he not here ? 

Char. No, madam. 

Cleu. He was disposed to mirth ; but on the sudden 
A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus ! 
Eno. l^Iadam ? 
Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where 's 

Alexas ? 
Alex. Here, at yom- service. !My lord approaches. 
Cleo. M'e will not look upon him : go with us. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Antony with a Messenger and Attendants. 

3Iess. Fidvia thy wife first came into the field. 

Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 

Mess. Ay: 
But soon that war had end, and the time 's state 
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst 

CaeSar ; 
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, 
Upon the first encounter, drave them. 

Ant. Well, what worst ? 

Mess. The nature of bad new-s infects the teller. 

Ant. When it concerns the fool or coward. On: 
Things that are past are done with me. 'T is thus ; 
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
I hear him as he flatter'd. 

Mess. Labienus — 

This is stiff news — hath, with his Parthian force, 
Extended Asia from Euphrates ; 
His conquering banner shook from Syria 
To Lvdia and to Ionia; 
Whilst — 

^lijj. Antony, thou wouldst say, — 

Mess. O, my lord I 

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
tongue : 
Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome; 
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults 
With such full license as both truth and malice 
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds. 
When our quick minds lie still ; and our ills told us 
Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile. 

3Iess. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. 

Ant. From Sicyon, ho, tlie news ! Speak there ! 

First Att. The man from Sicyon, — is there such an 

Sec. Att. He stays upon yoiir will. [one ? 

Ant. Let him appear. 

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break. 
Or lose myself in dotage. 

749 



ACT I. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE III. 



Enter another Messenger. 

What are you ? 

Sec. Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 

Ant. Where died slie ? 

Sec. Mess. In Sicyon : 
Her length of sickness, witli wliat else more serious 
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter. 

Ant. Forbear nie. 

[Exit Sec. Messenyer. 
There 's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire it : 
AVliat our contempt doth often liurl from us, 
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure. 
By revolution lowering, does become 
The opposite of itself: slie 's good, being gone; 
The hand could pluck her liack that shoved her on. 
I must from this eiicliaiitiiiu' queen break off: 
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, 
My idleness doth hatch. How now! Enobarbus! 

lie-enter Enobarbus. 

Eiw. What 's your jileasure, sir? 

Ant. I must with liaste froni lience. 

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: we see 
how mortal an unkinduess is to them; if they suffer 
our departure, death \s the word. 

Ant. I nuist be gone. 

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die: 
it were pity to cast them away for nothing : thougli, 
between them and a great cause, tliey slioidd be "es- 
teemed notlnng. Cleopatra, catching but the least 
noise'of tliis, dies instantly; I have seen her die 
twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think 
there is mettle in deatli, which commits some lov- 
ing act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying. 

Ant. She is cunning past man's tliougiit. 

Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of 
nothing but tlie finest part of pure love: we can- 
not call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they 
are greater storms and teni]iesls than almanacs can 
report: this cimnot be cunning in her; if it be, she 
makes a shower of rain as well as .love. 

Ant. Would I had never seen her! 

Eno. O, sir, you liad then left unseen a wonderful 
piece of work; which not to have been blest withal 
would have discredited your travel. 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. SirV 

^lif. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Fulvia! 

Ant. Dead. 

Eno. Wliy, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. 
When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a 
man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the 
earth; comforting therein, that when old robes are 
worn out, there are members to make new. If there 
were no more women but Fulvia, then hail you in- 
deed a cut, and the case to be lamented : this grief 
is crowned with consolation ; your old smock brings 
forth a new petticoat: and indeed the tears live in 
an onion that sliould water this sorrow. 

Ant. The business she hath broached in the state 
Cannot endure my absence. 

Eno. And the business you have broached here 
cannot be without you; e'speeiallv that of Cleopa- 
tra's, which wholly depends on your abode. 

Ant. Jfo more light answers. Let our officers 
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
Tlie cause of our expedience to the queen, 
And get her leave to part. For not alone 
T!ie death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
Do strongly speak to us ; but the letters too 
Of many our contriving friends in Uome 
Petition us at home: Sextus I'omiieius 
Hath given the dare to Ca'sar. and commands 
The empire of the sea: our sliiipeiy people. 
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver 
7oU 



Till his deserts are past, liegin to throw 
Pompey the Great and all his dignities 
Upon his son; who, liigh in nanie and power. 
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
For the main soldier: whose i]uality, going on, 
Thesideso" the world may danger: nuich is breeding, 
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
And not a serpent's poison. (Say, tun- pleasure, 
To such whose place is under us, requires 
Our quick remove from heuce. 
Eno. I shall do 't. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.-27(6 same. Another room. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Where is he 'i* 

Char. I did not see him since. 

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he 
I did not send you : if you find him sad, [does : 
Say I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
That I am sudden sick: quick, and return. 

[-Exit Alexas. 

Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him 
You do not hold the method to enforce [dearly, 
Tlie like from him. 

C'fo. AVhat should I do, I do not ? 

Cliar. In each thing give him way, cross him in 
nothing. 

C/fo. Thou teachest like a fool; the way to lose him. 

Char. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear: 
In time we hate that which we often fear. 
But here comes Antony. 

Enter Antony. 

Cleo. I am sick and sullen. 

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my puri)ose, — 

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian ;"l shall fall : 
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
Will not .sustain it. 

Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 

Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me. 

Ant. ., What 's the matter ? 

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there 's some 
good news. 
AVhat says the married woman ? You may go : 
Would she had never given you leave to come 1 
Let her not say 't is I that keep you here : 
I have no power upon you ; liers you are. 

Ant. The gods best know, — 

Cleo. O. never was there queen 

So nuglitily betray 'd ! yet at the first 
I saw the treasons planted. 

Ant. Cleopatra, — [true, 

(Jleo. Why should I think you can be mine and 
Though yoii in swearing shake the throned gods, 
Who have been false to Fulvia 'f Eiotous madness, 
To be entangled witli those mouth-made vows, 
Which break themselves in swearing ! 

Ant. Most sweet queen, — 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going. 
But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying. 
Then was the time for words : no going then ; 
Eternity was in our lips and eyes. 
Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so poor, 
But was a race of heaven : they are so still. 
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, 
Art turn'd the greatest liar. 

Ant. How now, lady ! 

Cleo. I would I had thy inches ; thou shouldst know 
There were a heart in Egypt. 

Ant. Hear me, queen : 

The strong necessity of time commands 
Our services awhile ; but my full heart 
Remains in use with you. Our Italy 
Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Porapeius 
]\Iakes his apijroaclies to the port of Rome: 
Equality of two domestic powers 



ACT T. 



. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCEXE IV. 



Breeil scrupulous faction : the hated, grown to 

strength, 
Are newly yrown to love: the condemn'd Pompey, 
Ricli in Ills father's honour, creeps apace 
Into the hearts of such as liave nut tlirived 
Upon the ]iresent state, wlmse numbers threaten ; 
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
By any desperate change: my more particular, 
And that which most with you should safe my going, 
Is Fidvia's death. [freedom, 

Vh-ri. Tiiongh age from folly could not give me 
It does from childishness: can Fulvia die? 

Anl. Slie 's dead, my queen: 
I,ocik here, and at thy sovereign leisure read 
The garboils she awaked; at the last, best: 
See when and where she died. 

Cho. O most false love ! 

AVhere be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill 
"With sorrowful water i* !Now I see, I see. 
In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be. 

Ant. (Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know 
Tlie purposes I bear; which are, or cease. 
As you shall give the advice. By the fire 
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from lience 
Thy soldier, servant ; making peace or war 
As thou affect'st. 

CJm. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ; 

But let it be : I am quickly ill, and well, 
So Antony loves. 

Ant. My precious queen, forbear; 

And give true evidence to his luve, which stands 
An honourable trial. 

Cko. So Fulvia told me. 

I prithee, tm-n aside and weep for her ; 
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears 
Belong to Egypt : good now, "play one scene 
Of excellent dissembling ; and let it look 
Like perfect honour. 

Ant. You '11 heat my blood : no more. 

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly. 

Ant. j^ow, by my sword, — 

Cleo. And target. Still he mends ; 

But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, 
How this Herculean Roman does become 
The carriage of his chafe. 

Ant. I '11 leave you, lady. 

Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 

Sir, you and I must part, but that 's not it : 
Sir, you and I have loved, but there 's not it ; 
That you know well : something it is I would, — 
(J, my oblivicni is a very Antony, 
And I am all forgotten. 

Ant. But that your royalty 

Holds idleness your subject, I should take you 
For idleness itself. 

Cleo. 'T is sweating labour 

To bear such idleness so near the heart 
As Cleopatra this. But. sir, forgive me ; 
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
Eye well to you : your liunnur c-alls you hence ; 
Tiierefore be deaf to my nnpitied folly. 
And all the gods go with you 1 upon your sword 
Sit laurel victory! and smooth success 
Be strew'd before your feet ! 

Ant. Let us go. Come ; 

Our separation so abides, and flies, 
Tliat thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, 
And I, hence fleetiug, here remain with thee. 
Away! {Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — 7?nmc Ccpsar''s house. 

Enter Octavius Csesar, reading a letter, Lep- 
idus, and their Train. 

CcEs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth 
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate [know. 

Our great competitor : from Ale.xaudria 



This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes 
The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike 
Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen of Ptolemy 
^lore womanly than he ; hardly gave audience, or 
Vouchsafed to think he had partners: you shall 
A man who is the abstract of all faidts [find there 
That all men follow. 

Lep. I must not think there are 

Evils enow to darken all his goodness: 
His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, 
More liery by night's blackness; hereditary, 
Hatlier than purchased; what he cannot change, 
Tiian what he chooses. 

Cies. You are too indulgent. Let us grant, it is 
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ; [not 

To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave; 
To reel the streets at noun, and stand the buffet 
AVith knaves tliat smell of sweat: say this becomes 
As his composure nmst be rare indeed [him. — 

Whom these tldngs cannot blemisli, — yet must 
No way excuse his soils, when we do bear " [Antony 
So great weiglit in liis liglitiiess. If he fiU'd 
His vacancy with his vcdnptuousness. 
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones. 
Call on him for 't : but to confound such time, 
Tliat drums him from his sport, and speaks as louil 
As his own state and ours, — 'tis to be cliid 
As we rate boys, who, being mature in knowledge, 
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, 
And so rebel to judgment. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Lep. Here 's more news. 

3Ie.ss. Thy biddings have been done; and every 
Most noble Ca;sar, shalt thou have report [hour, 
How 't is abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; 
And it appears he is beloved of those 
That only have fear'd Ca>sar: to the ports 
The discontents repair, and men's reports 
Give him much wrong'd. 

C(xs. I should have known no less. 

It hath been taught us from the primal state, 
That he which is was wish'd until he were; [love. 
And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth 
Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body, 
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream. 
Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
To rot itself with motion. 

Miss. Csesar, I bring thee word, 

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, [wound 
Make the sea serve them, which they ear and 
With keels of every kind : many hot inroads 
They make in Italy; the borders maritime 
Lack blood to think on 't, and flush youth revolt: 
X(» vessel can peep forth, but "t is as'soon 
Taken as seen : for Pompey 's name strikes more 
Than could his war resisted. 

Cces. Antony, 

Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once 
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
Ilirtins and Pansa, ccmsnls. at tliy heel 
Did famine follow; wliom thou fought'st against, 
Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
Than savages could suffer: thou didst drink 
Tlie stale of horses, and the gilded puddle 
AVhich beasts would cough at : thy palate then did 
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge; [deign 
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, 
The barks of trees thou browsed'st ; on the Alps 
It is reiwrted thou didst eat strange flesh. 
Which some did die to look on : and all this — 
It wounds thine honour that I speak it now — 
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 
So much as lank'd not. 

Lep. 'T is pity of him. 

Cas. Let his shames quickly 
701 



ACT II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE I. 



Drive him to Kome : 't is time we twain 
Did sliow ourselves i' the field ; and to that end 
Assemlile we immediate council : Pompey 
Thrives in our idleness. 

Lep. To-morrow, Csesar, 

I sliall be furnish VI to inform you rightly 
Both what by sea and land I can be able 
To front this present time. 

Cms- Till which encounter, 

It is my business too. Farewell. 

Lcp. Farewell, my lord: what }'ou shall know 
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, [meantime 
To let me be partaker. 

Cces. Doubt not, sir; 

I knew it for my bond. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V .^Alexandria. Cleopatra'' s palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. 

Cleo. Charmian! 

Char. Madam V 

Cleo. Ha, ha ! 
Give me to drink mandragora. 

Char. Why, madam ? 

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of 
My Antony is away. ^ [time 

Char. You think of him too much. 

Cleo. O, 't is treason ! 

Char. Madam, I trust, not so. 

Cleo. Thou, eunuch Mardian ! 

Mar. What 's your highness' ideasure V 

Cleo. Not now to liear thee sing ; I take no pleas- 
In aught an eunuch has : 't is well for thee, [ure 
Tliat, being iniseminar'd, thy freer thoughts 
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections ? 

Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 

Cleo. Indeed ! 

Mar. Not in deed, madam ; for I can do nothing 
But what indeed is honest to be done : 
Yet have I fierce affections, and think 
Wliat Venus did with Mars. 

Cleo. O Charmian, 

"Where tliink'st thou he is now ? Stands he, or sits 
Or does lie walk V or is he on his horse y [he 'i 

O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! 
Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou 
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm [movest? 
And burgonet of men. He 's speaking now, 
(Jr murn\uriiig ' Where 's my serpent of old Kile ? ' 
For so he calls me : now I feed myself 
With most delicious poison. Think on me, 
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, 
And wriidiled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cscsar, 
When thdu wast here above the ground, I was 
A morsel fm- a monarch : and great Pompey 
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow ; 



There would he anchor his aspect and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alexas, /rom Csesar. 

Alex. Sovereign of Egj^pt, hail ! 

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony ! 
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath 
With his tinct gilded thee. 
IIovv goes it with my brave Mark Antony? 

Alex. Last tiling he diil, dear queen. 
He kiss'd, — the last of many ilouljled kisses, — 
This orient pearl. His speeeli sticks in my lieart. 

Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it tlience. 

Alex. ' Good friend,' quoth he, 

' Say, the firm Eoman to great Egypt sends 
This treasure of an oyster ; at whose foot, 
To mend the petty present, I will piece 
Her opulent throne with kingdoms ; all the east, 
Say thou, sliall call her mistress.' So lie nodded. 
And soberly did mount an anii-gaunt steed, 
Who neigh'd so higli, tliat what I would have spoke 
Was beastly dumb'd by him. 

Cleo. What, was he sad or merry ? 

Alex. Like to the time o' the year between the ex- 
Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry, [tremes 

Cleo. O well-diviilcd disposition! Note him, 
Note him, good Chaiiuiun, 't is the man; but note 
He was not sad, for he would shine on those [him : 
That make their looks by his; he was not merry, 
Wliicli seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay 
In Egypt with his joy ; but between both : 

heavenly mingle ! Be'st thou sad or merry, 
The violence of either thee becomes, 

So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts ? 

Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers: 
Why do you send so thick ? 

Cleo. Who 's born that day 

When I forget to send to Antony, 
Shall die a I5eggar. Ink and paper, Charmian. 
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, 
Ever love Caesar so ? 

Char. O that brave Cfesar ! 

Cleo. Be choked with such another emphasis I 
Say, the brave Antony. 

Char. The valiant C»sar ! 

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, 
If thou with Ciesar paragon again 
My man of men. 

Char. By your most gracious pardon, 

1 sing but after you. 

Cleo. My salad days. 

When I was green in judgment : cold in blood. 
To say as I said then ! But, come, away; 
Get me ink and paper : 
He shall have every day a several greeting. 
Or I "11 unpeople Egypt. lE.vnmt. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I. — Messina. Fompey''s house. 

Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas, in war- 
like manner. 

Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist 
The deeds of justest men. 

Meae. Know, worthy Pompey, 

That wliat they do delay, they not deny. [cays 

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, de- 
Tlie thing we sue for. 

Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves. 

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
Deny us for our good ; so find we profit 
By losing of our prayers. 

Pom. I shall do well : 

752 



The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 

My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope 

Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony 

In Egypt sits at dinner, and will nudsC 

No wars witliout doors : Caesar gets money where 

He loses hearts : Lepiilus flatters both. 

Of both is flatter "d ; but he neither loves. 

Nor either cares for him. 

Men. Ctesar and Lepidus 

Are in the field : a mighty strength they carry. 

Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false. 

Men. From Silvius, sir. 

Pom. He dreams : I know they are in Rome to- 
gether, 
Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, 



ACT II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE II. 



Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip I 

Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both ! 

Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts. 

Keep liis brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks 

Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ; 

That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour 

Even till a Lethe'd dulness ! 

Enter Varrius, 

How now, Varrius ? 

Tnr. This is most certain that I shall deliver : 
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
Expected : since he went from Eg>T)t 't is 
A space for further travel. 

Pom. I could have given less matter 

A better ear. Menas, I did not think 
This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his hehn 
For such a petty war: his soldiership 
Is twice the other twain: but let us rear 
The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony. 

Mm. I cannot hope 

Ca}sar and Antony shall well greet together: 
His wife that 's dead did trespasses to Ca-sar ; 
His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think, 
Kot moved by Antony. 

Pom. ' I know not, Menas, 

How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
Were 't not that we staudup against them all, 
'T were pregnant they should square between them- 
selves ; 
For they have entertained cause enough 
To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
Jilay cement their divisions and bind up 
The petty difference, we yet not know. 
Be 't as our gods will have 't ! It only stands 
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. 
Come, Menas. {Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— Bonie. Tlic house of Lepidus. 

Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. 

Lfp. Good Enobarbus, "t is a worthy deed, 
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain 
To soft and gentle speech. 

Eno. I shall entreat him 

To answer like himself: if Csesar move him, 
Let Antony look over Cssar's head 
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
I would uot shave "t to-day. 

Lei). 'T is not a time 

For private stomaching. 

Eiw. Every time 

Serves for the matter that Ls then born in 't. 

Lep. But small to greater matters must give way. 

Eno. Kot if the small come first. 

Lep. Youi speech is passion : 

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
The noble Antony. 



Eno. 



Enter Antony one? Ventidius. 
And yonder, Cassar. 



Enter Caesar, Mecsenas, and Agrippa. 

Ant. If we compose well here, -to Parthia: 
Hark, Ventidius. 

CfTs. I do not know, 

Mecajnas; ask Agrippa. 

Lep. Xoble ft-iends. 

That which combined us was most great , and let not 
A leaner action rend us. AVhat 's amiss, 
ilay it be gently heard : when we debate 
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit 
ilurder in healing wounds: then, noble partners, 
The rather, for I earnestly beseech, 
48 



Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, . 
Xor curstness grow to the matter. 

Ant. 'T is spoken well. 

Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
I should do thus. [Flourish. 

Cas. Welcome to Eome. 

Ant. Thank you. 

Ca;s. Sit. 

Ant. Sit, sir. 

Cces. Nay, then. 

Ant. I learn, you take things ill which are not so, 
Or being, concern you not. 

Cics. I must be laugh 'd at. 

If, or for nothing or a little, I 
Should say myself offended, and with you 
Chiefly i' the world ; more laugh 'd at, that I should 
Once name you derogately , when to sound yom- name 
It not conceru'd me. 

^i»if. My being in Egypt, Csesar, 

What was 't to you ? 

Cas. No more than my residing here at Rome 
Might be to you in Egypt : yet, if you there 
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
Might be my question. 

Ant. How intend you, practised ? 

Cces. You may be pleased to catch at mine intent 
By what did liere befal me. Your wife and brother 
Made wars upon me; and their contestation 
Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 

Ant. You do mistake your business; my brother 
Did urge me in his act : I did inquire it ; [never 
And have my learning from some true reports, 
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
Discredit my authority with yours: 
And make the wars alike against my stomach. 
Having alike yoiu- cause Y Ot this my letters 
Before did satisfy you. If you '11 patch a quarrel. 
As matter whole you have not to make it with. 
It must uot be with this. 

C(cs. You praise yourself 

By laying defects of judgment to me ; but 
You patch'd up yoiu" excuses. 

^)i(. Not so, not so ; 

I know you could not lack, I am certain on 't. 
Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
Your partnerin the cause 'gamst which he fought, 
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 
Which fr(jnted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
I would you had her spirit in such another : 
The third o' the world is yours ; Vi Inch with a snaflle 
You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 

Eno. Would we had all such wives, that the men 
might go to wars with the women ! 

Ant. So much uneurbable, her garboils, Cissar, 
Jlade out of her impatience, which not wanted 
Shrewdness of policy too, I grieving grant 
Did you too much disquiet : for that you must 
But say, I could not help it. 

Cas. I vrrote to you 

When rioting in Alexandria ; you 
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
Did gibe my missive out of audience. 

Ant. Sir, 

He fell upon me ere admitted: then 
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want 
Of what I was i' the morning: but next day 
I told him of myself; which was as much 
As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow 
Be nothing of our strife ; if we contend. 
Out of our question wipe him. 

C(c,s. You have broken 

The article of your oath ; which you shall never 
Have tongue to charge me with. 

Lep. Soft, Csesar! 

Ant. ISQy 

Lepidus, let him speak : 
The honour is sacred which he talks on now, 
753 



ACT II. 



ANTOXY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE II, 



Supposing that I lack'cl it. But, ou, Ctesar; 
Tlie article of my oath. 

Cms. To lend me arms and aid when I required 
The which 3-ou both denied. [them ; 

Ant. Neglected, rather ; 

And then when poison 'd hours had bound me up 
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
I '11 play the penitent to you : but mine honesty 
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
Work without it. Triitli is, tluit Fulvia, 
To liave me out of Egjqit, made wars here; 
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
So far ask pardon as betits mine honour 
To stoop in such a case. 

Lep. 'T is noble spoken. 

Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no further 
The griefs between ye: to forget them quite 
Were to remember that the present need 
Speaks to atone you. 

Lep. Worthily spoken, Mecsenas. 

Eao. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the 
instant, you may, when you hear no more words of 
Pompey, return it again : you shall have time to 
wrangle in when you have nothing else to do. 

Ant. Thou art a soldier only : speak no more. 

Eno. That truth should be silent I had almost 
forgot. [no more. 

Ant. You wrong this presence; therefore speak 

^110. Go to, then ; your considerate stone. 

Cms. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
The manner of his speech ; for 't cannot be 
We sliall remain in friendship, our conditions 
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to 
O' the world I would pursue it. [edge 

Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, — 

Cces. Speak, Agrippa. 

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side. 
Admired Oetavia : great Mark Antony 
Is now a widower. 

Cms. Say not so, Agrippa : 

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
Were well deserved of rashness. 

Ant. I am not married, CKsar: let me hear 
Agrippa further speak. 

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity. 
To make you brothers, and to knit yoiir hearts 
With an unsliiiping knot, take Antony 
Oetavia to his wife ; whose beauty claims 
No worse a husband than the best of men ; 
Whose virtue and whose general graces speak 
That wliirli none else can utter. By this marriage. 
All little jfaldusics, which now seem great. 
And all gn-al fears, which now import their dangers, 
AVould then be nothing: truths would be tales. 
Where now half tales be truths: her love to both 
"Would, each to other and all loves to both, 
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke; 
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought. 
By duty ruminated. 

Ant. Will CiBsar speak ? 

Cms. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
With what is spoke akeady. 

Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 

If I would say, ' Agrippa, be it so,' 
To make this good 'i 

Cms. The power of Csesar, and 

His power unto Oetavia. 

Ant. May I never 

To this good purpose, that so "fairly shows, 
Dream of iuiiiedhnent! Let me have thy hand: 
Further this act of grace : and from this hour 
The heart of brothers govern in our loves 
And sway our great designs ! 

CVrs. There is my hand. 

A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
Did ever love so dearly : let her live 
754 



To join our kingdoms and our hearts ; and never 
Fly off our loves again ! 

Lqj. Happily, amen ! 

Alt!. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst 
Pompey ; 
For he hath laid strange courtesies and great 
Of late upon me : I must thank him only, 
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report ; 
At heel of that, defy him. 

Lep. Time calls upon 's : 

Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
Or else he seeks out us. 

Ant. AVhere lies he ? 

Cms. About the mount IMisenum. 

Ant. What is his strength by land? 

Cms. Great and increasing: but by sea 
He is an absolute master. 

Ant. So is the fame. 

Would we had spoke together ! Haste we for it : 
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we 
The business we have talk'd of. 

Cms. With most gladness ; 

And do invite you to my sister's view, 
Whither straight I '11 lead j'ou. 

Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 

Not lack your company. 

Lep. Noble Antony, 

Not' sickness should detain me. 

[Flourish. Exeivnt Consar, Antony, and 
Lepidus. 

Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 

Eao. Half the heart of Ciesar, worthy MecainasI 
My hoiiourahle friend, Agrippa! 

Agr. Good Enobarbus ! 

Mec. We have cause to be glad that matters are 
so well digested. You stayed well by 't hi Egyjit. 

Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of comite- 
nance, and made the night light with drinking. 

Mec. Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a break- 
fast, and but twelve persons tliere ; is this true ? 

Eno. This was but as a Hy by an eagle : we had 
much more monstrous matter of feast, which wor- 
thily deserved noting. 

Mec. She 's a most triumphant lady, if report be 
square to her. 

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed 
up his heart, ujiou the river of Cydnus. 

Agr. There she ajipeareil indeed; or my reporter 
devised well for lu'r. 

Eno. I will tell you. 
The barge she sat in, like a burnish 'd throne, 
Burn'd on the water; the poop was beaten gold; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that [silver. 

The winds were love-si( k with them; the oars were 
Which to the tune of tlutes kept stroke, and made 
The water which they beat to follow faster. 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
It beggar'd all description: she did lie 
In her pavilion — cloth-of-gold of tissue — 
(yer-pioturing that Venus where we see 
The fancy outwork nature : on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cuidds, 
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool. 
And what they undid did. 

Agr. O, rare for Antony I 

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. 
And made their bends adoruings: at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers: the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
That yarely frame the oilice. From the barge' 
A strange invisilile jierfume hits tlie sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her peoiiie oyt upon her; and Antony, 
Enthroned i' the market-place, did sit alone, 
AVhistling to the air; which, but for vacancy. 



ACT II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE V. 



Hatl gone to gaze on Cleopatra too 
Aud made a gap iii nature. 

Acjr. Rare Egyptian ! 

Bno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, 
Invited her to supper : she replied. 
It should be better he becauie'her guest ; 
Wliicli she entreated: our courteous Antony, 
Whom ne'er the word of ' Xo ' woman heard speak, 
Being barber'd ten times oVr, goes to the feast, 
And for his ordinary pays his lieart 
For what his eyes eat only. 

Agr. Royal wench ! 

She made great Csesar lay his sword to bed : 
lie plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 

Eiw. I saw her once 

Hop forty paces through the public street ; 
Aud having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, 
That she did make defect perfection, 
Aud, breathless, power breathe forth. 

Mec. Xow Antony must leave her utterly. 

Eno. j^ever ; he \\ill not : 
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
Her infinite variety : other women cloy 
Tlie appetites they feed : but she makes hungry 
Where most she satisfies: for vilest things 
Become themselves in her; that the holy priests 
Bless her when she is riggish. 

Mcc. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle 
The heart of Antony, Uctavia is 
A blessed lottery to him. 

Ayr. Let us go. 

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest 
"Whilst you abide here. 

Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. Cccsar''s house. 

Enter Antony, Csesar, Octavia between them, 
and Attendants. 

^■1)!{. The world and my great office will some- 
Divide me from your bosom. [times 

Octa. All which time 

Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers 
To them for you. 

Ant. Good night, sir. My Octavia, 

Bead not my blemishes in the world's report: 
I have not kept my square ; but that to come 
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear lady. 
Good night, sir. 

Cces. Good night. [Exeunt Caesar and Octavia. 

Enter Soothsayer. 

Ant. Xow, sirrah ; you do wish yourself in Egypt ? 

•Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, nor 
Thither ! [you 

Ant. It you can, your reason ? 

Sooth. I see it in 

My motion, have it not in my tongue : but yet 
Hie you to Egypt again. 

Ant. Say to me, 

AVhose fortunes shall rise higher, Ctesar's or mine V 

South. Cajsar's. 
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side : 
Tliy demon, that 's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
Is'oble, courageous, high, unmatchable. 
Where Caesar's is not ; but, near him, thy angel 
Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore 
Make space enough between you. 

Ant. Speak this no more. 

Sooth. To none hut thee ; no more, but when to 
If thou dost play with him at any game, [thee. 

Thou art sure to lose ; and, of that natural luck, 
He beats thee 'gainst the odds: thy lustre thickens, 
When he shines by: I say again, thy spirit 
Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 
But, he away, 'tis noble. 

Ant. Get thee gone: 



Say to Ventidius I would speak with him : 

[Exit Sootlisayer. 
He shall to Parthia. Be it art or hap. 
He hath spoken true: the very dice obey him ; 
And in our sports my better cunning famts 
Under his chance : if we draw lots, he speeds ; 
His cocks do win the battle still of mine. 
When it is all to nought : and his quails ever 
Beat mine, inhoop"d,"at odds. I will to Egypt: 
And tliough I make this marriage for my peace, 
I' the east my pleasure lies. 

Enter Ventidius. 

O, come, Ventidius, 
You must to Parthia : your commission 's ready ; 
Follow me, and receive 't. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— 27(6 senile. A street. 
Enter Lepidus, Mecasnas, ami Agrippa. 

Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you. 
Your generals after. [hasten 

Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 

AVili e'en but kiss Octavia, and we '11 follow. 

Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress. 
Which will become you both, farewell. 

Mec. We shall. 

As I conceive the journey, be at the Mount 
Before you, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your way is shorter ; 

My purposes do draw me much about : 
You '11 win two days upon me. 

■'j'^'^; \ Sir, good success ! 

Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Alexandria. Cleopatra'' s palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody food 
Of us that trade in love. 

Attend. The music, ho! 

Enter Mardian, the Eunuch. 

Cleo. Let it alone ; let 's to billiards : come, 
Charmian. 

C7inr. My arm is sore ; best play with Mardian. 

Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd 
As with a woman. Come, you '11 play with me, sir ? 

Mar. As well as I can, madam. 

Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though 't 
come too sliort, 
The actor may plead pardon. I '11 none now : 
Give me mine angle; we "11 to the river: there. 
My music playing far off, I will betray 
Tawny-finn'd fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce 
Their slimy jaws ; and, "as I draw them up, 
I 'II think them every one an Antony, 
And say 'Ah, ha! you're caught.' 

Cliiirl 'Twas merry when 

You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver 
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
With fervency drew up. 

ilco. That time,— O times ! — 

I laugh 'd him out of patience ; and that night 
I laugh 'd him into patience : and next morn. 
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed : 
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
I wore ills sword Philippan. 

Enter a Messenger. 

O, from Italy ! 
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears! 
That long time have been barren. 
J\[rss. Madam, madam, — 

Cleo. Antonius dead ! — If thou say so, villain, 
Thou kill'st thy mistress: but well and free, 



ACT IT. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE VI. 



If thou so yield liim, there is gold, and here 
My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand that kings 
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 

Mess. First, madam, he is well. 

Cko. Why, there 's more gold. 

But, sirrah, mnrk, we use 
To say tlic dead are well : bring it to that, 
Tlie gold 1 give Uiee will I melt and pour 
Down thy ill-uttering throat. 

Mess. Good madam, hear me. 

Cleo. Well,goto, I will; 

But there 's no goodness in thy face : if Antony 
Be free and liealthful, — so tart a favour 
To trumpet such good tidings ! If not well, 
Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with 
Not like a formal man. [snakes. 

Mess. Will 't please you hear me ? 

Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee ere thouspeak'st : 
Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well, 
Or friends with Ciesar, or not captive to him, 
I '11 set thee in a shower of gold, and liail 
Rich pearls upon thee. 

Mess. Madam, he 's well. 

Cleo. Well said. 

3Iess. And friends with CiBsar. 

Cleo. Thou 'rt an honest man. 

Mess. Cajsar and he are greater friends than ever. 

Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 

Mess. But yet, madam, — 

Cleo. I do not like ' But yet,' it does allay 
The good precedence : tie upon ' But yet ' ! 
' But yet ' is as a gaoler to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend, 
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, [Caesar ; 
Tlie good and bad together: he's friends with 
In state of health thou say'st ; and thou say'st free. 

Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such report : 
He 's bound unto Octavia. 

Cleo. For what good turn ? 

Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 

Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 

Mess. Madam, he 's married to Octavia. 

Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee ! 
[^Sirikes him down. 

Mess. Good madam, patience. 

Cleo. What say you ? Hence, 

[tjtrikes him again. 
Horrible villain ! or I '11 spurn tliine eyes 
Like-balls before me : I '11 uidmir thy head : 

[Shi IhiIls hi III lip and doiim. 
Thou Shalt be whipp'd with wire,and stew'd in brine. 
Smarting in lingering pickle. 

3Iess. Gracious madam, 

I that do bring the news made not the match. 

Cleo. Say 't is not so, a province I will give thee, 
And make tliy fortunes proud : the blow thou hadst 
Shall make tliy peace for moving me to rage ; 
And I will boot tliee with what gift beside 
Thy modesty can beg. 

Mess. He 's married, madam. 

Cleo. Rogue, thou hast lived too long. 

[Urcnos a knife. 

Mess. Nay, then I '11 run. 

What mean you, madam ? I have made no fault. 

[Exit. 

Char. Good madam, keep yourself within your- 
The man is innocent. [self: 

Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt. 
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures 
Turn ail to serpents ! fall tlie slave again : 
Tliough I am mad, 1 will not bite him: call. 

Char. He is afeard to come. 

Cleo. I will not hurt him. 

[E.cit Clmrmian. 
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
A meaner than m.yself ; since I myself 
Have given myself the cause. 
756 



Re-enter Charmian and Messenger. 

Come hither, sir. 
Though it be honest, it is never good 
To bring bad news: give to a gracious message 
An host of tongues ;■ but let ill tidings tell 
Themselves when they be felt. 

Mess. I have done my duty. 

Cleo. Is he married ? 
I cannot hate thee worser than I do, 
If thou again say ' Yes.' 

Mess. He 's married, madam. 

Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold 
there still 'f 

3Iess. Should I lie, madam ? 

Cleo. O, I would thou didst, 

So half my Egypt were submerged and made 
A cistern for scaled snakes ! Go, get tliee hence : 
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
Tliou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married ? 

Mess. 1 crave your highness' pardon. 

Cleo. He is married ? 

Mess. Take no offence that I would not offend y ou : 
To punish nie for what you make me do 
Seems much unequal : he 's married to Octavia. 

Cleo. 0,tliat his laultshould makeaknaveof thee. 
That art not what tliou 'rt sure of ! Get thee hence : 
The merchandise which thou hast brought from 

Home 
Are all too dear for me: lie they upon thy hand, 
And be undone by 'em. [EjH MisstiKjer. 

Char. Good your highness, iiatieiice. 

Cleo. In praising Antony, I have dispraised Caesar. 

Char. Many times, madam. 

Cleo. I am paid for 't now. 

Lead me from hence ; 

I faint : O Iras, Charmian ! 't is no matter. 
Go to tlio fellow, good Alexas; bid him 
Report the feature of Octavia, her years, 
Her inclination, let him not leave out 
The colour of lier hair: bring me word quickly. 

[Exit Alexas. 
Let him for ever go : — let him not — Charmian, 
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
The other way 's a Mars. Bid you Alexas 

[To 3Iardinn. 
Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian, 
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE VI.— Near Misenum. 

Flourish. A'nicr Povapey avd Menas nt, one door,vilh 
(Iniiii and trumpet: «r (ino/Acr, CSBsar, Antony, Lepl- 
dus, Enobarbus, Mecsenas, with Soldiers murckimj. 

Pom. Your hostages I liave, so have you mine ; 
And we shall talk before we fight. 

Ops. Most meet 

That first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
Our written purposes before us sent; 
Wliich, if thou hast consider'd, let us know 
If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword. 
And carry back to Sicily much tail youth 
That else must perisli here. 

Pom. To you all three, 

The senators alone of this great world. 
Chief factors for the gods, I do not know 
Wherefore my father should revengers want, 
Having a son and friends ; since Julius Ctesar, 
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted. 
There saw you labouring for hini. What was't 
That moved pale Cassiiis to ecmspire; and what 
Made tlie all-honour'd, lionest Roman, Brutus, 
AVith the arm'd rest , courtiers of beauteous freedom, 
To drencli the Capitol ; but that they would 
Have one man but a man ? And that is it 
Hath made me rig ray navy ; at whose burthen 
The anger 'd ocean foams ; with which I meant 



ACT II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE VII. 



To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
Cast on my noble father. 

Cfl!s. Take your time. 

Ant. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy 
sails ; 
AVe '11 speak with thee at sea : at land, thou kuow'st 
How much we do o'er-count thee. 

Perm. At land, indeed, 

Thou dost o'er-count me of my fatlier"s house : 
But, since the cuckoo Vjuilds not tor himself. 
Remain in 't as thou mayst. 

Lep. Be pleased to tell us — 

For this is from the present — how you take 
The offers we have sent you. 

Cms. There 's the point. 

Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
What it is worth embraced. 

Cfps. And what may follow. 

To try a larger fortune. 

Pom. Tou have made me offer 

Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must 
Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send 
Measures of wlieat to Rome; this 'greed upon, 
To part with imhack'd edges, and bear back 
Our targes undiuted. 

C(vs. Ant. Lcp. That 's our oifer. 

Pom. Know, then, 

I came before you here a man prepared 
To take tliis offer : but Mark Antony 
Put me to some impatience : thouglil lose 
The praise of it by telling, you must know, 
■\Vhen C»sar and your brother were at blows. 
Your mother came to Sicily and did find 
Her welcome friendly. 

Ant. I have heard it, Pompey ; 

And am well studied for a liberal thanks 
Which 1 do owe you. 

Pom. Let me have your hand : 

I did not think, sir, to have met you here. [you, 

Ant. The beds i'the east are soft; and thanks to 
That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither ; 
For I have gain'd by 't. 

C(Fs. Since I saw you last. 

There is a change upon you. 

Pom. Well, I laiow not 

What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face ; 
But in my bosom shall she never come, 
To nuike my heart her vassal. 

Lep. Well met here. 

Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed : 
I crave O'u- composition may be written, 
And seaPd between us. 

Cces. That 's the next to do. 

Pom. We '11 feast each other ere we part ; and 
Draw lots who shall begin. [let 's 

Ant. That will I, Pompey. 

Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first 
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 
Shall have the farne. I have heard that .Julius 
Grew fat with feasting there. [Ciesar 

Ant. You have heard much. 

Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 

Ant. And fair words to them. 

■Pom. Then so much have I heard : 
And I have lieard, ApoUodorus carried — 

lEno. No more of that : he did so. 

'Po/». What, I pray you ? 

J5)io. A certain queen to Ccesar in a mattress. 

Pom. I know thee now : how farest thou, soldier ? 

Eno. Well; 

And well am like to do ; for, I perceive. 
Four feasts are toward. 

Pom. Let me shake thy hand ; 

I never hated thee: I have seen thee fight, 
When I have envied thy behaviour. 

Eno. Sir, 

I ne^ er loved you much ; but I ha' praised ye. 



When you have well deserved ten times as much 
As I have said you did. 

Pom. Enjoy thy plainness. 

It nothing ill becomes thee. 
Aboard my galley I invite you aU : 
Will you lead, lords ? 

Ccvs. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir. 

Pom. Come. 

[Exeunt all but 3Ienas and Enobarhus. 

Men. [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er 
have made this treaty. — You and I have knovsn, 

Eno. At sea, I think. [sir. 

Hen. We have, sir. 

Eio. You have done well by water. 

Jlfe?i. And you by land. 

Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me; 
though it cannot be denied wliat I have done by 

Men. Nor what I have done by water. [land. 

Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own 
safety : you have been a great thief by sea. 

3Ien. And you by land. 

Eno. There I deny my land service. But give 
me your hand, Menas: if our eyes had authority, 
here they might take two thieves kissing. 

Men. All men's faces are true, whatsome'er 
their hands are. 

Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true 

Men. No slander; they steal hearts. [face. 

Eno. AVe came hither to fight with yoiT. 

Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a 
drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his 
fortune. 

Eno. If he do, sure, he cannot weep 't back again. 

Men. You 've said, sir. We looked not lor Mark 
Antony liere : pray you, is he married to Cleopatra / 

Eno. Csesar's sister is called Octavia. [celhis. 

Men. True, sir; she was tlie wife of Caius Mar- 

£510. But she is now the wife of Marcus Autonius. 

Men. Pray ye, sir ? 

Eno. 'T is true. 

Men. Then is Cassar and he for ever knit together. 

Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I 
would not prophesy so. 

Men. I think the policy of that purpose made 
more in the marriage than the love of the parties. 

Eno. I think so too. But you shall find, the 
band that seems to tie their friendship together will 
be the very strangler of their amity: Octavia is of 
a holy, cold, and still conversation. 

Men. Who \'\ould not have his wife so ? 

Eno. Not he that himself is not so; which is 
Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again : 
then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in 
Caesar; and, as I said before, that which is the 
strength of their amity shall prove the immediate 
author of their variance. Antony will use his 
affection where it is : he married but his occasion 
here. 

Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you 
aboard ? I have a health for you. [in Egypt. 

£■110. I shall take it, sir: we have used our throats 

J/f/i. Come, let 's awa3-. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— On board Pomjxy's galley, off 
Misenum. 

3Iusic plays. Enter two or three Servants with a banquet. 

First Serv. Here they '11 be, man. Some o' their 
plants are ill-rooted already; the least wind i' the 
world will blow them down. 

Sec. Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 

First Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 

Sec. Serr. As they pinch one another by the dis- 
position, he cries out 'No more; ' reconciles them 
to his entreaty, and himself to the drink. 

First Sen: But it raises the greater war between 
himiuid his discretion. 

757 



ACT II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



5CEXE YII. 



Stc. Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great 
men"s fellowship : I had as lief have a reed that will 
do me no service as a partisan I could not heave. 

First Serv. To be called into a hus,'e sphere, and 
not to be seen to move in 't, are the holes where ej'es 
should be, which pitifully disaster the cheelis. 

A sennet sounded. Enter Csesar, Antony, Lepidus, 
Pompey, Agrippa, Mecsenas, Enobarbus, Menas, 
■with other captains. 

Ant. [To Ccesar] Thus do they, sir: they take the 
flow o' the Nile 
By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know. 
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth 
Or foison follow : the higher Nilus swells, 
'The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman 
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 
And shortly comes to harvest. 

L(p. You 've strange serpents there. 

Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your 
mud by the operation of your sun : so is your croco- 

Ant. They are so. [dile. 

Pom. Sit, — and some wine ! A health to Lepidus ! 

Lep. I am not so well as 1 should be, but I '11 ne'er 
out. 

JSno. Not till you have slept ; I fear me you '11 be 
in till then. 

Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies' 
pyramises are very goodly things; without contra- 
diction, I have heard that. 

Men. [Aside to Porn.] Pompey, a word. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] Say in 

mine ear : what is 't ? 

Men. [Aside to Pom.] Forsake thy seat, I do 
beseech thee, captain, 
And hear me speak a word. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] Forbear me till anon. 

This wine for Lepidus ! 

Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile? 

Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad 
as it hath breadth : it is just so high as it is. and 
moves with it own organs: it lives by that which 
nourisheth it ; and the elements once out of it, 
it transmigrates. 

Lep. What colour is it of? 

Ant. Of it own colour too. 

Lep. 'T is a strange serpent. 

Ant. 'T is so. And the tears of it are wet. 

Cces. Will this description satisfy him ? 

Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, else 
he is a very epicure. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] Go hang, sir, hang! Tell 
me of tliat ? away ! 
Do as I bid you. Where 's this cup I call'd for? 

Men. [Aside to Pom.] If for the sake of merit tiiou 
wilt hear me, 
Rise from thy stool. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.] I think thou 'rt mad. The 
matter? [/^jics, and icalks aside. 

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. 

Pom. Thou hast served me with much faith. 
Wliat 's else to say ? 
Be jolly, lords. 

Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 

Keep off tliem, for vou sink. 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ? 

Pom. What say'st thou ? 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world ? 
That 's twice. 

Pom. How should that be? 

Men. But entertain it. 

And, though thou think me poor, I am the man 
Will give thee all the world. 

Pom. Hast thou drunk well ? 

Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. 
Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove : . 
758 



Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, 
Is thine, if thou wilt ha 't. 

Pom. Show me which Avay. 

Men. These three world-sharers, these conipeti- 
Are in thy vessel: let me cut the cable; [toi's, 

And, when we are put off, fall to- their throats: 
All there is thine. 

Pom. Ah, this thou shouldst have done, 

And not have spoke on 't ! In me 't is vilUiny ; 
In thee 't had been good service. Thou must know, 
'T is not my profit that does lead mine honour; 
Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue 
Hath so betray 'd thine act: being done unknown, 
I shovdd have found it afterwards well dime; 
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 

Men. [Aside] For this, 
I '11 never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. 
Who seeks, and will nut take when once 't is offer'J, 
Shall never tind it more. 

Pom. This health to Lepidus! 

Ant. Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, 

Eno. Here 's to thee, Menas ! [Pomyiey. 

Men. Enobarbus, welcome ! 

Pom. Fill till the cup be hid. 

Mio. There 's a strong fellow, Menas. 

[Pointing to the Attendant who carries off 
Lepidus. 

Men. Why? [see'st not ? 

Lno. A' bears the third part of the world, man ; 

Men. The third part, then, is driuik: would it 
That it might go on wheels ! [were all, 

i'lio. Drink thou ; increase the reels. 

3Ien. Come. 

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 

Ant. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho ! 
Here is to Casar ! 

C'jcs. I could well forbear 't. 

It 's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, 
And it grows fouler. 

Ant. Be a child o' the time. 

Cecs. Possess it, I '11 make answer: 
But I had rather fast from all four days 
Than drink so much in one. 

Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! [To Antony. 

Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
And celebrate our drink ? 

Pom. Let 's ha 't, good soldier. 

Ant. Come, let 's all take hands. 
Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense 
In soft and delicate Lethe. 

Eno. All take hands. 

Make battery to our ears with the loud music : 
The while I '11 place you : then the boy shall sing; 
The holding every man shall bear as loud 
As his strong sides can volley. 

[3l2isic plays. Enoharhics places them hand 
■in hand. 
THE SONG. 

Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne ! 
In thy fats our cares be drown'd. 
With thy grapes our hairs be crowu'd: 
Cup us, till the world go round. 
Cup us, till the world go round ! 

Cces. What would yon more? Pompey, good 
night. Good brother. 
Let me request yiui off; our graver business 
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let 's part ; 
You see we have burnt our cheeks: strong Enobarb 
Is weaker than the wine; and mine own tongue 
Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath almost 
Antick'd us all. What needs more words ? Good 
Good Antony, your hand. [night. 

Pom. I '11 try you on the shore. 

Ant. And shall, su' : give 's your hand. 

Pom. O Antony, 



ACT III. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE II. 



You have my father's house, — But, what? we are 
Come, dowu mto the boat. [friends. 

Eno. Take heed you fall not. 

[Exeunt all hut Enobarbus and 3Ienas. 
Menas, I 'Jl not on shore. 

Men. No, to my cabin. 



These drums! these trumpets, flutes! what! 
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
To these great fellows : sound and be liang'd, sound 
out ! [Sound ajlourish, with drums. 

Eno. Ho ! says a'. There 's my cap. 

Men. Ho ! Noble captain, come. [Exeunt. 



.i^CT III. 



SCENE I. — A plain in Syria. 

Enter Ventidius us it were in triumph, with Silius, and 
o</'ifc Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the dead body 
o/Pacorus l/orne brjure him. 

Yen. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck ; and 
now 
Pleased fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
Make me revenger. Bear the king's son's body 
Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 

bil. Noble Ventidius, 

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, 
The fugitive Parthians follow ; spur through Media, 
Mesopotamia, and tiie slickers whither 
The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony 
Shall set thee on triumpliaut chariots and 
Put garlands on thy head. 

Ven. O Silius, Silius, 

I have done enough; a lower place, note well, 
May make too great an act: for learn this, Silius; 
Better to leave undone, than by our deed 
Acquire too high a fame when him we serve's away. 
CKsar aud Antony have ever won 
More in their otticer than person : Sossius, 
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, 
For quick accumulation of renown, 
Which he achieved by the minute, lost his favour. 
AVho does i' the wars more than his captain can 
Becomes his captain's captain : and ambition, 
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss. 
Than gain which darkens liim. 
I could do more to do Antonius good. 
But 'twould offend him ; and in his offence 
Should my performance perish. 

Sil. Tiiou hast, Ventidius, that 

Without the which a soldier, and his sword, [tony '? 
Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to An- 

Feii. I 'II humbly signify what in his name, 
That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks, 
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
We have jaded out o' the field. 

Sil. Where is he now ? 

Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither, with 
what haste 
The weio-ht we must convey with 's will permit. 
We shall appear before him. On, there; pass 
along ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Borne. An ante-chamber in Caesar'' s 
house. 

Enter Agrippa at one door, Enobarbus at anotJier. 

Aijr. What, are the brothers parted y [gone; 

Eno. They have dispatch 'd with Pompey, he is 
The other three are sealing. Oetavia weeps 
To part from Rome ; Cajsar is sad ; and Lei)idus, 
Since Pompey 's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
With the green sickness. 

Ayr. 'T is a noble Lepidus. 

Eno. A very fine one : O, how he loves Cipsar ! 

Ayr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! 

Eno. Caesar ? Why, he 's the Jupiter of men. 

Agr. What 's Antony i* The god of Jupiter. 



Eno. Spake you of Ccesar ? How ! the nonpareil ! 

Agr. O Antony! O Ihou Arabian bird! 

Eno. Would you praise Ca;sar, say ' Caesar : ' go 
no further. [praises. 

Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent 

Eno. But he loves Ctesar best ; yet he loves An- 
tony : [cannot 
Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, 
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho 1 
His love to Antony. But as for Ca;sar, 
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 

Ayr. Both he loves. 

Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle. 
[Truhipets ii:ithin.\ So ; 
This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. 

Ayr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and farewell. 

Enter Cassar, Antony, Lepidus, ayid Oetavia. 

Ant. No further, sir. 

C'ers. You take from me a great part of myself ; 
LTse me well in 't. Sister, prove such a wife 
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest baud 
Sliall pass on thy approof. Iilost noble Antony, 
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set 
Betwixt us as tlie cement of our love. 
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter 
The fortress of it ; for better naght we 
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts 
This be not cherish'd. 

Ant. Make me not offended 

In your distrust. 

C<xs. I have said. 

Ant. You shall not find. 

Though you be therein curious, the least cause 
For what you seem to fear: so, the gods keep you, 
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends ! 
We will here part. 

Ccvs. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well : 
The elements be kind to thee, and make 
Thy spirits all of comfort ! fare thee well. 

Oct. My noble brother! 

Ant. The April 's in her eyes : it is love's spring, 
And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful. 

Oct. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; and — 

Cas. What, 

Oetavia ? 

Oct. I '11 tell you in your ear. 

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
Her heart inform her tongue, — the swan's down- 
feather. 
That stands upon the swell at full of tide. 
And neither way inclines. 

Eno. [Aside to Ayr.'] Will Ccesar weep ? 

Ayr. [Aside to Eno.] He has a cloud in 's face. 

Eno. [Aside to Ayr.] He were the worse for that, 
were he a horse ; 
So is he, being a man. 

Ayr. [Aside to Eno.] Why, Enobarbus, 
When Antony found Juhus Ca-sar dead, 
He cried almost to roaring; and he wept 
When at Pliilippi he found Brutus slain. 

Eno. [Aside to Ayr.] That year, indeed, he was 
troubleil witli a rheum ; 
What willinirly lie did confound he wail'd, 
Believe 't, till I wept too. 
759 



ACT III. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE V. 



Half afearcl to come. 



Cces. No, sweet Octavia, 

You shall hear from me still ; the time shall uot 
Out-go my thinking on you. 

Ant. Come, sir, come ; 

I '11 wrestle with you in my strength of love : 
Look, here 1 have you; tlius I let you go, 
And give you to the gods. 

Cces. Adieu ; be happy ! 

iep. Let all the number of the stars give light 
To tliy fair way ! 

Cms. Farewell, farewell ! [Kisses Octavia. 

Ant. Farewell I 

[Trumpets sound. Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Alexandria. Clcopatra^s palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 
Cko. Where is the fellow ? 
Alex. 
Cleo. Go to, go to. 

Enter the Messenger as before. 
Come hither, sir. 

Alex. Good majesty, 

Herod of JewTy dare not look upon you 
But when you are well pleased. 

(Jleo. That Herod's head 

I '11 have : but how, when Antony is gone [near. 
Through whom I might comniiuid it ? Come thou 

Mess. jSIost gracious majesty, — 

Cleo. Didst thou behold Octavia ? 

Mess. Ay, dread queen. 

Cl.eo. Where y 

Mess. Madam, in Rome; 
I look'd her in the face, and saw her led ' 

Between her brother and Mark Antony. 

Cleo. Is she as tall as me ? 

Mess. She is not, madam. 

Cleo. Didst hear her speak ? is she shrill-tougued 
or low ? 

Mess. Madam, Iheardher speak; she islow-voiced. 

Cleo. Tliat 's not so good : he cannot like her long. 

Char. Like her ! O Isis ! 't is impossible. 

Cleo. I tliink so, Charmian: dull of tongue, and 
dwarfish ! 
What majesty is in her gait ? Remember, 
If e'er thou look'dst ou majesty. 

Mess. She creeps : 

Her motion and her station are as one ; 
She shows a body rather than a life, 
A statue than a breather. 

Cleo. Is this certain ? 

Mess. Or I have no observance. 

Char. Three in Egypt 

Cannot make better note. 

Cleo. He 's very knowing ; 

I do perceive 't : there 's nothing in her yet : 
The fellow has good judgment. 

Qiar. Excellent. 

Cleo. Guess at her years, I prithee. 

Mess. Madam, 

She was a widow, — 

Cleo. Widow! Charmian, hark. 

Mess. And I do think she 's thirty. [roiuid ? 

Cleo. Bear'st tliou her face in mind 'i is 't long or 

Mess. Round even to faultiness. 

Cleo. For the most part, too, they are foolish that 
are so. 
Her hair, what colour? 

Mess. Brown, madam : and her forehead 
As low as she would wish it. 

Cleo. There 's gold for thee. 

Tliou must not take my former sharpness ill: 
I will eiuiiloy llicc liack again ; I find thee 
]SI(ist lit l'(ir business: go make thee ready; 
Our letters are prepared. [Exit Messenger. 

Char. A proper man. 

760 



Cleo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much 
That so I liarried him. Why, methinks, by him, 
Tliis creature 's no such thing. 

Char. Nothing, madam. 

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and 
should know. 

Char. Hatli he seen majesty ? Isis else defend, 
And serving you so long ! [Charmian : 

Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good 
But 'tis no matter; tliou slialt bring him "to me 
Where I will write. All may be well enough. 

Char. 1 warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Athens. A room in Antonifs house. 
Enter Antony and Octavia. 

Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 
That were excusable, that, and thousands more 
Of semblable imitort, — but he hath waged [it 

New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and read 
To public ear : 

Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could not 
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly 
Ho \ented them ; most narrow measiu'e lent me : 
When the best hint was given him, he not took 't, 
Or did it from his teeth. 

Oct. O my good lord, 

Believe not all ; or, it 5'ou must believe, 
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady. 
If this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
Praying for both parts : 
The good gods will mock me presently. 
When I sh'all pray, ' O, bless my lord and husband ! ' 
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
' O, bless my brother ! ' Ilusband win, win brother, 
Prays, and destroys the prayer ; no midway 
'Twixt these extremes at all. 

Ant. Gentle Octavia, 

Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks 
Best to preserve it : if I lose mine honour, 
I lose myself : better I were not yours 
Tlian yours so branchless. But, as you requested, 
Yourself shall go between 's : the mean time, lady, 
I '11 raise the preparation of a war 
Shall stain your brother: make your soonest haste; 
So your desires are yours. 

Oct. Thanks to my lord. 

The Jove of power make me most weak, rnost weak. 
Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be 
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men 
Should solder up the rift. 

Ant. When it appears to you where this begins. 
Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
Can never be so equal, that your love 
Can equally move with them. Provide your going ; 
Choose yoiir own company , and command what cost 
Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt. 

SCENE "V.— Tlic same. Another room. 
Enter Enobarbus and Eros, meeting. 

Eno. How now, frien<l Eros ! 

Eros. There 's strange news come, sir. 

Eno. What, man ? 

Ems. Cfesar and Lepidus have made wars upon 
Pompey. 

Eno. This is old : what is the success ? 

Eros. Caesar, having made use of him in tlie wars 
'gain.st Pompey, presently denied him rivality : 
would not let him partake in the glory of the ac- 
tion : and not resting here, accuses him of letters 
he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon liis own 
appeal, seizes him : so the poor third is up, till death 
enlarge his confine. [more ; 

Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no 
And throw between them all the food thou hast. 
They '11 grind the one the other. Where 's Antony ? 



ACT III. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCEXE VTT. 



Eros. He's walking in tlie garden — thus; and 
spurns 
The rush that lies before him ; cries, ' Fool Lepidus ! ' 
And threats the throat of that his otHeer 
That murder'd Pompey. 

Eno. Our great navy 's rigg'd. 

Eros. For Italy and Ctesar. More, Domitius ; 
My lord desires you presently : my news 
I might have toid hereafter. 

Eno. 'T will be naught : 

But let it be. Bring me to Antony. 

Eros. Come, sir. \_Extunt. 

SCENE VI. — Borne. Ccesar's house. 

Enter Cassar, Agrippa, and Mecsenas. 

C« s. Contemning Borne, he has done all this, and 
In Alexandria : here 's the manner of "t : [more, 
I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
Were publicly entJironed : at the feet sat 
Csesarion, whom they call my father's son, 
And all the unlawful issue that their lust 
Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
He gave the stablishment of Egypt ; made her 
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, 
Absolute queen. 

Mec. This Ln the public eye V [ercise. 

CcES. I' the common show-place, where they ex- 
His sons he there proclaimed the kings of kings : 
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
He gave to xUexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd 
SjTia, Cilicia, and Phoenicia : she 
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
That day appear'd : and oft before gave audience, 
As 't is reported, so. 

Mcc. Let Kome be thus 

Inform'd. 

Agr. AVho, queasy with his insolence 
Already, Avill their "good thoughts call from him. 

Cixs. The people kiiow it ; and have now received 
His accusations. 

Ayr. Who does he accuse ? 

Cccs. C^.sar : and that, having in Sicily 
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him 
His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me 
Some shipping unrestored : lastly, he frets 
That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
Should be deposed ; and, being, that we detain 
All his revenue. 

Agr. Sir, this sliould be answer'd. 

Cccs. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone. 
I have told him, Leindus was gro\\ii too cruel; 
That he his high authority abused, [querxl, 

And did deserve his change : for what I have con- 
I grant him part ; but then, in his xVrmenia, 
And other of his conquer'd kLugdoms, I 
Demand the like. 

3Iec. He '11 never yield to that. 

Cces. Xor must not then be yielded to in this. 

Enter Octavia mth her train. 

Oct. Hail, Ciesar, and my lord ! hail, most dear 
Coesar ! 

Cccs. That ever I should call thee castaway ! 

Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. 

Cces. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You 
Like Cfesar's sister : the wife of Antony [come not 
Should, have an army for an usher, and 
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach 
Long ere she did appear ; the trees by tlie way 
Should have borne men ; and expectation fainted. 
Longing for what it had not ; nay, the dust 
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
Kaised by your populous troops: but you are come 
A market -maid to Eome ; and have prevented 
The ostentation of our love, which, left imshown, 



Is often left unloved : we should have met you 
By sea and land ; supplyiug every stage 
With an augmented greeting. 

Oct. Good my lord, 

To come thus was I not coustraiu'd, but did 
On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted 
My grieved ear withal ; whereon, I begg'd 
His pardon for retm-n. 

Cccs. Which soon lie granted, 

Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 

Oct. Do not say so, my lord. 

Cces. I have eyes upon him, 

And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
Where is he now ? 

Oct. My lord, in Athens. 

Cces. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleopatra 
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire 
Up to a whore ; who now are levying 
The kings o' the earth for war: he hath assembled 
Bocchus, the king of Libya ; Archelaus, 
Of Cappadocia ; Philadelphos, king 
Of Papldagonia; the Tliracian king, Adallas; 
King Malchus of Arabia ; King of Pont ; 
Herod of Jewry ; Mithridates, king 
Of Comagene : Polemon and Amyntas, 
The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, 
With a more larger list of sceptres. 

Oct. Ay me, most wretched. 

That have my heart parted betwixt two friends 
That do afflict each other ! 

Cccs. Welcome hither : 

Your letters did withhold our breaking forth ; 
Till we perceived, both how you were wrong led. 
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart : 
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
O'er your content these strong necessities; 
But let determined things to clestiny 
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Kome; 
Nothing more dear to me. You are abused 
Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods, 
To do you justice, make them ministers 
Of us ;ind those that love you. Best of comfort ; 
And ever welcome to us. 

Agr. Welcome, lady. 

Mcc. Welcome, dear madam. 
Each heart in Kome does love and pity you : 
Only the adulterous Antony, most large' 
In his abomuiations, turns you off; 
And gives his potent regiment to a trull. 
That noises it against us. 

Oct. Is it so, sir ? 

Ccp.s. Most certaui. Sister, welcome : pray you. 
Be ever known to patience: my dearst .sister! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — Xear Actium. Antony'' s camp. 

Enter Cleopatra cuicZ Enobarbus. 

C7fo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 

Eno. But why, why, why ? 

CZco. Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, 
And say'st it is not lit. 

Eno. Well, is it, is it ? 

Cleo. If not denounced against us, why should 
not we 
Be there In person ? 

Eno. [AskJe] Well, I could reply : 

If we should serve with horse and mares together. 
The horse were merely lost ; the mares would bear 
A soldier and his horse. 

Cleo. Wliat is 't you say ? 

Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony ; 
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from's 

time. 
What should not then be spared. He is already 
Traduced for levity ; and "t is said in Kome 
761 



ACT ITT. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE X. 



That Pliotinus an eunuch and your maids 
Manage this war. 

Cleo. Sink Rome, and tlieir tongues rot 

That speak against us ! A cliarge we bear i' the war, 
And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it ; 
I will not stay behind. 

Eno. Nay, I have done. 

Here comes the emperor. 

Enter Antony and Canidius. 

Ant. Is it not strange, Canidius, 

That from Tarentum and Brundusiuiii 
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea. 
And take in Toryne ? You have heard on 't, sweet ? 

Clco. Celerity is never more admired 
Than by the negligent. 

Ant. A good rebuke, 

Which might have well becomed the best of men, 
To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we 
Will fight with him by sea. 

Cleo. By sea ! what else ? 

Can. Why v.'ill my lord do so ? 

Ant. For that he dares us to 't. 

Eno. So hath my lord dared him to single light. 

Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pliarsalia, 
Where Cresar fought with Ponipey : but these olfers. 
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off ; 
And so should yoa. 

Eno. Your ships are not well maun'd; 

Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people 
Ingross'd by swift impress; in Ciesar's tieet 
Are those that often have 'gainst Ponipey fought : 
Their slups are yare; yours, heavy: no disgrace 
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea. 
Being prepared for land. 

Ant. By sea, by sea. 

Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
Distract your army, which dotli most consist 
Of war-mark \1 footmen; leave unexecuted 
Your own renowaied knowledge; quite forego 
The way which promises assurance; and 
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard. 
From firin security. 

Ant. I '11 fight at sea. 

Cleo. I have sixty sails, Csesar none better. 

Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn ; 
And, with the rest fnll-mann'd, from the liead of 

Actium 
Beat the approaching Csesar. But if we fail. 
We then can do 't at land. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Tliy business? 
Mess. The news is true, my lord ; he is descried ; 
Csesar has taken Toryne. 

Ant. Can he be there in i>erson ? 't is impossible; 
Strange that his power should lie. Canidius, 
Our nineteen legions tlmu shall hold liy land, 
And our twelve thousand horse. We 'li to our ship : 
Away, my Thetis ! 

Enter a Soldier. 

How now, worthy soldier ! 
Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea; 
Trust not to rotten planks : do you misdoubt 
This sword and these my wounds ? Let the Egyp- 
And the Phffiiiicians go a-ducking: we [tiims 

Have used to conquer, standing on the earth. 
And fighting foot to foot. 
Ant. Well, well; away ! 

[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, mid Enoharhus. 
Sold. By Hercules, t think I am i' the right. 
Can. Soldier, thou art: but his whole action 
Not in the power on 't : so our leader 's led, [grows 
And we are women's men. 
762 



Sold. You keep by land 

The legions and the horse whole, do you not V 

Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, 
Publicola, and Caelius, are for sea : 
But we keep whole by land. This speed of Ciesar'3 
Carries beyond belief. 

Sold. While he was yet in Rome, 

His power went out in such distractions as 
Beguiled all spies. 

Can. Who 's his lieutenant, hear you ? 

Sold. They say, one Taurus. 

Can. Well I know the man. 

Enter a Messenger. 
3fess. The emperor calls Canidius. 
Can. With news the time's with labour, and 
throes forth. 
Each minute, some. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— J. itlain near Actium. 

Enter CsBsar, and Taurus, loith his army, march- 
ivy. 
Cces. Taurus! 

Taur. My lord ? [not battle, 

Cces. Strike not by land; keep whole: jirovoke 
Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed 
The prescript of this scroll : our fortune lies 
Upon this jump. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IK.— Another part of the plain. 

Enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
Ajit. Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the hill, 
In eye of Cesar's battle ; from which place 
We may the number of the ships behold, 
And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE X. — Another part of the plain. 

Canidius marehelh with his land army one way over the 
stage; and Taurus, the lieutenant of Csesar, tlie other 
way. After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea- 
fight. 

Alarum. Enter Enobarbus. 
Eao. Xaught, naught, all naught 1 I can behold 

The Antoniad, tlie Egyptian admiral, [no longer: 

A\''itli all their sixty, tly and turn the rudder: 

To see 't mine eyes are blasted. 

Enter Scarus. 

Scar. Gods and goddesses, 

All the whole synod of them ! 

Eno. What 's thy passion ? 

Scar. The greater cantle of the world is lost 
With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
Kingdoms and provinces. 

Eno. How appears the fight ? 

Scar. On our side like the token 'd pestilence, 
Where death is sure. You ribaudred nag of 

Egypt,— 
Whom leprosy o'ertake! — i' the midst o' the fight, 
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, 
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, 
The breese upon her, like a cow in June, 
Hoists sails and flies. 

Eno. That I beheld : 
Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not 
Endure a further view. 

Scar. She once being loof 'd, 

The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard, 
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her: 
I never saw an action of such shame; 
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
Did violate so itself. 

Eno. Alack, alack ! j 



AXT02<^Y AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE 



;ir. 



Enter Canidius. 

Can. Our fortixne on the sea is out of breath, 
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
Been what he laiew himself, it had gone well : 
O, he has given example for our flight. 
Most grossly, by his own I 

Eno. ' Ay, are you thereabouts ? 

"Why, then, good night indeed. 

(fan. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled. 

Scar. 'T is easy to 't ; and there I will attend 
What further comes. 

Can. To Coesar will I render 

My legions and my horse : sLx kings already 
Show me the way of yielding. 

Eno. I '11 yet follow 

The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason 
Sits in the wind against me. {Exeunt. 

SCENE XI. — Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace. 
Enter Antony icith Attendants. 

Ant. Hark I the land bids me tread no more upon 't; 
It is ashamed to bear me ! Friends, come hither : 
I am so lated in the world, that I 
Have lost my way for ever : I have a ship 
Laden with gold ; take that, divide it; fly, 
And make your peace with Caesar. 

All. Fly! not we. 

Ant. I have fled myself; and have instructed 
cowards 
To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone ; 
I have myself resolved upon a course 
AVhich has no need of you ; be gone : 
My treasure's in the harbour, t^ike it. O, 
I foUow'd that I blush to look upon : 
My very hairs do mutiny; for the white 
Reprove the browni for rashness, and they them 
For fear and doting. Friends, be gone: you shall 
Have letters from me to some friends that will 
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, 
Kor make replies of loathness ; take the hint 
Which my despair proclaims; let that be left 
Which- leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway: 
I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
Leave me, I pray, a little : pray you now : 
Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command, 
Therefore I pray you: I 'U see you by and by. 

[Sits down. 

Enter Cleopatra led h/ Charmian and Iras; 
Eros following. 

Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him, comfort him. 

Iras. Po, most dear queen. 

Cliar. Do ! why : what else ? 

Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno ! 

Ant. Xo, no, no, no, no. 

Eros. See you here, sir 'i 

Ant. O fie, fle, fle! 

Char. Madam ! 

Iras. !Madam, O good empress ! 

Eros. Sir, sir, — 
. Ant. Yes, my lord, j'es; he at Philippi kept 
His sword e'en like a dancer; while I struck 
The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 't was I 
That the mad Brutus ended : he alone 
Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had 
In the brave squares of war: yet now — Xo matter. 

Cleo. Ah, stand by. 

Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 

Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him: 
He is unqualitied with very shame. 

Cteo. Well then, sustain me: O! 

Eros. Most noble sir, arise: the queen approaches : 
Her heail 's declined, and death will seize her, but 
Your comfort makes the rescue. 



Ant. I have offended reputation, 
A most uuuoble swerving. 

Eros. Sir, the queen. 

^?i(. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt ? See, 
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes 
By looking back "what I have left behind 
'Stroy'd in dishonour. 

Cle'o. O my lord, my lord. 

Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought 
You would have foUow'd. 

Ayit. Egypt, thou knew'st too well 

My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings. 
And thou shouldst tow me after : o"er my spirit 
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that 
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
Command me. 

Cleo. O, my pardon! 

Ant. Xow I must 

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who 
With half the bulk o' the world play'd as I pleased, 
Making and marring fortunes. You did know 
How much you were my conqueror; and that 
My sword, made weak by my affection, would 
Obey it on all cause. 

Cleo. Pardon, pardon ! 

Ant. FaU not a tear, I say; one of them rates 
All that is won and lost : give me a kiss ; 
Even this repays me. We sent our schoolmaster; 
Is he come back V Love, I am full of lead, pcnows 
Some wine, within there, and our viands ! Fortune 
We scorn her most when most she offers blows. 

[£'.««?! f. 

SCENE :Kn..—Eijy2jt. Co'sar's camp. 
Enter Csesar, Dolabella, Thyreus, icith others. 
Cccs. Let him appear that 's come from Antony. 
Know you him ? 

Bol. Caesar, 't is his schoolmaster : 
An argument that he is pluck 'd, when hither 
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing. 
Which had superfluous kings for messengers 
Not majiy moons gone by. 

Enter Euphronius, ambassador from Antony. 

Cws. Approach, and speak. 

Euph. Such as I am, I come from Antony : 
I was of late as petty to his ends 
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle-leaf 
To his grand sea. 

Cei's. Be 't so : declare thine office. 

Euph. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and 
Requires to live in Egypt : which not granted. 
He lessens his requests; and to thee sues 
To let him breathe between the lieavens and earth, 
A private man in Athens: this for him. 
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness; 
Submits lier to thy might ; and of thee craves 
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs. 
Now hazarded to thy grace. 

Cces. For Antony, 

I have no ejirs to his request. The queen 
Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she 
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, 
Or take his life there : this if she perform. 
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 

Euph. Fortune pursue thee! 

CcBs. Bring him through the bands. 

[Exit Eujihronius. 

[To Tlvircus] To try thy eloquence, now 't is time: 

dispatch ; 
From Antony win Cleopatra: promise, 
And in our name, what she requires; add more. 
From thine invention, offers: women are not 
In their best fortunes strong ; but want will perjure 
Thene'er-touch'd vestal: try thy cunning, Thyreus; 
7G3 



ACT III. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE XIII. 



Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
Will answer as a law. 

Thifr. Csesar, I go. 

f Vt.s. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, 
And what thou tliink'st his" very action speaks 
In every power that moves. 

Thyr. Csesar, I shall. [Ejieunt. 

SCENE XIII. — Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and 
Iras. 

Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus? 

Eno. Think, and die. 

Cleo. Is Antony or we in fault for this y 

Eno. Antony only, that would make liis will 
Lord of liis reason. What though you fled 
From that great face of war, whose several ranges 
Frighted eacli other? why should he follow ? 
The itch of Ids affection should not then 
Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point. 
When half to half the world opposed, he being 
The meered question : 't was a shame no less 
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, 
And leave liis navy gazing. 

Cleo. Prithee, peace. 

Enter Antony with Euphronius, the Ambassador. 

Ant. Is that his answer ? 

Euph. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. The queen shall then have courtesy, so she 
Will yield us up. 

Euph. He says so. 

Ant. Let lier know 't. 

To the boy Cfesar send this grizzled head, 
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
"With principalities. 

Cleo. That head, my lord ? 

Ant. To him again: tell him he wears the rose 
Of youtli upon him; from which the world should 

note 
Something particular: his coin, ships, legions, 
!May be a coward's ; whose ministers would prevail 
Under the service of a child as soon 
As i' the command of Csesar : I dare him therefore 
To lay his gay comparisons apart. 
And answer me declined, sword against sword, 
Ourselves alone. I '11 write it : follow me. 

[Exeunt Antony and Euphronius. 

Eno. [Aside'] Yes, like enough, high-battled Cresar 
will 
Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the show. 
Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are 
AparceLof their fortiuies ; and things outward 
Do draw the inward quality after tliem, 
To suffer all alike. That he should dream. 
Knowing all measures, the full Csesar will 
Answer his emptiness! Csesar, thou hast subdued 
His judgment too. 

Enter an Attendant. 

Att. A messenger from Csesar. 

Cleo. What, no more ceremony ? See, my women ! 
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose 
That kueel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. 

[Exit Attendant. 

Eno. [Aside'] Mine honesty and I begin to square. 
Tlie loyalty well held to fools does make 
Our faith mere folly : yet he that can endure 
To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord 
Does conqvier him tliat did liis master conquer, 
And earns a place i' the story. 

Enter Thyreus. 
Cleo. Csesar's will ? 

Thyr. Hear it apart. 

Cteo. None but friends : say boldly. 

• 764 



Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 

Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Csesar has; 
Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master 
Will leap to be his friend : for us, you know 
Whose he is we are, and that is, CaBsar's. 

Thyr. So. 

Thus then, thou most renown'd : Ceesar entreats, 
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st. 
Further than he is Caesar. 

Cleo. Go on : right royal. 

Thyr. He knows that you embrace not Antony 
As you did love, but as you fear'd him. 

Cleo. O ! 

Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he 
Does pity, as constramed blemishes. 
Not as deserved. 

Cleo. He is a god, and knows 

What is most right : mine honour was not yielded, 
But conquer'd merely. 

Eno. [Aside] To be sure of that, 

I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky, 
Tliat we must leave thee to thy sinking, for - 
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit. 

Thyr. Shall I say to Cfesar 

What you require of him? for he partly begs 
To be desired to give. It much would please him, 
That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits, 
To hear from me you had left Antony, ~ 
And put yourself under his shrowd, 
The universal landlord. 

Cleo. What 's your name ? 

Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 

Cleo. Most kind messenger, 

Say to great Csesar this : in deputation 
I kiss his conquering hand : tell him, I am prompt 
To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel : 
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
The doom of Egj'pt. 

Thyr. 'T is your noblest course. 

Wisdom and fortune combating together. 
If that the former dare but what it can. 
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
My duty on your hand. 

Cleo. Your Csesar's father oft, 

When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, 
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
As it rain'd kisses. 

Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus. 

Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders! 

What art thou, fellow ? 

Thyr. One that but performs 

The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
To have command obey'd. 

Eno. [Aside] You will be whipp'd. 

Ant. Approach, there! Ah, you kite! Now, gods 

and devils ! [' Ho ! ' 

Authority melts from me: of late, when I cried 

Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth. 

And cry ' Your will ? ' Have you no ears ? I am 

Antony yet. „ . ^ ^ 

■' ■' Enter Attenaants. 

Take hence this Jack, and whip him. 

Eno. [Aside] 'T is better playing with a lion's 

Than with an old one dying. [whelp 

Ant. Moon and stars ! 

Whip him. Were 't twenty of the greatest tribu- 
taries 
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them 
So saucy with the hand of she here, — what's her 

name. 
Since she was Cleopatra ? Whip him, fellows. 
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face. 
And whine aloud for mercy : take him hence. 
37i'/r. Mark Antony ! 
Ant. Tug him away: being whipp'd, 



ACT IV. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE I, 



Bring him again : this Jacli of Cassar's shall 
Bear us an errand to him. 

[Hxcnnt Attendants with Tliyreus. 
You were half blasted ere I knew you : ha ! 
Have I my pillow left uuiiress'd in Rome, 
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
And by a gem of women, to be abused 
By one that looks on feeders ? 

Cleo. Good my lord, — 

Ant. You have been a boggier ever : 
But when we in cnir viciousness grow hard — 
O misery on 't ! — the wise gods seel our eyes ; [us 
Ih our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make 
Adore our errors; laugh at 's, while we strut 
To our confusion. 

Clco. O, is 't come to this ? 

Ant. I found you as a morsel cold upon 
Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment 
Of Cneius Pompey's ; besides what hotter hours, 
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
Luxuriously pick'd out : for, I am sure, 
Tliough you can guess what temperance should be, 
You know not what it is. 

Clcn. Wherefore is this ? 

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards 
And say ' God quit you ! ' be familiar wi<:h 
My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal 
And pligliter of higli hearts! O, that I were 
Upon the hill of Basam to outroar 
The horned herd ! for I have savage cause ; 
And to proclaim it civilly, were like 
A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank 
For being yare about him. 

Re-enter Attendants vnth Thyreug. 
Is he whipp'd ? 

First Att. Soimdly, my lord. 

Ant. Cried he y and begg'd a' pardon ? 

First Att. He did ask favour. 

Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
Thou wast not made his daughter ; and be thou sorry 
To follow Csesar in his triumph, since 
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : hence- 
forth 
The white hand of a lady fever thee. 
Shake thou to look on 't. Get thee back to Csesar, 
Tell Iiim thy entertainment: look, thou say 
He makes me angry with him ; for he seems 
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, 
Not what he knew I was : he makes me angry ; 
And at this time most easy 't is to do 't, 
"When my good stars, that were my former guides, 
Have empty left their orbs, and shot tlieir fires 
Into the abysm of hell. If he niLslike 
My speech and what is done, tell him he has 
Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom 
He may at jileasure whip, or hang, or torture. 
As he shall like, to quit me ; urge it thou : 
Ileuce with thy stripes, begone ! [Exit Thyreus. 



Cleo. Have you done yet ? 

Ant. Alack, our terrene moon 

Is now eclipsed ; and it portends alone 
The fall of Antony ! 

Cleo. I must stay his time. 

Ant. To flatter Csesar, would you mingle eyes 
Witli one that ties his points V 

Cleo. Not know me yet ? 

Ant. Cold-hearted toward me ? 

Clco. Ah, dear, if I be so, 

From my cold heart let heaven engender hail. 
And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
Drop in my neck : as it deternunes, so 
Dissolve my life ! The next Csesarion smite I 
Till by degrees the memory of my womb, 
Together with my brave Egyptians all. 
By the discandying of this pelleted storm. 
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile 
Have buried them for prey I 

Ant. I am satisfied. 

Ca'sar sits down in Alexandria; where 
I will oppose liis fate. Our force by land 
Hath nobly held ; our sever'd navy too 
Have knit again, and fleet, threatening most sealike, 
AVhere hast thou been, my heart V Dost thou liear, 
If from tlie field I shall return once more [lady ? 
To kiss these lips, 1 will appear in blood; 
I and my sword will earn our chronicle : 
There 's hope in 't yet. 

Cleo. That 's my brave lord ! 

Ant. I will be treble-sinew 'd, hearted, breathed, 
And fight maliciously: for when mine linurs 
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives 
Of me for jests; but now I '11 set my teeth. 
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, 
Let 's have one other gaudy night : call to me 
All my sad captains ; fill our bowls once more ; 
Let 's mock the midnight bell. 

Cleo. It is my birth-day : 

I had t bought to have held it poor ; but , since my lord 
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 

Ant. We will yet do well. 

Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 

Ant. Do so, we '11 speak to them ; and to-night 
I '11 force 
The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my 

queen ; 
There 's sap in 't yet. The next time I do fight, 
I '11 make death love me ; for I will contend 
Even with his pestilent scythe. 

{Exeunt all Intt Enoharhus. 

Eno. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be 
furious. 
Is to be frighted out of fear ; and in that mood 
The dove will peck tlie estridge ; and I see still, 
A diminution in our captain's brain 
Restores his heart: when valour preys on reason. 
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 
Some way to leave him. [Exit. 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Before Alexandria. Ceesar''s camp. 

Enter Caesar, Agrippa, and Mecaenas, ivith his 
Army; Csesar readiwj a letter. 
Crcs. He calls me boy ; and chides, as he had power 
To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger 
He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal 

combat, 
Csesar to Antony : let tlie old ruffian know 
I have many other ways to die ; meantime 
Laugh at liis cliaUenge. 
Mec. Csesar must think. 



When one so great begins to rage, he 's hunted 
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
Make boot of his distraction : never anger 
Made good guard for itself. 

Ca's. Let our best heads 

Know, that to-morrow the last of many Ijattles 
We mean to fight: witliin our files there are, 
Of those that served Mark Antony but late, 
Enough to fetch him in. See it done : 
And feast the army; we have store to do 't, 
And they have earu'd the waste. Poor Antony ! 

[Exeunt, 
765 



ACT IV. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE IV. 



SCENE II. — Alexandria. Ckopatra'' s xjalacc. 

Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Char- 
mian, Iras, Alexas, with others. 

Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 

Eno. Xo. 

Ant. Why should he not ? [tune, 

Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better for- 
He is twenty men to one. 

Ant. To-morrow, soldier, 

By sea and land I '11 fight : or I will live, 
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
Shall make it live again. Woo 't thou fight well ? 

Eno. 1 '11 strike, and cry ' Take all.' 

A}it. Well said; come on. 

Call forth my household servants : let 's to-night 
Be bounteous at our meal. 

Enter three or four Servitors. 

Give me thy hand, 
Thou hast been rightly honest ; — so hast thou ; — 
Tliou,— and thou, — and thou : — you have served me 
And kings have been your fellows. [well, 

Cleo. [Aside to Eno.] What means this V 

Eno. [Aside to Cleo.] 'T is one of those odd tricks 
which sorrow shoots 
Out of the mind. 

Ant. And thou art honest too. 

I wish I could be made so many men. 
And all of you clapp'd up together in 
An Antony, that I might do you service 
So good as you have doue. 

All. The gods forbid ! 

Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night : 
Scant not my cups ; and make as much of me 
As when mine empire was your fellow too, 
And suffer'd my command. 

Cleo. [Aside to Eno.] What does he mean ? 

Eno. [Aside to Cleo.] To make his followers weep. 

Ant. Tend me to-night ; 
May be it is the period of your duty : 
Haply you shall not see me more ; or if, 
A mangled shadow : perchance to-morrow 
You '11 serve another master. I look on you 
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
I turn you not away; but, like a master 
Married to your good service, stay till death : 
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, 
And the gods yield you for 't I 

Eno. What mean you, sir. 

To give them tliis discomfort ? Look, they weep ; 
And I, an ass, am onion-eyed: for shame. 
Transform us not to women. 

Ant. Ho, ho, ho ! 

Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus ! 
Grace grow where those drops faU ! My hearty 

friends. 
You take me in too dolorous a sense ; 
For I spake to you i'or your comfort ; did desire you 
To burn this night witli lurches: know, my hearts, 
I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you 
Where rather I '11 expect victorious life 
Than death and honour. Let 's to supper, come. 
And drown consideration. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— 37ie same. Before the palace. 
Enter two Soldiers to their guard. 
First Sold. Brother, good night: to-morrow is 

the day. 
Sec. Sold. It will determine one way: fare you 
well. 
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets ? 
First Sold. Nothing. AVhat news V 
Sec. Sold. Belike 't is but a rumour. Good night 

to you. 
First Sold. Well, sir, good night. 
766 



Enter two other Soldiers. 

Sec. Sold. Soldiers, have careful watch. 

Third Sold. And you. Good night, good night. 

[They place tliemselves in every corner of the stage. 

Fourth Sold. Here we : and if to-morrow 
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 
Our landmen will stand up. 

Third Sold. 'T is a brave army, 

And full of purpose. 

[Music of the hauthoys as under the stage. 

Fourth Sold. Peace ! what noise y 

First Sold. List, list ! 

Sec. Sold. Hark ! 

First Sold. Music i' the air. 

Th Ird Sold. Under the earth. 

Fourth. Sold. H signs well, does it not? 

Third Sold. No. 

First Sold. Peace, I say ! 

What should tliis mean ? [loved, 

Sec. Sold. 'T is the god Hercules, whom Antony 
Now leaves him. 

First Sold. Walk ; let 's see if other watchmen 
Do hear what we do V [Tliey advance to another 2J0st. 

Sec. Sold. How now, masters! 

All. [S]i( (iking together] How now! 

How now ! do you hear this 'i 

First Sold. Ay ; is 't not strange ? 

Third Sold. Do you hear, masters ? do you hear ? 

First Sold. Follow the noise so far as" we have 
Let 's see how it will give off. [quarter ; 

All. Content. 'T is strange. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The same. A room in the palace. 

Enter Antony and Cleopatra, Charmian, and 

others attending. 

Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros I 

Cleo. Sleep a little. 

Ant. No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, 

Eros ! 

Enter Eros toith armour. 

Come, good fellow, put mine iron on: 
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
Because we brave her : come. 

Cleo. Nay, I '11 help too. 

What 's this for ? 

Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 

The armourer of my heart: false, false; this, this. 

Cleo. Sooth, la, I ''11 help: thus it must be. 

Ant. Well, well ; 

We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow ? 
Go put on thy defences. 

Eros. Briefly, sir. 

Cleo. Is not this buckled well V 

Ant. Barely, rarely : 

He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
To daff 't for our repose, shall hear a storm. 
Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen 's a squire 
More tight at this than thou : dispatch. O love. 
That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st 
The royal occupation I thou shouldst see 
A workman in 't. 

Enter an armed Soldier. 

Good morrow to thee ; welcome; 
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge : 
To business that we love we rise betime. 
And go to 't with delight. 

Sold. A thousand, sir, 

Early tliough 't be, have on their riveted trim, 
Aud at the port expect you. 

[Shout. Trumpets flourish. 

Enter Captains and Soldiers. 
Cnpt. The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. 
All. Good morrow, general. 



ACT T' 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE VIII. 



Ani. 'T is well blown, lads : 

Tills morning, like the spirit of a youth 
That means to be of note, begins betimes. 
So, so; come, give me that: this way; well said. 
Fare thee well, dame, wliate'er becomes of me: 
This is a soldier's kiss : rebukeable [Kisses her. 
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 
On more mechanic compliment; I '11 leave thee 
Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight, 
Follow me close ; I '11 bring you to 't. Adieu. 

\^Exeunt Anton;/, Eros, Captains, and tSokliers. 

Char. Please you, retire to your chamber. 

C'eo. Lead me. 

He goes forth gallantly. That he aiid Ctesar might 
Determine this great war in single tight ! 
Tlieu, Antony,— but now — AVeil, on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Alexandria. Antoni/''s camp. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros ; a 
Soldier meeting them. 

Sold. The gods make this a liappy day to Antony ! 

Ant. AVouiil tliou and those thy scars had once 
prevaird 
To make me fight at land ! 

Sold. Hadst thou done so, 

Tlie kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
That has this morning left thee, would have still 
Follow'd thy heels. 

Ant. Who 's gone this morning ? 

Sold. AVho ! 

One ever near thee : call for Enobarbus, 
He shall not hear tliee: or from Ciesar's camp 
Say ' I am none of thine.' 

Ant. What say'st thou V 

Sold. Sir, 

He is with Cfesar. 

Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 

He has not with him. 

Ant. Is he gone? 

Sold. Most certain. 

Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after ; do it ; 
Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him — 
I will subscribe — gentle adieus and greetings ; 
Say that I wish he never lind more cause 
To" change a master. O, my fortunes have 
Corrupted honest men ! Dispatch, — Enobarbus ! 

[Extant. 

SCENE VI. — Alexandria. Ccesor's cam^x 

Flourish. Eater Csesar, Agrippa, ivith Enobar- 
bus, and others. 

C'xs. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight : 
Our will is Antony be tooli alive ; 
Make it so known. 

A(/r. Cffisar, I sliall. [Exit. 

Cies. The time of uinversal peace is near: 
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook 'd world 
Sliall bear the olive freely. 

Enter a Messenger. 

2Iess. Antony 

I^ come into the field. 

Ca's. Go charge Agrippa 

Plant those that have revolted in the van. 
That Antony may seem to spend liis fury 
Upon himself. [Exeunt all hut Enoharhus. 

Eno. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry on 
Affairs of Antony ; there did persuade 
Great Herod to incline himself to Ca?sar, 
And leave his master Antony: for this pains 
Cresar hath hang'd him. Canidius and tlie rest 
Tliat fell away have entertainment, but 
No hoiiouralile trust. 1 liave done ill; 
Of wliich I do accuse myself so sorely, 
That I will joy no more. 



Enter a Soldier of Ceesar's. 

Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
His bounty overplus: tlie messenger 
Came on my guard ; and at thy tent is now 
Unloading of his mules. 

Eno. I give it you. 

Sold. Mock not, Enobarbus. 
I tell you true: best you safed the bringer 
Out of the host; I must attend mine oilice. 
Or would have done 't myself. Your emiieror 
Continues still a Jove. [Exit. 

Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth. 
And feel I am so most. O Antony, 
Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid 
My better service, when my turpitude 
Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows my 

heart : 
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
Shall outstrike thought : but thought will do 't, I 
I fight against thee ! Xo : I will go seek [feel. 

Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits 
My latter part of life. [Exit. 

SCENE Vn.— Field of hattle beticeen the camps. 

Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter Agrippa 

and others. 
Agr. Eetire, we have engaged ourselves too far: 
Cfesar himself has work, and our oppression 
Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. 

Alarums. Enter Antony, and Scarus wounded. 

Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed ! 
Had we done so at first, we had cb'oven them home 
With clouts about their heads. 

Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. 

Scar. 1 had a wound here that was like a T, 
But now 'tis made an H. 

Ant. They do retire. 

Scar. AVe '11 beat 'em into bench-holes : I have yet 
Room for six scotches more. 

Enter Eros. 

Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advantage 
For a fair victory. [serves 

Scar. Let us score their backs. 

And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind : 
'T is sport to maul a runner. 

Ant. I will reward thee 

Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 
For thy good valom'. Come thee on. 

Scar. I '11 halt after. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Vni.— Under the walls of Alexandria. 

Alarum. Enter Antony, in a march; Scarus, 

witli others. 
Ant. We have beat him to his camp: run one 

before. 
And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, 
Before the sun shall see 's, we 'II spill the blood 
That has to-day escaped. I thank you all; 
For douglity-haudeil are you, and have fought 
Not as yoii served the cause, but as 't had lieen 
Each man's like mine ; you have shown all Hectors. 
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends. 
Tell them j'our feats; whilst they with joyful tears 
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 
The honour'd gashes whole. [To Scarus] Give me 

thy hand ; 

EiUer Cleopatra, cdtended. 
To this great fairy T 'II commend thy acts, 
Make her thanks'bless thee. [To Uleo.] O thou day 
o' the world, 

767 



ACT IV. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE xri. 



Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, 
Through proof of harness to my heart, and tliere 
Ride on the pants triumphing ? 

Cleo. Lord of lords I 

O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from 
The world's great snare uncaught ? 

Ant. My nightingale. 

"We have beat them to their beds. Wliat, girl! 

though grey 
Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet 
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can [ha' we 
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand : 
Kiss it, my warrior : he hath fought to-day 
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 
Destroy'd in such a shape. 

Clco. I '11 give thee, friend, 

An armour all of gold; it was a king's. 

Ant. lie has deserved it, were it carbuucled 
Like holy Plicebus' car. Give me thy hand ; 
Tlirough Alexandria make a jolly march ; 
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe' 
Had our great palace the capacity ■ [them : 

To camp this host, we all would sup together, 
And drink carouses to the next day's fate, 
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters, 
With brazen din blast you the city's ear; 
Make mingle with oiir rattling tabourines ; 
That heaven and earth may strike their soimds 

together, 
Applauding our approach. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IX.— Cccsar''s camp. 
Sentinels at their post. 
First Sold. If we be not relieved within this hour, 
We must return to the court of guard : the night 
Is sliiny ; and they say we shall embattle 
By the second hour i' the morn. 

Sec. Sold. This last day was 

A shrewd one to 's. 

Enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. O, bear me witness, night, — 

Third Sold. What man is this? 

See. Sold. Stand close, and list him. 

Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 
Wlien men revolted shall upon record 
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
Before thy face repent ! 

-First Sold. Enobarbus ! 

Third Sold. Peace ! 

Hark further. 

Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy. 
The poisonous damp of niglit disponge upon me, 
That life, a very rebel to niy will. 
May hang no longer on me: tlirow my heart 
Against the flint and hardness of my fault ; 
Wliicli. liping ilricil with grief, will break to powder. 
And Ihiish all foul tlumghts. O Antony, 
IMobler than my revolt is infamous, 
Forgive me in tliine own particular; 
But let the world rank me in register 
A master-leaver and a fugitive: 
O Antony ! O Antony ! [Dies. 

Sec. jSoM. Let 's speak 

To him. 

First Sold. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks 
May concern CiEsar. 

Third Sold. Let 's do so. But he sleeps. 

First Sold. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer ns 
Was never yet for sleep. [his 

Sec. Sold. Go we to him. 

Third Sold. Awake, sir, awake ; speak to us. 

Sec. Sold. ilear vou, sir? 

First Sold. The hand of death hath raught him. 
[Drums afar off.] Itark ! the drums 
768 



Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
To tlie court of guard ; he is of note : our hour 
Is fully out. 

Third Sold. Come on, then: 
He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the hod!/. 

SCENE X. — Between the two camj^s. 
Enter Antony and Scarus, with their army. 

Ans. Their iireparation is to-day by sea; 
We please them not by land. 

Scar. For both , my lord . 

Ant. I would they 'Id fight i' tlie fire or i' the air; 
We 'Id flglit there too. But this it is ; our foot 
Upon tlie hills adjoining to the city 
Shall stay with us : i:>rder for sea is given ; 
They have put forth the haven . . . 
Where their appointment we may best discover. 
And look on tlieir endeavour. [Exeunt. 

SCENE XI. — Another part of the same. 

Enter Caesar, and his army. 
Cefs. But being charged, we will be still by land, 
Tfliich, as I take 't, we shall; for liis best force 
Is forth to man liis galleys. To the vales, 
Aud hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Xll.— Another part of the same. 
Enter Antony and Scarus. 
Ant. Yet they are not join'd: where j'ond pine 
does stand, 
I shall discover all : I '11 bring thee word 
Straight, how 't is like to go. [Exit. 

Scar. Swallows have built 

In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the angurers 
Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly, 
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
Is valiant, and dejected ; and, by starts. 
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear, 
Of what he has, and has not. 

[Alariim afar off, as at a sca-fiyht. 

He-enter Antony. 
Ant. All is lost; 

This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me: 
My fleet hath' yielded to the foe ; and yonder 
They cast their caps up and carouse together 
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn 'd wliore! 'tis 
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart [thou 
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly; 
For when I am revenged upon my charm, 
I have done aU. Bid them all fly ; begone. 

[Exit Scarus. 
O sun. thy uprise shall I see no more : 
Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
Do we shake hands. All come to this V The hearts 
Tliat spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
On blossoming Ca>sar ; and this pine is bark'd, 
That overt opp'd them all. Betray 'd I am : 
O this false soul of Egypt ! this grave cliarm,— 
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them 

home; 
"Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,— 
Ijike a right gypsy, hath, at fast and loose. 
Beguiled me to tlie very heart of loss. 
What, Eros, Eros I 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt ! 
Cleo. Why is my lord enraged against his love ? 
Ant. "V^an'isli. or I sliall give thee thy deserving. 
And bleniisli C'asar's triumph. Let liini take tliee, 
And hoist thee uji to tlie shouting iilebcians: 
Follow his chariot, lilie the greatest spot 



ACT IV. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE XIV. 



Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shown 
For poor'st diminutives, for doits ; and let 
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
With her prepared nails. [Exit Cleopatra. 

'T is well thou 'rt gone, 
If it be well to live ; but better 't were 
Tliou feirst into my fury, for one death 
Miglit have prevented many. Eros, ho ! 
The shirt of Nessus is upon me : teach me, 
Aleides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage: 
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon ; 
And witlitliosehands, that grasp "d theheaviestclub. 
Subdue my worthiest self. Tiie \\'itch shall die : 
To the young Iloman boy she hath sold me, and I fall 
Under this plot ; slie dies for 't. Eros, ho ! [Exit. 

SCENE XIII. — Alexandria. Cleopatra'' s palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Channian, Iras, and Mardian. 

Cleo. Help me, my women ! O, he is more mad 
Than Telamon for liis shield; the boar of Thessaly 
"Was never so emboss 'd. 

Char. To the monument ! 

There lock yourself, and send lum word you are dead. 
The soul and body rive not more in parting 
Than greatness going off. 

Cleo. To the monument ; 

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself: 
Say, that the last I spoke was 'Antony,' 
And word it, prithee, piteously: hence, Mardian, 
And bring me how he takes my death. To tlie 
monument ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE XIV.— The sa)ne. Another room. 
Enter Antony and Eros. 

Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me ? 

Eros. Ay, noble lord. 

Ant. Sometime we see a cloud that 's dragonish ; 
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, 
A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock, 
A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
With trees upon 't, that nod unto the world, 
And mock our eyes with air ; thou hast seen these 
They are black vesper's pageants. [signs ; 

■ Eros. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a 
tlionght 
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct, 
As water is in water. 

Eros. It does, my lord. 

Ant. My good knave Eros, now thy captain is 
Even such a body : here I am Antony ; 
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
I made these wars for Ej;ypt ; and the qneen, — 
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine ; 
Which whilst it was mine had annex'd unto 't 
A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has 
Pack VI cards with Citsar, and false-play 'd my glory 
Unto an enemy's triumph. 
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us 
Ourselves to end ourselves. 

Enter Mardian. 

O, thy vile lady! 
She has robb'd me of my sword. 

Mar. No, Antonv ; 

My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled 
With thine entirely. 

Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ! 

She hath betray 'd me and shall die the death. 

Mar. Death of one person can be jiaid Imt once. 
And that she has discharged : what thi m wouldst do 
Is done unto thy hand; tlie last she spake 
Was 'Antony! most noble Antony ! ' 
Tlien in the midst a tearing groan did break 
The name of Antony ; it was divided 
49 



Between her heart and lips : she render'd life, 
Thy name so buried in her. 

Ant. Dead, then? 

Mar. Dead. 

Ant. Unarm, Eros : the long day's task is done. 
And we must sleep. [To Jlfa?-.] That thou depart "st 

hence safe. 
Does pay thy labour richly ; go. [Exit Mardian. 

Off, pluck off: 
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides ! 
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent, 
Crack thy frail case ! Apace, Eros, apace. 
No more a soldier : bruised pieces, go ; 
You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. 

[Exit Eros. 
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
All length is torture : since the torch is out. 
Lie do^\Ti, and stray no farther: now all labour 
Mars what it does ; yea, very force entangles 
Itself with strength : seal then, and all is done. 
Eros ! — I come, my queen : — Eros ! — Stay for me : 
Where souls do couch on flowers, we '11 hand in hand. 
And with our sprightly port make tlie ghosts gaze : 
Dido and her vEneas shall want troops. 
And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros ! 

Re-enter Eros. 

Eros. What would my lord ? 

Ant. Since Cleopatra died, 

I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods 
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
Quarter 'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back 
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack 
The courage of a woman ; less noble mind 
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells 
' I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn. Eros, 
That, when the exigent should come, which now 
Is come indeed, when I should see behind me 
The inevitable prosecution of 
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, 
Thou then wouldst kill me : do 't ; the time is come : 
Thou strikest not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat 'st. 
Put colour in thy cheek. 

Eros. The gods withhold me ! 

Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, 
Thougli enemy, lost aim, and could not 'i 

Ant. Eros, 

Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see 
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down 
His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
To penetrative shame, whilst tlie wheel'd seat 
Of fortunate Csesar, drawn before him, branded 
His baseness that ensued V 

Eros. I would not see 't. 

Ant. Come, then; for with a wound I must be cured. 
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn 
Most useful for thy country. 

Eros. O, sir, pardon me ! 

Ant. Wlien I did make thee free, sworest thou 
not then 
To do tills when I bade thee'!* Do it at once; 
Or thy precedent services are all 
But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come. 

Evos. Turn from me, then, that noble countenance. 
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 

Ant. Lothee! [Turning from him. 

Eros. My sword is drawn. 

Ant. Then let it do at once 

The thing why thou hast drawn it. 

Eros. ivly dear master, 

My captain, and my emperor, let me say. 
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farevVell. 

Ant. 'T is said, man ; and farewell. 

Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now ? 

Ant. Now, EroSv 



ACT IV. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATEA. 



SCENE XV 



Eros. Why, there then; thus I do escape the sorrow 
Of Antony's death. [I\.ills hhnself. 

Ant. Thrice-nobler than myself ! 

Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what 
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros 
Have by their brave instruction got upon me 
A nobleness in record : but I will be 
A bridegroom in my death, and run into 't 
As to a lover's bed. Come, then ; and, Eros, 
Thy master dies thy scholar : to do thus 

[Falling on his sword. 
I learn'd of thee. How ! not dead ? not dead y 
Tlie guard, ho ! O, dispatch me ! 

Enter Dercetas and Guard. 

First Ouard. Wliat 's the noise? 

Ant. I have done my work ill, friends: O, make 
Of what I have begun. [an end 

Sec. Guard. . The star is fall'n. 

First Guard. And time is at his period. 

All. Alas, and woe ! 

Ant. Let him that loves me strike me dead. 

First Guard. Not I. 

Sec. Guard. Xor I. 

Thiril Giianh Xor aiiv one. [Ernint Gmrd. 

Jjir. Thy .Irath and fdrtunes bid thy followers tly. 
Tliis swonl liiit shown to Caisar, with this tidings, 
Shall enter me with him. 

Enter Diomedes. 

Bio. "Where 's Antony ? 

Ber. There, Diomed there. 

Bio. Lives he ? 

Wilt thou not answer, man ? [Exit Bercetas. 

Ant. Art thou there, Diomed ? Draw thy sword, 
and give me 
Sufficing strokes for death. 

Bio. Most absolute lord. 

My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 

Ant. When did she send thee '/ 

Bio. Kow, my lord. 

Ant. Where is she '? 

Bio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a proph- 
esying fear 
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw — 
Which never shall lie found — you did suspect 
She liail disjKiscd with C;esar, and tliat your rage 
Would not 1 ".'purged , slie sent you word she was dead ; 
But, fearing since how it miglit work, hath sent 
Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
I dread, too late. [prithee. 

Ant. Too late, good Diomed: call my guard, I 

Bio. AVhat, ho, the emperor's guard ! The guard. 
Come, your lord calls ! [what, ho ! 

Enter four or five of the Guard of Antony. 
Ant. Bear me, good friends,where Cleopatra bides; 
'T is the last service that I shall command you. 
First Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not 
live to wear 
All your true followers out. 
All. Most heavy day ! 

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate 
To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome 
Which comes to punisli us, and we punish it 
Seeming to bear it liL^litly. Take me up: 
I have led you oft : carry me now, good friends, 
And have my thanks for all. 

[E-teimt, bearing Antony. 

SCENE XV. — The same. A monument. 

Enter Cleopatra, and her maids aloft, with Char- 

mian and Iras. 

C!eo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. 

Cliar. Be comforted, dear madam. 

Cleo. No, I will not : 

770 



All strange and terrible events are welcome, 
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, 
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great 
As that which makes it. 

Enter, below, Diomedes. 
, How now ! is he dead ? 

Bio. His death 's upon him, but not dead. 
Look out o' the other side your monument; 
His guard have brought him thither. 

Enter, below, Antony, borne by the Guard 

Cleo. O sun, 

Burn the great sphere thou movest in ! darkling stand 
The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, 
Antony, Antony ! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help ; 
Help, friends below ; let 's draw him hither. 

Ant. Peace! 

Not Cfcsar's valour hath o'erthro-mi Antony, 
But Antony's hath triumphed on itself. 

Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 
Should conquer Antony ; but woe 't is so ! 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only 
I here importune death awhile, until 
Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
I lay upon thy lips. 

Cleo. 1 dare not, dear, — 

Dear my lord, pardon, — I dare not. 
Lest I be taken: not the imperious show 
Of the tull-fortuned Csesar ever shall 
Be brooch 'd with me ; if knife, drugs, serpents, have 
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe: 
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes 
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour 
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony, — 
Help me. my women, — we must draw thee up: 
Assist, good friends. 

Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. 

Cleo. Here 's sport indeed ! How heavy weighs 
Our strength is all gone into heaviness, [my lord ! 
Tliat makes the weight : hail I great .Juno's power, 
The strong-wing'd iMercury sliould fetch thee up, 
And set tliee by Jove's side". Yet come a little, — 
Wishers were ever fools, — O, come, come, come; 

[jyiey heare Antony aloft to Cleopatra. 
And welcome, welcome ! die where thou hast lived: 
Quicken with kissing: had my lips that power, 
Thus would I wear them out. 

All. A heavy sight! 

Ant. I am dying, EgjT^t, dying: 
Give me i-ome wine, and let me speak a little. 

Cleo. No, let me speak; and let me rail .so high, 
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, 
Provoked by my offence. 

Ant. One word, sweet queen: 

Of Cresar seek your honour, with your safety. O ! 

Cleo. They do not go together. 

Ant. ' Gentle, hear me : 

None about Ctesar trust but Proculeius. 

Cleo. My resolution and my hands I '11 trust; 
None about Csesar. 

Ant. The miserable change now at my end 
Lament nor sorrow at ; but please your thoughts 
In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
Wherein I lived, tlie greatest prince o' the world, 
Tlie nolili'st ; and do now not basely die, 
Not cowardly put olf my helmet to 
My countryman, — a Roman by a Roman 
A'aliantly vanquish 'd. Now my spirit is going; 
I can no more. 

Cleo. Nolilest of men, woo 't die ? 

Hast thou no care of me ? sliall I abide 
In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
No better than a sty ? O, see, my women, 

[Antony dies. 
The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord 1 
O, wither'd is the garland of the war. 



ACT V. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE II. 



The soldier's pole is fall'n : young boys and girls 
Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, 
And there is nothing left remarkable 
Beneath the visiting moon. [Faints. 

Cluir. O, quietness, lady ! 

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 

Char. Lady ! 

Irns. Madam ! 

Char. O madam, madam, madam ! 

Ims. Royal Egypt, 

Empress! 

Char. Peace, peace, Iras ! [manded 

Gleo. No more, but e'en a woman, and corn- 
By such poor passion as the maid that milks 
And does the meanest chares. It were for me 
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; 



To tell them that tliis world did equal theirs 
Till they liad stol'n our jewel. All \s but naught ; 
Patience is sottish, iiml impatience <loes 
Become a dog that 's mad : then is it sin 
To rush into the secret house of death, 
Ere death dare come to us 'f How do you, women ? 
Wliat, what ! good cheer ! Why, how now, Char- 
Mynoblegirls! Ah, women, women, look, [mian ! 
Our lamp is spent, it 's out ! Good sirs, take heart : 
We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's 
Let 's do it after the high Roman fa.shion, [noble. 
And make death proud to take us. Come, away: 
Tills case of that huge spirit now is cold : 
Ah, women, women ! come; we have no friend 
But resolution, and the briefest end. 

\_Exeunt; those above bearing off Antonyms body. 



A.CT V. 



SCENE I. — Alexandria. Ccrsar''s camp. 

Enter Csesar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Mecseiias, Gallus, 
Proculeius, and ot/icis, his council of war. 

C(vs. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield; 
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks 
The pauses that he makes. 

Uol. Ctesar, I shall. [Exit. 

Enter Dercetas, with the sword of Antony. 

Cft's. Wherefore is that ? and what art thou that 
Appear thus to us i* [darest 

IJer. I am call'd Dercetas ; 

Miirk Antony I served, who best was worthy 
Best to be served : whilst he stood up and spoke. 
He was my master; and I wore my life 
To spend upon liis haters. If thou please 
To take me to thee, as I was to him 
I '11 be to Csesar ; if thou pleasest not, 
I yield thee up my life. 

Ores. What is 't thou say'st ? 

Jjer. I say, O Csesar, Antony is dead. 

Cfes. The breaking of so great a thing should make 
A greater crack : the round world 
Should have shook lions into civil streets, 
And citizens to their dens : the death of Antony 
Is not a single doom ; in the name lay 
A moiety of the world. 

I)er. He is dead, Csesar; 

Not by a public minister of justice, 
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand, 
AVhich writ his honour in the acts it did. 
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, 
Sjilitted the heart. Tins is his sword ; 
I robb'd liis wound of it ; behold it stain'd 
With his most noble blood. 

Cobs. Look you sad, friends ? 

The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings 
To wash the eyes of kings. 

Agr. And strange it is, 

That nature must compel us to lament 
Our most persisted deeds. 

Mec. His taints and honours 

Waged equal with him. 

Agr. A rarer spirit never 

Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us 
Some faults to make us men. Cfesaris touch'd. 

Jlfec. When such a spacious mirror 's set before 
He needs must see himself. [him, 

Cces. O Antony ! 

I have follow'd thee to this ; but we do lance 
Diseases in our bodies : I must perforce 
Have shown to thee such a declining day, 
C)r look on thine : we could not stall together 
In the whole world : but yet let me lament, 



With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 

That thou, my brother, my competitor 

In top of all design, my mate in empire. 

Friend and companion in the front of war. 

The arm of mine own liody, and the heart 

Where mine 1 1 is th( nights (lid kindle, — that our stars, 

Unreconciliable. sliould ilixide 

Our equaliicss to tliis. Hear me, good friends, — 

But I will tell you at some meeter season : 

Enter an Egryptian. 
The business of this man looks out of him ; 
We '11 hear him what he says. Whence are you ? 

Egyp. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen niy mis- 
Confined in ;ill she has, her monument, [tress, 
C)f tliy intents desires instruction. 
That slie preparedly may frame herself 
To the way she 's forced" to. 

Cces. Bid her have good heart : 

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours. 
How honourable and how kindly we 
Determine for her ; for Ca?sar cannot live 
To be ungentle. 

Egyp. So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit. 

Cccs. Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say. 
We purpose her no shame : give her what comforts 
The quality of her passion shall require. 
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
She do defeat us ; for her life in Rome 
AVould be eternal in our triumph : go. 
And with your speediest bring us what she says, 
And how you find of her. 

Fro. Cfesar, I shall. [Exit. 

Ca!S. Gallus, go you along. [Exit Gallus.] Where 's 
To second Proculeius V [Dolabella, 

^i;;. Dolabella ! 

Cms. Let him alone, for I remember now 
How he 's employ 'd : he shall in time be ready. 
Go with me to my tent; where you shall see 
How iKirdly I was drawn into this war; 
How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
In all my writings : go with me, and see 
What I can shovv in this. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n. — Alexandria. A room in the nwmiment. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 
Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
A better life. 'T is paltry to be Caesar ; 
Not being Fortune, he 's but Fortune's knave, 
A minister of her will : and it is great 
To do that thing that ends all other deeds ; 
Which shackles accidents and bolts up change ; 
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug, 
The beggar's nurse and Cajsar's. 
771 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE II. \ 



Enter, to the gates of the monument, Proculeius, 
Gallus, and Soldiers. 

Pro. Ctesar sends greeting to the Queen of Egypt ; 
And bids thee study on what fair demands 
Thou meau'st to have him grant thee. 

Cleo. What 's thy name ? 

Pro. My name is Proculeius. 

Cleo. Antony 

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
I do not greatly care to be deceived, 
Tliat have no use for trusting. If your master 
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him, 
Tliat majesty, to keep decorum, must 
Iso less beg tlian a kingdom: if he please 
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son. 
He gives me so much of mine own, as I 
Will kneel to him with thanks. 

Pro. Be of good cheer ; 

You 're fall'n into a princely hand, fear nothing: 
Make your full reference freely to my lord, 
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over 
On all that need : let me report to him 
Your sweet dependency; and you shall find 
A conqueror that will pray in "aid for kindness. 
Where he for grace is kueel'd to. 

Cleo. . Pray you, tell him 

I am his fortune's vassal, and I send liim 
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly 
Look him i' the face. 

Pro. This I '11 report, dear lady. 

Have comfort, for I luiow your plight is pitied 
Of him that caused it. 

Gal. You see how easily she may be surprised : 
[Here Proculeius and two of the Guard ascend 
the monument bij a ladder placed against a 
windoio, and, hoxing descended, come behind 
Cleopatra. Some of the Guard unbar and 
open the gates. 

[To Proatdeius and the Guard] Guard her till 
Csesar come. [Exit. 

Iras. Royal queen ! 

Char. O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen. 

Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. 

[Drawing a dagger. 

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, liold : 

[Seizes and disarms her. 
Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 
Eelieved, but not betray'd. 

Cleo. What, of death too. 

That rids our dogs of languish ? 

Pro. Cleopatra, 

Do not abuse my master's bounty by 
The undoing of yourself : let the world see 
His nobleness well acted, which your death 
Will never let come forth. 

Cleo. Where art thou, death ? 

Come hither, come I come, come, and take a queen 
Worth many babes and beggars ! 

Pro. O, temperance, lady ! 

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I '11 not drink, sir : 
If idle talk will once be necessary, 
I '11 not sleep neither : this mortal house I '11 ruin. 
Do Cajsar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
Will not wait pinion 'd at your master's court; 
Nor once be chastised with the sober eye 
Of dull Octavia. Shall tlipy hoist me up 
And sho%v me to the shcuiting varletry 
Of censuring Rome V Rather a ditch in Egypt 
Be gentle gravr unto me ! ratlier on Nilus' mud 
Lay nie stark naked, and let the water-tlies 
Blow me into abhorring! rather make 
My country's higli pyramides my gibbet, 
And hang me up in chains ! 

Pro. You do extend 

These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
Find cause in Caisar. 



Enter Dolabella. 

Dot. Proculeius, 

What thou hast done thy master Caesar laiows, 
And he hath sent for thee: for the queen, 
I 'il take her to my guard. 

Pro. So, Dolabella, 

It shall content me best : be gentle to her. [please, 
[To Cleo.] To Ca-sar I will speak what you shaU 
if you '11 employ me to him. 

Cleo. Say, I would die. 

[Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers. 

Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ? 

Cleo. I cannot tell. 

Dol. Assuredly you know me. 

Cleo. Ko matter, sir, what I have heard or known. 
You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams; 
Is 't not your trick '( 

Dol. I understand not, madam. 

Cleo. I dream 'd there was an Emperor Antony : 
O, such another sleep, that I might see 
But such another man ! 

Dol. If it might please ye, — 

Cleo. Ilisfacewasastheheavens; andtherein stuck 
A sun and moon, which kept their course, and 
The little O, the earth. [lighted 

Dol. Most sovereign creature, — 

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm 
Crested the world : his voice was propertied 
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; 
But when he njeant to quail and shake the orb, 
He was as rattling thunder. Eor his bounty, 
There was no winter in 't; an autunui 'twas 
That grew the mure by reaping : his delights 
Were ilulpliin-like; they show'd his back above 
The element they lived in : in Iiis livery [were 

Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands 
As plates dropp'd from his pocket. 

Dol. Cleopatra! 

Cleo. Think you there was, or might be, such a man 
As this 1 dream'd of Y 

Dol. Gentle madam, no. 

Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. 
But, if there be, or ever were, one such. 
It 's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff 
To vie strange forms with fancy ; yet, to imagine 
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy. 
Condemning shadows quite. 

Dol. Hear me, good madam. 

Your loss is as yourself, great ; and you bear it 
As answering to the weight: would I might never 
O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel, 
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites 
My very heart at root. 

Cleo. I thank you, sir. 

Know you what Cfesar means to do with me ? 

Dol. I am loath to tell you what 1 would you knew. 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — 

Dol. Though he be honourable, — 

Cleo. He '11 lead me, then,"in triumph? 

Dol. Madam, he will; I know 't. [Csesar!' 

[Flourish and shout within, ' jMake way there: 

Enter Cfesar, Gallus, Proculeius, Mecsenas, 
Seleucus, and others of his Train. 

Crs. Which is the Queen of Egypt V 

Dol. It is the emperor, madam. [Clcopiatra kneels. 

Ccrs. Arise, you shall not kneel: 
I iiray you, rise ; rise, Egypt. 

Cleo. Sir, the gods 

Will have It thus ; my master and my lord 
I must obey. 

Cws. Take to you.no hard thoughts : 

Tlie record of what injuries you did us. 
Though written in our tiesh, we shall remember 
As things but done by chance. 

Clro. " Sole sir o' the world, 

I camiot project mine own cause so well 



ACT V. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCENE II. 



To make it clear ; but do confess I have 
Been laden with like frailties which before 
Have often shamed om- sex. 

('(''.s. Cleopatra, know, 

We will extenuate rather than enforce : 
If you apply yourself to our intents, 
AVliich towards you are most gentle, you shall find 
A l)enefit Ln this change ; butif you seek 
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 
Of my good purposes, and put yoiu- children 
To that destruction which I '11 guard them from. 
If thereon you rely. I '11 take my leave, [and we, 

Uleo. And may, through all the world : 't is yours ; 
Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall 
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. 

C'(RS. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 

Cho. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, 
I am possess 'd of: 't is exactly valued; 
Not petty things admitted. Where 's Seleucus ? 

Sel. Here, madam. [lord, 

Cleo. This is my treasurer: let him speak, my 
Upon his peril, that I have reserved 
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 

Sel. Madam, 
I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril, 
Speak that which is not. 

Cleo. What have I kept back ? 

Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made 
known. 

CcKS. Xay, blush not, Cleopatra ; I approve 
Your wisdom in the deed. 

Cleo. See, Csesar! O, behold. 

How pomp is follow'd ! mine will now be yours ; 
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine. 
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
Even make me wild: O slave, of no more trust 
Than love that 's hired! What, goest thou back? 

thou shalt 
Go back, I warrant thee; but I '11 catch thine eyeSj 
Though they had wings : slave, soulless villain, dog ! 
O rarely base ! 

Cas. Good queen, let us entreat you. 

Cleo. O Cicsar, what a wounding shame is this. 
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 
Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
Addition of his envy ! Say, good Csesar, 
That I some lady trifles have reserved, 
Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
As we greet modern friends witlial ; and say, 
Some nobler token I have kept apart - 
For Livia and Octavia, to mduce 
Their mediation ; must I be unfolded [me 

Witli one that I have bred ? The gods ! it smites 
Beneatii the fall I have. [To Seleucm] Prithee, go 
Or I shall sliow tlie cinders of my spirits [hence ; 
Through the ashes of my chance : wert thou a man, 
Thou wouldst have mercy on me. 

CVes. Forbear, Seleucus. 

[Exit Seleucus. 

Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are 
. misthought 
For things that others do; and, when we fall. 
We answer others' merits in our name. 
Are therefore to be pitied. ^ 

Ca's. Cleopatra, [edged, 

Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowl- 
Put we i' the roll of conquest : still be 't yours, 
Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe, 
Ctesar 's no merchant, to make prize with you 
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd; 
Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear 
For we intend so to dispose you as [queen ; 

Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep : 
Our care and jifty is so mucli upon you. 
That we remain your friend ; and so, adieu. 



Cleo. My master, and my lord ! 
Cces. Not so. Adieu. 

[Flourish. Exeunt Ccesar and his t7-ain. 
Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I 
should not 
Be noble to myself : but, hark thee, Charmian. 

[ Whispers Charmian. 
L-as. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, 
And we are for the dark. 

Cleo. Hie thee again : 

I have spoke already, and it is provided ; 
Go put it to the haste. 
Char. Madam, I will. 

Re-enter Dolabella. 

Dol. Where is the queen 'f 

Char. Behold, sir. [Exit. 

Cleo. Dolabella ! 

Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command. 
Which my love makes religion to obey, 
I tell you this: Cresar through Syria 
Intends his journey; and within three daj's 
You with your children will he send before : 
Make your best use of this : I have perform 'd 
Your pleasure and my promise. 

Cleo. Dolabella, 

I shall remain your debtor. 

Dol. I your servant. 

Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Ctesar. 

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dolabella. 

Xow, Iras, what think'st thouy 
Thou, an Egj^tian puppet, shalt be .shown 
In Rome, as well as I : mechanic slaves 
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, 
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 
And forced to drink their vapour. 

Iras. The gods forbid ! 

Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors 
Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymer* 
Ballad us out o' tune : the quick comedians, 
Extemporally will stage us, and present 
Our Alexandrian revels ; Antony 
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 
I' the posture of a whore. 

Iras. O the good gods ! 

Cleo. Nay, that 's certain. 

Iras. I '11 never see 't ; for, I am sure, my nails 
Are stronger than mine eyes. 

Cleo. Why, that 's the way 

To fool their preparation, and to conquer 
Their most absurd intents. 

He-enter Charmian. 

Now, Charmian I 
Show me, my women, like a queen : go fetch 
My best attires : I am again for Cydnus, 
To meet Mark Antony: sirrah Iras, go. 
Now, nolile Charmian, we '11 dispatch indeed; [leave 
And, when thou hast done this chare, I 'U give tliee 
To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all. 
Wherefore 's this noise ? [E.cit Iras. A noise within. 

Enter a Guardsman. 

Guard. Here is a rural fellow 

That will not be denied your highness' presence : 
He brings you figs. 

Cleo. Let him come in. [Exit Guardsman . 

What poor an instrument 
May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
My resolutio'u 's placed, and I have nothing 
Of woman in me : now from head to foot 
I am marble-constant ; now the lleeting moon 
No planet is of mine. 

Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in a basket. 
Guard. This is the man. 

773 



ACT V. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



SCEKE II. 



(Jleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guardsman. 
Hast thou the pretty worm of isilus there, 
Tliat kills and pains not '/ 

Clown. Truly, I have him: but I would not he 
the party tliat should desire you to touch him, for 
his biting is immortal ; those that do die of it do 
seldom or never recover. 

Cleo. llememberest thou any that have died on 't ? 

Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard 
of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very 
honest woman, but something given to lie; as a 
woman should not do, but in the way of honesty : 
how she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt : 
truly, she makes a very good report o' the worm ; 
but he tliat will believe all that they say, shall never 
be saved by half tliat tliey do: but this is most fal- 
lible, the worm 's an odd worm. 

Cleo. Get thee hence ; fareweN. 

Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. 

\_SeUing Jawn his basket. 

Cleo. Farewell. 

Clown. You must think this, look you, that the 
worm will do his kind. 

Cleo. Ay, ay ; farewell. 

Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted 
but in the keeping of wise people ; for, indeed, there 
is no goodness ui the worm. 

Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded. 

Clown. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, 
for it is not worth the feeding. 

Cleo. Will it eat me ? 

Clown. You must not think I am so simple but I 
know the devil himself will not eat a woman : I 
know tliat a woman is a dish for the gods, if the 
devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whoreson 
devils do the gods great harm in their women ; for 
in every ten that they make, tlie devils mar live. 

Cleo. Well, get tliee gone ; farewell. 

Clown. Yes, forsooth : I wish j'ou joy o' the worm. 

He-enter Iras with a robe, crown, &c. 

Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have 
Immortal longings in me : now no more 
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist tliis lip : 
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear 
Antony call ; I see him rouse himself 
To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock 
The luck of Cuesar, which the gods give men 
To excuse their after wrath : husband, I come : 
Now to that name my courage prove my title! 
I am tire and air ; my otlier elements 
I give to baser life. So ; have you done ? 
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell. 

[Kisses them. Iras falls and dies. 
Have I the aspic in my lips V Dost fall ? 
If tliou and nature can so gently part. 
The stroke of deatli is as a lover's pinch, 
Wliicli hurts, and is desired. Dost tliou lie still ? 
If tlius tliou vanishest, tliou teil'st the world 
It is not wortli leave-taking. [say. 

Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may 
The gods themselves do weep ! 

Cleo. This proves me base : 

If she tirst meet the curled Antony, 
He '11 make demand of her, and spend that kiss 
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal 
wretcli, 

[To an asp, ichich sJie applies to her breast. 
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool, 
Be angry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak, 
That I might hear thee call great Ciesar ass 
Unpolicied ! 

Char. O eastern star ! 

Cleo. Peace, peace ! 

Dost tliou not see my baby at my breast, 
Tliat sucks the uurse asleep y 
77i 



CJiar. O, break! O, break! 

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, — 

Antony ! — aS[ay, I will take thee too : 

[Apply iny another osjj to her ar-,i. 
What should I stay, — [Jjits. 

Char. In this vile world ? So, fare thee well. 
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies 
A lass uuparallel'd. Downy windows, close ; 
And golden Phcebus never be beheld 
Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown 's awry ; 

1 '11 mend it, and then play. 

Enter the Guard, rushing in. 
First Guard. Where is tlie queen ? 
Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 

First Guard. Csesar hath sent — 
Char. Too slow a messenger. 

[Applies an asp. 
O, come apace, dispatch! I partly feel thee. 
First Guard. Approach, ho! All's not well: 
Csesar 's beguiled. [call him. 

Sec. Guard. There 's Dolabella sent from Ciesar ; 
First Guard. Wliat work is here! Charmian, 

is this well done i* 
Cliar. It is well done, and fitting for a princess 
Descended of so many royal kings. 
Ah, soldier! „ " [Dies. 

Re-enter Dolabella. 

Dol. How goes it here '? 

iS'fc. Guard. All dead. 

Dol. Cwsar, thy thoughts 

Touch their effects in this : thyself art coming 
To see perform 'd the dreaded act which thou 
So sought'st to liinder. 

[ Within ' A way there, a way for Csesar ! ' 

He-enter Caesar and all his train, marching. 

Dol. O sir, you are too sure an augurer; 
That you did feai is done. 

Crt's. Bravest at the last. 

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal, 
^ook lier own way. Tlie manner of their deaths ? 
I do not see them bleed. 

I)nl. Who was last witli them ? 

First Guard. A simple countryman, that brouglit 
This was his basket. [her tigs : 

C(vs. Poison'd, then. 

Fir.'it Guard. O Cwsar, 

Tliis Charmian lived but now; she stood and spake : 
I found her triniiiiiug up the diadem 
On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood 
And on the sudden dropp'd. 

Cres. O noble weakness ! 

If they had swallow'd poison, 't would appear 
By external swelling; but she looks like sleep, 
As she would catch another Antony 
In lier strong toil of grace. 

Dol. Here, on her breast, 

There is a vent of blood and something blown: 
The like is on lier arm. 

First Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these 
fig-leaves 
Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves 
Upon the caves of Nile. 

Civs. Most probable 

Tliat so she died ; for her physician tells me 
Slie hath pursued conclusions iuiinite 
Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed ; 
And bear her women from tlie monument : 
She sliall be buried by her Antony : 
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it 
A pair so famous. High events as these 
Strike those that make them ; and tlieir story is 
No less in pity than his glory which 
Brouglit tlieni to bd lamented. Our army shall 
111 solemn show attend this funeral; 
And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see 
High order in this great solemnity. [Exeunt. 



CYMBELINE. 



BEAMATIS PERSONS. 



Cymbellne, King of Britain. 

Cloten, sou to the Queen by a former husband. 

Posthumus Leonatus, a gentleman, husband to 

Imogen. 
Belarius, a bauished lord, disguised under the 

name of Morgan. 

{sons to Cymbeline, disguised under 
the names of Polydore and Cadwal, 
supposed sons to Morgan. 
PMlario, friend to Posthumus, ) . ,. 
lachimo, friend to Philario, ) "'^"'i°s. 
Caius Lucius, general of the Roman forces, 
Pisanio, servant to Posthumus. 
Cornelius, a physician. 
A Piomau Captain. 



[Fo 



Two British Captains. 

A Frenchman, friend to Philario. 

Two Lords of Cymbeline's Court. 

Two Gentlemen of the same. 

Two Gaolers. 

Queen, wife to Cymbeline. 

Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen. 

Helen, a lady attending on Imogen. 

Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Soothsayer, 
A Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musicians, Officers, Cap- 
tains, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 

Apparitions. 

SCENE — Britain ; Some. 

Plot of this Play, see page LXVll.] 



^CT I. 



SCENE I. — Britain. The garden of Cymbeline''s 

palace. 

Enter Two Gentlemen. 

First Gent. You do nut meet a man but frowns : 
our bloods 
Ko more obey the heavens than our coiu'tiers 
Still seem as does the king. 

Sec. Gent. But what 's the matter ? 

First Gent. His daughter, and the heir of 's king- 
dom, whom 
He purposed to his wife's sole son — a widow 
That late lie married — hath referred herseli: 
IJuto a poor but worthy gentleman : she 's wedded ; 
Her husband banish'd ; she imprison 'd: all 
Is outward sorrow ; though I think the kiug 
Be touch'd at very lieart. 

See. Gent. None but the king V 

First Gent. He that hath lost her too: so is the 
queen, 
That most desired the match ; but not a courtier, 
Although they wear their faces to the bent 
Of the king's looks, hath a lieart that is not 
Glad at the thing tliey scowl at. 

Sec. Gent. And why so? [tbing 

First Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess is a 
Too bad for bad report : and he that hath her — 
I nlean, that married her, alack, good man ! 
And therefore banish 'd — is a creature such 
As, to seek through the regions of the earth 
For one his like, there would be something failing 
In him that should compare. I do not think 
So fair an outward and such stuff within 
Endows a man but lie. 

Sec. Gent. You speak him far. 

First Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself, 
Crush him together rather than unfold 
His measure duly. 

Sec. Gent. "What 's his name and birth ? 

Fimt Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his 
father 



Was call'd Sicilius, who did ioin his honour 

Against the Romans with Cassilielau, 

But had his titles by Tenant ius wliom 

He served with glory and admired success, 

So gain'd the sur-addition Le(uiatus: 

And had, besides this gentleman in question, 

Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time 

Died with their swords in hand ; for which their 

father, 
Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow 
That he quit being, and his gentle lady, 
Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased 
As he was born. The king he takes the babe 
To his protectioii, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, 
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, 
Puts to him all the learnings tliat his time 
Could make him the receiver of ; which he took, 
As we do air, fast as 't was minister'd, 
And in 's spring became a harvest, lived in court — 
Which rare it is to do-rmost praised, most loved, 
A sample to the youngest, to the more mature 
A glass that feated them, and to tlie graver 
A child that guided dotards; to his mistress, 
For whom he now is banish'd, her own price 
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; 
By her election may be truly read 
What kind of man he is. 

Sec. Gent. I honour him 

Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me, 
Is she sole child to the king ? 

First Gent. His only child. 

He had two sons: if this be worth yom- hearing, 
Mark it : the eldest of them at three years old, 
I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery 
Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge 
Which way they went. 

Sec. Gent. How long is this ago ? 

First Gent. Some twenty years. [convey "d. 

Sec. Gent. That a king's children should be so 
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, 
That could not trace tliem ! 



ACT I. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE I. 



First Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, 

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 
Yet is it true, sir. 

iiec. Gent. I do well believe you. 

-First Gent. We must forbear: here comes the 
gentleman, 
The queen, and princess. [Exeunt. 

Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 

Queen. No, be assured you shall not lind me. 
After the slander of most stepmothers, [daughter, 
Evil-eyed unto you : you 're my prisoner, but 
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, 
So soon as I can win the offended king, 
I will be known your advocate : marry, yet 
The fire of rage is in him, and 't were good 
You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience 
Your wisdom may inform you. 

Post. Please your highness, 

I will from hence to-day. 

Queen. You know the peril. 

I '11 fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king 
Hath charged you should not speak together. [Exit. 

Imo. O 

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant 
Can tickle where she wounds ! My dearest husband, 
I something fear my father's wrath ; but nothing — 
Always reserved my holy duty — what 
His rage can do on me : you must be gone ; 
And I shall here abide tlie hourly shot 
Of angry eyes, not comforted to live. 
But that there is this jewel in the world 
That I may see again. 

Post. My queen ! my mistress I 

lady, weep no more, lest I give cause 
To be suspected of more tenderness 
Than dotli become a man. I will remain 
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth: 
My residence in Rome at one Philario's, 
Who to my father was a friend, to me 
Known but by letter: thitlier write, my queen, 
And with mine eyes I '11 drink the words you send, 
Though ink be made of gall. 

Re-enter Queen. 

Queen. Be brief, I pray you : 

If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
How much of his displeasure. [Aside] Yet I '11 move 

him 
To walk this way : I never do him wrong. 
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; 
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 

Post. Should we be taking leave 

As long a term as yet we have to live. 
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu ! 

Imo. Nay, stay a little : 
AVere you but ridhig forth to air yourself, 
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; 
This diamond was my mother's : take it, heart ; 
But keep it till you woo another wife, 
When Imogen is dead. 

Post. How, how ! another ? 

You gentle gods, give me but this I have. 
And sear up my embracements from a next 
With bonds of death ! [Putting on the ring.] Eemain, 

remain thou here 
While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest. 
As I my poor self did exchange for you. 
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles 

1 still win of you : for my sake wear this; 
It is a manacle of love ; I '11 place it 
Upon this fairest prisoner. 

[Putting a bracelet upon her arm. 
Imo. O the gods ! 

When shall we see again ? 
776 



Enter Cymbeline a)id Lords. 

Post. Alack, the king! 

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my 
sight ! 
If after this command thou fraught the court 
With thy unworthiness, thou diest : away ! 
Thou 'rt poison to my blood. 

Post. The gods protect you ! 

And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
I am gone. [Exit. 

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 
More sharp than this is. 

Cym. O disloyal thing. 

That shouldst rejiair my youth, thou heap'st 
A year's age on me. 

Imo. I beseech you, sir, 

Harm not yourself with your vexation : 
I am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare 
Subdues all pangs, all fears. 

Cym. Past grace ? obedience ? 

Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past 
grace. [queen I 

Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of my 

Imo. O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle, 
And did avoid a puttock. [my throne 

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar ; wouldst have made 
A seat for baseness. 

Imo. No ; I rather added 

A lustre to it. 

Cym. O thou vile one ! 

Imo. Sir, 

It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus : 
You bred him as my playfejlow, and he is 
A man worth any woman, overbuys me 
Almost the sum he pays. 

Cym. What, art thou mad ? 

Imo. Almost, sir : heaven restore me ! Would I 
A neat-herd "s daughter, and my Leonatus [were 
Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 

Cym. Thou foolish thing ! 

Re-enter Queen. 
They were again together : you have done 
Not after our command. Away with her, 
And pen her up. 

Queen. . Beseech your patience. Peace, 

Dear lady daughter, peace ! Sweet sovereign. 
Leave us to ourselves ; and make yourself some 
Out of your best advice. [comfort 

Cym. Nay, let her languisli 

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged. 
Die of this folly ! [E.ceunt Cymheiine and Lords. 

Queen. Fie ! you must give way. 

Enter Pisanio. 
Here is your servant. How now, sir ! What news V 

Pis. My lord yom- son drew on my master. 

Queen. Ha ! 

No harm, I trust, is done? 

Pis. There might have been, 

But that my master rather play'd than fouglit 
And had no help of anger : they were parted 
By gentlemen at hand. 

Queen. I am very glad on 't. 

7)710. Your son 's my father's friend ; he takes his 
To draw upon an exile ! O brave sir ! [part. 

I would they were in Afric both together; 
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
The goer-back. AVliy came you from your master ? 

Pis. On his command : he would not suffer me 
To bring him to the liaven ; left these notes 
Of what commands I should be subject to, 
When 't pleased you to employ me. 

Queen. This hath been. 

Y<iur faithful servant : I dare lay mine honour 
He will remain so. 



ACT I. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE IT. 



I'is. I liuinbly tliank your highness. 

Queen. Pray, walk awliile. 

Imo. About some half-hour hence, 

I pray you, speak witli me: you shall at least 
Go tee- my lord aboard: for this time leave me. 

\_Excimt. 

SCENE II.— The same. A public place. 
Enter Cloten and two Lords. 

First Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a 
shirt ; the violence of action hath made you reek 
as a sacrifice : wliere air comes out, air comes iu : 
there 's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. 

Cio. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. 
Have I hurt him ? 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] Xo, "faith ; not so much as 
his patience. 

First lAird. Hurt him ! his body's a passable car- 
cass, if he be not hurt : it is a throughfare for steel, 
if it be not hurt. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] His steel was in debt ; it went 
o' the backside the town. 

Clo. The villaiu would not stand me. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] No ; but he fled forward still, 
toward your face. 

First Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough 
of your own : but he added to your having ; gave 
you some ground. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] As many inches as you have 
oceans. Puppies! 

do. I would they had not come between us. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] So would I, till you had meas- 
ured how long a fool you were upon the ground. 

Clo. And that she should love this fellow and re- 
fuse me ! 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] If it be a sin to make a true 
election, she is damned. 

First Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty 
and her brain go not together: she 's a good sign, 
but I have seen small reflection of her wit. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] She shines not upon fools, lest 
the reflection should hurt her. 

Clo. Come, I '11 to my chamber. Would there 
had been some hurt done ! 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] I wish not so ; unless it had 
been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. 

Clo. You '11 go with us y 

First Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 

Clo. Xay, come, let 's go together. 

Sec. Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A room in Ct/nibeline''s palace. 

Enter Imogen and Pisanio. 

Imo. I would thou grew'st mi to the shores o' the 
haven. 
And question'dst every sail : if he should write, 
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost. 
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last 
That he spake to thee ? 

Pis. It was his queen, his queen I 

Imo. Then waved his handkerchief V 
' Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 

Imo. Senseless linen ! happier therem than 1 1 
And that was aU i* 

Pis. No, madam ; for so long 

As he could make me with this eye or ear 
Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, 
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind 
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on. 
How swift his ship. 

hno. Thou shouldst have made him 

As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
To after-eye him. 

Pis. Madam, so I did. 



Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings : crack'd 
To look upon him, till the diminution [them, but 
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle, 
Xay, toUow'd him, till he had melted from 
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then 
Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio, 
Wlien shall we hear from him V 

Pis. Be assured, madam, 

With his next vantage. 

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him 
How I would think on him at certain hours 
Such thoughts and sucli, or I could make him swear 
The shes of Italy should not betray 
Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him, 
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
To encounter me with orisons, for then 
I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
Give him that parting kiss which I had set 
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father 
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
Shakes all our buds from growing. 

Enter a Lady. 

Lady. The queen, madam, 

Desires your highness' company. [])atch'd. 

Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them dis- 
I will attend the queen. 

Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. -Borne. Philario's house. 

Enter Philario, lachimo, a Frenchman, a 
Dutchman, and a Spaniard. 

lack. Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain : 
he was then of a crescent note, expected to prove so 
worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of ; 
but I could then have looked on him without the help 
of admiration, though the catalogue of his endow- 
ments had been tabled by his side and I to peruse 
him by items. 

Phi. You speak of him when he was less furnislied 
than now he is with that which niakeshim both with- 
out and within. 

French. I have seen him in France: we had very 
many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes 
as lie. 

lach. This matter of marrying his king's daughter, 
wherein he must be weighed ratlier by her value than 
his own, words him, I doubt not, a great deal from 
the matter. 

French. And then his banishment. 

lach. Ay, and the approbation of those that weep 
this lamentable divorce under her colours are won- 
derfully to extend him ; be it but to fortify her judg- 
ment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for 
taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes 
it he is to sojourn with you V How creeps acquaint- 
ance y 

Phi. His father and I were soldiers together; to 
whom I have been often bound for no less than my 
life. Here comes the Briton : let him be so enter- 
tained amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your 
knowing, to a stranger of his quality. 

Enter Posthumus. 
I beseech you all, be better known to this gentle- 
man ; whom I commend to you as a noble friend of 
mine : how worthy he is I will leave to appear here- 
after, rather than story lum in his own hearing. 

French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. 

Post. Since w^hen I ha^■e been debtor to you for 
courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet pay 
still. 

French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I 
was glad I did atone my countryman and vou ; it 
had been pity you should have been put together 
777 



ACT I. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE V. 



with so mortal a purpose as tlien each bore, upon 
importance of so slight and trivial a nature. 

Po6(. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young 
traveller ; rather sliunned to go even with what 1 
heard than in my every action to be guided by 
others' experiences: but upon my mended judg- 
ment — if I offend not to say it is mended — my 
quarrel was not altogether slight. 

Fvcufh. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 
of swords, and by such two that would by all likeli- 
hood have cuufouuded one the other, or have fallen 
both. 

ladi. Can we, with manners, ask what was the 
difference 'P 

French. Safely, I think : 't was a contention in 
public, which rnay, without contradiction, suffer 
the report. It was much like an argument that fell 
out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our 
country mistresses ; this gentleman at that time 
vouclung — and upon warrant of bloody affirma- 
tion — his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, 
constant-qualified and less attemptable than any 
the rarest of our ladies in France. 

lack. That lady is not now living, or this gentle- 
man's opinion by this worn out. 

Post. She holds her virtue still and I ray mind. 

lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of 
Italy. 

Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, I 
would abate her nothing, though I profess myself 
her adorer, not her friend. 

lach. As fair and as good — a kind of liand-in- 
hand comparison — had been something too fair and 
too gooil for any lady in Britain. If slie went before 
others I liave seen, as that diamond of yours out- 
lustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe 
she excelled many: but I have not seen the most 
precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. 

Post. I praised her as I rated her : so do I my stone. 

lach. AVhat do you esteem it at ? 

Post, ^love than the world enjoys. 

lach. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, 
or she 's outprized by a trifle. 

Py,sf. You are mistaken : the one may be sold, or 
given, if there were wealth enough for the purchase, 
or merit for the gift : the other is not a thing for sale, 
and oidy the gift of the gods. 

/«(■/(. "Wliich the gods have given you? 

Post: Which, by their graces, I will keep. 

lach. You may wear her in title yours; but, you 
know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. 
Your ring may be stolen too : so your brace of un- 
prizaljle estimations; the one is but frail and the 
other casual ; a cunning thief, or a that way ac- 
complislied courtier, would hazard the winning 
both of first and last. 

Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished 
a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress, 
if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. 
I do nothing dmiht you have store of thieves; not- 
withstanding, I fear not my ring. 

Plii. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 

Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, 
I thank him, makes no stranger of me ; we are fa- 
miliar at first. 

lach. With five times so much conversation, I 
should get ground of your fair mistress, make her 
go back, even to the yielding, had I admittance 
and opportunity to friend. 

Post. No, no. 

lach. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my 
estate to j'our ring; which, in my opinion, o'er- 
values it something : but I make my wager rather 
against your confidence than her reputation : and, 
to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it 
against any lady in the world. 

Po.,t. You are a great deal abused in too bold a 



persuasion ; and I doubt not you sustain what 
you 're worthy of by your attempt. 

lach. What 's that V 

Post. A repulse: though your attempt, as you 
call it, deserve more; a punishment too. 

Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too 
suddenly; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, 
be better acquainted. 

lach. Would I hyd put my estate and my neigh- 
bour's on the approbation of what I have spoke! 

Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? 

lack. Yours; whom in constancy you think 
stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats 
to your ring, that, conmiend me to the court where 
your lady is, with no more advantage than the op- 
portunity of a second conference, and I will bring 
from thence that honour of hers which you imagine 
so reserved. 

Post. I will Avage against your gold, gold to it : 
my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 't is part of it. 

lach. You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If 
you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you can- 
not preserve it from tainting: but I see you have 
some religion in you, that you fear. 

Post. This is but a custom in your tongue ; you 
bear a graver purpose, I hope. 

Jach. I am the master of my speeches, and would 
undergo what 's spoken, I swear. 

Post. Will j'ou:' I shall but lend my diamond 
till your return : let there be covenants drawn be- 
tween 's : my mistress exceeds in goodness the huge- 
ness of your unworthy thinking: I dare you to this 
match : here 's my ring. 

Phi. I will have it no lay. 

lach. By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no 
suthcient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest 
bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand 
ducats are yours ; so is your diamond too ; if I come 
off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust 
in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold 
are yours : provided I have your commendation for 
my more free entertainment. 

Post. I embrace these conditions; let us have 
articles betwixt us. Only, thus far you sliall 
answer: if you make your voyage upon her and 
give me directly to understand you have prevailed, 
I am no further your enemy ; she is not worth our 
debate: if she remain unseduced, you not making 
it appear otherwise, for your ill opinion and the 
assault you have made to her chastity you shall 
answer me with your sword. 

lach. Your hand; a covenant: we will have 
these things set down by lawful counsel, and 
straight away for Britain, lest thebargahi sliould 
catch cold and starve: I will fetch my gold and 
have our two wagers recorded. 

Post. Agreed. 

[E.xcunt PostMcmus and lachimo. 

French. Will this hold, think you? 

Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. Pray, 
let us follow 'em. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Britain. A room in Ci/mbeline''s palace. 
Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 
Queen. Whiles yet the dew 's on ground, gather 
those flowers ; 
Make haste : who has the note of them ? 
First Ladij. I, madam. 

Queen. Dispatch. [Exeunt Ladies. 

Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs ? 
Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they are, 
madam: [Presentiny a smcM box. 

But I beseech your grace, without offence, — 
My conscience bids me ask — wlierefore you have 
Commanded of me these most poisonous com- 
pounds, 



ACT I. 



GYMBELINE. 



SCENE VI. 



AVhich are the movers of a languishing death ; 
But though slow, deadly 'i 

Queen. I wonder, doctor, 

Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been 
Thy ijupil long ? Hast thou not learn 'd me how 
To make perfumes ? distil ? preserver' yea, so 
That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
For my confections V Having thus far proceeded, — 
Unless thou think 'st me devilisli — is 't not meet 
That I did amplify my judgment in 
Other conclusions ? I will try the forces 
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
"We count not worth the hanging, but none human. 
To try the vigour of them and apply 
Allayments to their act, and by them gather 
Their several virtues and effects. 

Cor. Your highness 

Shall from this practice but make hard your heart : 
Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
Both noisome and infectious. 

Queen. O, content thee. 

Enter Pisanio. 
[Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him 
NVill I first work : he 's for his master. 
And enemy to 'my son. How now, Pisanio ! 
Doctor, your service for this time is ended ; 
Talie your own way. 

Cor. [Aside] I do suspect you, madam; 

But you shall do no harm. 

Queen. [To Pisanio] Hark thee, a word, [she has 

Cor. [Aside] I do not like her. She doth think 
Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit, 
And will not trust one of her malice with 
A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has 
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile ; [dogs. 

Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and 
Then afterward up higher ; but there is 
No danger in wlial sliow of death it makes. 
More than the locking-up the spirits a time, 
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
With a most false effect ; and I the truer. 
So to be false with her. 

Queen. No further service, doctor, 

Until I send for thee. 

Cor. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou V Dost thou 
think in time 
She will not quench and let instructions enter 
Where tolly now possesses V Do thou work ; 
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, 
I '11 tell thee on the instant thou art then 
As great as is thy master, greater, for 
His fortunes all lie speechless and his name 
Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor 
Continue where he is: to shift his being 
Is to exchange one misery with anotlier, 
And every day that comes comes to decay 
A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect, 
To be depender on a thing that leans, 
AVho cannot be new built, nor has no friends. 
So much as but to prop him ? [The Queen drops the 
box: Pisanio takes it itp.] Thou takest up 
Thou know'st not what ; but take it for thy labour : 
It is a thing I made, wliich hath tlie king 
Five times "redeem'd from death : I do not know 
What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee, take it; 
It is an earnest of a further good 
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
The case stands with her ; do 't as from thyself. 
Think what a chance thou changest on, but think 
Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son. 
Who shall take notice of thee : I '11 move the king 
To any shape of thy preferment such 
As thou It desire; and then myself, I chiefly. 
That set thee on to tliis desert, am bound 
To load thy merit richly. Call my women : 



Think on my words. [Exit Pisanio. 

A sly and constant knave, 
Not to be shaked ; the agent for his master 
And the remembrancer of her to hold 
The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that 
Which, it he take, shall quite unpeople her 
Of liegers for her sweet, and whicli she after, 
Except she bend her humour, shall be assured 
To taste of too. 

Be-enter Pisanio and Ladies. 

So, so: well done, well done: 
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses. 
Bear to my clo.set. Fare thee well, Pisanio; 
Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

Pis. And sliall do : 

But when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
I '11 choke myself : there 's all I '11 do for you. [Exit. 

SCENE "VL—Tlie same. Another room in the 
palace. 

Enter Imogen. 
Imo. A father cruel, and a step-daihe false; 
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady. 
That hath her husband banish'd ; — O, that husband I 
My supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated 
Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stol'n, 
As my two lirotliers, happy! but most miserable 
Is the desire tliat "s glorious: blest be those, 
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be y Fie ! 

Enter Pisanio and lachimo. 

Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome, 
Comes from my lord with letters. 

laeh. Change you, madam ? 

The worthy Leonatus is in safety 
And greets your highness dearly. [Presents a letter. 

Imo. Thanks, good sir: 

You 're kindly welcome. [rich ! 

laeh. [Aside] All of her that is out of door most 
If she be fiu-nish'd with a mind so rare, 
She is alone the Arabian bird, and I 
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend ! 
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot ! 
Or, like tlie Parthian, I shall flying tight; 
Rather, din-elly tly. 

Imo. [licads] ' lie is one of the noblest iioJ:e, to 
whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect 
upon him accordingly, as you value your trust — 
Leonatus.' 
So far I read aloud : 
But even tlie very middle of my heart 
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. 
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
Have words to bid you, and shall find it so 
In all that I can do. 

Lxuh. Thanks, fairest lady. 

What, are men mad'? Hath nature given them eyes 
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones 
Upon tlie lunaber'd beach? and can we not 
Partition make with spectacles so precious 
'Twixt fair and foul 'i 

Imo. What makes your admiration ? 

laeh. It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys 
'Twixt two such shes would chatter tliis way and 
Contemn with mows the other ; nor i' the judgment, 
For idiots in this case of favour would 
Be wisely definite ; nor i' the appetite ; 
Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed 
Should make desire vomit emptiness, 
Not so allured to feed. 

7)1(0. What is the matter, trow V 

ladi. The cloyed will, 

779 



ACT I. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE VI. 



That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub 
Both flll'd and rnimiiig, ravening first the lamb 
Longs after for the garbage. 

Inw. What, dear sir, 

Thus raps you ? Are you well V 

lach. Tlianks, madam : well. [To Pisanio\ Be- 
seech you, sir, desire 
My man's abode where I did leave him : he 
Is strange and peevish. 

Pis. I was going, sir. 

To give him welcome. [Exit. 

Imo. Continues well my lord ? His health, be- 
seeeli you ? 

Inch. Well, madam. 

Iwo. Is he disposed to mirth ? I hope he is. 

lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there 
So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
The Briton reveller. 

Imo. When he was here, 

He did incline to sadness, and oft-times 
Kot knowing why. 

I(fh. I never saw him sad. 

There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
An eminent Monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces 
The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton — 
Your lord, I mean — laughs from 's free lungs, cries 

'O, 
Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows 
By liistory, report, or his own proof, 
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
But must be, will his free hours languish for 
Assured bondage V ' 

Imo. Will my lord say so ? 

lach. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with 
It is a recreation to be by [laughter : 

And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens 
Some men are much to blame. [know, 

Imo. Not he, I hope. 

lach. Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards 
him might 
Be used more thankfully. In himself, 't is much ; 
In you, which I account his beyond all talents, 
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
To pity too. 

Imo. What do you pity, sir ? 

lach. Two creatures heartily. 

Imo. Am I one, sir ? 

You look on me : what WTeck discern you in me 
Deserves your pity ? 

lach. Lamentable ! What, 

To hide me from the radiant sun and solace 
I' the dungeon by a snufl; V 

Imo. I pray you, sir, 

Deliver with more openness your answers 
To my demands. Wliy do you pity me ? 

lack. Tliat others do — 

I was about to say — enjoy your But 

It is an office of the gods to veuge it, 
Not mine to speak on 't. 

Imo. You do seem to know 

Something of me, or what concerns me : pray you, — 
Since doubting things go ill often Inu'ts more 
Than to be sure they do; for certainties 
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, 
Tlie remedy then born — discover to me 
AVhat both you spur and stop. 

Inch. Had I this cheek 

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, 
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul 
To the oath of loyalty; this oliject, which 
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then, 
Slaver witli lii)s as common as the stairs 
That mount tlie Capitol; join gripes with hands 
Made luird witli liourly falsehood — falsehood, as 
Witli labour; then by-peeping in an eye 
780 



Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
That 's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit 
That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
Encounter such revolt. 

Imo. My lord, I fear, 

Has forgot Britain. 

lach. And himself. Not I, 

Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce 
The beggary of his change ; but 't is your graces 
That from my mutest conscience to my tongue 
Charms this report out. 

Imo. Let me hear no more. 

lach. dearest soul! your cause doth strike my 
heart 
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, [ner'd 

Would make the great 'st king douljle, — to be pai't- 
With tomboys hired with thai sclf-exl]ibition 
Which your own coffers yield 1 with diseased ven- 
tures 
That play with all infirmities for gold 
Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff 
As well might poison poison ! Be revenged ; 
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you 
Eecoil from your great stock. 

Imo. Revenged ! 

How should I be revenged ? If this be true, — 
As I have such a heart that both mine ears 
Must not in haste abuse — if it be true. 
How should I be revenged ? 

luch. Should he make me 

Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets. 
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, 
In your despite, upon your purse V Revenge it. 
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure, 
More noble than that runagate to your bed, 
And will continue fast to your affection, 
Still close as sure. "•- 

Imo. What, ho, Pisanio ! 

lach. Let me my service tender on your lips. 

Imo. Away ! I do condemn mine ears that have 
So long attended thee. It tliou wert honourable, 
Thou wouldst liave told this tale for virtue, not 
For such an end thou seek'st, — as base as strange. 
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
From thy report as thou from honour, and 
Solicit "st here a lady that disdains 
Tliee and tlie devil alike. What ho, Pisanio ! 
The king my father shall be made acquainted 
Of thy assault : if he shall think it fit, 
A saucy stranger in his court to mart 
As in a Romish slew and to expound 
His Vieastly mind to us, he hath a court 
lie little cares for and a daughter who 
He not resi>eets at all. AVliat, ho, Pisanio! 

lach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say: 
The credit that thy lady hath of thee 
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness 
Her assured credit. Blessed live you long ! 
A lady to the worthiest sir tliat ever 
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only 
For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon. 
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord, 
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one 
The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch 
That he enchants societies into him; 
Half all men's hearts are his. 

Imo. You make amends. 

lach. He sits 'niongst men like a descended god: 
He hath a kind of lio'nour sets him off, 
l^tore than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, 
Most mighty princess, that I have adventured 
To try your taking of a false report; which hath 
Ilonoui'Vl with confirmation your great judgment 
In the election of a sir so I'are, 
Which you kjiow cannot err : the love I bear him 



ACT II. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE II. 



Made me to fan ,vou thus, but the gods made you, 
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, j"our pardon. 

Lao. All "s weU, sir: take my power i' tlie court 
for yours. 

lach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
To entreat your grace but in a small request, 
And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
Your lord ; myself and other noble friends. 
Are partners in the business. 

Liio. Pray, what is 't ? 

lai-h. Some dozen Romans of us and your lord — 
The best feather of our wing — have mingled sums 
To buy a present for the emperor; 
Whicli I, the factor for the rest, have done 
In France : 't is plate of rare device, and jewels 
Of rich and exquisite form ; their values great; 
And I am something curious, being strange, 
To have them in safe stowage : may it please you 
To take them in protection 'i 

Imo. Willingly ; 

And pawn mine honour for their safety : since 



My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them 
In my bedchamber. 

lack. They are in a trunk, 

Attended by my men : I will make bold 
To send them to you, only for this night: 
I must aboard to-morrow. 

J/710. O, no, no. 

Inch. Yes, I beseech ; or I shall short my word 
By lengthening my return. Prom Gallia 
I cross 'd the seas on purpose and on promise 
To see your grace. 

Imo. I thank you for your pains : 

But not away to-morrow ! 

lach. O, I must, madam: 

Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please 
To greet your lord with wTiting, do 't to-night: 
I have ouistood my time; which is material 
To the tender of om- present. 

Imo. I will write. 

Send your trunk to me ; it shall safe be kept, 
And truly yielded you. You 're very welcome. 

\_Excunt. 



^CT II. 



SCENE I.- — Britain. Befwe Cym'bcline's palace. 
Enter Cloten and two Lords. 

Clo. AVas there ever man had such luck ! when I 
kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be iiit away! I 
had a hundred pomid on 't : and then a whoreson 
jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I 
borrowed mine oaths of him and might not spend 
them at my pleasure. 

First Lord. What got he byUiat? You have 
broke his pate with your bowl.^^ 

^'fc. Lord. [Aside] If his wit had been like him 
that broke it, it would have run all out. 

Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it 
is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha ? 

Sec. Lord. No, my lord ; [Aside] nor crop the 
ears of them. 

Clo. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction? 
Would he had been one of my rank ! 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] To have smelt like a fool. 

Clo. I am not vexed more at any thing in the 
earth : a pox on 't ! I had rather not be so noble as 
I am ; tliey dare not fight with me, because of the 
queen my mother: every Jack-slave hath his belly- 
ful of lighting, and I must go up and down like a 
cock that nobody can match. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside] You are cock and capon too ; 
and you crow, cock, with your comb on. 

Clo. Sayestthou? 

Sec. Lord. It is not fit your lordship should under- 
take every companion that you give offence to. 

Clo. No, I know that: but it is tit I should com- 
mit offence to my inferiors. 

Sec. Lord. Ayi it is fit for your lordship only. 

Clo. Wliy, so I say. 

First Lfjrd. Did you hear of a stranger that 's 
come to court to-night ? 

Clo. A stranger, and I not know on 't ! 

Sic. Lord. [Aside] He 's a strange fellow himself, 
and knows it not. 

First Lord. There 's an Italian come ; and, 't is 
thought, one of Leonatus' friends. 

Clo. Leonatus ! a banished rascal ; and he 's 
another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this 
stranger ? 

First Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 

Clo. Is it Bt I went to look upon him '{ is there 
no derogation in 't V 

Sec. Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 

Clo. Not easily, I thiuk. 



Sec. Lord. [Aside] You are a fool granted ; there- 
fore your issues, being foolish, do not derogate. 

Clo. Come, I '11 go see this Italian : what I have 
lost to-day at bowls I '11 win to-night of him. 
Come, ^o. 

Sec. Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 

[Exeunt Cloten and First Lord, 
That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
Should yield the world this ass ! a woman that 
Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son 
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart. 
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess. 
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest. 
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd, 
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer 
ilore hateful than the foul expulsion is 
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
Of the divorce he 'Id make 1 The heavens hold firm 
The walls of thy dear honour, keep mishaked 
That temple, thy fail- mind, that thou mayst stand, 
To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great laud ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — Imogen'' s bedchamber in Ci/mheline's 
palace : a trunk in one corner of it. 

Imogen in bed, reading ; a Lady attending. 

Imo. Who 's there ? my woman Helen ? 

Lady. Please you, madam. 

Imo. What hour is it ? 

Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 

Imo. I have read three hours then : mine eyes 
are weak : 
Fold down the leaf where I have left : to bed : 
Take not away the taper, leave it burning ; 
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock, 
I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly. 

[Exit Lady. 
To yom- protection I commend me, gods. 
From fairies and the tempters of the night 
Guard me, beseech ye. 

[Sleeps. lachimo comes from the trunk. 

lach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd 
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin tluis [sense 
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, 
How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily. 
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! 
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd. 
How dearly they do 't ! 'T Ls her breathing that 
781 



ACT II. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE III. 



Perfumes the chnnilier llnis: tlie flame o' the taper 
Bows towanl her, and would nnder-peep her lids, 
To see llie eiicloscil lii^lits. ijow canopii'd 
Under these windows, white and azure laced 
"With blue of heaven's own tinct. Hut my design, 
To note the chandx-r: I will write all down : 
Such and such pictures ; there the window ; such 
The adornment of her bed ; the arras ; iiyures, 
Why, such and such ; and the contents o' the story. 
Ah, luit some natural notes about her body, 
Above ten thousand meaner movables 
"Wiiuld testily, to enrich mine inventory. 

sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! 
And be her sense but as a monument. 
Thus in a chapel lying ! Come off, come off : 

[Taking off' her bracelet. 
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard ! 
'T is mine ; and this will witness outwardly, 
As strongly as the conscience does within. 
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimspn drops 
I' the bottom of a cowslip ; here 's a voucher, 
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret 
Will force him think 1 have pick'd the lock and ta'en 
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what 

end y 
Why should I write this down, that 's riveted, 
Screw'd to my memory ? She hath been reading late 
The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf 's turn'd down 
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough : 
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
Swilt , swift, you dragons of the night, that davraing 
Jlay bare the raven's eye ! I lodge in fear ; 
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 

[Clock strikes. 
One, two, three: time, time ! 

[Ooes into the trunk. The scene closes. 

SCENE III. — An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen'' s 
apartments. 

Enter Cloten and Lords. 

First Lord. Your lordship is the most patient 
man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up 

Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. [ace. 

FirM Lord. But not every man patient after the 
noble temiier of your lordship. You are most hot 
and furiiius when you win. 

Clo. Winning will put any man into courage. If 

1 could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold 
enough. It 's almost mornfng, is 't not ? 

First Lord. Day, my lord. 

Clo. I would this music would come : I am ad- 
vised to give her music o' mornings ; they say it 
will penetrate. 

Enter Musicians. 

Come on ; tune : if you can penetrate her with your 
fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none 
will do, let her remain ; but I '11 never give o'er. 
First, a very excellent good conceited thing ; after, 
a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words 
to it : and then let her consider. 

SONG. 

Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 

And PhcBbus 'gins arise. 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chaliced llowers that lies; 
And winking Mary-liads begin 

To ope their golden eves: 
With every thing that pretty is. 

My lady sweet, arise : 
Arise, arise. 

Clo. So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will 
consider your music the better: if it do not, it is a 
vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and calves '-guts, 
782 



nor the voice of mipaved eunuch to boot, can never 
amend. [Exeunt Musicians. 

Sec. Lord. Here comes the king. 

Clo. I am glad I was up so late ; for that 's the 
reason I was up so early : he cannot choose but take 
this service I have done fatherly. 

Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 
Good morrow to your majest}^ and to my gracious 
mother. 

Ci/m. Attend you here the door of our stern 
Will she not forth ? [daughter V 

Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she 
vouchsafes no notice. 

C'l/m. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time 
Must wear the print" of his remembrance out. 
And then she 's yours. 

Queen. You are most bound to the king. 

Who lets go by no vantages that may . 
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself 
To orderly soliciting, and be friended 
With aptness of the season ; make denials 
Increase your services ; so seem as if 
You were inspired to do those duties which 
You tender to her ; that you in all obey her, 
Save when command to your dismission tends, 
And therein you are senseless. 

Clo. Senseless ! not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

3fess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome ; 
The one is Caius Lucius. 

Cym. A worthy fellow. 

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ; 
But that 's no fault of his: we must receive him 
According to the honour of his sender; 
And towanls liimself, his goodness forespent on us. 
We must extend our notice. Our dear son, [tress. 
When you have given good morning to your mis- 
Attend the queen and us ; we shall have need 
To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our 
queen. [Exeunt all hut Cloten. 

Clo. If she be up, I '11 speak with her ; if not, 
Let her lie still and dream. [A'nocA-s] By j'our 
I know her women are about her : what [leave, ho ! 
If I do line one of their hands ? 'T is gold [makes 
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and 
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold 
Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the 

thief; 
ISTay, sometime hangs both thief and true man; 
Can it not do and undo ? I will make [what 

One of her women lawyer to me, for 
I yet not imderstand the case myself. 
[Knocks] By your leave. 

Enter a Lady. 

Lady. Who 's there that knocks ? 

Clo. A gentleman. 

Lady. No more ? 

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 

Lady. That 's more 

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours. 
Can justly boast of. What 's your lordship's ])leas- 

Clo. Your lady's person : is she ready V [ure ? 

Lady. ' Ay, 

To keep her chamber. 

Clo. There is gold for you ; 

Sell me your good report. 

Lady. How ! my good name ? or to report of you 
What I shall think is good ? — The princess! 

Enter Imogen. 
Clo. Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet 
hand. [Exit Lady. 



ACT II. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCEICE IV. 



Liw. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much 
pains 
For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give 
Is telling 3'ou that I am poor of thanks 
Anrt scarce can spare them. 

Clo. Still, I swear I love you. 

Imn. If you but said so, 't were as deep with me : 
If you swear still, your recompense is still 
That I regard it not. 

Clo. This is no answer, [silent, 

Imn. But that you shall not say I yield being 
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith, 
I shall unfold equal discourtesy 
To yoiu- liest kindness : one of your great knowing 
Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 

Cln. To leave you in your madness, 'twere ray 
I will not. [sin: 

Imn. Fools are not mad folks. 

Clo. . Do you call me fool ? 

Imo. As I am mad, I do : 
If you '11 be patient, I '11 no more be mad; 
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, 
You put me to forget a lady's manners. 
By being so verbal : and learn now, for all. 
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, 
By the very truth of it, I care not for you. 
And am so near the lack of charity — 
To accuse myself — I hate you ; which I had rather 
You felt thaii make 't my boast. 

Clo. You sin against 

Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
The contract you pretend with that l)ase wretch. 
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, 
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none : 
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties — 
Yet who than he more mean ? — to knit their souls. 
On whom there is no more dependency 
But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot; 
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 
The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil 
The precious note of it with a base slave, 
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
A pantler, not so eminent. 

Inw. Profane fellow ! 

"Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more 
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base 
To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough, 
Even to the point of envy, if 't were made 
Comparative for your virtues, to be styled 
Tlie under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated 
For being preferr'd so well. 

Clo. The south-fog rot him ! 

Imo. He never can meet more mischance than 
come 
To be but named of thee. His meanest garment, 
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer 
In my respect than all the hairs above thee. 
Were they aU made such men. How now, Pisanio ! 

Enter Pisanio. 

Clo. ' His garment ! ' Now the devil — 

Imn. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently — 

Clo. ' His garment ! ' 
. Imo. I am sprited with a fool. 

Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman 
Search for a jewel that too casually 
Hath left mine arm : it was thy master's : 'shrew me. 
If I would lose it for a revenue 
Of any king's in Europe. I do think 
I saw 't this morning : confident I am 
Last night 't was on mine arm ; I kiss'd it : 
I liope it be not gone to tell my lord 
That I kiss aught but he. 

Pis. 'T will not be lost. 

Imo. I hope so: go and search. [Exit Piitnnio. 

Clo. You have abused me : 

' His meanest garment I ' 



Imo. Ay, I said so, sir: 

If you will make 't an action, call witness to "t. 

Cln. I will inform your father. 

Imo. Your mother too : 

She 's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope, 
But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir, 
To the worst of discontent. [Exit. 

Clo. I '11 be revenged : 

' His meanest garment! ' Well. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Rome. Philario''s house. 
Enter Posthumus and Pliilario. 

Post. Fear it not, sir : I would I were so siu'C 
T<i win the king as I am bold her honour 
Will remain hers. 

Phi. What means do you make to him '? 

Post. Not any, but abide the change of time, 
Quake in the present winter's state and wish 
Tliat warmer days would come: in these sear'd 
I barely gratify your love ; they failing, [hopes, 
I must die much your debtor. 

Phi. Yom- very goodness and your company 
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 
Hath heard of great Augustus : Caius Lucius 
Will do 's commission throughly: and I think 
He '11 grant the tribute, send the arrearages, 
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
Is yet fresh in their grief. 

Post. ' I do believe. 

Statist though I am none, nor like to be. 
That this will prove a war ; and you shall hear 
The legions now in Gallia sooner landed 
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings 
Of any peimy tribute paid. Our countrynien 
Are nien more order'd than when .Julius Ca?sar 
Smiled at their lack of skill, but found their courage 
Worthy his frowning at : tlieir discipline. 
Now mingled with their courage, will make known 
To their approvers they are people such 
That mend upon the world. 

Enter lachimo. 

Phi. See! lachimo! 

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land ; 
And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails. 
To make your vessel nimble. 

Phi. Welcome, sir. 

Post. I hope the briefness of j'our answer made 
The speediuess of your return. 

lach. Your lady 

Is one of the fairest that I have look'd ujion. 

Post. And therewithal tlie best ; or let her beauty 
Look through a casement to allure false hearts 
And be false with them. 

Inch. Here are letters for you. 

Post. Their tenour good, I trust. 

Inch. 'T is very like. 

Phi. Was Caius Lucius ia the Britain court 
When you were there ? 

lach. He was expected then, 

But not approach'd. 

Post. All is well yet. 

Sparkles this stone as it was wont ? or is 't not 
Too dull for your good wearing ? 

Inch. If I had lost it, 

I sliould have lost the worth of it In gold. 
I '11 make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
A second night of such sweet shortness which 
Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won. 

Post. The stone 's too hard to come by. 

lack. Not a whit, 

Your lady being so easy. 

Post. Make not, sir. 

Your loss your sport : I hope you know that we 
Must not continue friends. 

lack. Good sir, we must, 

783 



ACT II. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE V. 



If you keep covenant. Had I not brouptht 
The knowledge of your mistress home, 1 grant 
We wej-e to (luestion further: but I now 
Pi-ofess myself tlie winner of her honour, 
Together with your ring; and not the wronger 
Of her or jfou, having proceeded but 
By both your wills. 

Post. If you can make 't apparent 

That you have tasted her in bed, my hand 
And ring is yours ; if not, the foul opinion 
You had of her pure honour gains or loses 
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both 
To who shall find them. 

lach. Sir, my circumstances, 

Being so near the truth as I will make them. 
Must first induce you to believe : whose strength 
I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not. 
You '11 give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
You need it not. 

Post. Proceed. 

ladi. First, her bedchamber, — 

Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess 
Had tliat was well worth watching — it was hang'd 
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story 
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
And Cydnus SAvell'd above the banks, or for 
The press of boats or pride : a piece of work 
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
In workuiaiuship and value ; which I wonder'd 
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, 
Since the true life on 't was — 

Post. This is true; 

And tiiis you might have heard of here, by me, 
Or by some other. 

lack. More particulars 

Must justify my knowledge. 

Post. , So they must, 

Or do your honour injury. 

Pwh. The chimney 

Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece 
Chaste Dian bathing : never saw I figures 
So likely to report themselves : the cutter 
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her. 
Motion and breath left out. 

Post. This is a thing 

Which you might from relation likewise reap. 
Being, as it is, much spoke of. 

ladi. The roof o' the chamber 

With golden cherubins is fretted : her andirons — 
I liad forgot them — were two winking Cupids 
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
Depending on their brands. 

Post. This is her honour ! 

Let it be granted you have seen all this — and praise 
Be given to your remembrance — the description 
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves 
The wager you have laid. 

lach. Then, if you can, 

[l^howing the bracelet. 
Be pale : I beg but leave to air this jewel ; see ! 
And now 't is up again : it must be married 
To that your diamond ; I '11 keep them. 

Post. Jove ! 

Once more let me behold it : is it that 
Which Heft with her y 

Inch. Sir — I thank her — that : 

She stripp'd it from her arm ; I see her yet ; 
Her pretty action did outsell her gift, 
And yet enrich'd it too : she gave it me, and said 
She prized it once. 

Post. May be she pluck 'd it off 

To send it me. 

lach. She WTites so to you, doth she ? 

Post. O, no, no, no ! 'tis true. Here, take this 
too ; \_Gives the ring. 

It is a basilisk unto mine eye. 
Kills me to look on 't. Let there be no honour 
784 



Wliere there is beauty; truth, where semblance; 

love. 
Where there 's another man : the vows of women 
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made. 
Than they are to their virtues ; which is nothing. 
O, above measure false I 

Phi. Have-patience, sir, 

And take your ring again ; 't is not yet won : 
It may be probable she lost it ; or 
Wiio knows if one of her women, being corrupted, 
Hath stol'n it from her ? 

Post. Very true ; 

And so, I hope, he came by 't. Back my ring : 
Render to me some corporal sign about her. 
More evident than this; for this was stolen. 

lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 

Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears. 
'T is true — nay, keep the ring — 't is true ; I am sure 
She would "not lose it : her attendants are [it ! 

All sworn and honourable: — they induced to steal 
And by a stranger! — No, he hath enjoyed her: 
The cognizance of her incontinency 
Is this : slie hath bought the name of whore thus 

dearly. 
There, take thy hire ; and all the fiends of hell 
Divide themselves between you I 

Phi. Sir, be patient : 

This is not strong enough to be believed 
Of one persuaded well of — 

Post. Never talk on 't ; 

She hath been colted by him. 

lach. If you seek 

For further satisfying, under her breast — 
Worthy the pressing — lies a mole, right proud 
Of that most delicate lodging : by my life, 
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger 
To feed again, though full. You do remember 
This stam upon heri* 

Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 

Another stain, as big as hell can hold. 
Were there no more but it. 

lach. Will you hear more ? 

Post. Spare your arithmetic: never count the 
Once, and a million ! [turns ; 

lach. I '11 be sworn — 

Post. Ko swearing. 

If you will swear you have not done 't, you lie ; 
And I will kill thee, if tliou dost deny 
Thou 'st made me cuckold. 

lach. I '11 deny nothing. 

Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal ! 
I will go there and do 't, i' the court, before 
Her father. I '11 do somethmg — [Exit. 

Phi. Quite besides 

The government of patience ! You have won : 
Let 's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
He liath against himself. 

lach. With all my heart. \Ezeunt. 

SCENE v.— Another room in Philario''s house. 

Enter Posthumus. 
Post. Is there no way for men to be but women 
ilust be half-workers ? AVe are all bastards ; 
And tliat most venerable man which I 
Did call my father, was I know not where 
AVhen I was stamp'<l; some coiner with his tools . 
Made nie a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd 
The Dian of that time: so doth my wife 
The ndnpiiicil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance I 
jNIf nf my lawful pleasure she restrain'd 
And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with 
A puilen'ey so rosy the sweet view on 't [lier 

Might well liave warm'd old Saturn ; that I thought 
As chaste as imsunn'd snow. O, all the devils ! 
This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — was 't not V — 
Or less, — at first ? — perchance he spoke not, but, 



ACT III. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE II. 



Like a foll-acoru'd bop.r, a German one, 
Cried ' O I ' and mounted ; found no opposition 
But wliat be loolv'd for should oppose and she 
!?iiould from encounter guard. Could I find out 
The woman's jiart in me ! For there 's no motion 
Tliat tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
It is tlie -woman's part : be it lying, note it, 
The woman's; flattering, hers : deceiving, hers; 
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers ; revenges, hers; 
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 



Nice longing, slanders, mutability. 

All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows, 

AYhy, hers, in part or all; but rather, all ; 

For eveu to vice 

They are not constant, but are changing still 

One" vice, but of a minute old, for one 

Xot half so old as that. I '11 write against them, 

Detest them, curse them : yet "tis greater skill 

In a true hate, to pray they have tlieir will: 

The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit. 



^CT III. 



SCENE I. — Britain. A hall in CymhcUne's 2Mlace. 

Eiiler in state, Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords 
o^ 0)if dooT, and at another, Caius Lucius and At- 
tendants. 

Cym. Xow say, what would Augustus Csesar 
with us ? [yet 

Lnc. When Julius Csesar, whose remembrance 
Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues 
Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain 
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, — 
Famous in Ciesar's praises, no whit less 
Than in his feats deserving it — for him 
And his succession granted Rome a tribute. 
Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately 
Is left untender'd. 

Queen. And, to kiU the mars'el, 

Shall be so ever. 

Clo. There be many Csesars, 

Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
A world by itself ; and we will nothing pay 
For wearing our own noses. 

Queen. That opportunity 

Which then they had to take from "s, to resume 
■\Ve have again. Remember, sir, my liege, 
The kings your ancestors, togetlier with 
The natural bravery of your isle, which .stands 
As Xeptune's park,' ribbed and paled in 
With rocks unsealeable and roaring waters, 
AVith sands that will not bear your enemies' boats. 
But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of con- 
quest 
Cssar made here ; but made not here his brag 
Of ' Came ' and 'saw' and ' overcame : ' with shame — 
The first that ever touch'd him — he was carried 
From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his sliippi'ig — 
Poor ignorant baubles! — on our terrible seas. 
Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack "d 
As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy wliereof 
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point — 
O giglot fortimel — to master Ca,'.sar's sword, 
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright 
And Britons strut with courage. 

Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: 
our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time: 
and, as I said, there is no moe such Ccesars: other 
of them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such 
straight arms, none. 

Cym. Son, let your mother end. 

Cflo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard 
as Cassibelan: 1 do not say I am one; but I have a 
hand. Why tribute? wliy should we pay tribute V 
If Ca'sar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or 
put tlie moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute 
for light : else, sir. no more tribute, pray you now. 

('(/'"• You nrust know, 
Till'the injurious Romans did extort [tion. 

Tills triliute from us, we were free: Ca?sar's ambi- 
Which sweird so much that it did almost stretch 
The sides o' the world, against all colour here 
Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off 
50 



Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
Ourselves to be. 

Clo. and Lords. We do. 

Cym. Say, then, to Coesar, 

Our ancestor was that Mulmntius which 
Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Csesar 
Hath toomuch mangled; whose repair and franchise 
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed. 
Though Rome be therefore angry ; Mulmutius made 

our laws. 
Who was the first of Britain which did ptit 
His brows within a golden crowu and call'd 
Himself a king. 

Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 

That I am to pronounce Augustus Ca;sar — 
Csesar, that hath more kings his servants than 
Thyself domestic officers— thine enemy : 
Receive it from me, then : war and confusion 
In Ca3sar"s name pronounce 1 "gainst thee: look 
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, 
I thank thee for myself. 

Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 

Thy Ca?,sar knighted me; my youth I spent 
ilueb under him ; of him I gather'd honour ; 
Which he to seek of nie again, perforce, 
Bebo^'es me keep at utterance. I am perfect 
That the Pannoniaus and Dalmatians for 
Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent 
Which not to read would show the Britons cold: 
So Ciesar shall not find them. 

Luc. Let proof speak. 

Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pas- 
time with us a day or two, or longer: if you seek 
us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in 
our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is 
yours ; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall 
fare the better for you ; and there "s an end. 

Luc. .So. sir. 

Cym. I know your master's pleasure and he mine : 
All the remain is ' Welcome ! ' [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another room in the palace. 
Enter Pisanio, icHh a letter. 
Pis. How I of adidtery ? Wherefore write you not 
What monster 's her accuser "? Leouatus ! 
O master I what a strange infection 
Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian, 
As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd 
On thy too-ready hearing ? Disloyal ! >.o : 
She 's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes, 
!More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
As would take in .some virtue. O my master! 
Thy mind to her is now as low as were 
Thy fortunes. How ! that I should murder her ? 
Upon the love and truth and vows which I 
Have made to thy command ? I, her ':* her blood ? 
If it be so to do good service, never 
Let me be counted ser\Mceable. How look I, 
That I should seem to lack humanity [the letter 
So much as this fact conies to '{ [Eeadiny] ' Do 't : 
785 



ACT III. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE III. 



Tliat I liave sent her, by lier own command 
Shall give thee opiiortuuity.' O daunrd paper! 
Black as the ink that 's on thee! Senseless bauble, 
Art thou a ieodary for this act, and look'st 
So virgin-like without V Lo, here slie comes. 
I am ignorant in what I am commanded. 

Enter Imogen. 

Imo. How now, Pisanio V 

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 

Imo. WhoV thy lord y that is my lord, Leonatus! 
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer 
That knew tlie stars as I his characters ; 
He 'Id lay tlie future open. You good gods, 
Let what is liere contain'd relish of love. 
Of my lord's liealth, of his content, yet not 
Tliat we two are asunder; let that grieve him : 
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them, 
For it doth pliysic love; of his content. 
All but hi that ! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be 
You bees tliat make these locks of counsel ! Lovers 
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike ; 
Tiiough fcirfciteis ycui cast in prison, yet 
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! 

[JiefKi.sJ 'Justice, and your father's wrath, sliould 
he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to 
me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would even 
renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am 
in Cambria, at Milford-Haven ; what your own love 
Avill out of this advise you, follow. So he wislies you 
all happiness, tliat remains loyal to his vow, and your, 
increasing in love,, Leonatus Posthumus.' 

O, for a liorse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio 'i 
He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me 
How far 't is thither. If one of mean affah'S 
May plod it in a week, why may not I 
Glide tliitlier in a day ? Tlien, true Pisanio, — 
Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; who long'st, — 
O, let me bate, — but not like me — yet long'st. 
But in a fainter kind ; — O, not like me ; 
For mine "s beyond beyond^ say, and speak thick; 
Love's cduiiseJlor should fill the bores of hearing. 
To the smotliering of the sense — how far it is 
To this same blessed Milford : and by the way 
Tell me how 'Wales was made so liappy as 
To inherit such a haven : but first of all, 
How we may steal from hence, and for tlie gap 
That we shall make in time, from our lience-going 
And ourretm-n, to excuse : but first, how get hence : 
Wliy should excuse be born or e'er begot 'i 
"VVe '11 talk of tliat hereafter. Prithee, speak, 
How many score of miles may we well ride 
'Twixt hour and hour 'i 

Pis. One score 'twixt sun and sun. 

Madam, 's enough for you : [Aside] and too much too. 

Imo. Wliy, one that rode to 's execution, man, 
Could never go so slow: I have heardof riding wagers, 
'Where horses liave been nimbler than the sands 
Tliat run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery ; 
Go bid my woman feign a sickness ; say 
She '11 home to her father : and provide me presently 
A riding-suit, no costlier than would lit 
A franklin's housewife. 

Pis. Madam, you 're best consider. 

Imo. I see before me, man : nor here, nor here, 
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them, 
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; 
Do as I bid tliee : there 's no more to say ; 
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Wales: a mountainous country with a 
cave. 

Enter, from the cave, Belarius ; Guiderius and 

Axvireigua foUoiving. 

Bel. A goodly day not to keep liouse, with such 

Whose roof 's as Jow as ours ! Stoop, boys ; this gate 

,786 



Instructs you liow t o adore the heavens and bows you 
• To a morning's holy ottice : the gates of mouarchs 
Are arcli'd so liigii that giants may jet through 
And keep tlieir impious turbans on, witluuit 
Good-morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair lieaveni 
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
As prouder livers do. 

Qui. Hail, heaven ! 

Arc. Hail, heaven! 

Bel. Now for ourmoimtain sport : np to yond hill ; 
Your legs are young ; I '11 tread these flats. Con- 
When you above perceive me like a croAV, [sider, 
That it is place which lessens and sets off: 
And 3'ou may then revolve what tales I have told 
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: [you 
This service is not service, so being done. 
But being so allow' d: to apprehend thus, 
Draws us a profit from all things we see ; 
And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
The sharded bee,tle in a safer hold 
Than is the full-wing 'd eagle. O, this life 
Is nobler than attending for a check. 
Richer than doing nothing fur a baulile. 
Prouder than rustling in uni)aid-for silk : 
Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine, 
Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ours. 

Gui. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor un- 
fledged, [not 
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know 
"What air 's from home. Haply this life is best, 
If quiet life be best; sweeter to 3'ou 
That Imve a sharper known ; well corresponding 
With your stiff age; but unto us it is 
A cell of ignorance ; travelling a-bed ; 
A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
To stride a limit. 

Arc. What should we speak of 

When we are old as you ";' wlien we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark Decenilier, how. 
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
The freezing hours awny y We have seen notliing ; 
We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey, 
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat ; 
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage 
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird, 
And sing our bondage freely. 

Bel. How you speak ! 

Did you but know the city's usuries 
And felt them knowingly ; the art o' the court. 
As hard to leave as keep ; whose top to climb 
Is certain falling, or so slippery that 
The fear 's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war, 
A pain that only seems to seek out danger [search, 
I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the 
And hatli as oft a slanderous epitaph 
As record of fair act; nay, many times. 
Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what 's worse. 
Must conrt'sy at the censure : — O boys, this story 
Tlie world may read in me : my body 's mark'd 
Witli Konian swords, and my report was once 
First with the best of note : Cymbeline loved me, 
And when a soldier was the tlieme, my name 
Was not far off : then was I as a tree [night, 

Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one 
A storm or robbery, call it wliat you will. 
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves. 
And left me bare to weather. 

Gui. Uncertain favour ! 

Bel. My fault being nothing — as I have told you 
oft — 
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
Before my ix-rfect honour, swore to Cymbeline 
I was confederate with the Romans: so 
Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years 
Tliis rock aiid these ilemesiies have been my world; 
Where I have lived at hmiest freedom, paid 
More pious debts to lieaven tlian in all 



ACT III. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE IV. 



Tlie fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains ! 
This is not hunters' language : he tliat strikes 
The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast ; 
To him tlie otlier two shall minister; 
And we will fear no poison, which attends 
In place of greater st;ite. I '11 meet you in the val- 
leys. [Exiunt Guiderhis andArviragus. 
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! 
These boys know little they are sons to the king; 
Xor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
They think they are mine; and tliougli train'd up 

tlius meanly 
I' the cave wherein tliey bow, their thoughts do hit 
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them 
In simple and low things to prince it much 
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, 
Tlie heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who 
Tlie king his father calld Guiderius, — .Jove! 
"Wlien on my three-foot stool I sit and tell 
The warlike" feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
Into my story : say ' Tlius mine enemy fell, 
And thus I set my foot on 's neck ; ' even then 
The princely blood flows in liis cheek, lie sweats. 
Strains his young nerves and puts liimself in posture 
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadvval, 
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure. 
Strikes life into my speech ami shows much more 
His own conceiving. — Hark, the game is roused! — 
O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience know.? 
Tliou didst unjustly lianish me: whereon. 
At three and two years old, I stole these babes; 
Thinking to bar- thee of succe.ssion, as 
TliDU rel't'st me of my lauds. Euriphile, 
Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their 
And every day do honour to her grave ; [mother, 
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd. 
They take hiv natural father. The game is up. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Country near Mtlford-Haven. 

Enter Pisanio a.-nd Imogen. 

Imo. Thou told"st me, when we came from horse, 

the place 
"Was near at hand : ne'er long'd my mother so 
To see me lirst, as I have now. Pisanio ! man! 
Where is Posthumus ':" What is in thy mind, 
That makes thee stare thusV Wherefore breaks 

that sigli 
From the inward of thee ? One, but painted thus. 
Would be interiireted a thing perplex'd 
Beyond self-explication: put thyself 
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
Vanquish my staiiler senses. 'What 's the matter? 
Why tender"st thou that paper to me, with 
A look untenderV If 't be summer news, 
Sniile to 't before; if winterly, thou need'st 
But keep that countenancestiil. My husband's hand! 
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, 
And he 's at some hard point. Speak, man : thy 

tongue 
ilay take off some extremity, which to read 
Would be even mortal to me. 
. Pis. Please you, read ; 

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
Tlie niost disdaiiTd of fortune. 

Jni'K [7?<((i/.s] • Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played 
tlie strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof 
lie bleeiliiig in nie. I speak not out of weak sur- 
mises, but Irom proof as strong as my grief and as 
certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, 
Pisanio, must act for nie, if thy faith be not tainted 
with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take 
away her life : I shall give thee opportunity at Mil- 
ford-IIaveii. She hath my letter for the iiurpose: 
where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain 
it is done, thou iirt the pandar to her dishonour and 
equally to me disloyal.' 



Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword ? the 
paper 
Hath cut her throat alread.y. No, 't is slander, 
■Whose edge is sharper tliaii the sword, whose tnngue 
Outvenoms all the woniis of Nile, whose breath 
Bides on the posting winds and doth belie 
All corners of the world : kings, queens and states, 
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam ? 

Imo. False to his bed ! What is it to be false ? 
To lie in watch there and to think on liim ? 
To weep 'twlxt clock and clock y if sleep charge na- 
To break it with a fearful dream of him [ture. 

And cry myself awake V that 's false to 's bed, is it l-* 

Pis. Alas, good lady ! 

Imo. I false! Thy conscience witness: lachimo, 
Thou didst accuse him of ineontinency ; 
Thou then look'dst like a villain ; now methinks 
Thy favour 's good enough. Some jay of Italy 
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray 'd him: 
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
I must be ripp'd: — to pieces witli me ! — O, 
Jlen's vows are women's traitors ! All good seeming, 
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
Put on for villany ; not born where 't grows, 
But worn a bait for ladies. 

Pis. Good madam, hear me. 

luio. True honest men being heard, like false 
^neas. 
Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping 
Did scandal many a holy teaf, todk pity 
From mc(5>t true wretchedness : so thou, Posthumus, 
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ; 
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured 
From thy great tail. Come, fellow, be thou honest : 
Ho tiiou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him, 
A little witness my obedience : look ! 
I draw the sword myself : take it, and hit 
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart: 
Fear not ; 't is empty of all things but grief : 
Thy master is not there, who was indeed 
The riches of it : do his bidding; strike 
Tliou mayst be valiant in a better cause ; 
But now thou seem'st a coward. 

Pis. Hence, vile instrument ! 

Thou shalt not damn my hand. 

Imo. Why, I must die ; 

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter 
There is a proliibition so divine [heart. 

That cravens my weak hand. Come, liere 's my 
Something 's afore "t. Soft, soft ! we "11 no defence ; 
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here ? 
The scriptures of the loyal Leoiiatus, 
All turn'd to heresy ? Away, away, 
Corrujiters of my faith ! you shall no more 
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools 
Believe false teachers: though those that are betray 'd 
Ho feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
Stands in worse case' of woe. 
And tlinu, Posthumus, tliou that didst set up 
jNIy disoliedience "gainst the king uiy father 
And make me put into contemjit the suits 
Of princely fellows, shall hereatter find 
It is no act of common passage, but 
A strain of rareness ; and I grieve myself 
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her 
That now thou tirest on, how thy nieuKiry 
Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch : 
The lamb entreats the butcher : where 's thy knife ? 
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
When I desire it too. 

Pis. O gracious lady. 

Since I received command to do this business 
I have not slept one wink. 

Imo. Do 't, and to bed then. 

7S7 



ACT III. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE V. 



Fis. I '11 wake mine eye-balls blind first. 

Imo. Wherefore then 

Didst undertake it ? Why hast thou abused 
So many miles with a jjretence ? this place 'i 
Mine action and thine own ? our horses' labour? 
Tlie time inviting thee V the perturb'd court, 
Ft)r niy being absent 'i whereunto I never 
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far, 
To be unbent when tliou hast ta'eu thy stand, 
The elected deer before thee? 

Pis. But to win time 

To lose so bad employment ; in the which 
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, 
Hear me with patience. 

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak : 

I have heard I am a strumpet ; and mine ear, 
Tlierein false struck, can take no greater wound, 
iS'or tent to bottom that. But speak. 

Pis. Then, madam, 

I thought you would not back again. 

Imo. Most like ; 

Bringing me here to kill me. 

Pis. Xot so, neither : 

But if I were as wise as honest, then 
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be 
But that my master is abused : 
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, 
Hath done you both this'cursed injury. 

Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 

Pis. No, on my life. 

I '11 give but notice you are dead and send him 
Some bloody sign of il ; for 't is commanded 
I should do so : you shall be miss'd at court, 
And that will well confirm it. 

Imo. . Why, good fellow. 

What shall I do the while ? where bide ? how live ? 
Or in ray life what comfort, when I am 
Dead to my husband ? 

Pis. If you '11 back to the court — 

Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado 
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, 
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
As fearful as a siege. 

Pis. If not at court, 

Then not in Britain must you bide. 

Imo. Where then ? 

Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day, night, 
Are they not but in Britain ? I' the world's volume 
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't ; 
In a great pool a swan's nest : prithee, think 
Tliere 's livers out of Britain. 

Pis. I am most glad 

You think of other place. The ambassador, 
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-IIaven 
To-morrow : now, if you could wear a mind 
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise 
That which, to appear itself, must not yet be 
But by self-danger, you should tread a course 
Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near 
The residence of Posthunius; so nigli at least 
That tliougli his actions were not visible, yet 
Report sliduld render him hourly to your ear 
As truly as lie moves. 

Imo. O, for such means ! 

Though peril to ray modesty, not death on 't, 
I would adventure. 

Pis. Well, then, here 's the point: 

You must forget to be a woman ; change 
Command into obedience; fear and niceness — 
The liandmaids of all Women, or, more truly, 
AVonian its pretty self — into a waggish courage; 
Rrady in uilies, ipiick-answer'd, saucy and 
As (piarrelcius as the weasel; nay, you must 
Forget tliat rarest treasure of your cheek, 
Exiiosing it — liut, <J, thi' harder heart ! 
Ahick, no remedy! — to the greedy touch 
Of common-kissing Titan, and foiget 
788 



Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
You made great Juno angry. 

Imo. Nay, be brief : 

I see into thy end, and am almost 
A man already. 

Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit — 
'T is in my cloak-bag — doublet, liat, liose, all 
That answer to them : would you in their serving, 
And with what imitation you can borrow 
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius 
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him [know, 
Wherein you're happy, — which you'll make him 
If that his head have ear in music, — doubtless 
AVith joy he will embrace you, for lie 's honourable 
And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad, 
You li:ive me, rieli ; and I will never fail 
Beginning nor supplyment. 

Imo. Thou art all the comfort 

The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away: 
There 's more to be consider 'd ; but we '11 even 
All that good time will give us: tliis attempt 
I am soldier to, and will abide it with 
A prince's courage. Away, I prithee. 

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, 
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 
Here is a box ; I had it from the queen : 
What 's in 't is precious; if you are sick at sea, 
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
Will drive away distemper. To some shade, 
And fit you to your manhood. May the gods 
Direct you to the best ! 

Imo. Amen : I thank thee. [-ErcMnt, severally. 

SCENE V. — A room in Ci/?)i6cZi)ie's palace. 

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, 
Lords, and Attendants. 

Cym. Thus far ; and so farewell. 

Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 

My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence; 
And am right sorry that I must report ye 
My master's eneray. 

Ciim. Our subjects, sir. 

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself 
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs 
Appear uukiuglike. 

Luc. So, sir: I desire of you 

A conduct over-land to Milford-IIaven. 
^ladam, all joy befal your grace ! 

Queen. And you ! 

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office; 
The due of honour in no point omit. 
So farewell, noble Lucius. 

Luc. Your hand, my lord. 

Clo. Receive it friendly ; but from this time forth 
I wear it as your enemy. 

Luc. Sir, the event 

Is yet to name the winner : fare you well. 

Vym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords. 
Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness ! 

[Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 

Queen. He goes hence frowning : but it honours 
That we have given him cause. [us 

C7o. 'T is all the better; 

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 

Cym. Lucius liatli wrote already to the emperor 
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely 
Our chariots and our liorsemcn lie in readiness: 
The iiowcrs tliat he already liatli in Gallia 
Will soon Ije drawn to liead, from whence he moves 
His war for Britain. 

Queen. 'T is not sleepy business ; 

But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. 

Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus 
Ilatli made us forward. But, my gentle queen, 



ACT III. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE V. 



Where is our daugliter ? She hath not aiipear'd 
Before tlje Koiuan, nor to us hath tendei'd 
The duty of the day: she looks us like 
A thing more made of malice tlian of duty : 
We have noted it. Call her befoi'e us ; for 
We have been too slight in sufferance. 

\Exii m\ Attendant. 
Q;iicen. Royal sir, 

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired 
Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 
'T is time must do. Beseech your majesty, 
Forbear sliarp speeches to lier : she 's a lady 
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes 
And strokes death to her. 

Re-enter Attendant. 

Cym. Where is she, sir ? How 

Can her contempt be answer'd ? 

Atten. Please you, sir, 

Her cliambers are all lock'd ; and tliere 's no answer 
That will be given to the loudest noise we make. 

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close, 
AVhereto constrain 'd by her infirmity, 
Slie should that duty leave luipaid to you, 
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this 
She wish'd me to make known ; but our great court 
Made me to blame in memory. 

Cijm. Her doors lock'd ? 

Not seen of late ? Grant, heavens, that which I fear 
Prove false ! \_EMt. 

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 

Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
I have not seen these two days. 

Queen. Go, look after. [Exit Cloten. 

Pisanio, thou tliat stand'st so for Postluimus! 
He liath a drug of mine; I pray his al)sence 
Proceed by swallowing that, for lie believes 
It is a thing most precious. But for her, 
Where is she gone ? Haply, despair hatli seized her, 
Or, wing'd with fer^'our of her love, she 's ilowu 
To her desired Postlnmius : gone she is 
To death or to dishonour ; and my end 
Can make good use of either : she being dowu, 
1 have the placing of the British crown. 

He-enter Cloten. 
How now, my son ! 

Clo. 'T is certain she is fled. 

Go in and cheer the king : he rages ; none 
Dare come about him. 

Queen. [Aside] All the better: may 

This night forestall him of the coming day ! [Exit. 

Clo. 1 love and hate her : for slie 's fair and royal. 
And that she liath aU courtly parts more exquisite 
Than lady, ladies, woman ; from every one 
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 
Outsells them all ; I love her therefore : but 
Disdaining me and throwing favours on 
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment 
That what 's else rare is choked ; and in that point 
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed. 
To be revenged upon her. For when fools 
isliall— 

Enter Pisanio. 

Who is here ? Wliat, are you packin", sirrah V 
Come hither: ah, you precious pandar! villain, 
Wliere is thy lady ? In a word ; or else 
Tiiou art straightway with the tiends. 

Pis. O, good my lord ! 

Cln. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter, — 
I will not ask again. Close villain, 
I '11 have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
Thy lieart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? 
From wliose so many weights of baseness cannot 
A dram of worth be drawn. 

Fis. Alas, my lord, 



How can she be with him ? When was she miss'd ? 
He is in Eome. 

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer; 

No further halting' : satisfy me home 
What is become of her. 

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord ! 

Clo. All-worthy villain ! 

Discover where thy mistress is at once, 
At tlie next word : no more of ' worthy lord ! ' 
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
Thy coudemuation and thy deatli. 

Pis. Tlien, sir, 

Tliis paper is the history of my knowledge 
Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter. 

Clo. Let 's see 't. I will pursue her 

Even to Augustus' throne. 

Pis. [Aside] Or this, or perish. 

Slie 's far enough ; and what he learns by this 
Mav prove his travel, not her danger. 

Clo. Hum ! 

Pis. [Aside] I '11 write to my lord siie 's dead. 
O Imogen, 
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again! 

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ? 

Pis. Sir, as I think. 

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand ; I know't. Sirrah, 
if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true 
service, undergo those employments wherein I 
sliould have cause to use thee with a serious in- 
dustry, that Is, what villany soe'er I bid tliee do, 
to perform it directly and truly, I would think 
thee an honest man: thou shouldst neither want 
my means for thy relief nor my voice for tliy pre- 

Pis. Well, my good lord. [ferment. 

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? for since i)atiently and 
constantly thou hast stuck to tlie liare fortune of 
that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the 
course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of 
mine : wilt thou serve me ? 

Pi's. Sir, I will. 

Clo. Give me thy hand : here 's my purse. Hast 
any of thy late master's garments in tliy possession? 

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, tlie sauie 
suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and 
mistress. 

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch tliat 
suit hither: let it be thy first service; go. 

Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 

Clo. Meet tliee at Milford-Haven!— I forgot to 
ask him one thing; I'll remember 't anon : — even 
there, thou villain Postlumius, will I kill thee. I 
would these garments were eome. She said upon 
a time — tlie bitterness of it I now lielrh from my 
heart — that she held the very garuiciit of Post- 
humus in more respect than my nolile and natural 
person, together with the adornment of my quali- 
ties. With that suit upon my back, will I ravish 
her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall 
she see my valour, which will then be a torment to 
her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of 
insultment ended on his dead body, and when my 
lust hath dined, — which, as I say, to vex her I 
will execute in the clothes that she so praised, — 
to the court I '11 knock her back, foot her home 
again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and 1 '11 
be merry in my revenge. 

He-enter Pisanio, with the clothes. 
Be those the garments ? 

Pis. Ay, my noble lord. [Haven? 

Clo. How long is 't since slie went to Milford- 

Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is 
the second thing that I have comnuuuled thee: the 
third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my 
design. Be but duteous, and true preferment sliatl 
tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Mil- 
789 



ACT III. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE VII. 



ford: would I had wings to follow it! Come, and 
be true. [Exit. 

Pis. Tliou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee 
Were to prove false, which I will never be, 
To him that is most true. To Milford go. 
And find not her wliom thou pursuest. Flow, flow. 
Yon heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed 
Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE VI.— Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. 
Enter Imogen, in boy''s clothes. 
Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one: 
I have tired myself, and for two nights together 
Have made the ground my bed. I sliould be sick, 
But that my resolution helps me. Milford, 
Wlien from the mountain-top Pisanio sliow'd thee, 
Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think 
Foundations tiy the wretched; such, I mean, [me 
Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told 
I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie, 
That have atUictions on them, knowing 't is 
A punishment or trial V Yes; no wonder, 
AVhen rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness 
Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood 
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord ! 
Thou art one o' the false ones. Xow I think on thee. 
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was 
At point to sink for food. But what is this ? 
Here is a path to 't : 't is some savage hold : 
1 were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine, 
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. 
Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever 
Of hardiness is mother. Ho I who's here? 
If any thing tliat 's civil, speak ; if savage. 
Take or len\l. Ho! No answer? Then I '11 enter. 
Best dravi- my sword ; and if mine enemy 
])Ut fear the sword like me, he '11 scarcely look on 't. 
Such a foe, good heavens ! [Exit, to the cave. 

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. You, Polydore, have proved best woodman 
Are master of the feast : Cadwal and I [and 

Will play the cook and servant ; 't is our match : 
The sweat of industry would dry and die. 
But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
AVill make what 's homely savoury: weariness 
Can snore upon the Hint, wlien resty sloth 
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here, 
Poor house, that keep'st thyself! 

Gui. I am throughly weary. 

Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. 

Gui. There is cold meat i'thecave:"we'll browse 
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. [on that, 

Bel. [Looking into the cave] Stay; come not in. 
But that it eats our victuals, I should think 
Here were a fairy. 

Gui. What 's the matter, sir? 

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not. 
An earthly paragon. Behold divineness 
No elder than a boy ! 

Re-enter Imogen. 

Imo. Good masters, harm me not : 
Before I euter'd here, I call'd; and thought 
To have begg'd or bought what I have took : good 
troth, [found 

I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had 
Gold strew 'd i' the tloor. Here's money for my 
1 would liave left it on the board so soon [meat: 
As I had made my meal, and parted 
With prayers for the provider. 

Gui. Money, youth ? 

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to" dirt ! 
And 't is no better reekon'd, but of those 
Who worship dirty gods. 

790 



Imo. I see you 're angry : 

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
Have died had I not made it. 

Bel. Whither bound ? 

Imo. To Milford-Haven. 

Bel. What 's your name? 

Imo. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who 
Is bound for Italy; he embark \1 at Milford ; 
To whom bring going, almost spent with hunger, 
I am fall'n in this ofEeuce. 

Bel. Prithee, fair youth. 

Think us jio churls, nor measure our good minds 
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd! 
'T is almost night : you shall have better cheer 
Ere you depart ; and thanks to stay and eat it. 
Boys, bid him welcome. 

Gui. Were jou a woman, youth, 

I should woo hard but be your groom. lu honesty, 
I bid for you as I 'Id buy. 

Arv. I '11 make 't my comfort 

He is a man; I '11 love him as my brother: 
And such a welcome as I 'Id give to him 
After long absence, such is yours: most welcome! 
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 

Imn. 'Mongst friends. 

If brothers. [Aside^ Would it had been so, tliat they 
Had been my father's sons! then had my prize 
Been less, and so more equal ballasting 
To thee, Posthumus. 

Bel. He wrings at some distress. 

Gui. Would I could free 't! 

Arv. Or I, whate'er it be, 

What pain it cost, what danger. Gods! 

Bel. Hark, bo}s. 

[ Whispering. 

Imo. Great men, 
Tliat had a court no bigger than this cave. 
That did attend themselves and had the virtue 
Which their own conscience seal'd them — ^laying by 
That nothing-gift of differing multitudes — 
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! 
I 'Id change my sex to be companion with them, 
Since Leonatus 's false. 

Bel. It shall be so. 

Boys, we '11 go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in : 
Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have supp'd, 
We '11 mannerly demand thee of thy story, 
So far as thou wilt speak it. 

Gui. Pray, draw near. 

Arv. The night to the owl and moru to the lark 
less welcome. 

Imo. Thanks, sir. 

Arc. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VU.—Rome. A jmhlic place. 
Enter two Senators and Tribunes. 

First Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ : 
That since the common men are now in action 
'Gainst the Pamionians and Dalmatians, 
And tliat the legions now in Gallia are 
Full \-\'eak to undertake our wars against 
The falFn-olf P-ritons, that we do incite 
The gentry to this l)usiness. He creates 
Lucius proconsul: and to you the tribunes, 
For this innnediate levy, he commends 
His alisolute conmiission. Long live Ctesar! 

First Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces'? 

Sec. Sen. Ay. 

First Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ? 

First Sen. With those legions 

Wliich I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
Must be supplyant : the words of your commission 
Will tie you to the numbers and the time 
Of their <lispatch. 

First Tri. We will discharge our duty. 

[Examt. 



ACT IV. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE II, 



^CT IV. 



SCENE I. — Wales: near the cai'e of Edarius. 
Enter Cloten. 

Clo. I am near to the place where tliey should 
meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How tit 
lus garments serve me ! Why should his mistress, 
wire was made by liim tliat made the tailor, not be 
fit too y the rather — saving reverence of the word — 
for 't is said a woman's fitness comes by fits. There- 
in I must play the workman. I dare speak it to 
myself — for it is not vain-glory for a man and his 
glass to confer in his own chamber — I mean, the 
lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less 
young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, 
beyond him in the advantage of the time, above 
liira in birtli, alike conversant in general services, 
and more remarkable in single oppositions : yet this 
imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What 
mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, which now is 
growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour 
be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to 
pieces before thy face: and all this done, spurn lier 
houle to her father; who may haply be a little 
angry for my so rough usage ; but my njother, having 
power of hiij testiness, shall turn all into my com- 
mendations. My horse is tied up safe : out, sword, 
and to a sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my 
hand ! This is the very description of their meeting- 
place ; and the fellow dares not deceive me. [Jixit. 

SCENE 11. — Before the cave of Belurius. 

Enler^from the cave, Belarius, Guiderius, 
Arviragus, and Imogen. 

Bel. [To Lno(jcn] You are not well : remain here in 
We '11 come to you after hunting. [the cave ; 

Arv. [To Imogen] Brother, stay here : 

Are we not brothers ? 

Imo. So man and man should be ; 

But clay and clay differs in dignity. 
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 

Gid. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him. 

I.no. So sick I am not, yet I am not well ; 
But not so citizen a wanton as 
To seem to die ere sick : so please you, leave me ; 
Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom 
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me 
Cannot amend me ; society is no comfort 
. To one not sociable: I am not very sick. 
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here: 
I '11 rob none but myself; and let me die, 
Stealing so poorly. 

Gui. Hove thee; I have spoke it: 

How much the quantity, the weight as much, 
As I do love my father. 

Bel What! how! how! 

Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
In my good brother's fault: I know not why 
I love tills youth ; and I have heard you say, 
Love's reason 's without reason : the bier at door, 
Ahd a demand who is 't shall die, I 'Id say 
' My father, not this youth.' 

Bel. [Aside] O noble strain ! 

worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness! 
Cowards father cowards and base things sire base: 
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. 

1 'm not their father; yet who this should be, 
Doth miracle itself, loved before me. 

'T is the ninth hour o' the morn. 
Arv. Brother, farewell. 

Jrno. I wish ye sport. 

Arv. You health. So please yon, sir. 

Imo. [Aside] These are kind creatlU'es." Gods, 
what lies I have heard ! 



Our courtiers say all 's savage but at court : 

Experience, O, thou disprovest report! 

The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish 

Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 

I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, 

I '11 now taste of thy drug. [Sicalloirs some. 

Gui. I could not stir him : 

He said he was gentle, but unfortunate ; 
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 

^ii-. Thus did he answer me : yet said, hereafter 
I might luiow more. 

Bel. To the field, to the field ! 

We '11 leave you for this time : go iu and rest. 
Arv. We '11 not be long away. 
Bel. Pray, be not sick. 

For you must be our housewife. 

Imo. Well or ill, 

I am bomid to you. 
Bel. And slialt be ever. 

[Exit Imoijcn, to the cave. 
This youth, howe'er distress 'd, appears he hath had 
Good ancestors. 
Arv. How angel-like he sings! 

Gui. But his neat cookery ! lie cut our roots 
In characters. 

And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick 
And he her dieter. 

Arv. Nobly he yokes 

A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh 
Was that it was, for not being such a smile; 
The smile nioi.'king the sigh, tliat it would fly 
From so divine a temple, to commix 
With winds that sailors rail at. 

Gui. I do note 

That grief and patience, rooted m him both. 
Mingle thek spurs together. 

Arv. Grow, patience ! 

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
His perishing root with the increasing vine! 
Bel. It is great morning. Come, away ! — Who 's 
there V „ 

Enter Cloten. 

Clo. I cannot find those runagates ; that villain 
Hath mock'd me. I am faint. 

Bel. Those runagates ! 

Means he not us ? I partly know him : 't is 
Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush. 
I saw him not these many years, and yet 
I know 't is he. We are held as outlaws : henoe ! 

Gui. He is but one : you and my brotlier search 
What companies are near: pray you, away; 
Let me alone with him. 

[Exeunt Belarius and Arvira/jus. 

Clo. . Soft! What are you 

That fly me thus ? some villain mountaineers 'i 
I liave heard of such. What slave art thou y 

Gui. A thing 

More slavish did I ne'er than answering 
A slave without a knock. 

Clo. Thou art a robber, 

A law-breaker, a villain : yield thee, thief. 

Gui. To who 'i to thee ? What art thou 'i Have 
not I 
An arm as big as thine ? a heart as big ? 
Thy words, I'grant, are bigger, for I wear not 
^ly dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art. 
Why I should yield to thee ? 

Clo. Thou villain base, 

Know'st me not by my clothes ? 

Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal. 

Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes, 
AVhich, as it seems, make thee. 

Clo. Thou precious varlet. 

My tailor made them not. 
791 



ACT IV. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE II. 



Gid. Hence, tlien, and thank 

The man that gave them thee. Thou art some tool ; 
I am loath to beat thee. 

C'?o. Thou injurious thief, 

Hear but my name, and tremble. 

Gai. What 's thy name ? 

C7o. Cloten, thou villain. 

Gxix. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, 

' I cannot tremble at it : were it Toad, or Adder, S])i- 

'T would move me sooner. [der, 

Glo. To thy further fear, 

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
I am sou to the queen. 

Gid. I am sorry for 't ; not seeming 

So worthy, as thy birth. 

Qlo. Art not afeard ? 

G\d. Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise : 
At fools I laugh, not fear them. 

Qlo. Die the death : 

When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
I '11 follow those that even now fled hence. 
And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads: 
Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt, Jiyhting. 

Re-enter Belarius and Arviragus. 

Bel. No companies abroad V [sure. 

Arv. None in the world: you did mistake him, 

Bel. I cannot trll : long is it since I saw him. 
But time hath nutliiug blurr'd those lines of favour 
AVbich then he wore ; the snatches in his voice, 
And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute 
'T was very Cloten. 

A rv. In this place we left them : 

I wish my brother make good time with him. 
You say he is so fell. 

Bel. Being scarce made up, 

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension 
Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment 
Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother. 

He-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head. 

Gid. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; 
Tliere was no money in 't : not Hercules 
Could liave knnrkMout his brains, for he had none : 
Yet I not doing tliis, the fool had borne 
My head as I do his. 

Bel. What hast thou done ? 

Gid. I am perfect what ; cut off one Cloten's head. 
Son to the (pieen, after his own report; 
Who call'il me traitor, mountaineer, and swore 
AVith his own single hand he 'Id take us in, [grow. 
Displace our heads where — thank the gods! — they 
And set them on Lud's-town. 

Bel. We are all undone. 

Gul. Why, wortliy father, what liave we to lose, 
But that he swore to take, our lives y The law 
Protects not us : then why should we be tender 
To let an arrogant piece of tlcsli threat us. 
Play judge and executioner ;ill hiniscU', 
For we do fear the law V AV^liat company 
Discover you abroad 'i 

Bel. No single soul 

Can we set eye on ; but in all safe reason 
He must have some attendants. Though his humour 
AVas iidlliing but mutation, ay, and that 
From line bad thing U> worse ; not frenzy, not 
AViSDlute nuiiluess could so far have raved 
To brin.n' liini hen' alone; although perhaps 
It may lie heard at court that such as we 
Cave iiere, hunt here, are outlaws, and in thne 
May make some stronger head ; tlie which he hear- 
As "it is like him — might break out, ami swear [ing— 
He 'Id fetch us in ; yet is 't not probable 
To come alone, either he so undertaking, 
Or they so suffering : then on good ground we fear, 
If we do fear this body hath a tail 
More perilous than the head. 
792 



.4)1). Let ordinance 

Come as the gods f oresay it : howsoe'er, 
My brother hath done well. 

Bel. I had no mind 

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 
Did make my way long forth. 

Gid. AVith his own sword, 

AVhieh he did wave against my throat, I have ta'eu 
His head from liim : I '11 tlirow 't into the creek 
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea, 
And tell the fishes he 's the queen's son, Cloten : 
That 's all I reck. [Exit. 

Bel. I fear 't will be revenged : 

AVould, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though 

valour 
Becomes thee well enoughi 

^11'. AVould I had done 't. 

So the revenge alone pursued me ! Polydore, 
I love thee brotherly, Ijut envy mucli 
Tliou hastrobb'd me of this deed : I would revenges, 
That possible strength might meet, would seek us 
And put us to our answer. [through 

Bel. Well, 't is done : 

AVe '11 liunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
AVhere tliere 's no profit. "l prithee, to our rock; 
You and Fidele jilay the cooks: I 'U stay 
Till liasty Polydore return, and bring him 
To dinner presently. 

Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! 

I '11 willingly to lum : to gain his colour 
I 'Id let a parish of such Clotens' blood, 
And praise myself for charity. [Exit. 

Bel. O thou goddess, 

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle 
As zephyrs blowing below the violet. 
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, 
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind, 
That by tlie top doth take the mountain pine. 
And make him stoop to the vale. 'T is wonder 
That an invisible instinct should frame them 
To royalty unlearn 'd, honour untaught. 
Civility not seen from other, valour 
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it 's strange 
AVhat Cloten's being here to us portends, 
Or what his death will bring us. 

Re-enter Guiderius. 

Gid. AAHiere 's my brother ? 

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream. 
In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage 
For his return. [Solemn music. 

Bel. My ingenious instrument ! 

Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion 
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion ? Hark! 

Gid. Is he at home ? 

Bel. He went hence even now. 

Gid. AVhat does he mean V since death of my 
dear'st mother 
It did not speak before. All solemn things 
Slioidd answer solemn accidents. The matter? 
Triumplis for nothing and lamenting toys 
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. 
Is Cadwal mad ? 

Bel. Look, here he comes. 

And brings the dire occasion in his arms 
Of what we blame him for. 

Re-enter Arviragus, with Imogen, as dead, bearing 
her in his arms. 

Arv. The bird is dead 

That we have made so much on. I had rather 
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty. 
To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, 
Thau have seen tliis. 

Gid. O sweetest, fairest lily ! 



ACT IV. 



CY3IBELINK 



SCENE II. 



Jly brother wears thee not the cue half so well 
As when thou grew'st thyself. 

Bd. O melancholy! 

V/ho ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find 
The ooze, to show what coast thy shiss'ish crare 
ilight easiliest harbour in ? Thou blessed thing ! 
Jove knows what man tliou mis'htst have made; 
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy, [but I, 
How found you him V 

Ayv. Stark, as you see : 

Thus smilinff, as some fly had tickled slumber, 
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at : bis right cheek 
Keposing on a cushion. 

Gid. Where ? 

Arv. O' the floor; 

His arms thus leagued : I thought he sleiit, and put 
Jly clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness 
Answer'd my steps too loud. 

Gui. Why, he but sleeps: 

If he be gone, lie '11 make his grave a bed ; 
With female fairies will liis tomb be haunted, 
And worms will not come to thee. 

Arv. With fairest flowers 

Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, 
I '11 sweeten thy sad grave : thou slialt not lack 
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor 
The azured harebell, like" thy veins, no, nor 
The leaf of eglanthie, whom not to shuider, 
Out-swt-eten'd not tliv breath: the niddock would, 
With cliaritable bill,— O bill, sore shaming 
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie 
AVitliout a monument ! — bring thee all this; 
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, ^^lleu flowers are 
To winter-ground thy corse. [none, 

Gtd. Prithee, have done ; 

And do not play in wench-like words with that 
Which is so serious. Let us bury him. 
And not protract with admiration what 
Is now due debt. To the grave ! 

Arv. Say, wjiere shall 's lay him ? 

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 

Arr. Be'tso: 

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, 
As once our mother ; use like note and words, 
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 

Giii. Cadwal, 
I cannot sing : I '11 weep, and word it witli thee ; 
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse 
Tlian priests and fanes that lie. 

Arv. We '11 speak it, tlien. 

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for 
Cloten 
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boj's; 
And though lie came our enemy, remember [ting 
He was i)aid for that : though mean and mighty, rot- 
Together, liave one dust, yel reverence, 
That angel of the world, doth make distinction 
Of place 't w t-en high and low,. Our foe was princely : 
And tliough you took his life, as being our foe. 
Yet bury him as a prince. 

Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. 

Tliersites' body is as good as Ajax', 
When neither are alive. 

Arr. If you '11 go fetch him, 

We '11 say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. 

[Exit Belarius. 

Giii. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the 
My father hath a reason for 't. [east ; 

A rv. 'T is true. 

Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 

Arv. g^^^ So. Begin. 

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
5. Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 



Golden lads and girls all must. 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great ; 

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
Care no more to clothe and eat ; 

To thee the reed is as the oak : 
The sceptre, learning, pliysic, must 
All follow this, and come' to dust. 

Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-.stone; 
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rasli; 
Arr. Tliou hast finish 'd joy and moan: 
Both. All lovers young, all lovers nuist 
Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

Gui. No exorciser harm thee ! 
^l»T. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee ! 
Botli. Quiet consummation have; 
And renowned be thy gra\ e ! 

He-enter Belarius, with the iody of Cloten. 

Gui. We have done our obsequies : come, lay him 
down. [more: 

Bel. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight. 
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' t!ie niglit 
Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces, 
You were as flowers, now witlier'd : even so 
These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. 
Come on, away : apart upon our knees. 
The ground that gave them first has them again : 
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 

[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius and Arvirat/us. 

Imo. [A u-akiny] Yes, sir, to Milf ord-Haven ; which 
is the way ? ~ [thither ? 

I thank you. — By yond bush? — Pray, how far 
'Ods jiittikiiis ! can it be six mile yet ? — 
I have gone all night. 'Faith, I '11 lie down and sleep. 
But, soft ! no bedfellow I — O gods and goddesses ! 
[Seeing the hody of Clotcii. 
These flowers are like the pleasures of the "world ; 
This bloody man, the care on 't. I hope I dream; 
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper. 
And cook to honest creatures : but 't is not so ; 
'T was but a bolt of nothing, sliot at nothing, 
Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes 
Are siinietimes like our judgments, blind. "Good 
I tremble still with fear: but if there he [faith, 
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it"! 
The dream 's here still: even when I w:ike, it is 
Withiiul me, as within me; not imagined, felt. 
A heailh'ss man ! The garments of Po.sthumus ! 
I know the shape of 's leg: this is his hand; 
His foot Mercurial : his Martial thigh ; 
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face — 
Murder in heaven v — How ! — 'T is gone. Pisanio, 
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
And mine to luiot, be darted on thee! Thou, 
Consi.ired witli tliat irregulous devil, Cloten, 
Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read 
Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio 
Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pisanio — 
From this most bravest vessel of the world 
Struck the main-top! OPosthumus! alas, [that? 
Where is t liy liead V where 's that ? Ay me ! where 's 
Pisanio might have kilTd thee at the" heart. 
Anil left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? 
'Tis he and Cloten : malice and lucre in them 
Have laid this woe here. O, "t is pregnant, pregnant ! 
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious 
And cordial to me, liave I not found it 
Murderous to the senses ? That confirms it home; 
This is Pisanio 's deed, and Cloteu's : O ! 
793 



ACT IV. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE Til. 



Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
Tliat we the horriiler may seem to those 
Which cluuice to tind us : O, my lord, my lord ! 

[i'aHs on tite body. 

Enter Lucius, a Captain and other Officers, and 
a Soothsayer. 

Cap. To them the lenimis ^arrison'd in Gallia, 
After your will, liave cross'd tlie sea, attending 
You here at Milford-Haven with your ships: 
They are in readiness. 
Luc. But what from Rome ? 

Cap. Tlie senate hath stirr'd up the contiuers 
And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, 
That promise noble service: and they come 
Under tlie conduct of bold lachimo, 
Syenna's brother. 

Luc. When expect you them? 

Cap. With the next benefit o' tlie wind. 

Lite. This forwardness 

Makes our hopes fair. Command our present num- 
bers 
Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to 't. Now, sir. 
What liave you dream'd of late of this war's purpose? 

Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a 
vision — 
I fast and pray'd for their intelligence — thus: 
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 
From tlie spongy south to tliis part of the west. 
There vauisli'd in the sunbeams : which portends — 
Unless my sins abuse my divination — 
Success to the Roman host. 

Luc. Dream often so. 

And never false. Soft, hoi what trunk is here 
Without liis top V Tlie ruin speaks that sometime 
It was a worthy building. How ! a page ! 
Or dead, or sleeping on him ? But dead rather ; 
For naUuf dotli abhor to make his bed 
"With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. 
Let 's see the boy's face. 

Cap. He 's alive, my lord. 

Luc. He '11 then instruct us of this body. Young 
Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems [one, 

Tliey crave to be demanded. Who is tins 
Thou makest thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he 
That, oUierwise than noble nature did. 
Hath alter 'd that good picture ? What 's thy interest 
In this sad wreck ? How came it ? Who is it V 
What art thou ? 

Liio. I am nothing : or if not, 

Nothing to be were betj;er. This was my master, 
A very valiant Briton and a good. 
That iiere by mountaineers lies slain. Alas ! 
Tliere is no more such masters : I may wander 
From east to Occident, cry out for service. 
Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
Find such another master. 

Luc. 'Lack, good youth! 

Thou movest no less with thy complaining than 
Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend. 

Imo. Richard du Champ. [.l,sH?.f] If I do lie and 
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope [do 
They '11 pardon it. — Say you, sir ? 

Lice. Thy name ? 

Liw. Fidele, sir. 

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same: 
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. 
Wilt take thy chance with me ? I will not say 
Thou Shalt be so well iiiaster'd, but, be sure. 
No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters, 
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me. 

Imo. I '11 follow, sir. But first, an 't please the 

gods, 

I '11 hide my master from the flies, as deep 

As these poor pickaxes can dig ; and wdien [grave. 

With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his 

7'Ji 



And on it said a century of prayers, 
Such as I can, twice o'er, I "11 weep and sigh; 
And leaving so his service, follow you. 
So please you entertain me. 

Luc. Ay, good youth ; 

And rather father thee than master thee. 
My friends. 

The boy hath taught us manly duties : let us 
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can. 
And make him with our pikes and partisans 
A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd 
By thee to us, and he shall be iiiterr'd 
As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes: 
Some falls are means the happier to arise. IJExeunt. 

SCENE III. — A room in Cymheline 's xialuce. 

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio, and Attend- 
ants. 

Cym. Again; and bring me word how 't is with, 
her. {Exit an Attendxmt. 

A fever with the absence of her son, 
A madness, of which her lite 's in danger. Heavens, 
How deeiily you at once do touch me! Imogen, 
The great luirt of my comfort, gone; my queen 
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time 
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone. 
So neeiUul for this i)resent: it strikes me, past 
The hope of emu fort. But for thee, fellow, 
"Who needs must know of her departure and 
Dost seem so ignorant, we 'U enforce it from thee 
By a sharp torture. 

Pis. Sir, my life is yours ; 

I humbly set it at your will ; but, for my mistress, 
I nothing know where she remains, why gone. 
Nor when slie purposes return. Beseech your high- 
Hold nie your loyal servant. [ness, 

Fiint Lord. Good my liege. 

The day that she was missing he was here: 
I dare be bound he 's true and shall perform 
All parts of liis subji-ctioii loyally. For C'loten, 
There wants no diligence in seeking him. 
And will, no doubt, be found. 

Ciim. The time is troublesome. 

[To Pisam'o.] We '11 slip you for a season; but our 

jealousy 
Does yet deiiend. 

First Lord. So please your majesty. 
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, 
Are landed on your coast, with a supply 
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 

Cijm. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! 
I am amazed with matter. 

First Lord. Good my liege. 

Your preparation can affront no less 
Than what you hear of: come more, for more 

you 're ready : 
The want is but to put those powers in motion 
That long to move. 

Cinn. I thank you. Let 's withdraw; 

And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not 
What can from Italy annoy us; but 
We grieve at chances iiere. Away! 

{Exeunt all but Pisanio. 

Pis. I heard no letter from my master since 
I wrote him Imogen was slain : 't is strange : 
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise 
To yield me often tidings; neither know I 
What is betid to Cloten ; but remain 
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work. 
Wherein I am false I am honest ; not true, to be 

true. 
Tliese present wars shall find I love my country, 
Even to the note o' the king, or I '11 fall in them. 
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd ; 
Fortune brings hi some boats that are not steer "d. 

[Exit. 



ACT V. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE II. 



SCENE W.— Walts: hejove the cave of Belarius. 
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Giii. Tlie noise is round about us. 

Bel. Let us from it. 

Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we iu life, to lock it 
From action and adventure ? 

Gui. I^aj', what hope 

Have we in hiding usV This way, the Romans 
Slust or for Britons.sIa.y us, or receive us 
For barbarous and unnatural revolts 
During their use, and slay us after. 

Bd. Sons, 

We '11 higher to the mountains ; there secure us. 
To the Icing's party there 's no going : newness 
Of Cloten's death — we being not known, not mus- 
Among the bands — may drive us to a render [ter'd 
Where we luive lived, aiid so extort from 's that 
AVhich we have done, whose answer would be death 
Drawn on with torture. 

Old. This is, sir, a doubt 

In such a time nothing becoming you, 
Xor satisfying us. 

Arv. It is not likely 

Tliat when they hear tlie Roman liorses neigh, 
15eliold their quarter"d fires, have both their eyes 
And ears so cloyM importantly as now, 
Tliat tliey will waste their time upon our note, 
To know from whence we are. 

Bel. O, I am known 

Of many in the army : many years, [him 

Thougli Cloten tlien but young, you see, not wore 
From iny remembrance. And, besides, the king 
Hath not deserved my service nor your loves; 



Wlio find in my exile the want of breeding. 
The certainty of tliis hard life: aye hopeless 
To have the courtesy your cradle promised, 
But to be still hot summer's tauliugs and 
Tlie shrinking slaves of winter. 

Gui. Than be so 

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army : 
I and my brother are not known ; yourself 
So out of thouglit. and thereto so o'ergrown, 
Cannot be question'd. 

Arv. By this sun that shines, 

I 'II thither: what thing is it that I never 
Did see man die ! scarce ever look'd on blood. 
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! 
Never bestrid a liorse, save one that liad 
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
Nov iron on his heel ! I am ashamed 
To look upon the holy sun, to have 
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining 
So long a poor uuknown. 

Gui. By heavens, I "11 go: 

If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
I 'II take the better care, but if you will not. 
The hazard therefore due fall on me by 
The hands of Romans ! 

Arv. So say I : amen. 

Bel. No reason I, since of yom' lives you set 
So slight a valuation, should" reserve 
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boj-s ! 
If in your country wars you chance to die. 
That is my bed too, lads, and there I 'II lie: 
Lead, lead. [^suZe] The time seems long; their 

blood thinks scorn, 
Till it fly out and show them princes born. [Excimt. 



^CT AT. 



SCENE I. — Britain. Tlie lioman camp. 
Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief. 
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I '11 keep thee, for I 
wish'd 
Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones. 
If each of you should take this course, how many 
Must murder wives much better than themselves 
For wrying but a little ! O Pisanio ! 
Every good servant does not all commands: 
No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you 
Sliould have ta"en vengeance on my faults, I never 
Had lived to put on this: so had you saved 
Tlie noble Imogen to repent, and struck 
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack. 
You snatch some hence for little faults ; that 's love. 
To have them fall no more : you some permit 
To second ills with ills, each elder worse. 
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift. 
But Imogen is your own : do your best wills. 
And make me blest to obey ! I am brought hither 
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
Against my lady's kingdom: 't is enough 
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! 
I 'Ilgivenowound to thee. Therefore, good heavens. 
Hear patiently my p\irpose : I "U disrobe me 
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself 
As does a Briton peasant : so I 'II figlit 
Against the part I come with ; so I 'II die 
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
Is every breath a death ; and thus, unknown, 
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
Myself I '11 dedicate. Let me make men know 
Metre valour in me than my habits show, 
tjocls. put tlie strength o' the Leonati in me! 
To shame the guise o' the world. I will begin 
The fashion, less without and more within. [Exit. 



SCENE 11.— Field of battle between the British and 
lioman camps. 

Enter, from one side, Lucius, lachimo, nnd the Roman 
Army : from the other side, the British Army ; Leona- 
tus Posthumus fullowimi, like u pour soldier. 'J'iiey 
7n^irr/i nnr mid {fO Oft. Then enter again, in skirmish, 
lachimo uml Posthumus: he vanquishelh and dis- 
ariiulh lachimo, and then leaves him. 

lach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady, . 
The princess of this country, and the air on 't 
Revengingly enfeebles me ; or could this carl, 
A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me 
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne 
xVs I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
If that thy gentry. Britain, go before 
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods. [Exit. 

Tlie battle continues: the Britons/;/; Cymbeline is 
taken: then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius, 
and Arviragus. 

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of 
the ground : 
The lane is guarded : nothing routs us but 
The villany of our fears. 

^"[:_ I Stand, stand, and fight ! 

lie-enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: the// 
resriir Cymbeline, /( (if? exeunt. Then re-eH(«' Lucius, 
and lachimo, with Imogen. 

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; 
For friends kill friends, and the disorder 's such 
As war were hoodwinked. 

lach. 'T is their fresh supplies. 

795 



ACT V. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE IV. 



Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely : or betimes 
Let 's re-inl'orce, or fly. \_Exeant. 

SCENE 111.— Another part of the field. 
Enter Posthumus a)i(Z a British Lord. 

Lord, earnest thou from wliere tliey made the 

Post. I did: [stand v 

Thougli you, it seems, come from the fliers. 

Lord. I did. 

Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, 
But that the heavens fought : the king himself 
Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
Tlirough a strait lane ; the enemy full-hearted, 
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work 
More iilentiful tlian tools to do 't, struck down 
Some mortally, some .slightly toucli'd, some falling 
Merely through fear ; t hat the strait pass was dauun'd 
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living 
To die with lengthened shame. 

Lord. Where was this lane ? 

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with 
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, [turf; 
An honest one, I warrant; who deserved 
So long a breeding as his white beard came to, 
In doing this for 's country: athwart the lane. 
He, with two striplings — lads more like to run 
The country liase than to commit such slaughter; 
With faces tit tor masks, or rather fairer 
Than those for preservation cased, or shame, — 
Made good the passage ; cried to those that fled, 
'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men: 
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand ; 
Or we are Romans and will give you that 
Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save, 
But to lookback in frown: stand, stand.' Tiiese 
Three tliousand confident, in act as many — [three. 
For three performers are the file when all 
The rest do nothing — with this word ' Stand, stand,' 
AcconiiiiMdateil by the place, more cliarming 
With theircjwn nobleness, which could have turn'd 
A distalf to a lance, gilded pale looks, [coward 

Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd 
But by example — O, a sin in war, 
Damn'd in the first beginners I — gan to look 
The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon 
A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly 
Ciiickens,the way which they stoop 'd eagles ; slaves. 
The strides they victors made ; and now our cowards. 
Like fragments in hard voyages, became 
Tlie life o' the need : having found the back-door open 
Of the unguarded hearts, iieavens, how they wound ! 
Some slain before; some dying; some their friends 
O'er-borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one, 
Are now each one the slaugliter-man of twenty : 
Those that would die or ere resist are grown 
Tlie mortal bugs o' the field. 

Lord. Tliis was strange chance : 

A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. 

Post. Nay, do not wonder at it : you are made 
liather to wonder at the things you hear 
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon 't. 
And vent it for a mockery V Here is one : 
' Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
Treserve'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.' 
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 
Post. 'Lack, to what end ? 

Who dares not stand his foe, I '11 be his friend ; 
For if he '11 do as he is made to do, 
I know he '11 quickly fly my friendship too. 
You have put me into rhyme. 

' Lord. Farewell ; you 're angry. 

, Post. Still going ? {Exit Lord.] This is a lord ! 
O noble misery, 

796 



To be i' the field, and ask ' what news ? ' of me !' 
To-day how many would have given their honours 
To have saved their carcases ! took heel to do 't, 
And yet died too ! I, in mine own woe charni'd. 
Could not find deatli where I did hear him gruaii, 
Norfeelhim where hestruck : beingan ugly minister, 
'T is strange he hides him in fresh cujis, soft beds, 
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we 
That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find 
For being novs' a favourer to the Briton, [him : 

No more a Briton, I have resumed again 
The part I can^e in : fight I will no more. 
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall 
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 
Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
Britons must take. For me, my ransom 's death ; 
On either side I come to spend my breath ; 
Which neither here I '11 keep nor bear again. 
But end it by some means for Imogen. 

Enter two British Captains and Soldiers. 

First Cap. Great Jupiter be praised ! Lucius is 
taken. 
'T is thought the old man and his sons were angels. 

Sec. Cap.' There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, 
That gave the affront with them. 

First Cap. So 't is reported : 

But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there i* 

Post. A Roman, 
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
Had answer'd him. 

Sec. Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog ! 

A leg of Rome shall not return to tell [service 

What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his 
As if he were of note : bring him to the king. 
Enter Cymbeline, Belarivis, Guiderius, Arvirag-us, 

Pisanio, Soldiers, Attendants, (i/K/Roinan Captives. 

The Captains preseiil Posthumus /« Cymbeline, U'/it) 

delivers him over to a Gaoler : tlicii exeunt ouincs. 

SCENE IV.— ^ British prison. 
Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers. 

First Oaol. You shall not now be storn,you have 
locks upon you ; 
So graze as you fiiid pasture. 

Sec. Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. 

[Exeunt Gaolers. 

Post. Most welcome, bondage ! for thou art a way, 
I think, to liberty : yet am I better 
Than one that 's sick o' the gout ; since he had rather 
Groan so in perpetuity than be cured 
Bv the sure physician, death, who is the key 
To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art 

fetter'd 
More than my shanks and wrists : you good gods, 

give me 
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt. 
Then, free for ever ! Is 't enough 1 am sorry ? 
So children temporal fatliers do appease ; 
Gods are m<ire full of mercy. Must I repent ? 
I cannot do it better than in gyves. 
Desired more tlian conslrain'd : to satisfy, 
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
No stricter render of me tliau my all. 
I know you are more clemi'iit than vile men. 
Who of their broken deblurs take a third, 
A sixth, a tenth, letting tlieui thrive again 
On their abatement : that 's not my desire: 
For Imogen's dear life take mine ; and though 
'T is not so dear, yet 't is a life ; you coin'd it : 
'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp ; 
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake : 
You rather mine, lining yours : and so, great powers, 
If you will take tliis audit, take this life. 
And cancel tliese cold bonds. O Imogen ! 
I '11 speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps. 



ACT V. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCEXE IV. 



Solemn rmisic. Enter, as in an appurilioii, SicUius Leo- 
natViB, father to Posthnmus, an old iiinii. attired like a 
warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his 
wife, and muther'to Posthnmns, irilh inxxic IteJ'orc them: 
then, after other tnnsic. fulliin' the lu'u i/ouna Leonati, 
brothers to Posthnnmy, n'i/h irunnd.-: us thei, died in the 
wars. They circle Posthumus round, us he lies sleepinc/. 

Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show 

Thy spite on mortal flies : 
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, 

That thj' adulteries 
Kates and revenges. 
Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 

Whose face I never saw i* 
I died whilst in the womb he stay'd 

Attending nature's law : 
Whose father then, as men report 

Thou orphans' father art. 
Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him 

From this earth-vexing smart. 

3Ioth. Lucina lent not me her aid, 
But took me in my tliroes ; 
That from me was Posthumus ript, 
Came crying 'mongst liis foes, 
A thiiig of pity I 

Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, 
Moulded the stuff S(i fair. 
That he deserved tlie praise o' the world. 
As great fSicilius' heir. 

Fiist Bro. When once he was mature for man, 

In Britain where was he 
Tliat could stand up his parallel; 

Or fruitful ()l)ject be 
In eye of Imogen, that best 

Could deem his dignity V 

3Mli. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, 
To be exiled, and thrown 
From Leonati seat, and cast 
From her his dearest one, 
Sweet Imogen V 

Sici. Whv did you suffer lachimo, 
Slight tiling of Italy, 
To taint his nobler heart and brain 

With needless jealousy ; 
And to become the geek and scorn 
O" th' other's villauy V 

Sec. Bro. For this from stiller seats we came. 
Our parents and us twain. 
That striking in our country's cause 

Fell bravely and were slain, 

Our fealty and Tenantius' right 

Witli honour to maintain. 

First Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 

To Cymbeline perform 'd : 
Tlien, Jupiter, llimi kinv; of gods. 

Why hast thou thus jwljouru'd 
The graces for his merits due. 

Being all to dolours turn'd r 

Sici. Tliy crystal window ope ; look out ; 
No longer exercise 
Upon a valiant race thy harsh 
And potent injuries. 

3roth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, 
Take olf his miseries. 

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion ; help ; 
Or we poor ghosts will cry 
To the shining synod of the rest 
Against thy deity. 



Both Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, 
And from thy justice fly. 

Jupiter descends in thunder and Ughtninei, sitting upon an 

eagle : he throws a thunder-bolt. The (jhoslsfall on their 

knees. 
Jim. No more, you petty spirits of region low. 

Offend our hearing- ; liusli ! IIow dare you ghosts 
Accuse the tlnuiderer, wliose Ijolt, you know, 

Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts V 
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest 

Upon your never-withering banks of flowers : 
Be not with mortal accidents opprest ; 

No care of yours it is : you know 't is ours. 
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, 

Tlic more delay'd, delighted. Be content; 
Your l(i\v-laiil sdii dur godlicad will uplift: 

His conifdrts tluive, his trials well are spent. 
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birtli, and in 

Our temple was lie married. Rise, and fade. 
He sliall be lord of lady Imogen, 

And happier much by his affliction made. 
This tablet lay upon his breast, wlierein 
• Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine: 
And so, away: nojurther with your din 

Express inipatience, lest you stir up mine. 

Mount, eagle, to my palace crj'stalline. [Aacmds. 

Sir!. He came in thunder; his celestial breath 
Was suliiliurnus to smell: the holy eagle 
Stooji'd, as to foot us: his ascension is 
More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird 
Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak, 
As when his god is pleased. 

All. Thanks, Jupiter! 

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd. 
His radiant roof. Away ! and, to be blest, 
Let us with care perform his great behest. 

[Tke Ghosts x^rtnish. 

Post. [Wal'iii'j] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, 
A father to me; and tliou hast created [and begot 
A motlier and two brothers: but, O scorn ! 
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were born : 
And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend 
On greatness' favour dream as I have done. 
Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve : 
Many dream not to find, neither deserve. 
And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I, 
Tliat have this golden chance and know not why. 
What fairies haunt this ground V A book ? O rare 
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment [one ! 
Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects 
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, 
As good as promise. 

[lifuils] ' When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself 
unknown, without seeking find, and lie embraced 
by a piece of tender air ; and wlien from a stately 
cedar siiall be lopped branches, which, being dead 
many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the 
old stock and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus 
end his miseries, Britain be fortiuiate and flourish 
in peace and plenty.' 

'T is still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen 
Tongue and brain not ; either both or nothing ; 
Or senseless speaking or a speaking such 
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, 
The action of my life is like it, which 
I '11 keep, if but for sympathy. 

Re-enter First Gaoler. 

First Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death ? 

Post. Over-roasted rather ; ready long ago. 

First Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir: if you be 
ready for that, you are well cooked. 

Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the specta- 
tors, the dish pays the shot. 

First Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But 
the comfort is, you shall be called to no more pay- 
ments, fear uo more tavern-bills ; which are often 
797 



ACT V. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE V. 



the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you 
come ill faint for want of meat, ilepait reeling witli 
too mueli drinli; sorry tliat you liave paid too much, 
and sorry tliat you are paid too inucli ; purse and 
brain both empty ; the brain the heavier for being 
too liglit,the purse too liglit, being drawn of heavi- 
ness : of tliis contradiction you shall now be quit. 
O, the cliarity of a penny cord ! it sums up thou- 
sands in a trice : you have no true debitor and cred- 
itor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, tlie 
discharge : your neck, sir, is pen, book and coun- 
ters ; so the acquittance follows. 

Post. I am merrier to die than tliou art to live. 

Firsl Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the 
tooth-ache : but a man that were to sleep your sleep, 
and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would 
cliange places with his otlicer; for, look you, sir, you 
know not which way you shall go. 

Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow. 

First Gaol. Your deatli has eyes in 's head then ; 
I have not seen him so pictured: you must either 
be directed by some that take upon them to know, 
or do take upon yourself that which I am sure you 
do not know, or jump the after iiKpiiryon yourowii 
peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's 
end, I think you '11 never return to tell one. 

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes 
to direct them the way I am going, but such as 
wink and will not use them. 

First Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a 
man should have the best use of eyes to see the way 
of blindness ! I am sure hanging 's the way of wink- 
ing. 

Enter a Messenger. 

3[ess. Knock off his manacles; bring your pris- 
oner to the king. 

Post. Thou bring'st good news ; I am called to be 
made free. 

First Gaol. I '11 be liang'd then. 

Po.'^t. Thou Shalt be then freer than a gaoler ; no 
bolts for the dead. 

[^Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. 

First Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows 
and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. 
Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves de- 
sire to live, tor all he be a Roman: and there be 
some of them too that die against their wills; so 
sliould I, if 1 were one. I would we were all of one 
mind, and one mind good; O, there were desolation 
of gaolers and gallowses ! 1 speak against my pres- 
ent profit, but my wish hath a preferment in 't. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 'V.— Ci/mbeline'' stent. 

Enter Csrmbeline, Belarius, G-uiderius, Arvira- 
gus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, ami Attendants. 

C'ljm. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have 
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart [made 
That the poor soldier that so richly fought, 
AVhose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast 
Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found : 
He sliall be hflppy tliat can find him, if 
Our grace can make him so. 

Bel. I never saw 

Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
Such precious deeds in one that promised nought 
But beggary and poor looks. 

Ct/m. No tidings of him ? 

Pis. lie liath been search'd among the dead and 
But no trace of him. [living, 

t'l/ni. To my grief, I am 

Tlie heir of his reward: [2'o BelariHs, Guiderius, 

and Arviragtts] which I will add 
To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain, 
By whom I grant she lives. 'T is now the time 
To ask of whence you are. Eeport it. 

Pel. Sir, 

798 



In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : 
further to boast were neither true nor modest, 
Unless 1 add, we are honest. 

Cijm. Bow your knees. 

Arise my knights o' the battle : I create you 
Companions to our person and will fit you 
With dignities becoming your estates. 

Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 
There 's business in these faces. Why so sadly 
Greet you our victory ? you look like Romans, 
And not o' the court of Britain. 

Uor. Hail, great king! 

To sour your happiness, I must report 
The queen is dead. 

Cijrn. Wlio worse than a physician 

Would this report become ? But I consider, 
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she V 

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life, 
AVhich, being cruel to tlie world, concluded 
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd 
I will report, so please you : these her women 
Can trip me, if 1 err; who with wet cheeks 
Were present when she fluisli'd. 

Cpm. Prithee, say. 

(Jor. First, she confess'd she never loved you, only 
Affected greatness got by you, not you: 
Married your royalty, was wife to your place; 
Abhorr'd your person. 

C(/m. She alone knew this; 

And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to 
With such integrity, she did confess [love 

Was as a scorjiion to her sight; whose life, 
But that her flight prevented it, she had 
Ta'en off by poison. 

Cym. O most delicate fiend ! 

AVho is 't can read a woman y Is there more V 

Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had 
For you a mortal mineral ; which, being took. 
Should by the minute feed on life and lingering 
By inches waste you : in which time she purposed, 
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
O'ercome you with her show, and in time. 
When she had lilted you with her craft, to work 
Iler son into the ailojition of the crown : 
But, failing of her end by his strange absence. 
Grew sliameless-desperate; opeii'd, in despite 
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented 
The evils she hatch'd were not effected ; so 
Despairing died. 

Cipn. Heard you all this, her women ? 

F'irst Lady. We did, so please your highness. 

Cym. ilii.e eyes 

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 
Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart. 
That tliought her like her seeming; it had been 

vicious 
To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! 
Tliat it was folly in me, thou mayst say. 
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all I 

Enter Lucius, lachimo, the Soothsayer, n7>d other , 
Roman Prisoners, t/uarded; Posthumus behind, and 
Imogen. 

Thou comest not, Cains, now for tribute; that 
The Britons have razed but, though with the loss 
Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made suit 
That their good SOI lis may be appeased with slaughter 
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted: 
So think of your estatie. 

i«c. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the day 
AVas yours by accident; had it gone with us, 
AVe should not, when the blood was cool, have 
threaten 'd 



ACT V. 



CY3IBELIKE. 



SCEXE V. 



Our prisoners witli the sword. But since tlie gods 

AVill liHve it tlius, that nothing but our lives 

May lie callVl ransom, let it come: sutliceth 

A l?oman with a Konian's heart can suffer: 

Auu'ustus lives to think on 't: and so much 

For my peculiar care. This one thing only 

I will entreat ; my boy, a Briton born, 

Let him lie ransom'd : never master had 

A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 

So tender over his occasions, true. 

So feat, so nurse-like : let his virtue join [ness 

With my request, which I '11 make bold your liigli- 

Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton harm, 

Though he "have served a Koman : save him, sir, 

And spare no blood beside. 

C'jiii. I liave surely seen bim : 

His favour is familiar to me. Boy, 
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 
And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore, 
To say ' live, boy : ' ne'er thank thy master ; live : 
And ask of Cynibeline what boon thou wilt. 
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I "11 give it; 
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 
The noblest ta'en. 

Imo. I humbly thank your highness. 

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad ; 
Anil yet I know thou wilt. 

Ln'n. No, no : alack, 

There 's other work in hand : I see a thing 
Bitter to me as death : your life, good master, 
Must shuffle for itself. 

Luc. The boy disdains me. 

He leaves me, scorns me : briefly die their joys 
That place them on the truth of girls and boys. 
"Why stands he so perplex'd 'f 

Ci/m. What w^ouldst thou, boy V 

I love thee more and more : think more and more 
What 's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on ? 

speak. 
Wilt have him live ? Is he thy kin ? thy friend ? 

Lno. He is a Roman; no more kin to me [sal. 
Than I to your highness ; who, being born your Tas- 
Am something nearer. 

0/)n. Wherefore eyest him so ? 

lino. I '11 tell you, sir, in private, if you please 
To give me hearing. 

Cipn. Ay, with all my heart. 

And lend my best attention. What 's thy name ? 

lino. Fidele, sir. 

Ci/m. Thou 'rt my good youth, my page ; 

I '11 be thy master : walk with me ; speak freely. 

[Cunibeline and Immjen converse apart. 

Bel. Is not this boy revived from death V 

Arv. One sand another 

Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad 
Wlio died, and was Fidele. What think you ? 

Old. The same dead thing alive. 

Bel. Peare, peace! see further; he eyes us not; 
forbear ; 
Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure 
He would have spoke to us. 

Gui. But we saw him dead. 

Bel. Be silent; let 's see further. 
,P/s. [.l.sWc] It is my mistress: 

Since she is living, let the time run on 
To good or bad. 

[Cymheline and Imocjen ccime forvard. 

Ci/m. Come, stand thou by our side ; 

Make thy demand aloud. [To lacldwo] Sir, step 

you forth ; 
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely ; 
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it. 
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall [him. 
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to 

lino. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 
Of whom he had this ring. 

Post. [Aside] What 's that to him ? 



Ci/m. That diamond upon your finger, say 
How came it yours ? 

Lick. Thou 'It torture me to leave unspoken that 
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 

Ci/m. How ! me V 

lach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that 
Which torments me to conceal. By villany 
I got this ring : 't was Leonatus' jewel ; 
Wliom thou didst banish; and — which more may 

grieve thee. 
As it doth me — a nobler sir ne'er lived [lord V 

'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, uiy 

Cipn. AU that belongs to this. 

lack. That paragon, thy daughter, — 

For whom my heart drops blood, and niy false spirits 
Quail to remember — Give me leave ;" I faint. 

C'ljm. My daughter! whatoflieri' Renew thy 
strength : 
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will 
Than die ere I hear more : strive, man, and speak. 

lack. Upon a time, — inihappy was the clock 
That struck the hour! — it was "in Rome, — accursed 
The mansion where! — 'twas at a feast, — O, would 
Our viands bad been poison'd, or at least 
Those which I heaved to head! — the good Post- 

humus — 
What should I say ? he was too good to be 
Where ill men were; and was the best of all 
Amongst the rarest of good ones, — sitting sadly, 
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
For lieauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
Of him that test could speak, for feature, laming 
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, 
Postures beyond brief nature, for condition, 
A shop of ail the qualities that man 
Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving. 
Fairness which strikes the eye — 

Ci/m. I stand on fire: 

Con"ie to the matter. 

lach. All too soon I shall, [mus. 

Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthu- 
Most like a noble lord in love and one 
That had a royal lover, took his hint ; 
And, not dispraising whom we praised, — therein 
He was as calm as virtue — he began [made, 

His mistress' pictiue; which by liis tongue being 
And then a mind put in 't, either our brags 
Were crack'd of kitchen-trulls, or his description 
Proved us unspeaking sots. 

Gym. Nay, nay, to the iwrpose. 

lavh. Your daughter's chastity — there it begins. 
He siiake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, 
And she alone were cold : whereat I, \\retch. 
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd witli him 
Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore 
Upon his honour "d finger, to attain 
In suit tlie place of 's bed and win this ring 
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, 
No lesser of her honour confident 
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; 
And would so, liad it been a carbuncle 
Of Phoebus' wlieel, and might so safely, had it 
Been all the worth of 's car. Away to Britain 
Post I in this design : well may you, sir. 
Remember me at court ; where I was taught 
Of your chaste daugliter tlie wide difference 
'Tw'ixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench 'd 
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent : 
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd. 
That I return "il with siniular proof enough 
To make the noble Leonatus mad. 
By wounding his belief in her renown 
With tokens tlius, and thus; averring notes 
Of chamlier-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, — 
O cunning, how I got it ! — nay, some marks 
799 



ACT V. 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE V. 



Of secret on her person, that he couhl not 
But think her bond of chastity quite erack'd, 
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon — 
Methinks, I see him now — 

Post. \_A(lvantmtj\ Ay, so thou dost, 

Italian fiend ! Ay me, most credulous fool. 
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 
That 's due to all the villains past, in being. 
To come ! O, give nie cord, or knife, or poison, 
Some upright justicer ! Thou, king, send out 
For torturers ingenious : it is I 
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend 
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
That kiird tliy daughter :— villain-like, I lie — 
That caused a lesser villain than myself, 
A sacrilegious thief, to do 't : the temple 
Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself. 
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
The dogs o' the street to bay me : every villain 
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus: and 
Be villany less tlian 't was ! OTmogen ! 
Illy queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen, 
Imogen, Imogen ! 

Imo. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear — 

Fost. Shall 's have a play of this'i' Thou scorn- 
ful page. 
There lie thy part. [Striking her: she falls. 

Pi-t. O, gentlemen, help ! 

Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! 
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help! 
Mine honoured lady 1 

Ct/in. Does the world go round ? 

Post. How come these staggers on me ? 

Pis. Wake, my mistress ! 

Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 
To death with mortal joy. 

Pis. How fares my mistress y 

luio. O, get thee from my sight ; 
Thou gavest me poison : dangerous fellow, hence ! 
Breathe not where princes are. 

Cym. The tune of Imogen ! 

Pis. Lady, 
Tlie gods tlirow stones of sulphur on me, if 
That box I gave you was not tliought by me 
A precious thing": I had it from the queen. 

Cii)ii. New matter still ? 

Into. It poison'd me. 

Cor. Ogods! 

I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, 
AVliich must approve tliee honest : ' If Pisanio 
Have ' said she ' given his mistress that confection 
Which I gave hiiii for cordial, she is served 
As I would serve a rat.' 

Cym. What 's this, Cornelius ? 

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importuned me 
To temiier iioisous for her, still pretending 
The salisfai'lion of her knowledge only 
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, 
Of no esteem : I, dreading that lier purpose 
Was of more danger, did compound for her 
A certain stuff, whic-h, being ta'en, would cease 
The present jiower of life, but in short time 
AH ollices of nature sliould again 
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it? 

Into. Most like I did, for I was dead. 

Pel. My boys, 

There was our error. 

Gtii. This is, sure, Fidele. 

Iiiw. Why did yon throw your wedded lady from 
Think tliat you are upon a rock; and now [you ? 
Throw me again. [Embracing him. 

Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 

Till the tree die ! 

Cym. How now, my flesh, my child ! 

■What, makest thou me a dullard in this act ? 
Wilt thou not speak to me ? 

Imo, [Kixeeling'] Your blessing, sir. 

800 



Bel. [To Ouiderius and Arviragus] Though you 
did love this youth, I blame ye not ; 
You had a motive for 't. 

Cyv>. My tears that fall 

Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 
Thy mother 's dead. 

Imo. I am sorry f(n' 't, my lord. 

Cym. O, she was nanglit ; and long of her it was 
That we meet here so strangely : but her son 
Is gone, we know not how nor where. 

Pis. My lord. 

Now fear is from me, I '11 speak troth. Lord Cloten, 
Upon my lady's missing, came to me 
With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, and 

swore. 
If I discover 'd not which way she was gone, 
It was my instant deatli. l!y accident, 
I had a feigned letter of my master's 
Then in rny pocket ; which directed him 
To seek her on the mountains near to JMilford; 
AVhere, in a frenzy, in my master's garments. 
Which he enforced fnnn me, away he posts 
With micliaste purpose and with oatli to violate 
My lady's honour: what became of him 
I furtlier know not. 

Oui. Let me end the story: 

I slew him there. 

Cym. Marry, the gods forfend ! 

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
Pluck a hard sentence: prithee, valiant youth, 
Deny 't again. 

Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. 

Cym. He was a prince. 

Gui. A most iiicivil one: the wrongs he did me 
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me 
With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
If it could so roar to me : I cut off 's liead ; 
And am right glad he is not standing here 
To tell this tale of mine. 

Cym. I am sorry for thee : 

By thine O'wti tongue thou art condemn'd, and must 
Endure our law: thou 'rt dead. 

Into. That headless man 

I thought had been my lord. 

Cym. Bind the offender, 

And take him from our presence. 

Bel. Stay, sir king: 

This man is better than the man he slew, 
As well descended as tliyself ; and hath 
JMore of thee merited than a band of Clotens 
Had ever scar for. [To the Gwird] Let his arms alone; 
They were not born for bondage. 

Cym. Wliy, old soldier, 

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for. 
By tasting of our wrath '^ How of descent 
As good as we ? 

Arv. In that he spake too far. 

Cym. And thou shalt die for 't. 

Bel. We will die all three : 

But I will prove that two on 's are as good 
As I have given out him. My sons, I must, 
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, 
Tliougli, haply, well for you. 

Arv. Your danger 's ours. 

Gui. And our good his. 

Bel. Have at it then, by leave. 

Thou hadst, great king, a subject who 
Was call'd Belarius. 

Cym. What of him ? he is 

A banish'd traitor. 

Bel. He it is that hath 

Assumed this age ; indeed a banish'd man ; 
I know not how a traitor. 

Cym. Take him hence: 

Tlie whole world shall not save him. 

Bel. Not too hot : 

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons ; 



ACT V. 



CY3IBELINE. 



SCENE V. 



And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
As I have received it. 

Cipn. Nursing of my sons ! 

liel. I am too Munt and saucy: here 's my knee: 
Ere I arise, 1 will prt'lVr my sons; 
Tlien spare not tlie (dd fatlier. Mighty sir, 
Tliese two young gentlemen, that call nie father 
And think they are my sons, are none of mine ; 
They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 
And blood of your begetting. 

Cym. How ! my issue ! 

lid. So sure as you your father 's. I, old Morgan, 
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish 'd : 
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punish- 
ment 
Itself, and all my treason; that I suifer'd 
AVas all the harm I did. These gentle princes — 
For such and so they are — these twenty years 
Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I 
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as 
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Eurii)liile, 
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 
Upon my banishment : I moved her to 't. 
Having received the punislniient before. 
For that which I did then : beaten for loyalty 
Excited me to treason : their dear loss, 
Tiie more of you 't was felt, the more it shaped 
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, 
Here are your sons again ; and I must lose 
Two of the sweet 'st ciimpaniDUS in the world. 
The benediction of tliese covering heavens 
Fall on their heads like dew ! for they are worthy 
To inlay heaven with stars. 

Ciim. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 

Tlie service that you three have done is more 
Uidike tlian this thou telFst. I lost my children: 
If these be they, I know not how to wish 
A pair of worthier sons. 

Bel. Be pleased awhile. 

This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Gruiderius : 
This gentleman, my C'adwal, Arviragus, 
Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd 
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
Of his queen mother, which ^'or more probation 
I can with ease produce. 

Cijm. Guiderius had 

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ; 
It was a mark of wonder. 

IkL This is he; 

Who hath upon liim still that natural stamp: 
It was wise nature's end in the donation, 
To be his evidence now. 

Cym. O, what, am I 

A mother to the birth of three ? Ke'er mother 
Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be. 
That, after this strange starting from your orbs. 
You may reign in them now ! O Imogen, 
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 

Imo. No, my lord; 

I have got two worlds by't.^0 my gentle brothers. 
Have Ave thus met "? O, never say hereafter 
But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother. 
When I was but your sister ; I you brothers. 
When ye were so indeed. 

(Jiim. Did you e'er meet ? 

^'iVi'. Ay, my good lord. 

Gui. And at first meeting loved ; 

Continued so, until we thought he died. 

Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 

Cym. O rare instinct I 

When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridge- 
ment 
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
Distinction should be rich in. Where 'i how lived 

you ? 
And when came you to serve our Koman cajitive ? 
51 



How parted with your brothers? how first met 

tliem ? 
Why fled you from the court ? and whither V These, 
And your three motives to the battle, with 
I know not how much more, should be demanded ; 
And all the other by-dependencies. 
From chance to chance: but nor the time nor 
Will serve our long iiiter'gatories. See, Qilace 
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen, 
And slie, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
On liim, her brothers, me. her master, hitting 
Each object with a joy: the countercliange 
Is severally in all. Eet 's quit this ground. 
And .smoke the temple with our sacrifices. 
[To Belarius] Thou art my brother; so we '11 hold 
thee ever. 

Imo. You are my father too, and did relieve me. 
To see this gracious season. 

Cym. All o'erjoy'd. 

Save these in bonds: let them lie joyful too. 
For they shall taste our comfort. 

Imo. My good master, 

I will yet do you service. 

Luc. Happy be you! 

Cijm. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought. 
He would have well becomed this place, and graced 
The thankiugs of a king. 

Post. I am, sir. 

The soldier that did company these three 
In poor beseeming; 't was a fitment for 
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, 
Speak, laehimo: I had you down and might 
Ilave made you finish. 

ladi. [Kneeling] I am down again : 

But now my heavy coiiscienee sinks my knee. 
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech 

you. 
Which I so often owe: but your ring first ; 
And here the bracelet of the truest princess 
That ever swore her faith. 

Post. Kneel not to me : 

The power that I have on you is to spare you; 
The malice towards you to forgive you: live, 
And deal with others better. 

Cym. Nobly doom'd ! 

We '11 learn our freeness of a son-in-law ; 
Pardon 's the word to all. 

Arv. You holp us, sir. 

As you did mean indeed to be our brother; 
Joy'd are we that you are. 

Post. Your servant, princes. Good my lord of 
Rome, 
Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought 
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, 
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 
Of mine own kindred : when I waked, I found 
This label on my liosum ; whose containing 
Is SCI from sense in hardness, that I can 
Make no colleetidu ni it ; let him show 
His skill in the construction. 

Luc. Philarmonus ! 

ISooth. Here, my good lord. 

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 

Sooth. [Frarls] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to 
himself indjuown, without seeking find, and be em- 
braced l)y a piece of tender air; and when from a 
stately cedar sliall be luiiped brandies, which, being 
dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to 
the ol<l stock, and frisldy gmw; then shall Post- 
hunms end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and 
flourish in peace and plenty.' 
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; 
The fit and apt construction of thy name. 
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much. 
[To Cymhdiiu] The piece of tender air, thy virtu- 
ous daughter, 
AVhich we call 'mollis aer; ' and ' mollis aer ' 
801 



ACT V. 



CYNBELINE. 



SCEXE V. 



We term it ' luiilier: ' which 'inulier' I divine 
Is this most cdiistaiit wife; who, even now, 
Answering- tlie letter of tlie onicle, 
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about 
With this most tender air. 

Cijm. This hath some seeming. 

S'ootli. The lofty cedar, rtiyal Cymbeline. 
Personates thee : and thy lopp'd branches point 
Thy two sons forth ; who, by Belarius stol'n. 
For many yeare thijuslit dead, are now revived, 
To the majeslic cedar joiu'd, whose issue 
Promises Britain peace and plenty. 

Ci/m. AVell; 

My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, 
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, 
And to the Ptoman ewjiiire; promising 
To i)ay our wonteil tiil)ute, from the which 
We were dissuaded liy our wicked queen: 
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers. 
Have laid most heavy liand. 

Sooth. The lingers of the powers above do tune 



The harmony of this peace. The vision 
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instaut 
Is full accoinplish'd ; for the Roman ea.nle, 
From south to west on wint;- sciuring aloft, 
Lessen'd liersclf, and in the beams o' the .sun 
Sovanish'd : wliich foresliiiw'd our jirincely eagle. 
The imperial (';esar, shiudd again unite 
His favour with tlie radiant Cymbeline, 
Wliich shines here in the west. 

Cjjm. Laud we the gods ; 

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace 
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let 
A Koman and a British ensign wave 
Friendly together: so through Lud's-town marcii: 
And in the temide of great Jupiter 
Our peace we '11 ratify; seal it with feasts. 
Set on there ! Never was a war did cease, 
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. 

[£xeunt. 




802 



IMOGEN IN THE CAVE. — Act Ul., ficoie vi. 




PERICLES. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



■ two lords of Tyre. 



Antiochus, King of Autiocli. 

Pericles, Priace of Tyre. 

Helicanus, 

Escanes, 

Simonides, King of Pentapolis. 

Cleon, Governor of Tarsus. 

Lysimaclius, Governor of Mytilene. 

Cerimon, a lord of Ephesus. 

Thaliard, a lord of Antioch. 

Philemon, servant to Cerimon. 

Leonine, servant to Dionyza. 

Marslial. 

A Pandar. 

Boult, his servant. 

[For an 



The Daughter of Antiochus. 
Dionyza, wife to Cleon. 
Thalsa, daughter to Simonides. 
Marina, daughter to Pericles and Tbalsa. 
Lychorida, nurse to Marina. 
A Bawd. 

Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, 
and Messengers. 

Diana. 

Go'wer, as Chorus. 



SCENE — Dis2>ersedly in various countries. 



of the Plot of this Play, 



A^CT I. 



Etiter Gower. 

Before the palace of Antioch. 

To sing a song that old was sung, 

From ashes ancient Gower is come ; 

Assuming man's infirmities, 

To glad your ear, and please your eyes. 

It hath been sung at festivals, 

On ember-eves and holy-ales ; 

And lords and ladies in their lives 

Have read it for rejioratives : 

The purcliase is to make men glorious ; 

Et bonum quo antiqnius, eo melius. 

If you, born in tliese latter times, 

"When wit 's more ripe, accept my rhymes, 

And tliat to hear an old man sing 

May to your wishes pleasure bring, 

I life would wisli, and tliat I miglit 

Waste it for you, like taper-light. 

This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great 

Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat; 

Tlie fairest in all Syria, 

I tell you what mine autliors say : 

This king imto him took a fere, 

Who died and left a female heir, 

So buxom, blithe, and full of face, 

As heaven had lent lier all his grace; 

A\''ith whom the father liking took, 

And her to incest did iirovoke: 

Bad child; worse father! to entice his o^vu 

To evil should be done V)y none : 

But custom what they did begin 

AVas with long use accovuit no sin. 

The beauty of this sinful dame 

Made many princes thither frame, 

To seek her as a bed-fellow. 

In marriage-pleasures play-fellow : 

Which to prevent he made a law, 

To keep her still, and men in awe, 

That whoso ask'd her for his wife, 

His riddle told not, lost bis life : 



So for her many a wight did die. 

As yon grim, looks do testify. 

What now effeues, to the judgment of your eye 

I give, my cause who best can justify. [Exit. 

SCENE I. — Antioch. A room in the palace. 
Enter Antiochus, Prince Pericles, and followers. 

Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large re- 
The danger of the task you undertake. [ceived 

Per. I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul 
Embolden 'd with the glory of her praise, 
Think deatli no hazard in this enterprise. 

Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, 
For the cniliraci'iiients even of Jove himself; 
At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd, 
Xature tliis dowry ga\e, to glad her presence. 
The senate-house oi planets all did sit. 
To knit in her their best pefections. 

JIhmc. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus. 

Per. See where she comes, apparell'd like the 
spring, 
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
Iler face the book of praises, where is read 
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
SorrowVere ever razed, and testy wrath 
Could never be her mild companion. 
You gods that made me man, and sway in love, 
That have inllamed desire in my breast 
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, 
Or die in the adventure, be my heliis, 
As I am son and servant to yourwill. 
To compass such a boundless happiness ! 

Ant. Prince Pericles, — 

Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 

Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 
With golden fruit. b\it dangerous to l)e touch'd ; 
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard: 
Her face, like heaven, euticeth thee to view 
Her countless glory, which desert must gain ; 
803 



ACT I. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE I. 



And which, without desert, liecause tliine eye 
Piesuiiies to re;ich, all tliy wliole lieaji must die. 
Yon sometimes famous piinces, like thyself, 
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire, [pale, 
Tell thee, witli speechless tongues and semblance 
That witliout coverins;;, save yon field of stars, 
Here tliey stan<l martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars; 
A'ld with (lead cheeks advise thee to desist 
For going on death's net, whom none resist. 

I'cr. Aidiocinis, I thank thee, who liath taught 
My frail mortality to know itself, 
And by those fearful objects to prepare 
This body, like to them, to what I must; 
For deatii reniendjerM slionld be like a mirror, 
Who tells us life "s but breath, to trust it error. 
I "11 make my will then, and, as sick men do 
AVho know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe, 
Ciriiic not at earthly joys as erst they did ; 
iSo I bequeath a happy peace to you 
And all good men, as every prince sliould do ; 
My riches to the earth from whence they came ; 
But my unspotted fire of love to you. 

[To the daughter of Antiochus. 
Tims ready for the way of life or death, 
I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus. 

Ant. Scorning advice, read the conclusion, then : 
Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed. 
As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed. 

DuiMih. Of all say'd yet, I'nayst thon prove pros- 
Of all say'd yet, I wish thee iiappiiicss! [perous! 

Per. Like a bold champion, 1 assume the lists, 
Nor ask advice of any other thought 
But faithfulness and courage. 

He reads the riddle. 

I am no viper, yet I feed 

On mother's flesh which did me breed. 

I sought a husband, in which labimr 

I found that kindness in a f»thir: 

He's father, son, and husband mild; 

I mother, wife, and yet liis child. 

How they may be, and yet in two, 

As you will live, resolve it you. 
Sliarp physic is tlie last : but, O you powers 
That give heaven countless *-yes to view men's acts, 
AVliy cloud they not their sights perpetually. 
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it ? 
Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still, 

{i\ik( .s liohl of the hand of the Princess. 
Were not tliis glorious casket stored with ill : 
But I must tell you, now my thouglds revolt ; 
For he 's no man on whom perlVctions wait 
That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings ; 
Who, fmger'd to make man his lawful nuisic. 
Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to 
Ffut being play'd upon before your time, [hearken ; 
Hell only danc-eth at so harsh a chime. 
Good sooth, 1 care not for you. 

Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life. 
For that 's an article within our law. 
As dangerous as the rest. Your time 's expired : 
Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 

Per. Great king. 
Few love to bear tiie sins they love to act ; 
'T would braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 
Who has a book of all tliat monarchs do. 
He 's more secure to keep it shut than shown : 
For vice repeated is like the wandering wind. 
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spreail itself; 
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear. 
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear: 
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole 

casts ■ [throng'd 

Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is 
By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die 

for 't. 
Kings are earth's gods ; in vice their law 's their will ; 
80i 



And if .Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill ? 
It is enough you know; and it is fit, 
What being more kn<iwn grows worse, to smother it. 
All love the womb that their hrst l)eing bred. 
Then give my tongue like leave to love my lieail. 

Ant. [Aside] Heaven, that I had thy head! he has 
found the meaning : < 

But I will glo/.e with him.— Young prince of Tyre, 
Though by the tenour of our strict edict, 
Your exposition misinterpreting, 
We might (iroceed to cancel of your days; 
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
As your fair self, doth tune us othenvise: 
Forty days longer we do respite you; 
If by which time our secret be undone, 
This mercy shows we '11 joy in such a sou: 
And until then your entertain shall be 
As doth befit our honour and your wortli. 

[JExeunt all but Pericles. 

Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin, 
When what is done is like an hjiaocrite, 
The which is good in nothing but in sight ! 
If it be true that I interpret false, 
Tlien were it certain you were not so bad 
As V, ith foul incest to abuse your soul ; 
Where now you 're botli a father and a son, 
By your untimely claspings with your child, 
Whicli pleasure fits an husband, not a father; 
And she an eater of her mother's llesh. 
By the defiling of her parent's bed ; 
And both like .serpents are, who though they feed 
On sweetef t flowers, yet they poison breed. 
Autioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men 
Blush not in actions blacker than the night. 
Will shun no course to keep them from the light. 
One sin, I know, auotlier doth provoke ; 
^Murder 's as near to lust as flame to smoke : 
Poison and treason are the hands of sin. 
Ay, and the targets, to ])ut off the shame : 
Then, lest my life be cropji'd to keep you clear. 
By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. 

Pe-enter Antiochus. 
Ant. He hath found the meaning, for which we 
To have his head. [mean 

He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, 
Kor tell the world AntiocTius doth sin 
In such a loathed manner; 
And therebire instantly this prince must die; 
For by his fall my honour must keep high. 
AVho attends us there ? 

Enter Thaliard. 

Thai. Doth your highness call V 

.l)i(. Thaliard, 
You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes 
Her private actions to your secrecy ; 
And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
Thaliard, behold, here 's poison, and here 's gold ; 
We hate the jirince of Tyre, and thou must kill him : 
It fits thee not to ask the reason why. 
Because we bid it. Say, is it done 'i 

Thai. My lord, 

'T is done. 

Ant. Enough. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Let vour breath cool youi'self , telling your haste. 

Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exit. 

Ant. As thou 

Wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot 
From a well-experienced archer hits the mark 
His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return 
Unless thou say ' Prince Pericles is dead.' 

Thai. My lord. 
If I can get him within my pistol's length, [ness. 
I '11 make him sure enough : so, farewell to your high- 



ACT I. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE III. 



.lat ThAliard, adieu! {Exit Tlml.] Till Pericles 
be dead. 
My lieart can lend no succour to my head. {Exit. 

SCENE n. — Tyre. A room in the imluce. 

Enter Pericles. 
Per. [To Lords tcithout] Let none disturb us. — 

Why should this change of thoughts, 
The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy, 
}5e my so used a guest as not an hour, 
In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night, 
Tiie tomb where grief should sleep, can "breed me 

quiet ? [them. 

Here jjleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun 
And clanger, which I fear'd, is at Antiocli, 
"Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here : 
Yet neither pleasure's art can jo}' my spirits, 
Xor yet the other's distance comfort me. 
Tlien it is thus: the passions of the mind, 
Tluit have their first conception by mis-dread. 
Have after-nourisliment and life by care; 
And what was first hut fear what might be done. 
Grows elder now and cares it be not done. 
And so vv'ith me: the great Antiochus, 
'Gainst whom I am too little to contend, 
-Since he 's so great can make liis will his act, 
AVill think me speaking, though I swear to silence; 
Xor boots it me to say I honour him. 
If he suspect I may dishonour him : 
And what may make him blush in being known, 
lie 'II sto]! the course by wliich it niiuht be known ; 
Witli liostile forces lie '11 o'erspread the land, 
And witli the ostent of war will look so huge. 
Amazement shall drive courage from the state ; 
Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist. 
And sulijects punish'd that ne'er thought offence: 
AVhich care of tliera, not pity of myself, 
"Wlio am no more but as the tops of trees, 
■\Vliich fence the roots they grow by and defend them, 
!Makes buth my body pine and soul to languish. 
And punish that before that he would punish. 

Enter Helicanus, with other Lords. 

Eirst Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred 
breast ! [to us. 

Sec. Lord. And keep your mind, till yon return 
Peaceful and comfortable ! 

Hel. Peace, peace, and give experience tongue. 
Tliey do abuse the king that flatter him: 
Forflattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark. 
To whicli that blast gives heat and stronger glow- 
Whereas reproof, obedieut and in order, [ing ; 

Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. 
"When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace. 
He flatters you, makes war upon your life. 
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please ; 
I cannot be much lower than my knees. 

Per. All leave us else; but let your cares o'erlook 
"What shipping and what lading 's in our haven. 
And then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Helicanus, 

thou 
Hast moved us : what seest thou in our looks y 

Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 

Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frownis. 
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face? 

//( '. IIiiw dare the iilants look up to heaven, from 
They !i;xve tlieir nourishment ? [whence 

Per. Thou know'st I have power 

To take thy life from thee. 

Hel. [Knreliiui] I have ground the axe myself; 
Do you but strike the blow. 

Per. Rise, prithee, rise^ 

Sit down : thou art no flatterer : 
I thank thee for it ; and heaven forbid 
That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid! 



Fit counsellor and servant for a prince, 

Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant. 

What wouldst thou have me do V 

Hel. To bear with patience 

Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself. 

Per. Thou speak'st like a pliysiciau, Helicanus, 
That minister'st a potion unto me 
Tliat thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself. - 

Attend me, then : I went to Antioch, 
Where as thou know'st, against the face of death, 
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty. 
From whence an issue I miglit i)ropagate. 
Are arms to princes, and tiring joys to subjects. 
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder; 
The rest — hark in tliiiie ear — as black as incest: 
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father 
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth : but thou know'st 
'T is time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss, [this, 
Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled. 
Under the covering of a careful niglit, , 

Who seem'd my good protector; and. being here. .; 

Bethought me what was past, wliat niiglit succeed. ' 
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' tears 
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years: 
And sliould he doubt it, as no doubt he doth. 
That I should open to tlie listening air 
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed. 
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ojte, 
To lop that doubt, he "11 fill this land with arms, 
And make pretence of wrong that I have done liim ; 
When all, for mine, if I may call offence, i 

JIust feel war's blow, who spares not innocence: j 

Which love to all, of which thyself art one, j 

Who now reprovest me for it, — 

Hel. Alas, sir ! 

Per. Drew sleep out of miue eyes, blood from 
my cheeks, 
Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts 
How I might stop this tempest ere it came; 
And finding little comfort to relieve them, 
I thought it princely charity to grieve them. 

Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me 
leave to speak, 
Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear, 
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, 
Who either by public 'nar or private treason 
Will take away your life. 
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while. 
Till that his rage and anger be forgot. 
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life. 
Your rule direct to any; if to me. 
Day serves not light more faithful than I "11 be. 

Per. I do not doiilit thy faitli ; 
But slionld he wrong my liberties in my absence? 

Hel. We 'Umingle ourbloods together in the earth. 
From wlience we had our being and our birtli. 

Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to 
Tarsus 
Intend my travel, where I '11 hear from thee ; 
And by whose letters I '11 dispose myself. 
The care I had and have of subjects' good 
On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. 
I "11 take thy word for faitli, not ask thine oath : 
Who .shuns not to break one will siu'e crack both : 
]3ut in our orbs we "11 live so romid and safe. 
That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince. 
Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. 

[Exenut. 

SCENE ni. — Tyre. An ante-chumber in the palace. 

Enter Thaliard. 
Thnl. So, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here 
must I kill King Pericles; and if I do it not, I am 
sure to be hanged at home: 't is dangerous. Well, 
I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good dis- 
cretion, that, being bid to ask what he would of the 
805 



ACT I. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE IV. 



king, desired he might know none of liis secrets : 
now do I see he had some reason for 't ; for if a king 
bid a man be a villain, he 's bound by the indenture 
of his oath to be one. Hush ! here come the lords 
of Tyre. 

Enter Helicanus and Escanes, with other Lords 
of Tyre. 

Hel. You sliall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, 
Further to (lucslidu lue of your king's departure; 
His scalM ediniMissinii, left in trust witli me. 
Both speak sullicieiitly he's gone to travel. 

Thai. [,l.-!»l<] How'! the king gone! 

Hel. If furtlier yet you will be satisfied, 
Why, as it were unlicensed of your loves, 
He would depart, I '11 give some light unto you. 
Being at Antioch 

Thai. [Asiile] What from Antioch ? 

Hel. Royal Antiochus — on what cause I know 
not — 
Took some displeasure at him ; at least he judged so : 
And diiuljtiiig lest that he had err'd or sinn'd. 
To show his scirrow, he 'Id correct himself; 
So puts liiiiisflf unto the shipman's toil, 
With whom carh minute threatens life or death. 

Thill. [A.-<;<h\ Well, I perceive 
I shall not lie lianu'M now, although I would; 
But since he 's gone, tlic kind's seas must please: 
He 'scaped the land, to pcrisli at the sea. 
I '11 present myself. I'face to the lords of Tyre! 

Ikl. Lord Tlialiard from Antiochus is welcome.'' 

Tliiil. Froui him I come 
With niessage unto princely Pericles ; 
But since my landing 1 have understood 
Your lord has betook liimself to unknown travels, 
My message must retiu'ii frc.mi whence it came. 

Hel. We have no reason to desire it, 
Commended to our master, not to us : 
Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire. 
As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Tarsus. A room in the Oovernor''s 
liimse. 

Eater Cleon, the governor of Tkarsus, with Dionyza, 
and others. 

Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here. 
And by relating tales of others' griefs, 
See if 't will teach us to forget our owp ? 

Bio. That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it ; 
For who digs hills because they do aspire 
Throws down our mouiitiuu to cast up a. higher. 

my distressed lonl, even such our griefs are : 
Here they 're but felt, and seen witli mischief 's eyes. 
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 

Cle. O Dionyza, 
Who wantetli food, and will not say he wants it. 
Or can conceal his liunger till lie lauiish y 
Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep 
Our woes into the air ; our eyes do weep, 
Till tongues fetcli breath that may proclaim them 

louder ; 
That, if lieaven slumber while their creatures want, 
Tliey may awalve tlicir iieljis to ccunfort them. 

1 '11 then discourse our woes, felt several years. 
And wanting breath to speak help me with tears. 

JJio. I '11 (io my best, sir. 

Cle. This Tarsus, o'er which I have the govern- 
ment, 
A city on whom plenty held full hand. 
For riches strew'd herself even in the streets ; 
Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the 

clouds. 
And strangers ne'er beheld but wonder'd at ; 
Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd. 
Like one another's glass to trim them by : 
806 



Their tables were stored full, to glad the'sight, 
And not so much to feed on as delight ; 
All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, 
The name of help grew odious to repeat. 

JJio. O, 'tis too true. 

Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this our 
change. 
These mouflis, who but of late, earth, sea, and air, 
Were all too little to content and please. 
Although they gave their creatures in abundance, 
As houses are defiled for want of use. 
They are now starved tor want of exercise : 
Those palates who, not j'et two sunnuers younger, 
Must have inventions to deliglit the taste. 
Would now be glad of bread , and beg for it : 
Those motliers who, to nousle up their babes, 
Thought ncmglit too curious, are ready now 
To eat those little darlings wliom they loved. 
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man anil wife 
Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life: 
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; 
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall 
Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
Is not this true ? 

Bio. Our cheeks' and hollow eyes do witness it. 

Cle. O, let those cities that of plenty's cup 
And her prosperities so largely taste, 
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears! 
The misery of Tarsus may be theirs. 

JSnter a Lord. 

Lord. Where 's the lord governor ? 

Cle. Here. 
Speak out thy sorrows which thou liring'st in haste. 
For comfort is too far for us to exiiect. 

Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring 
shore, 
A portly sail of ships make hitherward. 

Cle. I thought as much. 
One sorniw never comes but brings an heir, 
Tliat may succeed as his inheritor; 
And so in (uu-s: some neighbouring nation. 
Taking advantage of our misery, 
Ilatli stulfd these hollow vessels with their power. 
To beat us down, the which are down already; 
And make a conciuest of unhappy me. 
Whereas no glory 's got to overcome. 

Lord. That 'st lie least fear; for, by the semblance 
Of their white flags display 'd, they bring us peace, 
And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 

Cle. Thou speak'st like liim's untutor'd to repeat : 
Who makes the fairest show means most deceit. 
But bring tliey wliat they will and what they can, 
AVhat need we fear? 

The groun<l "s the lowest, and we are half way there. 
Go tell their general we attend him here. 
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes. 
And what he craves. 

Lord. I go, my lord. [Exit. 

Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist ; 
If wars, we are unable to resist. 

Enter Pericles ivith Attendants. 

Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, 
Let not our ships and number of our men 
Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes. 
We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
And seen the desolation of your streets : 
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, 
But to relieve them of their lieavy load ; 
And these our ships, you luijipily may think 
Are like the Trojan liorse was stulf(i within 
AVith bloody veins, expecting overthrow, 
Ai-e stored with corn to make your needy bread. 
And gi\e tlieni life wli<ini liunger starved half dead. 

Alt. The gods of Greece protect you! 
And we '11 pray for you. 



ACT II. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE I. 



Per. Arise, I pray you, rise : 

"We do not loolc for reverence, but for love. 
And Imrbourase for ourself, our ships, and men. 

Ck. Tlie wliicli when any sliall not ^nitify, 
Or pay you with unthani'vfuhiess in tliout^lit, 
Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, 



The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils! 
Till wlien, — the wliicli I hope shall ne'er be seen, — 
Your grace is welcome to our town and us. 
Per. Which welcome we '11 accept ; feast here 
awhile. 
Until our stars that frown lend us a smile. \Exeunt, 



.ACT II. 



Enter G-ower. 

(yciw. Here have you seen a mighty king 
His child, I wis, to incest bi-ing ; 
A better prince and benign lord. 
That wiU prove awful both in deed and word. 
15t' quiet then as men should be. 
Till lie hath pass'd necessity. 
I '11 show you those in troubles reign. 
Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 
Tlie good in conversation, 
To wliom I give my benison. 
Is still at Tarsus, where each man 
Thinlis all is writ he speken can ; 
And, to remember what he does. 
Build his statue to make him glorious: 
But tidings to the contrary 
Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I ? 

Dumb Sho'w. 

Enter nt one door Pericles talking with Cleon ; nil the 
triiin irilh them. Enter at another door a Gentleman, 
jfit/i a li'tirr to Pericles ; Pericles shoirs tlie tetter to 
Cleon ; i/irrxthr Messenger a reward, and hnir/hts him. 
Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at another. 

Good Helicane, that stay'd at home. 

Not to eat honey like a drone 

From otliers' labours ; for though he strive 

To killen bad, keep good alive; 

And to fulfil his prince' desire. 

Sends word of all that haps iii»T}Te : 

IIow Thaliard came full bent with sin 

And liad intent to murder him ; 

And that in Tarsus was not best 

Longer for him to make his rest. 

He, doing so, put forth to seas, 

"Where when men been, there 's seldom ease; 

For now the wind begins to blow ; 

Tliunder above and deeps below 

Make sucli unquiet, that the ship 

Should house him safe is wreck'd and split; 

And he, good prince, having all lost. 

By waves from coast to coast is xct : 

All perishen of man, of pelf , 

Ne aught escapen but himself; 

Till fortune, tired with doing bad. 

Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 

And here he comes. "^Vhat shall be next. 

Pardon old Gower, — this longs the text. [Exit. 

SCENE I. — PentapoUs., An open place hj the sea- 
side. 

Enter Pericles, wet. 
Per. Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of lieaven ! 
"Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, eartldy man 
Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you : 
Alas, the sea liath cast me on the "rocks, 
"Wash'd me from sliore to shore, and left me breath 
Nothing to think on but ensuing death : 
Let it suffice tlie greatness of your jiowers 
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes; 
And iiaving thrown him from your watery grave, 
Here to have death in peace is all he '11 crave. 



Enter three Fishermen. 

First Fish. "What, ho, Pilcli ! 

,Sfc. Fish. Ha, come and liring away the nets! 

I'irst Fish. "Wliat, Patch-bree'ch, I Aay ! 

Third Fiih. "What say you, master? 

First Fish. Look how thou stirrest now! come 
away, or I '11 fetch thee with a wanion. 

2'hird Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of 
the poor men that were cast away before us even 
now. 

F'irst Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart 
to hear what pitiful cries they made to us ti^ help 
them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help our- 
selves. 

Third Fish. Nay, master, said not T as much 
when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tum- 
bled y they say they 're half fisli, half tiesh : a 
plague on them, they ne'er come but I look to be 
washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live iii 
the sea. 

First Fish. "Why, as men do a-land; the great 
ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich 
misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale ; a' plays 
and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and 
at last devours them all at a mouthful : such wlialcs 
have I lieard on o' the land, who never leave gap- 
ing till tliey 've swallowed the whole parish, church, 
steeple, bells, and all. 

Per. [Aside] A pretty moral. 

Third Fish. But, master, if I had been the sex- 
ton, I would have been that day in the belfry. 

Sec. Fisit. "Wliy, man:' 

Third Fish. Because he should have swallowed 
me too : and when I had been in liis belly, I would 
have kept such a jangling of tlie bells, that lie 
sliould never have left, till he cast bells, steeyde, 
cliurch, and parish, up again. But if the good 
King Simonides were of my mind, — 

Pel'. [Aside] Simonides! 

Third Fish. "We would purge the land of these 
drones, that rob the bee of lier honey. 

Per. [Aside] How ft-om l!.e finny subject of the 
These fishers tell the infirmities of men ; [sea 

And from their watery empire recollect 
All that may men approve or men detect! 
Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 

Sec. Fish.' Jlowestl good fellow, what's that? 
If it be a day fits you, search out of the calendar, 
and nobody look after it. 

Per. May see the sea hath cast upon your coast. 

Sec. Fish. AVhat a drunken knave was the sea to 
cast thee in our way ! 

Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind, 
In that vast tennis-court, have mad"^ the ball 
For them to play upim. entreats you pity him; 
He asks of you, that iie-\ er iiseil to beg. 

First Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? Here 's 
tliem in our country of Greece gets more with 
begging than we can do with working. 

Sec. Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes, then? 

Per. I never practised it. 

See. Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for 
here 's nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou 
canst fish for 't. 

807 



ACT II. 



PERICLES. 



SCEITE IT. 



Per. What I have been I have forgot to know ; 
But what I am, want teaches me to think on : 
A man throng'd up witli cold : my veins are chill, 
And have no more of lite than may suffice 
To give my tongue that heat to ask your help; 
Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead, 
For that I am a man, pray see me buried. 

First Fish. Die quoth-aV Now gods forbid! I 
have a gown here; come, put it on; keep thee 
warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, 
tliou Shalt go home, and we '11 have llesh for holi- 
days, lisli for fasting-days, and moreo'er puddings 
anil Hap-jacks. and thou shalt be welcome. 

Per. I thank you, sir. 

Sec. Fish. Hark you, my friend; you said you 
could not beg. 

Per. I did but crave. 

Sic. Fish. But crave ! Then I "11 turn craver 
too, and so I shall 'scape whipping. 

Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped, then ? 

Sec. Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all; fur if 
all your beggars were whipjied, I would wish no 
better ofiice than to be beadle. But, master, I '11 
go draw up the net. [Exit iriili Tliinl Fisliermnn. 

Per, [Aside] How well this honest mirth becomes 
"their labour ! 

First Fish. Hark you, sir, do you know where ve 
are ? 

Per. Not well. 

First Fish. Why, I'll tell you: this is called 
Pentapolis, and our king the good 8imonides. 

Per. The good King Simonides, do you call him? 

First Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserves so to be called 
for his peaceable reign and good government. 

Per. lie is a liapiiy king, since he gains from his 
subjects the nanii- "I'good by his government. How 
far is his court distant from this shore ? 

First Fish. ]SIarry, sir, half a day's journey: and 
I '11 tell ym:, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow 
is her birth-day ; and there are princes and knights 
come from all parts of the world to just and tourney 
for her love. 

Per. Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I 
could wish to make one there. 

-First Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may: 
and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal 
for — his wife's soul. 

Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing 
up a lut. 

Sec. Fish. Help, master, help! here 's a fish hangs 
in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill 
hardly come out. Ha ! bots on' 't, 't is come at last, 
and 't is turned to a rusty armour. 

Per. An armour, frieiKls ! I pray you. let me see it. 
Tlianks, fortune, yet, that, alter all my crosses. 
Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself; 
And though it was mine own. part of my heritage, 
Which my dead father did bc(iueath to me. 
With this strict charge, even as he left his life, 
' Kce|i it. my IVriclcs; it hath l)een a shield 
'Twixt me and death ; ' — and jwinted to this brace; — 
' l'"(U- that it savi'd me, keep it ; in like necessity — 
The which the gods protect thee from! — may de- 

fen<l thee.' 
It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it; 
Till t!ie rough seas, that spare not any man. 
Took it in rage, though calni'd have given 't again : 
I thank thee for 't : my sliipwreck now 's no ill. 
Since I have here my father's gift in 's vv'ill. 

First Fish. What mean you, sir ? 

Per. To begot you, kinil friends, this coat of worth. 
For it was sometime target to a king; 
I know it by this mark. ' He loved nje dearly, 
And for his sake I wish the having of it; 
And that you "Id guide me to your sovereign's court, 
Where with it I may appear a gentleman; 
808 



And if that ever my low fortune 's better, 

I '11 pay your bnunlies; till then rest your debtor. 

First i-'ish. ^Vhy, wilt thou tourney for tlie lady? 

Per. I "11 show the virtue 1 have borne in arni.f . 

First Fish. Why, do 'e take it, and the gods give 
thee good on 't ! 

Sec. Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend ; 't was 
we that made up this garment through the rough 
seams of the waters: there are certain condole- 
ments, certain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, 
you "11 remember from whence you had it. 

Per. Believe 't, I will. 
By your furtherance I am clothed in steel ; 
And, spite of all the lajiture of the sea. 
This jewel holds his building on my arm: 
Unto thy value I will mount myself 
Upon a courser, whose deligiitful steps 
Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. 
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
Of a pair of bases. 

s »SVc. Fish. We '11 sure provide : thou shalt have 
my best gown to make thee a pair ; and I '11 bring 
thee to the court myself. 

Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will. 
This day I '11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Fxeimt. 

SCENE II. — The same. A public way or platform 
leading to the lists. A pavilion by the side of it for 
the reception of the King, Princess, Lords, tvc. 

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and At- 
tendants. 

Sir;!. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph ? 

First Lord. They are, my liege; 
And stay your coming to present themselves. 

SJHi.Eeturn them, we arc ready; and our daughter. 
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are. 
Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
For meu to see, and seeing wonder at. 

[Exit a Lord. 

Thai. It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express 
My commendations great, wliose merit 's less. 

Sim. It 's fit it sliould be so ; for princes are 
A model, whicli heaven makes like to itself: 
As jewels lose their ghu'y if neglected, 
So princes their renowns if not respected. 
'T is now your honour, daughter, to explain 
The labour of each knight in liis device. [form. 

Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I "11 per- 

Enter a Knig-ht; he passes over, and his Squire 
2)resents his shield to the Princess. 
Sim. Who is the flr.st that doth prefer himself ? 
Thai. A knigld of Sparta, my renowned father; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is a black Ethiope reaching at the sun; 
The word, ' Lux tua vita nuhi.' 
Sim. He loves you well tliat holds his life of you. 
[The Sifoiiil Knight passes over. 
Who is the second that jiresents himself? 

Thai. A prince of INIacedon, my royal father; 
And the device lie bears upon his shield 
Is an arm'd knight that "s conquer'd by a lady; 
The motto thus, in Spanish, ' Piu por dulzura que 
por fuerza.' 

[The Third Knight jMSses over. 
Sim. And what 's the third ? 
llini. The third of Antioch ; 

And his device, a wreath of chivalry; 
The word, 'Me pompiie provexit apex.' 

[7' he Fourth Knight ]yasscs over. 
Sim. What is the fourth ? 

Thai. A burning torch that 's turned upside down; 
The word, 'Quod me alit, me extinguit.' 

Sim. Which shows that beauty hath his power and 

Which can as well inflame as it can kill. [will, 

[The Fifth Kniglit passes over. 



ACT IT. 



PERICLES. 



SCEXE III, 



Thai. The fifth, an liaml environed with clouds, 
Holding out gold that "s by tlie touchstoue tried; 
The motto thus, ' .Sic spectaiida tides.' 

[77ie Sixth Kniylit, Pericles, pusses over. 

Sim. And what \s 
Tlie sixth and hist, the which the knight himself 
"With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd ? 

Iftai. He seems to he a stranger ; but his present is 
A withered branch, that 's only green at top ; 
Tlie motto, ' In hac sjie vivo.' 

Sim. A prett}' moral ; 
From the dejected state wherein he is, 
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 

First Lord. He had need mean better than his 
outward show 
Can any way speak in his just commend ; 
For by his rusty outside lie appears 
To have practised uk ire the whipstock than the lance. 

Sec. Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
To an honour'd triumph strangely furnished, [rust 

Third Lord. And on set purpose let his armour 
Until this day, to scour it in the dust. 

Sim. Opinion \s but a fool, that makes us scan 
The outward habit by tlie inward man. 
But stay, the knights are coming: we will withdraw 
Into the gallery. [Exeunt. 

[Great shouts icithin, and all cry ' The mean 
knight ! ' 

SCENE III.— rft.e same. A hall of state: a lan- 
quct prepared. 

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants, 
and Knights, from tilting. 

Sim. Knights, 
To say you 're welcome were superfluous. 
To place upon the volume of your deeds, 
As in a title-page, your worth in arms. 
Were more than you expect, or more than 's fit, 
Since every worth in sliow commends itself. 
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : 
You are princes and my guests. 

Thai. But you, my knight and guest ; 
To whom this wreath of victory I give. 
And crown you king of this day's happiness. 

Per. 'T is more by fortune, lady, than liy merit. 

Sim. Call it by wliat you will, the day is yours ; 
And here, I hope, is none that envies it. 
In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed, 
To make some good, but others to exceed ; 
And }'ou are her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o' 

the feast, — 
For, daughter, so you are, — here take your place : 
Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 

Kn if/hts. We are honour'd much by good Simonides. 

Sim. Your presence glads our days : honour we 
For who hates honour hates the gods" above, [love ; 

Marshal. Sir, yonder is your place. 

Per. Some other is more fit. 

First Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are gentle- 
That neither in our liearts nor outward eyes [men 
Envy the great nor do the low despise. 

Per. You are right courteous knights. 

■Sim. Sit, sir, sit. 

Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of tlioughts, 
These cates resist me, she but thouglit upon. 

Thai. By Juno, tliat is queen of marriage. 
All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury, [man. 
Wisliing him my meat. Sure, he 's a gallant geiitle- 

Sim. He 's but a country gentleman; 
Has done no more than other knights have done ; 
Has broken a staff or so ; so let it pass. 

Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 

Per. Yon king 's to me like to my father's picture. 
Which tells me in that glory once he was; 
Had princes sit, like stars, about his tlirone, 
And he the sun, for them to reverence ; 



Xone that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, 
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy: 
Wlu'iv now liis son 's like a glow-worm in the night, 
The wliich liath fire in darkness, none in light; 
Wliereliy I see that Time 's the king of men, 
He "s both tlieir parent, and lie is tlieir grave. 
And gives tliem wliat he will, not what they crave, 

Sim. Wliat. are you merry, knights!'' 

KiiightK. Wlio can be other in this royal presence ? 

Sim.. Here, with a cup that 's stored unto tlie 
brim, — 
As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips, — 
We drink this health to you. 

Knights. We thank your grace. 

Sim. Yet pause awhile : 
Yon knight doth sit too melancholy. 
As if the entertainment in our court 
Had not a show miglit countervail his worth. 
Kote it not you, Thaisa V 

Tiiai. What is it 

To me, my father ? 

Sim. O, attend, my daughter: 

Princes in this should live like gods above, 
Who freely give to every one that comes 
To honour them : 

And princes not doing so are like to gnats, 
AVhicli make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at. 
Tlierefore to make his entrance more sweet. 
Here, say we drink this stand ing-bowl of wine to him. 

Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me 
Unto a stranger "knight to be so bold; 
He may my proffer take for an offence. 
Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 

Sim. How! 
Do as I bid you, or you '11 move me else. 

Thai. [Aside'] Now, by the gods, he could not 
please me better. [of him, 

Sim.. And furthermore tell him, we desire to know 
Of whence he is, his name and parentage. 

Thai. The king my father, sir, has di-unk to you. 

Per. I thank him. 

Thai. Wisliing it so much blood unto your life. 

Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him 
freely. 

Tliai. And further he desires to know of you, 
Of whence you are, yovir name and parentage. 

Per. A gentleman of T}Te; my name, Pericles; 
My education been in arts and arms; 
Who, looking for adventures in tlie world. 
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
And after shipwreck driven upon this shore. 

Thai. He thanks your grace ; names himself 
A gentleman of Tyre," [Pericles, 

Who only by misfortune of the seas 
Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore. 

Sim. Now, by the gods, I pity Ills misfortune, 
And will awake him from liis melancholy. 
Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles. 
And waste the time, which looks for other revels. 
Even in your armours, as you are address'd, 
Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
I will not have excuse, with saying this 
Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads, 
Sijice they love men in arms as well as beds. 

[TJie Knights dance. 
So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd. 
Come, sir; 

Here is a lady that wants breathing too: 
And I have lieard, you knights of Tyre 
Are excellent in making ladies trip ; 
And that their measures are as excellent. pord. 

Per. In those that practise them they are, my 

Sim. O, that 's as much as you would be denied 
Of your fair courtesy. 

[The Knights and Ladies dance. 
Unclasp, unclasp : 
Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well. 
809 



ACT II. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE V. 



\To Per.'] But you the best. Pages and lights, to 

conduct 
These knights unto their several lodgings ! [Tb 

Per.] Yours, sir, 
We have given order to be next our own. 
Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 
Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love ; 
And that 's the mark I know you level at : 
Therefore each one betake him to his rest; 
To-morrow all for speeding do their best. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Tyre. A room in the Govenmr''s house. 
Enter Helicanus and Escanes. 

Ilel. No, Escanes, know this of me, 
Antiochus from incest lived not free : 
For which, the most high gods not minding longer 
To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, 
Due to this heinous capital offence, 
Even in the height and pride of all his glory. 
When he was seated in a cliariot 
Of an incst i II i;il)lr value, and his daughter with him, 
A fire fnini In ,ivrii canir and slirivflTd up 
Their bmlifs. ('\i'ii tn loathing; for tliey so stunk. 
That all those eyes adored them ere their fall 
Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 

Esca. 'T was very strange. 

Mel. And yet but justice; for though 

This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 

Esca. 'T is very true. 

Milter two or three Lords. 

First Lord. See, not a man in private conference 
Or council has respect with him but he. [proof. 

See. Lord. It shall no longer grieve without re- 

Third Lord. And cursed be he that will not sec- 
ond it. [word. 

First Lord. Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, a 

Hel. With me? and welcome: happy day, my 
lords. [top. 

First Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to the 
And now at length they overflow their banks. 

Htl. Your griefs ! for what 'i wrong not your 
prince you love. [Helicane; 

First Lord. Wrong not yourself, then, noble 
But if the prince do live, let us salute him. 
Or know what ground 's made happy by his breath. 
If in the world he live, we '11 seek him out ; 
If in his grave he rest, we '11 find him there ; 
And be resolved he lives to govern us. 
Or dead, give 's cause to mourn his funeral, 
And leave us to our free election. ' 

Sec. Lord. Whose death indeed 's the strongest 
in our censure : 
And knowing this kingdom is without a head, — 
Like goodly buildings left without a roof 
Soon fall to ruin, — your noble self. 
That best knov/ how to rule and how to reign. 
We thus submit unto, — our sovereign. 

All. Live, noble Helicane ! 

Hel. For honour's cause, forbear your suffrages : 
If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear. 
Take I your wish, I leap into the seas. 
Where 's hourly trouble for a minute's ease. 
A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you to 
Forbear the absence of your king; 
If in which time exiiired, lie notreturn, 
I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 
But if I cannot win you to this love. 
Go search liki> noliles, like noble subjects. 
And in your search siuMid your adventurous worth; 
Whom if you find, and win unto return. 
You shall like diamonds sit about his ero'wni. 

First Lord. To wisdom he 's a fool that will not 
And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us, [yield ; 

We with our travels will endeavour us. 
810 



Eel. Then you love us, we you, and we '11 clasp 
hands : 
When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE v. — PentapoKs. A room in the palace. 

Enter Simonides, reading a letter, at one door: the 
Knights meet him. 
First Knight. Good morrow to the good Simonides. \ 
Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you 
know, , 

That for this twelvemonth she '11 not undertake 1 

A married life. [ 

Her reason to herself is only known, ' 

Which yet from her by no means can I get. [lord ? , ■ 
Sec. Knight. May we not get access to her, my \ 
Sim. 'Faith, by no means ; she has so strictly tie<l ; 
Her to her cliamber, that 'tis impossible. ; 

One twelve moons more she '11 wear Diana's livery ; ] 
This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd. 
And on her virgin honour will not break it. 

Third Knight. Loath to bid farewell, we take our 
leaves. [Exeunt Knights. 

Sim. So, Petter : 

They are well dispatch'd; now to my daughter's 
She tells me here, she '11 wed the stranger knight. 
Or never more to view nor day nor light. ! 

'T is well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine: .' 
I like that well : nay, how absolute she 's in 't, • 

Xot minding whether I dislike or no! j 

Well, I do Commend her choice; 

And will no longer have it be delay'd. * 

Soft! here he comes : I must dissemble it. 

Enter Pericles. 

Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! 

Sim. To you as much, sir! I am beholding to you i 
For your sweet music this last night : 1 do 
Protest my ears were never better fed 
With such delightful pleasing harmony. 

Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend: 
Not my desert. 

Sim. Sir, 5'ou are music's master. 

Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. 

Sim. Let me ask you one thing : 
What do you think of my daughter, sir? i 

Per. A most virtuous princess. j 

Siin. And she is fair too, is she not? 

Per. As a fair day in sumnier, wondrous fair. 

Sim. Sir, my daughter thinks very well of you; 
Ay, so well, that you must be her master, 
Aiid she will be your scholar : therefore look to it. 

Per. I am unworthy for her schoolmaster. 

Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing else. ' 

Per. [Asid,] AVliat 'shere? i 

A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre ! 
'T is the king's subtilty to have my life. 
O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord, , 

A stranger and distressed gentleman, ; 

That never aim'd so high to love your daughter, '• 

But bent all offices to honour her. 

Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou I 
A villain. [art 1 

Per. By the gods, I have not : ' 

Never did thoughc of mine levy offence; ' 

Nor never did my actions yet commence j 

A deed might gain her love or your displeasm'e. ' 

Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 

Per. Traitor! 

Sim. Ay, traitor. ' 

Per. Even in his throat — unless it be the king — i 
That calls me traitor, I return the lie. j 

Sim. [Aside] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his 
courage. ] 

Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts, , 

That never relish'd of a base descent. : 



ACT III. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE I. 



I came unto your couit for honour's cause, 
And not to be a rebel to her state ; 
And lie that otherwise accounts of me, 
This sword shall prove he 's honour's enemy. 

Sim. J^o? 
Hero comes my daughter, she can witness it. 

Enter Thaisa. 

Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, 
Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
To any syllable that made love to you. 

Thai. Why, sir, say if you had. 
Who takes offence at that would make me glad ? 

Sim. Yea, misti'ess, are you so peremptory ? 
[.Isi'/'] I am glad on 't with all my heart. — 
I '11 tame you ; I '11 bring you in subjection. 
Will you, not ha\-ing my consent, 
Bestow your love and your affections 



Upon a stranger? [Aside] who, for aught I know, 
May be, nor can I think the contrary, 
As great in blood as I myself. — 
Therefore hear you, mistress ; either frame 
Your will to mine, — and you, sir, hear you, 
Either be ruled by me, or I will make you — 
Man and wife : 

Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too: 
And being join'd, I '11 thus your hopes destroy ; 
And for a further grief, — God give you joy ! — 
What, are you both pleased V 

Thai. ' Yes, if you love me, sir. 

Per. Even as my life, or blood that fosters it. 

Sim. What, are you both agreed ? 

Both. Yes, if it please your majesty. 

Sim. It pleaseth me so well, that I will see you 
wed ; 
And then with what haste you can get you to bed. 

\_Exeu)d. 



^CT III. 



Enter Go'wer. 



Gow. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout; 
!No din but snores the house about. 
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast 
Of this most i>ompous marriage-feast. 
The cat, with e> ue of burning coal, 
Xow couches foie tlie mouse's hole; 
And crickets siiii; at the oven's mouth. 
E'er the blitlicr tor ihcir drouth. 
Hymen hath brought the bri.le to bed, 
AVhere, by the loss of maidenhead, 
A babe is moulded. Be attent. 
And time that is so briefly spent 
"With your tine fancies quaintly eche : 
What 's dumb in show 1 '11 plain with speech. 

Dumb Show. 

Enter, Pericles and Simonides, at one door, with Attend- 
ants; a Messenger mrrts l/nm, knre/s, ami ;/ifi:i Per- 
icles a letter ; Pericles s/,aws it Simonides : 'the Lords 
kneel to h im. Then entee Tliaisa with eh ilil, with Lycho- 
rida a ymi-.ie. The King .ihows her the letter; she rejuiee.^ .- 
she and Pericles take lefire of her father, and depart with 
Lychorida «/?iZ </iftr Attendants. Then exeunt Si- 
monides and the rest. 

By many a dern and painful perch 

Of Pericles the careful search, 

By the four opposing coigns 

Which tlie wurlil t",m4hcL- joins, 

Is made with all dur ililigcnce 

Tliat horse and sail and jiigji expense 

Can stead the (luest. At last from Tyre, 

Fame answering tlie most strange inquire. 

To the court of King Simonides 

Are letters brouglit, the teiiour these: 

Aiitiochus and his daughter dead; 

Tlie men of Tyrus on the head 

Of llelicanus would set on 

The crown of Tyre, but he will none : 

The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress; 

Says to "em, if King Pericles 

Come not home in twice six moons, 

He, obedient to their dooms. 

Will take the crown. The sum of this, 

Brouglit hither to Pentapolis, 

Y-ravished tlie regions round. 

And every one with clajis can sound, 

' Our heir-api>areiit is a king ! 

AVho dream 'd, who thought of such a thing ? ' 

Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre : 

His queen with child makes her desire — 



Which who shall cross? — along to go: 

Omit we all their dole and woe : 

Lychorida, her nurse, she takes. 

And so to sea. Their vessel sliakes 

On Xeptune's billow; half theflood 

Hath their keel cut : but fortune's mood 

Varies again; the grisly nortli 

Disgorges such a tempest forth, 

That, as a duck for life tliat dives, 

So up and down the poor sliip drives: 

The lady shrieks, and well-a-near 

Does fall in travail with her fear: 

And what ensues in this fell storm 

Shall for itself itself perform. 

I nill relate, action may 

Conveniently the rest convey; 

Which might not what by me is told. 

In your imagination hold 

This stage the ship, upon whose deck 

The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak. [Exit. 

SCENE I. 

Enter Pericles, on shipboard. 
Per. Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these 
surges, [hast 

Which wash Iioth heaven and hell ; and thou, that 
Upon the winds coinniaiid. bind them in brass, 
Having call'd theiu froni the deep! O, still 
Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench 
Thy nimlile, sulpliurous Hashes! 0,how, Lychorida, 
How does my queen ? Thou .stormest venomously; 
A\'ilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's whistle 
Is as a whisper in the ears of death, 
Unheard. Lychorida! — Lucina, O 
Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle 
To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
Alioard our dancing boat ; make swift the pangs 
Of my queen's travails ! 

Enter Lychorida, with an Infant. 
Now, Lychorida ! 
Li/c. Here is a thing too young for such a place. 
Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I 
Am like to do : take in yoiu: arms this piece 
Of your dead queen. 
I'er. How, how, Lychorida! 

Lif. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the storm. 
Here "s all that is left living of your queen, 
A little daughter: for the sake of it, 
Be manly, and take comfort. 

Per. O you gods ! 

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, 
811 



ACT III. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE IT, 



And snatch them straight away ? We here below 
Eecall not wliat we give, and therein may 
Use honour with you. 

Lye. Patience, good sir, 

Even for tliis charge. 

Per. Now, mild may be thy life ! 

For a more blustrous birtli had never babe : 
Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! for 
Tliou art the rudeliest welcome to this world 
That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows ! 
Thou hast as chiding a nativity 
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can-make, 
To herald tiicc frcuii the womV): even at tlie tirst 
Thy loss is more than can tliy portage ipiit. 
With all thou canst lind here. Xow, the good gods 
Throw their best eyes upon "t ! 

Enter two Sailors. 

First Sail. What courage, sir ? God save you ! 

Per. Courage enough : I do not fear the flaw ; 
It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love 
Of this piKir infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, 
I wouhl it would be (piiet. 

Pir,st Sail. .Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt 
not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself. 

Sec. Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy 
billow kiss the moon, I care not. 

First Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard : the 
sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie 
till the ship be cleared of the dead. 

Per. That 's your superstition. 

First Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath 
been still observed : and we are strong in custom. 
Tlierefore briefly yield her ; for she must overboard 
straight. 

Per. As 5'ou think meet. Most 'WTetched queen ! 

Lye. Here she lies, sir. 

Per. A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear; 
No light, no Are : the unfriendly elements 
Forgot thee utterly : nor liave I time 
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze ; 
Wliere, for a mimument upon thy bones. 
And e'er-remahiing lamps, tlie lielcliing whale 
And hnnmiing water must o'crwlielm thy corpse, 
Lying witii simiih- sliclls. O Lychorida, 
nJid NeslDr bring mi^ siiices, ink and [taper. 
My casket and my jewels; and bid Xicauder 
Bring me tlic sal in culler: lay the babe 
Upon the pillnw: hie thee, wiiil<'s I say 
A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman. 

[Exit Lychorida. 

Sec. Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the 
hatches, caulked and bitumed ready. [this ? 

Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is 

Sec. Sail. We are near Tarsus. 

Per. Thither, gentle mariner, [it? 

Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach 

Sec. Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 

Per. O, make for Tarsus ! 
There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 
Cannot Imlil out to Tyrus: there I '11 leave it 
At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner: 
I '11 bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Ephesus. A room in Ceriinon''s liouse. 

Eater Cerimon, with a Serixmt, and some Persons 
who have been shipwrecked. 
Cer. Philemon, ho ! 

Enter Philemon. 
Phil. Doth my lord call ? 
Cer. Get Are and meat for these poor men : 
'T has been a turbulent and stormy night. [this, 
Serv. I have been in many ; but such a night as 
Till now, I ne'er endured. 
812 



Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return ; 
There 's nothing can be minister'd to nature 
Tliat can recover him. [2b Philemon] Give this to 

the 'pothecary. 
And tell me how it "works. [Exeunt all but Cerimon, 

Enter two Gentlemen. 

First Gent. Good morrow. 

Sec. Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. 

Cer. Gentlemen, 

Why do you stir so early ? 

First Gent. Sir, 
Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, 
Shook as the earth did quake; 
The very principals did seem to rend. 
Ami all-to toiiple : pure surprise and fear 
Made me to quit the house. [early ; 

Sec. Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so 
'T is not our husbandry. 

Cer. O, you say well. 

First Gent. But I much marvel tliat your lord- 
ship, having 
Rich tire about you, should at these early hours 
Shake off the golden slumber of repose. 
■'T is most strange. 

Nature should be so conversant with pain, 
Being thereto not compell'd. 

Cer. I hold it ever, 

Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs 
May the two latter darken and expend ; 
But inmidrtality attends the fi.irnier, 
j\Iakiug a man a god. 'T is known, I ever 
Have studied physic, through which secret art, 
By turning o"er authorities, I have. 
Together with my practice, made familiar 
To me and to my aid the blest infusions 
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones ; 
And I can speak of the disturbances [give me 

That nature works, and of lier cures ; which doth 
A more content in course of true delight 
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, 
Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
To please the fool and cleath. 

Sec. Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus 
pour'd forth ' 

Your charity, and hundreds call themselves ! 

Your creatures, who by you have been restored : 
And not your knowledge, yoiu: personal pain, but 

even 
Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon 
Such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay. 

Enter two or three Servants with a chest. 

First Serv. So ; lift there. 

Cer. What is that? 

First Serv. Sir, even now 

Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest : 
'T is of some wreck. 

Cer. Set 't down, let 's look upon 't. 

Sec. Gent. 'T is like a coffin, sir. 

Cer. Whate'er it be, 

'T is wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight : 
If the sea's stumachbe o'ercharged with gold, 
'T is a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us. 

(Sec. Gent. 'T is so, my lord. 

Cer. How close 't is caulk 'd and bitumed ! 

Did the sea cast it up ? 

First Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, 
As toss'd it upon shore. 

Cer. Wrench it open ; 

Soft ! it smells most sweetly in my sense. 

Sec. Gent. A delicate odour. 

Cer. As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it. 
O you most potent gods ! what 's here ? a corse ! 

Fir.^t Gent. Most strange ! [treasured 

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state I balm'd and en- 



ACT III. 



PERICLES. 



SCEXE IV. 



With full bags of spices ! A passport too ! 
Apollo, perfect me iu the characters ! 

[Beads from a scroll. 
' Here I give to imderstaud, 
If e'er this coffin drive a-land, 
I, King Pericles, have lost 
This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 
Who finds her, give her burying ; 
She was the daughter of a king : 
Besides this treasure for a fee, 
The gods requite his charity ! ' 
If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
That even cracks for woe ! This chanced to-night. 
jS'ec. Gent. Most likely, sir. 

Cer. ^^Y, certainly to-night ; 

For look how fresh she looks ! They were too rough 
That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within : 
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet. 

[Exit a servant. 
Death may usurp on nature many hours. 
And yet the fire of life kindle again 
The o'erpress'd spirits. I heard of an Egyptian 
That had nine hours lien dead, 
Who was by good appliance recovered. 

Re-enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and fire, 
AVell said, well said ; the fire and cloths. 
The rough and woeful music that we have, 
Cause it to sound, beseech you. 
The v-iol once more : how thou stirr'st, thou block! 
The music there ! — I pray you, give her air. 
Gentlemen, 

This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth 
Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranced 
Above five hours : see how she gins to blow 
Into life's flower again ! 

First Gent. The heavens. 

Through you, increase our wonder and set up 
Your fame for ever. 

Cer. She is alive; behold. 

Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
AVhich Pericles hath lost, 
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold; 
The diamonds of a most praised water 
Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live, 
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature. 
Hare as you seem to be. [She moves. 

Thai. . O dear Diana, 

Where am I ? Where 's my lord y What world is 
this ? 

Seci Gent. Is not this strange ? 

First Gent. Most rare. 

Cer. Hush, my gentle neighbours! 

Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber bear her. 
Get linen : now this matter must be look'd to, 
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come ; 
And ^-Esculapius guide us ! 

[Exeunt, carrying her away. 

SCENE III. — Tarsus. A room in Oleoii's house. 

Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza,, and Lychorida 
with Marina in her cwwis. 
Per. Most honour 'd Cleon, I must needs be gone ; 
My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands 
In a litigious peace. You, and your lady. 
Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods 
Make up the rest upon you ! 



Clc. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you 
mortally. 
Yet glance full wanderingly on us. 

Dion. O your sweet queen ! 

That the strict fates had pleased you had brought 

her hither. 
To have bless 'd mine eyes with her! 

Per. We CETnnot but obey 

The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
Must be as 't is. My gentle babe Marina, whom. 
For she was born at sea, I have named so, here 
I charge your charity withal, leaving her 
The infant of your care ; beseeching you 
To give her princely training, that she may be 
Manner'd as she is born. 

Cle. Fear not, my lord, but think 

Your grace, that fed my country with your corn. 
For which the people's prayers still fall upon you. 
Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
Should therein make me vile, the common body, 
By you relieved, would force me to my duty : 
But if to that my nature need a spur. 
The gods revenge it ujion me and mine, 
To the end of generation ! 

Per. I believe you : 

Your honour and your goodness teach me to 't. 
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, 
By bright Diana, whom we honour, all 
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, 
Though 1 show ill in 't. So I take my le;ive. 
Good'madam, make me blessed in your care 
In bringing up my child. 

Dion. I have one myself, 

Who shall not be more dear to my respect 
Than yours, my lord. 

Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 

Cle. We '11 bring your grace e'en to the edge o' 
the shore. 
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and 
The gentlest winds of heaven. 

Per. 1 will embrace 

Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears, 
Lychorida, no tears: 

Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Ephesus. A room in Cerimon''s house. 

Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. 

Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, 
Lay with you in your coffer : which are now 
At your command. Know you the character ? 

Thai. It is my lord's. 
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember, 
Even on my eaning time ; but whether there 
Deliver'd, by the holy gods, 
I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles, 
My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, 
A vestal livery will I take me to, 
And never more have joy. 

Cer. jNIadam, if this you purpose as ye speak, 
Diana's temple is not distant far, 
Wliere you may abide till your date expire. 
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
Shall there attend you. 

Thai. My recompense is thanks, that 's all : 
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. 

[Exeunt, 
813 



ACT IV. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE I. 



^CT IV. 



Enter G-o^wer. 



Gow. Imagine Pericles arrived at Tj're, 
Welcomed aiid settled to his own desire. 
His woefnl queen we leave at Ephesus, 
I'lito Diana there a' votaress. 
Xiiw to Marina bend your miud, 
Wlioin our fast-growing scene must find 
At Tarsus, and by Cleon train 'd 
In music, letters; wlio liath gain'd 
Of education all the grace, 
Which makes her both the heart and place 
Of general wonder. But, alack, 
That monster envy, oft the wrack 
Of earned praise, ilurina's life 
Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
And in this kind hath our Cleon 
One daugliter, and a wench full grown, 
E-^en ripe for marriage-rite; this maid 
Ilight Pliiloten : and it is said 
For certain in our story, she 
Wonhl ever with Marina be: 
Be 't when she weaved tlie sleided silk 
With fingers long, small, white as milk; 
Or when she would with sharp needle wound 
The cambric, which she made more sound 
By hurting it; or when to the lute 
Slie sung, and made the night-bird mute, 
That still records with moan ; or wlien 
She would with rich and constant pen 
Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 
This riiiloten contends in skill 
With absolute Marina: so 
AVilh the dove of Paphos might the crow 
Vie feathers white. Marina gets 
All praises, which are paid as debts, 
And not as given. Tliis so darks 
In Pliiloten all graceful marks. 
That Cleon's wife, witli envy rare, 
A present murderer does prejiare 
For good Marina, that her daughter 
Might stand peerless liy this slaughter. 
The sooner lier vile thoughts to stead, 
Lychorida, our luirse, is dead : 
And cursed Dimiyza hath 
The pregnant instrument of wrath 
Brest for this blow. The unborn event 
I do commend to your content : 
Only I carry winged time 
Post on the'laineleet of my rhyme; 
Whirh never coidd I so convey. 
Unless your thoughts went on my way. 
Dionyza does appear, 
With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. 

SCENE \.— Tarsus. An open place near the sea- 
shore. 

Enter Dionyza oiicZ Leonine. 
Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to 
do 't : 
'T is but a blow, wliich never shall be known. 
Tliou canst not do a thing in the world so soon, 
To yield thee so nnicli profit. Let not conscience, 
Which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom, 
Inflame too nicely : nor let pity, which 
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be 
A soldier to thy purpose. 
Leon. I will do 't ; but yet she is a goodly crea- 
ture. 
Dion. The fitter, then, the gods shoidd have her. 
Here she comes weeping for her only mistress" death. 
Thou art resolved V 
Leon. 1 am i-esolved. 

814 



E}iter Marina, tvitli a basT^et of flowers. 

Mnr. Xo, I will rob Tellus of her weed. 
To strew thy green with flowers : the yellows, blues, 
The purple violets, and marigolds. 
Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave. 
While summer-days do last. Ay me! poor maid. 
Born in a tempest, when my mother died, 
This world to me is like a lasting storm, 
Whirring me from my friends. 

Dion', ilow now, Marina ! why do you keep alone? 
How chance my daughter is not with you 'i Do not 
Consume your blood'with sorrowing: you have 
A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour 's changed 
With this unprofitable woe! 
Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it. 
Walk with Leonine ; the air is quick there, 
And it jiierces an<l sliarpeiis the stomach. Come, 
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. 

Mar. No, I pray you; 
I '11 not bereave you of your servant. 

Dion. Come, come; 

I love the king your father, and yourself. 
With more than foreign heart. We every day 
Expect him here: when he shall come and find 
Our paragon to all rcjiorts thus blasted, 
He will rrpiiit llie breadth of his great vo}'age; 
Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken 
Xo care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, 
Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve 
That excellent complexion, wliich did steal 
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ; 
I can go home alone. 

Mar. Well, I will go; 

But yet I have no desire to it. 

Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for 3'ou. 
Walk half an hour. Leonine, at the least : 
Remember what I have said. 

Leon. I warrant you, madam. 

Dion. I '11 leave you, my sweet lady, for a while: 
Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood : 
What ! I must have a care of \ou. 

Mar. My thanks, sweet madam. 

\_Exit Dionyza. 
Is this wind westerly that blows ? 

Leon. South-west. 

3Iar. When I was born, the wind was north. 

Leon. Was 't so ? 

Mar. INIy father, as nurse said, did never fear. 
But cried ' (inod seamen ! ' to the sailors, galling 
His kingly hands, haling ropes; 
And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea 
That almost burst tlie deck. 

Leon. Wliei) was this? 

Mar. Wlien I was born: 
Never was waves nor wind more violent ; 
And from the ladder-tackle washes off 
A canvas-climber. ' Ha ! ' says one, ' wilt out ? ' 
And with a dropiung industry they skip 
From stem to stern : the Imafswain whistles, and 
The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 

Leon. Come, say your prayers. 

Mar. What mean you? 

Leon. If you reipiire a little space for prayer, 
I grant it : pray ; but be not tedious. 
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn 
To do my work with haste. 

Mar. Why will you kill me-? 

Leon. To satisfy my lady. • 

Mar. Why woiild she have me kill'd? 
Now, as I can remember, by my troth, 
I never did her hurt in all my life: 
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn 
To any living creature : believe me, la, 



ACT IV. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE II. 



I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : 
I trod upon a worm against my will, 
But I wept for it. How have I oifeurletl, 
"Wlierein my death might yield her any profit, 
Or my life imply her aliy danger 'i 

Leon. My commission 
Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 

3Iar. You will not do 't for all the world, I hope. 
You are well favour'd, and your looks foreshow 
You liave a gentle heart. I saw you lately, 
Wlien you caught hurt in parting two that fought : 
Good sooth, it show'd well in you: do so now: 
Your lady seeks my life ; come you between, 
And save poor me, the weaker. 

Leon. I am sworn, 

Aiid will dispatch. [He seizes her. 

Enter Pirates. 

First Pirate. Hold, villain ! 

[Leonine runs aioay. 
Sec. Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 
Third Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. 
Come, let 's have her aboard suddenly. 

[Exeunt Pirates Kith Marina. 

Pe-enter Leonine. 
Leon. These roguiiig thieves serve the great pirate 
Valdes ; 
And they have seized ISIarina. Let her go : [dead. 
There 's no hope she will return. I "11 swear she 's 
And thrown into the sea. But I '11 see further: 
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, 
Xot carry her aboard. If she remain, 
Whom tliey have ravish 'd must by me be slain. 

[E.dt. 

SCENE 11. — Mytilene. A room in a hrolhel. 

Enter Pandar, Ba'wd, emd Boult. 

Pand. Boult! 

Boidt. Sir? 

Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mytilene is 
full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart 
by being too wenchless. 

Bawci. We were never so much out of creatures. 
AVe have but poor three, and they can do no more 
than they can do ; and they with "continual action 
are even as good as rotten. 

Pand. Tlierefore let 's have fresh ones, whate'er 
w^e pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be 
used in every trade, we shall never prosper. 

Bau-d. Tliou sayest true: 'tisnot ourliringingup 
of poor bastards, — as, I think, I have brought up 
some eleven — 

BouU. Ay, to eleven; and brought them down 
again. But shall I search the market ? 

Baird. What else, man ? Tlie stuff we have, a 
strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so piti- 
fully sodden. 

Pand. Thou sayest true; they're too unwhole- 
some, o' conscience. The poor Transylvanian is 
dead, tliat lay with the little baggage. 

Boidl. Ay, she quickly pooped him; she made 
him roast-uieat for worms. But I '11 go search the 
market. • [Exit. 

Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as 
pretty a proportion to live quietly, tmd so give over. 

Ba ird. AVIiy to give over, I pray you ? is it a shame 
to get when we are old ? 

Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the com- 
modity, nor the commodity wages not with the 
danger : therefore, if in our youths we coidd pick 
up some pretty estate, 't were not amiss to keep our 
door hatched. Besides, the sore terms we stand 
upon witli the gods will be strong with us for giv- 
ing over. 

Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 



Pand. As well as we ! ay, and better too ; we of- 
fend worse. Neither is our profession any trade ; 
it 's no calling. But here comes Boult. 

He-enter Boult, with the Pirates Qnd Marina. 

Boult. [ To Mar ina] Come your ways. My masters, 
you say she 's a virgin ? 

First Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not. 

Boult. Master, I have gone through for this piece, 
you see : if you like her, so ; if not, 1 have lost my 

Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities V [earnest. 

Boidt. She has a good face, speaks well, and has 
excellent good clothes : there 's no further necessity 
of qualities can make her be refused. 

Bawd. What 's her price, Boult V [pieces. 

Boidt. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand 

Pand. Well, follow me, my masters, you shall 
-t^^ave your money presently. Wife, take her in ; in- 
struct her what she has to do, that she may not be 
raw in her entertainment. 

[Exeunt Pandar and Pirates. 

Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her, the 
colour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with 
warrant of her virginity; and cry 'He that will 
give most shall have her first.' Such a maidenhead 
were no cheap tiling, if men were as they have been. 
Get this done as I command you. 

Boidt. Performance shall follow. [Exit. 

Mar. Alack that Leonine was so slack, so slow ! 
He should have struck, not spoke; or that these 

pirates, 
Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard thrown me 
For to seek my mother I 

Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one? 

Mar. That I am pretty. [}'on. 

Bawel. Come, the gods have done their part in 

Metr. I accuse them not. 

Bawd. You are light into my hands, where you 
are like to live. 

Mar. The more my fault 
To scape his hands where I was like to die. 

Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 

Mar. Ko. 

Bawd. Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen 
of all fashions: you shall fare well; you shall have 
the difference of all complexions. What! do you 
stop your ears ? 

Mar. Are you a woman ? 

Bawd. What vi'ould you have me be, an I be not 
a woman ? 

Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 

Bawd. Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I shall 
have something to do with you. Come, you 're a 
young foolish sapling, and must be bovied as I 
would have you. 

Jlar. The gods defend me ! ' 

Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by men, 
then men must comfort you, men must feed you, 
men must stir you up. Boult 's returned. 

Be-enter Boult. 
Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market ? 

Boidt. 1 have cried her almost to the number of 
her hairs; I liave drawn her picture with my voice. 

Baud. And I prithee tell me, how dost tliou find 
the inclination of the people, especially of the 
younger sort V 

Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me as they would 
have hearkened to their father's testament." Tliere 
■was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went 
to bed to her very description. 

Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with 
his best ruff on. 

BouU. To-niglit, to-night. But, mistress, do you 
know the French kniglit that cowers i' the hams y 

Band. Who, Monsieur Veroles ? 

Boult. Ay, he : he offered to cut a caper at the 
815 



ACT IV, 



PERICLES. 



SCENE IV. 



proclamation ; but lie made a groau at it, and swore 
lie would see her to-morrow. 

Bawd. Well, well; as for him, he brought his 
disease hither : here he does but repair it. I know 
he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns 
in the sun. 

Boull. Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, 
we should lodge them with this sign. 

Bawd. [2b Mar.] Pray you, come hither aiwhile. 
You have fortunes coming upon you. Mark me: 
you must seem to do that fearfully which you com- 
mit willingly, despise profit where you have most 
gain. To weep that you live as ye do makes pity 
111 your lovers : seldorii but that pity begets you a 
good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit. ^^'' 

Mar. I understand you not. >--' ' 

Boult. O, take her home, mistress, take lier home : 
these blushes of her.s must be quenched with some 
present practice. 

Bawd. Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they must; 
for your bride goes to that with shame which is her 
way to go with warrant. 

Boult. 'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, 
mistress, if I have bargained for the joint, — 

Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit. 

BouU. I may so. 

Bawd. Wlio should deny it ? Come, young one, I 
like the manner of your garments well. [yet. 

BouU. Ay, by my faith, they sliall not be changed 

Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town : report 
what a sojourner we have ; you '11 lose nothing by 
custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant 
thee a good turn ; therefore say what a paragon she 
is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own re- 
port. 

BouU. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not 
so awake the beds of eels as my giving out her 
beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined. 1 '11 bring home 
some "to-night. 

Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. 

Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep. 
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 
Diana, aid my purpose ! 

Bawd. ^Vhat have we to do with Diana ? Pray 
you, will you go with us V [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Tarsus. A room, in Cleon^s house. 
Enter Cleon and Dionyza. 

Dion. Why, are you foolish ? Can it be undone ? 

Clc. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter 
The sun and moou ne'er look'd upon ! 

Dion. I think 

You '11 turn a child again. 

Cle. Were I chief lord of all this spacious world, 
I 'Id give it to undo the deed. O lady. 
Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
To equal any single crown o' the earth 
I' the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine ! 
Whom tlinu liast poisoii'd too: 
If thou luulst (h'unk to him, 't had been a kindness 
Becoming well thy fact: what canst thou say 
When noble Pericles shall demand Ids child V 

Bion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates. 
To foster it, nor ever to preserve. 
She died at night : I '11 say so. Who can cross it ? 
Unless you play the jiions innocent, 
And for an honest attribute cry out 
' She died by foul play.' 

Cle. O, go to. Well, well. 

Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
Do like this worst. 

Dion. Be one of tliose that think 

The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence, 
And open this to Pericles. I ilo shame 
To think of wlKit a noble strain you are, 
Ami of how coward a spirit. 
816 



Cle. To such proceeding 

Who ever but his approbation added. 
Though not his prime consent, he did not flow 
From honourable sources. 

Bion. Be it so, then : 

Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead, 
Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. 
She dkl (listain my cliild, and slond lietween 
Her and lier fortunes : iKnie w<iukl look on her, 
But cast their gazes on Marina's face; 
AVhilst om's was blurted at and held a nialkin 
Not worth the lime nf day. It pierced me thorough'; 
And though you call my course unnatural, 
You not your child well loving, yet I liud 
It greets me as an enterprise of kindness 
Perform'd to your sole daughter. 

Cle. , Heavens forgive it 1 

Bion. And as for Pericles, 
What should he say ? We wept after her hearse, 
And yet we mourn : her monument 
Is almost finish 'd, and her epitaphs 
In glittering golden characters express 
A general praise to her, and care in us 
At whose expense 'tis done. 

Cle. Thou art like the harpy, 

Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face, 
Seize with thine eagle's talons. 

Dion. You are like one that superstitiously 
Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies : 
But yet I know you '11 do as I advise. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 

Enter Gower, before the Monument of Marina at 
Tarsus. 
Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 
make short ; 
Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for 't ; 
Making, to take your imagination. 
From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
To use one language in each several clime 
Where our sceiies seem to live. I do beseech you 
To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach you, 
The stages of our story. Pericles 
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, 
Attended on by many a lord and knight. 
To see his daughter, all his lite "s delight. 
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late 
Advanced in time to great and high estate. 
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind. 
Old Helicanus goes along behind. [l)rouglit 

Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have 
This king to Tarsus,— think his pilot thought ; 
So with Ills steerage shall your thoughts grow on, — 
To fetch his daughter honie, who first is gone. 
Like motes ami shadows see them move awhile; 
Your ears unto your eyes I '11 reconcile. 

Dumb Show. 

Enter Pericles, at one door, loith all his train ; Cleon and 
Dionyza, at tlir other. Cleon shiyws Pericles tlie tumh; 
whereil Pericles vm/ces lamentation, putu on saeketolli, 
and ill a mighty passion departs. Then exeunt Cleonii?ici 
Dionyza. • 

See how belief may suffer by foul show I 
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe: 
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, [shower "d. 
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears oVr- 
Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears 
Never to wasli his face, nor cut his hairs : 
He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears. 
And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
The epitaph is for Marina writ 
By wicked Dionyza. 

[Reads the inscription on Marina's monmuent. 



ACT IV. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE VI. 



'The fairest, sweet 'st, anrl best lies here, 
Who wither'tl in her spring of year. 
She was of Tyrus tlie king's daughter, 
On whom foiil death hatli made this slaughter; 
Marina was she call'd ; and at her Ijirtli, [eatth : 
Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some iiart o' the 
Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'ertlow'd. 
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd : 
■\Vherefore slie does, and swears she '11 never stint, 
ilake raging battery upon shores of tliut.' 
Ko visor does become black villany 
So well as soft and tender flattery. 
Let Pericles believe his daughter 's dead, 
And bear his courses to be ordered 
By Lady Fortune ; while our scene must play 
His daughter's woe and lieavy well-a-<lay 
In lier unholy service. Patience, tlien. 
And think you now are all iu Mytilene. [Exit. 

SCENE V. — 3Ii/iiJene. A street before Ihe hiothd. 
Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen. 

First Gent. Did you ever hear the likeV 

See. Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place 
as this, she being once gone. 

First Gent. But to have divinity preached there! 
did you ever dream of such a thing ? 

Sec. Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more 
bawdy-houses : shall 's go hear the vestals sing ? 

First Gent. I '11 do any thing now that is virtuous ; 
but I am out of the road of rutting for ever. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEISTE VI. — 27(6 seime. A ro'mi in the brothel. 

Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Boult. 

Pand. 'Well, I had rather tlian twice the worth 
of her she liad ne'er come here. 

L'aird. Fie, fie upon her! slie 's able to freeze the 
god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We 
must either get her ravislied, or be rid of her. 
"When she should do for clients her fitment, and do 
me the kindness of our profession, slie has me her 
quirks, her reasons, her master reasons, her prayers, 
her knees ; that she would make a puritan of the 
devil, if he should cheajjen a kiss of her. 

Boult. 'Faitli, I must ravish lier, or she '11 dis- 
fxu'nish us of aU our cavaliers, and make our 
swearers priests. 

Panel. Xow, the pox upon her green-sickness for 
me! 

Betvd. 'Faith, there 's no way to be rid on 't but 
by the way to tlie pox. Here comes the Lord Ly- 
simachus disguised. 

Beiult. We should have both lord and lown, if the 
peevish baggage would Ijut give way to customers. 

Enter Lysimachus. 

Li/s. How now ! How a dozen of virginities ? 

Beard. Kow, the gods to-bless your honour! 

Boidt. I am glad to see your honour in good 
health. 

Lys. You may so ; 't is the better for you that 
yoHr resorters stand upon sound legs. How now ! 
wholesome iniquity liave you that a man may deal 
withal, and defy the surgeon ? 

Bated. We have here one, sir, if she would — but 
there never came her like in Mytilene. 

L;is. If she 'Id do the deed of darkness, thou 
wouldst say. [enough. 

Bawd. Your honour knows what 't is to say well 

Lys. Well, call forth, call forth. 

Botdt. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you 
shall see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed, if she 
had but — 

Li/s. What, prithee ? 

BouH. O, sir, I can be modest. 
52 



Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no 
less' than it gives a good report to a number to be 
chaste. [Exit Boidt. 

Baicd. Here comes that wliich grows to the stalk ; 
never plucked yet, I can assure you. 

lie-enter Boult with Marina. 
Is she not a fair creature 'i* 

Lys. 'Faitli, she would serve after a long voyage 
at sea. Well, tliere 's for you : leave us. 

Baud. I tieseech your honour, give me leave : a 
word, and I '11 have done presently. 

Lys. I beseech you, do. 

B'airel. [To Marinei] First, I would have you 
note, this is an honourable man. [note him. 

Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily 

Beincl. Next, he's the governor of this country, 
and a man whom I am bound to. 

Mar. If he govern the country, you are bound to 
him indeed; but how honourable he is iu that, I 
know not. 

Bawel. Pray you, without any more virginal fenc- 
ing, will you use him kindly y He will line your 
apron with gold, 

J!/or. What he will do gi-aciously, I will thank- 

Lys. Ha' you done? [fully receive. 

Bem-d. My lord, she 's not paced yet : you must 
take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, 
we will leave his honour and her together. Go thy 
ways. [Exeunt Bau-el. Panelar, and Boult. 

Lys. Now, pretty one, how long have you been 
at this trade? 

2Iar. What trade, sir? 

Lys. Why, I cannot name 't but I shall offend. 

Meir. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please 
you to name it. 

Lys. How long have you been of this profession ? 

Meir. E'er since I caii remember. 

Lys. Did you go to 't so young ? Were you a 
gamester at five or at seven ? 

Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 

Lys. Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you 
to be a creature of sale. 

Meir. Do you know this house to be a place of 
such resort, and will come into 't ? I hear say you 
are of honourable parts, and are the governor of 
this place. 

Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto 
you who I am ? 

Mevr. Who is my principal ? 

Lys. Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds 
and roots of shame and iniquity. O, you have 
heard something of my power, and so stand aloof 
for more serious wooing. But I protest to tliee, 
pretty one, my autliority shall not see thee, or else 
look friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some 
private place: come. come. 

Meir. If you were born to honour, show it now; 
If put upon you, make the judgment good 
That tliought you worthy of it. 

Lys. How 's this ? how 's this ? Some more ; be 

Mar. For me, [sage. 

That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came, 
Diseases have been sold dearer than physic, 
O, that the gods 

Would set me free from this imhallow'd place. 
Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
That flies i' the purer air! 

Lys. I did not think 

Thou couldst have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd 

thou couldst. 
Had I brought hither a corrupted mind. 
Thy speecli liad alter'd it. Hold, here 's gold for 
Persever in that clear way thou goest, [thee: 

And the gods strengthen thee ! 

Mar. The good gods preserve you! 

817 



ACT V. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE I. 



L'is. For me, be you thougliten 
That I came with uo ill intent ; for to me 
The very doors and windows savour vilely. 
Fare thee well. Tluni art a piece of virtue, and 
I doubt not but thy training- hath been noble. 
Hold, here 's moregold tor thee. 
.A curse uiion him, die he like a thief. 
That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou dost 
Hear fi'om me, it shall be for thy good. 

Re-enter Boult. 

BouU. I beseech your honour, one piece for me. 

Li/s. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper! 
Yoiir house, but for this virgin that doth prop it, 
Would sink and overwhelm you. Away! [Exit. 

BouU. How 's this V We must take another 
course with you. If your peevish chastity, which 
is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country 
under the cope, shall undo a whole household, let 
me be gelded like a spaniel. Come your ways. 

Mar. Whither would you have me V 

Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken off, 
or tlie common hangman shall execute it. Come 
your ways. We '11 have no more gentlemen driven 
away. Come your ways, I say. 

Ee-enter Ba-wd. 

Bawd. How now ! wliat 's the matter ? 

Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; she has here 
spoken holy words to the Lord Lysimachus. 

Buinl. () abominable! 

Boult. Slie makes our profession as it were to 
stink aiinv tlie face of the gods. 

Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever! 

Boult. The nobleman wo\ilrl have dealt with her 
like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as 
a snowball ; saying his prayers too. 

Baml. Boult, take her away; use her at thy 
pleasure: crack the glass of her virginity, and 
make the rest malleable. 

Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
than she is, she shall be ploughed. 

liar. Ilark, hark, you gods! 

Bawd. She conjures: away with her! Would 
she had never come wiihin my doors ! Marry, hang 
you ! She 's born to undo us. Will you not go 
the way of women-kind V Marry, come up, my 
dish of chastity witli rosemary and bays! [Exit. 

Boult. Come, mistress; come 3'our ways witli me. 



Mar. Whither wilt thou have me ? 

Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so 
dear. 

jMar. Prithee, tell me one thing first. 

Jfoult. Come now, your one thing. 

Mar. What canst thou wisli thine enemy to be? 

Biiult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, 
or ratlier, my mistress. 

M(n\ Neither of these are so bad as thou art, 
Since they do better thee in their conuuand. 
Thou hold'st a i)lace, for wliicli the pained'st liend 
Of hell would not in reputation cluinge: 
Tiiou art the damned doorkeeper to every 
Coislrel that comes inquiring for his Tib ; 
To the choleric fisting of every rogue 
Thy ear is liable ; thy food is such 
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 

Boult. What would you have me do V go to the 
wars, would you V where a man may serve seven 
years for the loss of a leg, and have not money 
enough in the end to buy him a wooden one V 

Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty 
Old receptacles, or common shores, of filth; 
Serve by indenture to the common hangman: 
Any of these ways are yet better than this; 
For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak, 
Would own a name too dear. O, that the gods 
Would safely deliver me from this place t 
Here, here 's gold for tliee. 
If tliat thy master would gain by me, 
Proclaim "that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, 
With other virtues, wliich I '11 keep from boast ; 
And I will undertake all tliese to teacli. 
I doulit not but this populous city will 
Yield many scholars. 

Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of ? 

Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, 
And prostitute nie to the basest groom 
That doth freijuent vour house. 

BouU. Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if 
I can place thee, 1 will. 

Mar. But amongst honest women. 

Boult. 'Faith,my acquaintance lies little amongst 
them. But since my master and mistress have 
bought you, there 's no going l)ut by their consent: 
therefore I will make them' acquainted with your 
purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find them 
tractable enough. Come, I '11 do for thee wliat I 
can ; come your ways. [Exeunt. 



^CT V. 



Enter Go'wer. 

Gow. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances 
Into an honest house, our story says. 
She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
As goddess-like to her admired lays; 
Deep clerks she dumbs ; aii<l with licr neeld composes 
Nature's own sliape, of l)ud, bird, liranch, or berry, 
That even her art sist<'rs the natural roses; 
Her inkle, silk, twin witli tlie rubied cherry: 
That impils lacks she none of nobk' race. 
Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain 
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we lier place: 
And'to her father turn our thoughts again. 
Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost ; 
Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived 
Here where his daugliter dwells; and on this coast 
Suppose him now at, anriior. The city strived 
God Neptune's annuai tVast to keep: 'from whence 
Lysimachus our Tyriau sliip espies. 
His banners sable, trinnn'd with rich expense ; 
And to him in his barge with fervour hies. 
818 



In your supposing once more put your sight 
Of heavy Pericles ; think this his bark : 
Where what is done in action, more, if might. 
Shall be discover'd; please you, sit and hark. 

[Exit. 

SCENE I.— Oii hoard Pericles'' ship, off 2Iiitilene.. 
A close parilion on deck, with a curtain hfforc it; 
Pericles within it, reclinml on a couch. A barge 
lying beside the Ti/rian vessel. 

Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tijrian vessel, 
the other to the barge ; to them Helicanus. 
Tyr. Sail. [To the Sailor of Mutilciir] Where is 
lord Helicanus ? he can resolve you. 
O, here he is. 

Sir, there 's a barge put oif from Mytilene, 
And in it is Lysimachus the governor, 
Wlio craves to come aboard. What is your will f 
Hel. That he have his. Call up some geutle- 

meii. 
Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 



ACT V. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE I. 



Enter two or three Gentlemen. 

First Gent. Doth your lonlsliii) call ? 
Hel. Geiitleiuen, there 's some of wortli would 
come aboard ; 
I pray ye, greet them fairly. 

[The Gentlenien and the two Sailors descend, and 
go on board, the barge. 

Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with 
' the Gentlemen and the two Sailors. 

Ttjr. Sail. Sir, 
This is the man that can, in aught you would. 
Resolve you. 

Li/s. Hail, reverend sir ! the gods preserve you ! 

Hel. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am. 
And die as I" would do. 

Lijs. You wish me well. 

Being on shore, honouring of Xeptuue"s triumphs. 
Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 
I made to it, to know of whence you are. 

Hel. First, what is your place y 

L>is. I am the governor of this place j'ou lie be- 
. licl. Sir, [fore. 

Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king ; 
A man who for this three months hath not spoken 
To any one, nor taken sustenance 
But to prorogue his grief. 

Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature? 

Hel. 'T would be "too tedious to repeat ; 
But the main grief springs from the loss 
Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 

L'/s. ^lay we not see him '■' 

Hel. You may; 
But bootless is your sight : he will not speak 
To any. 

i.'/s. Yet let me obtain my wish. 

Hel. Behold him. [Pericles discovered.] This was 
a goodly person, 
Till the disaster that, one mortal night. 
Drove him to this. 

Li/s. Sir kin", all hail ! the gods preserve you ! 
Hail, royal sir ! 

Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 

First Lord. Sir, 
'We have a maid in ilytilene, I durst wager. 
Would win some words of him. 

Li/s. 'T is well bethought. 

She questionless with her sweet harmony 
And other chosen attractions, would allure. 
Anil make a battery through his deafen'd parts, 
Wliich now are midway stopp'd: 
She is all happy as the "fairest of all. 
And, with her fellow maids, is now upon 
The leafy shelter that abuts against 
The island's side. 

[Whispers a Lord, v:ho goes ojf in the 
barge of Lysimachus. 

Hel. Sure, all 's effectless ; yet nothing we '11 omit 
That bears recovery's name. But. since your kind- 
"NVe have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you [uess 
That for our gold we nia.\- jirovision have, 
■ AVherein we are not destitute fur want. 
But weary for the stateness. 

L;is. O, sir, a courtesy 

Which if we should deny, the most just gods 
For every gralf would send a caterpillar. 
And so afflict our ])rovince. Yet once more 
Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
Of your king's sorrow. 

Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount it to you : 

But, see, I am prevented. 

He-enter, from Ike barge. Lord, with Marina, and a 
young Lady. 
Las. O, here is 

The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fak one! 
Is "t not a goodly presence 'f 



Hel. She 's a gallant lady. 

Lys. She 's such a one, that, were I well assured 
Came of a gentle kind and noble stock, 
I "Id wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed. 
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 
Expect even here, where is a kingly patient: 
If that thy prosperous and artificial feat 
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, 
Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
As thy desires can wish. 

Mar. Sir, I will use 

Jily utmost skill in his recovery. 
Provided 

That none but I and my companion maid 
Be suffer'd to come near him. 

Lys. ■ Come, let us leave her ; 

And the gods make her prosperous ! [3Iurina sings. 

Lys. Mark'd he your music y 

Mar. Xo, nor look'd on us. 

Lys. See, she will speak to him. 

3iar. Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear. 

Per. Hum, ha ! 

Mar. 1 am a maid. 
My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes. 
But have been gazed on like a comet : she speaks. 
My lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief 
Jilight equal yours, if both were justly weigh 'd. 
Though wayward fortune did malign my state, 
My derivation was from ancestors 
AVho stood equivalent with mighty kings: 
But time hath rooted out my parentage. 
And to the world and awkward casualties 
Bound me in servitude. [Aside] I will desist ; 
But there is something glows upon my cheek. 
And whispers in mine ear ' Go not till he speak.' 

Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parentage — 
To equal inine ! — was it not thus y what say you y 

Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my parent- 
You would not do me violence. [age. 

Per. I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes 
upon me. [woman y 

You are like something that — What countrj-- 
Here of these shores y 

Mar. Ko, nor of any shores : 
Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am 
Ko other than I appear. [ing- 

Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver weep- 
My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one 
My daughter miglit have been: my queen's square 

brows ; 
Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight ; 
As silver-voiced ; her eyes as jewel-like 
And cased as richly; in pace another Juno ; 
Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them 
hungry, [live ? 

The more she gives them speech. AVhere do you 

Mar. AVhere I am but a stranger: from the deck 
You may discern the place. 

Per. Where were you bred ? 

And how achieved you these endowments, which 
You make more rich to owe y 

Mnr. If I should tell my history, it wovdd seem 
Like lies disdain 'd in the reporting. 

Per. Prithee, speak : 

Falseness cannot come fi'om thee; for thou look'st 
Modest as Justice, and tliou seem'st a palace 
For the crown'd Truth to dwell in : I will believe 
And make my senses credit thy relation [thee, 

To points that seem inipossilile ; for thou look'st 
Like one I loved indeed. What were thy friends y 
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back — 
Which was when I perceived thee — that thoucamest 
From good descending ? 

Mar. So indeed I did. 

Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st 
Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury. 
And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal 
It both were open'd. [mine, 

819 



ACT V. 



PERICLES. 



SCENE I. 



Mar. Some such thing 

I said, and said no more but what my thouglits 
Did warrant me was likely. 

Per. Tell thy story ; 

If thine consider \1 prove the thousandth part 
Of my endurance, tliou art a man, and I 
Have suffer'd like a girl: yet thou dost look 
Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling 
Extremity out of act. What were thy friends V 
How lost thou them 'i* Thy name, my most kind 

virgin ? 
Recount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me. 

Mar. My name is Marina. 

Per. O, I am mock'd, 

And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
To make the world to luugh at me. 

Mar. Patience, good sir. 

Or liere I '11 cease. 

Per. Nay, I '11 be patient. 

Tliou little know'st how thou dost startle me, 
To call tliyself Marina. 

Mar. Tiie name 
"Was given me by one that had some power, 
My father, and a king. 

Per. How! a king's daughter ? 

And call'd Marina? 

Mar. You said you would believe me ; 

But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 
I will end here. 

Per. But are you flesh and blood ? 

Have you a working pulse ? and are no fairy ? 
Motion! Well ; speak on. Where were you born? 
And wherefore call'd IMarina ? 

Mar. Call'd Marina, 

For I was born at sea. 

Per. At seal what mother? 

Mar. My mother was tlie daughter of a king; 
Who died tlie minute 1 was born. 
As my good nurse Lychorida hatii oft 
Deliver'd weeping. 

Per. O, stop there a little ! 

[ylstde] This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep 
Did mock sad fools withal : this cannot be : 
My daughter 's buried. Well : where were you bred ? 
I '11 hear you more, to the bottom of your story, 
And never interrupt you. [give o'er. 

Mar. You scorn: believe me, 'twere best I did 

Per. I will believe you by tlie syllable 
Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave : 
How came you in these parts? where were you 
bred ? 

Mar. The king my father did in Tarsus leave me ; 
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife. 
Did seek to murder me: and having woo'd 
A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do 't, 
A crew of pirates came and rescued nie ; 
Brought me to Mytilene. But, good sir, 
Wliitherwill you have me? Why do you weep? 

It may be. 
You tliink me an impostor: no, good faith; 
I am tlie ilaughter to King Pericles, 
If good Kinu' I'ciicles be. 

Per. Ho, H.'lirauus! 

Hel. Calls my lord ? 

Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor. 
Most wise in general : tell me, if thou canst, 
AVhat this maid is, or what is like to be, 
Tliat thus hath made me weep ? 

Hel. I know not ; but 

Here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene 
Speaks nobly of her. 

Lijs. She -CT-ould never tell 

Her parentage ; being demanded tliat, 
She would sit still and weep. 

Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir; 
Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; 
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me 
O'erbear the shores of my mortality, 
8::0 



And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither, 

Tliou that beget "st him that did thee beget ; 

Thou that wast bom at sea, buried at Tarsus, 

And found at sea again ! O Helicanus, 

Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud 

As thunder threatens us : this is Marina. 

What was thy mother's name? tell me but that, 

For truUi can never be conhnn'd enough, 

Though doubts did ever sleep. 

Mar. First, sir, I pray. 

What is your title ? 

Pel-. I am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now 
My drown 'd queen's name, as in the rest you said 
Tliou hast lieeii godlike jierfect. 
The heir of kingcUims and another like 
To Pericles thy father. 

Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter than 
To say my mother's name was Tliaisa? 
Thaisa was my mother, who did end 
The minute I began. [child. 

Per. Now, blessing on thee! rise; tlion art my 
Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus ; 
She is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been. 
By savage Cleon : she shall tell thee all ; 
When thou shalt kneel, and justily in knowledge 
She is thy very princess. Who is tliis ? 

Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene, 
Wlio, hearing of your melancholy state, 
Did come to see you. 

Per. I embrace you. 

Give me my robes. I am wild in my beholding. 

heavens bless my girl ! But, hark, what music ? 
Tell Helicanrs, my Marina, tell him 

O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,' 
How sure you are my daughter. But, what music ? 

Hel. My lord, I hear none. 

Per. 2s one ! 
The music of the spheres ! List, my Marina. 

Lys. It is not good to cross him ; give him way. 

Per. Rarest sounds ! Do ye not liear ? 

Lijs. My lord, I hear. {Music. 

Per. Most heavenly music ! 
It nips me unto listenuig, and thick slumber 
Hangs uixm mine eyes: let me rest. [.SkfjiS. 

Li-is. A pillow for his head : 
So, leave him all. Well, my companion friends. 
If this but answer to my just belief, 

1 '11 well remember you. ^Exeunt all hut Perides. 

Diana ajjpears to Pericles as in a msion. 

Dirt. My temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee 
And do upon mine altar sacrifice. [thither, 

There, when my maiden priests are met together, 
Before the people all. 

Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call 
And give them repetition to the life. 
Or perforin my bidding, or thou livest in woe; 
Do it, and happy; by my silver bow! 
Awake, and tell thy dream. [Disa^jpears. 

Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 
I will obey thee. Helicanus ! 

He-enter Helicanus, Lsrsimachus, ar(,d Marina. 

Hel. Sir ? 

Per. My purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike 
The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
For other service first : toward Ephesus 
Turn our blown sails; eftsoons I '11 tell thee why. 
[To Lysimachus] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your 
And give you gold for such provision [shore, 

As our intents will need ? 

Lijs. Sir, 
With all my heart ; and, when you come ashore, 
I have another suit. 

Per. You shall prevail. 

Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems 
You have been noble towiu'ds her. 



ACT V 



PERICLES. 



SCENE III. 



Lijx. Sir, lend me your arm. 

I'tr. Come, my Marina. {Exutnt. 

SCENE n. —Enter Goicer, before the temple of Di- 
ana at Ephesiis. 

Gore. Xow our sands are almost run; 
More a little, and then dumb. 
This, my last boon, give me. 
For sucli kindness must relieve me, 
That you aptly will suppose 
Wliat pageantry, what feats, wiiat shows, 
"What uiLnstrelsy, and pretty din. 
The regent made iii Mytilene 
To greet the king. 80 he thrived. 
That he is promised to be wived 
To fair Marina; but in no wise 
Till he had done his sacrifice. 
As Diaii bade : whereto being bound, 
The interim, pray you, all confound. 
In feather'd briefness sails are fillVl, 
And wishes fall out as they 're will'd. 
At Ephesus, the temple see. 
Our king and all his company. 
That he can hither come so soon. 
Is by your fancy's thankful doom. {Exit. 

SCENE m.—The temple of Diana at Ep>hesus; 
Thaisa standing near the altar, as hiyh priestess; 
a number of Virgins on each side; Cerimon and 
other Inhabitants of Ephesus attending. 

Enter Pericles, with his train; Lysimachus, 
Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady. 

Per. Hail, Diau I to perform thy just command, 
I here confess myself the king of Tyre ; 
AVho, frighted from mv coiuitry, did wed 
At Peutapolis tlie fair Thaisa. 
At sea ill cliildlied died she, but brought forth 
A maid-child calTd Marina ; who, O goddess, 
A\'ears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus 
"Was nursed with Cleou; who at fourteen years 
lie sought to murder; but her better stars 
Brought her to Mytilene; "gainst whose shore 
Kiding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, 
"Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she 
Made known herself my daughter. 

Thai. Voice and favour ! 

You are, you are — O royal Pericles ! [Faints. 

Per. What means the uunV she dies! help, gen- 

Cer. Noble sir, [tlemen ! 

If you have told Diana's altar true. 
This is your wife. 

Per. Reverend appearer, no ; 

I threw lier overboard with these very arms. 

Cer. Upou this coast, I warrant you. 

Per. 'T is most certain. 

Cer. Look to the lady; O, she 's but o'erjoy'd. 
Early in blustering morn this lady was 
Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin. 
Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and placed 
Here iu Diana's temple. [her 

Per. May we see them ? 

Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my 
"Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is [house, 
Recovered. 

Thai. O, let me look ! 
If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
AVill to my sense bend no licentious ear. 
But curb it. si)ite of .seeing. O, my lord. 
Are you not Pericles ? Like him you .spake. 
Like him you are: did you not name a tempest, 
A birth, and death i" 

Per. The voice of dead Thaisa ! 

Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead 
And drown'd. 

Per. Immortal Dian ! 

Thai. Now I know you better. 



"When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
The king my father gave you such a ring. 

[IShows a ring. 

Per. This, this: no more, you gods ! your present 
kiiichie.ss 
;Makes my past miseries sports: you shall do well. 
That on the touching of her lips'l may 
Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried 
A second time within these arms. 

3Iar. My heart 

Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 

[Kneels to Thaisa. 

Per. LoQk, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy Uesh, 
Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, [Thaisa ; 
For she was yielded there. 

Thai. Blest, and mine own ! 

Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! 

7 hai. I know you not. 

Per. You have heard me say, when 1 did tiy from 
I left behind an ancient sulistitute: _ [Tyre, 

Can you rememVier what I call'd the man ':* 
I have named him oft. 

Thai. 'T was Helicanus then. 

Per. Still confirmation : 
Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he. 
Now do I long to hear how you were found ; 
How possibly preserved ; and wlio to thank. 
Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 
• Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man. 
Through whom the gods have shown their power; 
From first to last resolve you. [that can 

Per. Reverend sir. 

The gods can have no mortal officer 
iSIore like a god than you. Will you deliver 
How this dead queen re-lives ? 

Cer. I will, my lord. 

Beseech you, first go with me to my liouse. 
Where shall be shown you all was found with her ; 
How she came placed here in the temple ; 
No needful thing omitted. 

P/r. Pure Dian. bless thee for thy vision! I 
AVill offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, 
Shall marry her at Peutapolis. And now, 
This ornament 

Makes me look dismal will I clip to form ; 
And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd, 
To grace thy marriage-day, I '11 beautify. [sir, 

Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit. 
My father's dead. [my queen. 

Per. Heavens make a star of him ! Vet there, 
We '11 celebrate theu' nuptials, and ourselves 
AVill In that kingdom spend our following days: 
Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 
Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay 
To hear the rest untold : sk, lead "s the way. [Exeunt. 

Enter Gow^er. 
Gow. In Antiochus and his daughter you have 
heard 
Of monstrous lust the due and jnst reward : 
In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen. 
Although assail'd with fortmie fierce and keen, 
"Virtue preserved from fell destruction's blast. 
Led on by heaven; and crown "d with joy at last : 
In Helicanus may you well descry 
A figure of truth", of faith, of loyalty: 
In reverend Cerimon there well appears 
The worth that learned charity aye wears: 
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
Had spread their cursed deed, and houour'dname 
Of Pericles, to rage the city turn. 
That him and his" they in liis palace burn; 
The gods for murder seemed so content 
To punish them ; although not done, but meant. 
So, on your patience evermore attending. 
New joy wait on you ! Here our play has ending. 

[Exit. 
821 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



' Vilia niiretiir vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo 
Focula Castalia plena ministret aqua.' 



TO THE EIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WEIOTHESLY, * 

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BAiON OF TICHFIELD. 

Right Honourable, 

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unjjolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world 
will censure me for choosing so strong a proj) to support so weak a burden : only, if your honour seem but pleased, I 
account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver 
labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed,! shall be sorrj' it had so noble a god-father, and never ;ii'u'r 
ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour 
to your lieart's content ; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation. 

Your honour's in all duty, 



Xv^yMu^r^ ^j'cjjy-^^^ 






Even as the sun with piirple-colour'd face 
Hail ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
Kose-cheekM Adoiiis hied him to the cliase; 
Hunting he loved, l)ut love lie laugh'd to scom ; 
Sick-thoughted Venns makes aiiiaiu unto him, 
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo liim. 

'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began, 
' The field's chief (lower, sweet above compare, 
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, 
More white and red tlian doves or roses are ; 
Nature that made thee, witli herself at strife, 
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow; 
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed 
A thousand honey secrets slialt thou'kiiow: 
Jlere come and sit, where never serpent liisses, 
And being set, 1 '11 smother thee with kisses ; 

' And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety, 
But rather fainisli tlieni amid their iilenty, 
Making them red and pale with fresh variety, 
Ten kissi's shurt as oni-, one long as twenty:" 
A summer's day will .seem an hour hut sliort. 
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.' 

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, 
The precedent ot pilli and livelihood. 
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm, 
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good : 
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force 
Courageously to pluck him from his horse. 

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 
Umier her other was the tender boy, 
Wlio blush 'd and jiouted in a dull disdain, 

With leaden appetite, unaiit to toy; 

She red and hot as coals of glowing Are, 
lie red tor shame, but frosty in desii'e. 

The studded bridle on a ragged bough 

Nimbly she fastens : — O, liow quick is love ! — 

Tlie steed is stalled u]i, and even now 

To tie the rider she begins to prove : 

Backward she push 'il him, as she would he thrust. 

And goveru'd him in strength, though not in lust. 

822 



So soon was she along as he was down, 
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips : 
Now doth slie stroke his clieek, now doth he frown, 
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips ; 
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, 
' If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.' 

Tie burns with bashful shame ; she with her tears 
Doth (inench tlie maiden burning of his cheeks; 
Tlieii witli her windy sighs and golden hairs 
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks : 

He saith she is innnodest, blames her 'miss ; 

What follows more she murders with a kiss. 

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, 
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 
Sliaking her wings, devouring all in haste. 
Till either gorge be stuff 'd or prey be gone ; 
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin, 
And where she ends she doth anew begin. 

Forced to content, but never to obey, 
Panting he lies and breatheth in her iface; 
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey, 
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace; 
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers. 
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers. 

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net, 

So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies; 

Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret. 

Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: 
liain added to a river that is rank 
Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats. 

For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale; 

Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, 

'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-jiale ; 
Being red, she loves lum licst : and being white. 
Her best is better'd with a more delight. 

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; 
jVnd by her fair immortal hand she swears, 
From ills soft bosom never t<i remove, 
Till he take truce with her contending tears. 

Which long have rain'd. making hercheeksall wet; 

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Uiwii this promise did he raise his cliin, 
Lilce a dive-dapper peeriiin- tinoush a wave, 
Who, being look'd on, ducUs as (piicldy in; 
So offers he to give wliat she did crave; 
But when lier lips were ready for his pay, 
He winks, and tui-us liis lips another way. 

Never did passenger in summer's heat 

More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 

Her help she sees, but help slie cannot get ; 

Slie bathes in water, yet her tire must burn : 
' O, pity,' 'gan slie cry, 'flint-hearted boy I 
'T is but a kiss I beg ; why art thou coy 'i 

' I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now. 
Even by tlie stern and direful god of war. 
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
Wlio conquers where lie conies in every jar; 
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave. 
And begg'd for that which thou unasli'd shalt have. 

' Over my altars hath he hung his lauce, 
His batter'd shield, his uncdutroUiMl crest. 
And for my sake hath IcaruM to sport and dauce, 
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest, 
Seorning his churlish drum and ensign red, 
Making my arms his tield, his tent my bed. 

' Thus he that overruled I oversway'd. 
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : 
Stroug-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd. 
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might. 
For mastering her that foil'd the god oi fight ! 

' Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, — 
- Tiiough mine be not so fair, yet are tliey red — 
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine. 
Wliat seest thou in the ground 'f hold up thy head : 

Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies ; 

Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes 'i 

' Art thou ashamed to kiss ? then wink again, 

And I will wink; so sliall the day seem night ; 

Love keeps his revels wliere there are but twain; 

Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight : 
These blue-veiu'd violets whereon we lean 
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. 

' The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted: 
Make use of time, let not advantage slip; 
Beauty within itself should not be wasted: 
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime 
Kot and consume themselves in little time. 

' Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old. 
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold. 
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice. 

Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for 
thee ; 

But having no defects, why dost abhor me? 

' Thou canst not see one -wTinkle in my brow; 

Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning; 

My lieauty as the spring dotli yearly grow. 

My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; 
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, 
AVould in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 

' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
Or, like a fairy, trip upon tlie green, 
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair. 
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen: 
Love is a spirit all coniiiact of tire. 
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 



' Witness this ]>rimrose bank whereon I lie; 

These forceless (lowers like sturdy trees support me; 

Two streiigtli less doves will drawnic I hrounhthesky. 

From morn till night, even wliere I list to sport me : 
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee ? 

' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected ? 

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? 

Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, 

Steal thine own freeilom and complain on theft. 
Narcissus so himself hinisell' I'orsook, 
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. 

' Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, 
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use. 
Herbs for their smell, and sappy planjs to bear : 
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse: 

Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth 
beauty; 

Thou wast begot ; to get it is thy duty. 

' U]ion the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed. 
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed ? 
15y law of nature thou art liound to breed. 
That thine may live when thou (liyself art dead; 
And so. in spite of death, tliou dost survive, 
In that thy likeness still is left alive.' 

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, 
For where they lay the sliadow had forsook them, 
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat. 
With burning eye did hotly overlook them; 
AVishing Aclonis had his team to guide, 
So he were like him and by V^enus' side. 

And now Adonis, with a lazy spriglit. 
And with a heavy, dark, disliking Cye, 
His louring brows o'erwhelmiiig his fair sight, 
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, 
Sourhig his cheeks cries ' Fie, no more of love I 
The suii doth burn my face; I must remove.' 

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind? 
What bare excuses niakest tliou to be gone! 
I '11 sigh celestial breath, wliose gentle wind 
Shall cool tlie heat of this descending sun ; 

I '11 make a shadow for thee of my hairs ; 

If they burn too, I '11 quench them with my tears. 

' The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, 
And,lo, I lie between that sun and thee: 
The lieat I have from thence doth little harm. 
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burnetii me; 
And were I not immortti, life were done 
Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 

' Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel. 
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth ? 
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 
What 'tis to love ? how want of love tormenteth ? 
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind. 
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 

' AVhat am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this? 

Or what great danger dwells upon my suit ? 

What were thy lips the worse tor one poor kiss ? 

Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 
Give me one kiss, I '11 give it thee again. 
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 

' Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone. 
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, 
Statue contenting but the eye alone. 
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ! 
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion, 
For men will kiss even by their own direction.' 
823 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



This said, impatience cliokes Iier pleading tongue, 

And swelling passion doth provoke a pause; 

Eed clieeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; 

Being judge in love, she cannot riglit her cause: 
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speuk, 
And now her sobs do her intendments break. 

Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand, 
Kow gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 
Sometimes lier arms infold him like a band : 
She would, lie will not in her arms be bound; 

And when from thence he struggles to be gone, 

She locks her lily fingers one in one. 

' Fondling, 'she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here 

Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 

I '11 be a park, and thou shalt be my deer ; 

Feed wliere t'hou wilt, on mountain or in dale : 
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, 
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. 

' Within this limit is relief enough. 
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain. 
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rougli. 
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain: 

Then be my deer, since I am such a park ; 

No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.' 

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, 
That in eacli cheek appears a pretty dimple : 
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie. 
Why, there Love lived and there he could not die. 

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits, 
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking. 
■Reing mad before, how doth she now for wits V 
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking V 
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn. 
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn ! 

Now which way shall she turn '? what shall she say ? 

Her words are done, her woes the more increasing ; 

The time is spent, her object will away. 

And from her twining arms doth urge releasing. 
' Pity,' she cries, ' some favour, some remorse ! ' 
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse. 

But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
A breecling jennet, lusty, young and proud, 
Adonis' tnuiipling courser doth espy, 
And forth slie ruslies, snorts and neighs aloud : 
The strong-neek'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds. 
And now his woven girtlis he breaks asunder ; 
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds. 
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thun- 
der ; 
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth, 
Controlling what he was controlled with. 

His ears up-priek'd ; hLs braided hanging mans 
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end; 
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, 
As from a furnace, vapours dotli he send : 
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, 
Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps, 
Will) gentle majesty and modest pride; 
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, 
As who should say ' Lo, tlius my strength is tried, 
And this 1 do to captivate the eye 
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.' 
824 



What reeketh he his rider's angry stir. 

His flattering ' Holla,' or his ' Stand, I say ' ? 

What cares he now for c\irb or pricking spur? 

For ricli caparisons or trapping gay y 
He sees liis love, and nothing else lie sees, 
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 

Look, when a painter would surpass the life, 
111 linining out a well-proportion'd steed. 
His art with nature's workmanship at strife, 
As if tlie dead the living sliould exceed; 
So did this horse excel a common one 
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone. 

Round-hoof 'd, short -jointed, fetlocks shag and long, 
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide. 
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing 

strong. 
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: 
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, 
Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 

Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares; 

Anon lie starts at stirring of a feather; 

To Ijid tlie wind a base he now prepares. 

And wlietlier he run or fly they know not whether; 
Fortlirouglihismaneandtailthe high wind sings. 
Fanning tlie hairs, who wave like feather 'd wings. 

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her ; 
She answers him as if she knew his mind : 
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, 
She puts on outward strangeness, seems luikind. 
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels. 
Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 

Then, like a melancholy malcontent. 
He veils his tail that, like a falling plume, 
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: 
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume. 
His love, perceiving how he is enraged, 
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged. 

His testy master goeth nbout to take him; 
When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear. 
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake liim, 
With her the horse, and left Adonis there : 
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, 
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 

All swoln with chafing, Aowa Adonis sits, 
Banning liis boisterous and unruly beast: 
And now the happy season once more fits, 
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; 
For lovers say, the lieart hath treble wrong 
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd. 

Burnetii more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 

So of concealed sorrow may be said ; 

Free vent of words love's tire doth assuage ; 
But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 

He sees her coming, and begins to glow. 
Even as a dying coal revives with wind, 
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow; 
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 
Taking no notice that she is so nigh. 
For all askance he holds her in his eye. 

O, what a sight it was, wistly to view 
How she came stealing to the wayward boy! 
To note the fighting conflict of her hue. 
How white and red eacli other did destroy I 
But now her cheek was jiale, and by and by 
It flash 'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 



T^^^y^"^ A^^D ADOXIS. 



Xow was she just before him as he sat, 
Aiiil like a lowly lover down she kneels; 
With one fair h'aud she heaveth u\> his hat, 
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print, 
As apt as new-fall'u snow takes any dint. 

O, what a war of looks was then between them! 

Iter eyes petitioners to his eyes suing ; 

His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ; 

Her eyes woo'd still, liis eyes disilain'd the wooing: 
And all this dunili \>\a\ had his acts made plain 
"With tears, whicdi, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 

Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 

A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, 

Or ivory in an alabaster band : 

So white a friend engirts so white a foe : . 
This beauteous combat, wilfid and unwilling, 
Sliow'd like two sUver doves that sit a-billuig. 

Once more the engine of her thoughts began : 
' O fairest mover on this mortal round, 
ATould thou wert as I am, and 1 a man, 
My heart all whole as thine, thy lieart my wound ; 
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee. 
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure 
thee.' 

' Give me my hand,' saith he, ' why dost thou feel it? ' 
' Give me my heart,' saith she, ' and thou shalt have 
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, [it ; 
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it : 
Then love's deeji groans I never shall regard, 
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.' 

' For shame,' he cries, ' let go, and let me go ; 
:My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 
And "t is your fault I am bereft him so : 
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone; 
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, 
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.' 

Thus she replies: ' Thy palfrey, as he should, 
AVelcomes the warm aiiproach of sweet desire: 
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd; 
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire: 

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; 

Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. 

' How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree. 
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein ! 
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, 
He held such petty bomlage in disdain ; 
Throwing the base tliong from his bending crest, 
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 

' Who sees his true-love in her naked bed. 
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue tlian white. 
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed. 
His other agents aim at like delight 't 
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold 
To touch the fire, the weather being cold ? 

' Let me excuse tliy courser, gentle boy ; 

And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee. 

To take advantage on presented joy ; 

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee : 
O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain, 
And once made perfect, never lost again.' 

' I know not love,' quoth he, ' nor will not know it, 
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ; 
'T is much to borrow, and I will not owe it ; 
My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 

For I have lieard it is a life in (leath. 

That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath. 



■^Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd 
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth ? 
If springing things be any jot diminish "d. 
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth : 
The colt that 's back'd and burden'd being young 
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong. " 

'You hurt my hand with wringing: let us part. 
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat : 
Eemove your siege from my unyielding lieart ; 
To love's alarms it will not" ope the gate : [tery ; 
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your tlat- 
For where a heart is hard they make no battery.' 

' What ! canst thou talk ? ' quoth she, ' hast thou a 

tongue ? 
O. would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! 
Thy mermaid's voice hath done nie double wrong; 
I had my load before, now press 'd with bearing: 
Melodious discord, heaveuly tune harsh-sounding, 
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore 
wounding. 

' Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 

That inward beauty and invisible ; 

Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 

Each part in me that were but sensible : 
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see. 
Yet should I be in love by touching thee. 

' Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me. 
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch. 
And notliing but the very smell were left me. 
Yet would my love to thee be still as much ; 
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling 
Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by- 
smelling. 

' But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste. 
Being nurse and feeder of the other four ! 
Would they not wish the feast might ever last. 
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door. 
Lest .lealousy, that sour unwelcome guest. 
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast ? ' 

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd. 
Which to his speech did honey passage yield; 
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd 
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, 
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, 
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmeu and to herds. 

This ill presage advisedly she marketli : 
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth, 
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh. 
Or as the berry breaks l)efore it staineth. 
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, 
His meaning struck her ere his words begim. 

And at his look she flatly falleth down. 

For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth ; 

A smile recures the w'ounding of a frown; 

But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth ! 
The silly boy, believing she is dead. 
Claps her pale cheek, tiU clapping makes it red ; 

And all amazed brake off his late intent. 
For sharply he did think to reprehend her, 
Wliieh'cuiining love did wittily prevent : 
Fiiir fall the wit that can so well defend her ! 
For on the grass she lies as she were .slain. 
Till his breath breatheth life In her again. 

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks. 
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard. 
He chafes her lips ; a thousand ways he seeks 
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd : 
825 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



He kisses lier; and slie, by her good will, 
Will uever rise, so he will kiss Ler still. 

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day: 
Ilcr two lilue windows faintly she np-heaveth, 
Likf the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
lie cheers tliu morn and all tlie earth relievetli ; 
And as the bright sun glorilies the sky, 
So is her face illumined with her eye ; 

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd. 
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. 
Were never four such lamps together mix'd. 
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine ; 

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave 
light. 

Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 

' O, where am I ? ' quoth she, ' in earth or heaven. 
Or in tlie ocean drencli'd, or in the fire? 
Wliat hiinr is tliisV or morn or weary even? 
Do I delight to die, or life desire ? 

But now 1 lived, and life was deatli's annoy; 

But now I died, and death was lively joy. 

' O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again : 
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 
Hath tauglit them scornful tricks and such disdain 
That they have murder 'd tliis poor heart of mine; 
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen. 
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 

' Long may they kiss each other, for this cure ! 

O, never let tlieir crimson liveries wear ! 

And as they last, tlieir verdure still endure, 

To drive infection from the dangerous year ! 
Tliat the star-gazers, having w'rit on death. 
May say, the plague is banish 'd by thy breath. 

' Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, 
Wliat liargains may I make, still to be sealing ? 
To sell myself I can be well contented. 
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing; 
AVhich purchase if thou make, for fear of slips 
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. 

' A thousand kisses buys my lieart from me; 

And pay them at lliy leisure, one by one. 

What is ten hmiilred touches unto thee? 

Are they not c|uirkly told and quickly gone? 
Say, for non-|iayment that the debt shonlil double. 
Is twenty huuiired kisses such a trouble? ' 

' Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me. 
Measure my strangeness witli "my unripe years : 
Before I know myself, seek not to know me; 
Wo fisher but theungrown fry forbears : 
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast. 
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste. 

' Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait. 
His day's hot task hath ended in the west; 
The owl, nighfs herald, slirieks, " 'Tis very late;" 
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest. 

And roal- black clouds that shadow heaven's 
light 

Do summon us to part and bid good night. 

' Now let jne say " Good night," and so say you ; 
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.' 
'Good night,' (luoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,' 
The honey fee of jiarting tender'd is: 

Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; 

Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face. 

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew 
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, 
826 



Whose precious taste her thii-sty lips well knew 
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth : 
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with deal 
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. 

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, 

And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth ; 

Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey. 

Paying wliat ransom the insulter willeth ; [high. 
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the jiriee so 
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry : 

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, 
Witli blinilfold fury she begins to forage; 
Her face doth reek ami smoke, her blood doth boil. 
And careless lust stirs up a desperate coinage ; 
Planting oblivion, beating reason back, 
Porgetting shame's pure blush' and honour's 
wrack. 

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, 
Like a wild bird being tamed with too much haiid- 

ling. 
Or as the fleet-foot roe that 's tired with chasing. 
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling. 
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth. 
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering. 
And yields at last to every light impression ? 
Things out of liope are conq)ass"d oft with venturing, 
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission : 
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward. 
But then woos best when most his choice is froward. 

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over. 

Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. 

Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; 

What though the rose have prickles, yet 't is pluck'd : 
Were lieauty under twenty locks kept fast. 
Yet love bre"aks through and picks them all at last. 

For pity now slie can no more detain him ; 

The jioor fool prays her that he may depart : 

She is res<ilvecl n(i longer to restrain him ; 

Bids him farewell, ancl look well to her heart. 
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, 
lie carries thence incaged in his breast. 

'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in 
sorrow. 

For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 

Tell me. Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow ? 

Say, shall we ? shall we ? wilt thou make the match ? ' 
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends 
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 

' The boar i ' quoth she ; whereat a sudden pale. 
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose. 
Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale. 
And on liis neck her 3'oking arms she throws: 
She sinketh down, still hanging liy his neck, 
He on her belly faUs, she on her back. 

Now is she in the very lists of love. 

Her ehani|ii(in mounled for the hot encounter: 

All is imaghiary slie doth prove, 

He will not maiiage lier, altliough he mount her; 

That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy. 

To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes. 
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw, 
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps. 
As those poor Viirds that lieljiless lierries saw. 
The warm effects which she in him linils nussing 
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



But all ill vain ; good queen, it will not be : 
She hatli assay 'd as much as may be proved ; 
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee ; 
She 's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved. 

' Fie, fie,' he says, ' you crush nie ; let me go ; 

You have no reason to withhold me so.' 

' Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, ' sweet boy, ere 
this. 

But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. 

O, be adviijed ! thou know'st not what it is 

With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 
Wliose tushes never slieathed he whetteth still. 
Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill. 

' On his bow-back he hath a battle set 

Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 

His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret ; 

His snout digs sepulclires where'er he goes; 
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way, 
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay. 

' His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd. 

Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter; 

His short thick neck cannot be easily liarm'd; 

Being ireful, on the lion he will venture : 
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes. 
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes. 

'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, 
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes; 
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne, 
AVliose full perfection all the world amazes; 
l^ut having thee at vantage, — wondrous dread ! — 
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. 

' O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still ; 

Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends : 

Come not within his danger by thy will ; 

They tliat thrive well take counsel of tlieir friends. 
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, 
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. 

' Didst thou not mark my face V was it not white ? 
Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye y 
Grew I not faint ? and fell I not downright V 
Within my bosom, wlicreon thou dost lie, 
My Ixiding heiirt pants, beats, and takes no rest, 
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast. 

' For where Love reigns, disturbing .Jealousy 
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel ; 
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, 
And in a peaceful hour doth cry " Kill, kill ! " 

Distempering gentle Love in his desire, 

As air and water do abate the tire. 

'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, 

This canker that eats up I^ove's tender spring. 

This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy, 

That sometime true news, sometime false doth 
bring. 
Knocks at my heart and whispers in mine ear 
That if I love thee, I thy death sliould fear: 

'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye 
The picture of an angry-chaflng boar. 
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie 
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore; 
Whose blood upon the fresh llowers being shed 
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the 
head. 

' What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, 
That tremble at the imagination V 
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed. 
And fear doth teach it divination : 



I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow. 
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. 

' But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me ; 

Uncouple at the timorous dying hare. 

Or at the fox which lives by subtlety. 

Or at the roe which no encounter dare : 
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs. 
And on thy weU-breathed horse keep with thy 
hounds. 

'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
jNIark the poor WTCtch, to overshoot his troubles 
How he outruns the wind and with wliat care 
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: 
The many musets through the which he goes 
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 

' Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep. 
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, 
And sometime where earth-delving Cduies keep, 
To stop the loud pursuers in theiryell. 
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer: 
Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear: 

' For there bis smell with others being mingled, 
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, 
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ; 
Then do they spend their moutlis : Echo replies, 
As if another chase were in the skies. 

'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, 
Stands on his hinder legs witli listening ear, 
To hearken if his foes pursue him still: 
Anon their loud alarums lie doth hear; 
And now his grief may be compared well 
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell. 

' Then shall thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch 
Turn, and return, indenting with the way; 
Each envitius brier his weary legs doth scratch, 
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: 
For misery is trodden on by many. 
And being low never relieved by any. 

'Lie quietly, and hear a little more; 
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: 
To make thee hate the hunting of tlie boar. 
Unlike myself thou hear'st me'moralize. 
Applying this to that, and so to so: 
For love can comment upon every woe. 

' Where did I leave ? ' ' No matter where ; ' quoth he, 

' Leave me, and then the story aptly ends : 

The night is spent.' ' Why, what of that V ' quoth 

she. 
' I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends; 
And now 't is dark, and going I shall fall.' 
' In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all. 

' But if thou fall, O, then imagine this, 

Tlifi earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips. 

And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 

Bich preys make true men thieves; so do tliy lips 
!Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, 
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn. 

' Now of this dark night I perceive the reason : 
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, 
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason. 
For stealing moulds fnun iii'aven that were divine; 
Wlierein she framed thee in high heaven's despite, 
To shame the sun by day and her by night. 

' And therefore hath she bribed the De'stinies 
To cross the curious workmanship of nature, 
827 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



To mingle beauty with infirmities. 
Anil pure perfection with impun' defeature, 
Makiiiii' it subject to the tyrttnny 
Of mad misuhauces aud much misery ; 

' As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, 
Life-pnis(iniiig pestilence and frenzies wood, 
The niurjow-eating sickness, whose attaint 
Disorder lireeds by heating of the Ijlood : 
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damnVl despair, 
Swear Nature's death for framing thee so fair. 

' And not tlie least of all these maladies 
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under: 
Both favour, savour, hue and (jualities, 
AVhereat the impartial gazer late did wonder. 
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done. 
As mountaiu-suow melts with the midday sun. 

' Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity. 
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns. 
That on the earth would breed a scarcity 
And barren dearth of daughters aud of sons. 
Be prodigal; the hiin]) that burns by night 
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 

' What is tliy body but a swallowing grave. 

Seeming to bury that jiosterity 

Which by the.rights of time thou needs must have. 

If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity V 
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 

' So in thyself thyself art made away, 
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay. 
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life. 
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, 
But gold tbat 's put to use more gold begets.' 

' JTay, then,' quoth Adon, ' you will fall again 
Into your idle over-handled theme : 
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain. 
And all in vain you strive against the stream ; 
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse, 
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. 

' If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues. 
And every tongue more moving than your ow^l, 
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs. 
Yet from mine ear tlie tempting tune is blown; 
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, 
Aud will not let a false sound enter there ; 

' Lest the deceiving harmony should run 

Into the quiet closure of my breast ; 

And then my little heart were quite undone, 

In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest. 
No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan. 
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. 

'What have you urged that I cannot reprove? 
The path is smootli that leadeth on to danger: 
I liate not love, but your device in love, 
That lends embraeements unto every stranger. 
You do it for increase: O .strange excuse. 
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse ! 

' Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled. 
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp 'd his name; 
Under whose simple send)lani-e he lialli fed 
Upon fresh beauty, lilotting it with blame; 
Which tlie hot tyrant stains anil soon bereaves. 
As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 

' Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, 
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun ; 



Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, \ 
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done ; 

Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; 

Love is all truth. Lust full of forged lies. -^ 

' More I could tell, but more I dare not say; 

The text is old, the orator too green. 

Therefore, in sadness, now I will away; ] 

My face is full of shame, my heart of teen: 
JNIine ears, that to your wanton talk attended. 
Do burn themselves for having so offended.' \ 

With this, he breaketli from tlie sweet embrace, 
Of those fair arms wliieli bound him to her breast, , 
And homeward through the dark laund rmis apace; 
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. j 

Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky, j 
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ; " i 

Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, 
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more. 
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend : ^ 
So did the merciless and pitchy night | 

Fold in the object that did feed her sight. ] 

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware 1 

Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood, j 

Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are, : 

Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood, 
Even so confounded in the dark she lay. 
Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 

i 
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, ' 
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled, I 
Make verbal repetition of her moans ; , 

Passion on passion deeply is redoubled : j 

'Ay me ! ' she cries, and twenty times ' Woe,woe !' 
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. \ 

She marking them begins a wailing note 
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty: i 

How love makes young men thrall and old men ' 
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty : [dote ; 

Her heavy anthem still concludes iii woe, 
And still the choir of echoes answer so. ' 

Her song was tedious and outwore the night, i 

For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short : : 

If pleased themselves, others, tliey think, delight | 

In such-like circumstance, with sucli-like siwrt : j 

Their copious stories oftentimes begun i 

End without audience and are never done. \ 

For who hath she to spend the night withal ; 

But idle sounds resenililing parasites, ' 

Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call, , 

Soothing the Imraour of fantastic wits? \ 

She says ' 'T is so : ' they answer all ' 'T is so ; ' j 

And would say after her, if she said ' No.' 'i 

Lo, here tlie gentle lark, weary of rest, 1 

From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 1 

And waices tlie morning, from whose silver breast j 
The sun ariseth in his majesty; ] 

Who doth the world so gloriously behold ; 

That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: \ 
' O thou clear god, and patron of all light, 
From whom each lamp and sliming star doth borrow. 
The beauteous influence that makes Him bright, 
There lives a sou tbat suck'd an earthly mother, ' 
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.' \ 

■i 
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove. 
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



And yet slie bears no tidings of her love : 
Slie hearkens for his hounds and for his horu: 
Anon slie hears them cliant it lustily, 
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 

And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
Some catch her by tlie neck, some kiss lier face, 
Siune twine about her thii;h to make lier stay: 
.Slie wildly breaketli from their strict embrace. 
Like a niilcli doe, whose swelling dugs do ache. 
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay; 
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way, 
Thefear whereof dotli make him shake and sliudder; 
Even so the timorous yelping of tlie liounds 
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds. 

For now she knows it is no gentle chase, 
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 
Because the cry remaineth in one place, 
Wliere fearfully tlie dogs exclaim aloud: 

Finding their enemy to be so curst, 

They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first. 

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 
Tlirough wliieli it enters to surprise her heart; 
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear. 
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part: 
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, 
They basely fly and dare not stay the field. 

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ; 

Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd, 

She tells them 't is a causeless fantasy. 

And childish error, that tliey are afraid ; 
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more: — 
And with that word she spied the hunted boar, 

Whose frcithy mouth, bepainted all with red, 
Like milk and blood being mingled both (ftgetlier, 
A second fear through all her sinews spread, 
AVhich madly hurries her she knows not whither: 
Tliis way she runs, and now slie will no furtlier. 
But back retires to rate the boar for murther. 

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways ; 
She treads the path that she untreads again; 
Her more than haste is mated with delays. 
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain. 

Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting; 

In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. 

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound, 
And asks the weary caitiff for his master, 
And there another licking of his wound, 
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; 
And here she meets another sadly scowling, 
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. 

AVhen he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise. 
Another Hap-moulh'd mourner, black and grim. 
Against the welkin volleys out liis voice; 
Another and another answer him, 
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below. 
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 

Look, hov/ the world's poor people are amazed 

At apparitions, signs and yjrodigies, 

AVhereon witli fearful eyes they loTig have gazed, 

Infusing them willi dreadful prophecies; 

So she at tliese sail signs draws up her breath 
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death. 

' Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean. 
Hateful divorce of love,'— thus chides she Death, — 



' Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou 
mean 

To stirte beauty and to steal his breath, 
Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set 
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ? 

' If he be dead, — O no, it cannot be. 
Seeing his beauty, tliou shouldst strike at it: — 
O yes, it may; thou iiast no eyes to see. 
But hatefully at random dost "thou hit. 
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart 
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart. 

' Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, 

And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 

Tlie Desthiies will curse tliee for this stroke; 

They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck 'st a fiower: 
Love's golden arrow at him should have tied. 
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 

' Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest sucU 
weeping 'f 

What may a lieavy groan advantage thee ? 

Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 

Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ? 
Kow Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour. 
Since her best work is ruiu'd with thy rigour.' 

Here overcome, as one full of despair, 
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt 
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair 
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt ; 
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, 
And with his strong course opens theru again. 

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 

Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye; 

Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sor- 
row. 

Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, 
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. 

Variable passions throng her constant woe. 
As strivmg who should best become her grief ; 
All entertain 'd, each passion labours so. 
That every present sorrow seemeth cliief. 
But none is best: then join they all together. 
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo ; 
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well: 
The dire imagination she did follow 
This sound of hope doth labour to expel ; 

For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, 

And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. 

AVhereat her tears began to turn their tide. 
Being prison 'd in her eye like pearls in glass; 
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass, 
To wash the foul face of tlie sluttish ground. 
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. 

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems 

Not to believe, and yet too credulous! 

Thy weal and woe are botli of them extremes; 

Despair and ho])e makes tliee ridiculous: 
Tlie one ddth (latter thee in thouglits milikely, 
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought ; 
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame: 
It was not she that call'd him all-to naught : 
Now she adds honours to his hateful name ; 
She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings, 
Imperious supreme of all mortal tlnngs. 
820 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



' No, no,' quoth she, ' sweet Death, I did but jest ; 
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of tear 
"NVlien as I met tlie boar, that liloody heast, 
Which knows no pity, but is still severe; 
Then, gentle shadow, — truth I must confess, — 
I raii'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 

' 'T is not my fault : the boar provoked my tongue ; 

Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander; 

'T is he, foul creature, that liath done thee wrong; 

I did but act, he 's author of thy slander : 
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.' 

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive. 

Her rasli suspect she doth extenuate ; 

And that his beauty may the better thrive, 

With IJealh she huiul)ly doth insinuate; 
Tells liim of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories 
His victories, his triumphs and his glories. 

' O .Tove,' quoth she, ' how much a fool was I 
To be of such a weak and silly mind 
To wail his death who lives and must not die 
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, 
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 

' Fie, fle, fond love, thou, art so full of fear 

As one with treasure laden, hemni'd with thieves; 

Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, 

Tliy coward lieart with false bethinking grieves.' 
Even at this word slie hears a merry horn. 
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn. 

As falcon to the lure, away she flies ; 

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; 

And in her haste unfortunately spies 

The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; 
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, 
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew; 

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit. 
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain. 
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit, 
Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are Hed 
Iu1;o the deep dark cabins of her head : 

Where they resign their office and their light 
To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 
AVho bids them still consort with ugly night. 
And never wound the heart with looks again; 
Who, like a king perplexed in his throne. 
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan, 

Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; 
As when the wind, imprison 'd in the ground. 
Struggling fur passage, earth's foundation shakes, 
Whieli with cnld tennr doth men's minds confound. 
This nuitiiiy each part doth so surprise 
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes; 

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light 
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd 
In his soft llank; who.se wonted lily wliile 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was 
drench'd: 
Xo liower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed. 
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed. 

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ; 
Dumbly she passions, frantiely she (hitetli ; 
She thinks he could not die, he is not <leail: 

Her voice is stojit, her joints forget to liow; 

Her e3'es are mad that they have wept till now. 
830 



Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly. 

That her sight da^^zling makes the wound seem three; 

And then she reprehends her mangling eye, 

That makes mure gaslies where no breach should be: 

His face seems twain, each severallimbisdouiiled; 

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 

' My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 
And yet,' quoth she, ' behold two Adons dead! 
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, 
Mine eyes are turn'd to iiie, iuy heart to lead: 

Heavy heart's lead, melt at iiiine eyes' red fire! 

So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 

/Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! 
What face renuiins alive that 's worth tlie viewing? 
Whose tongue is music now V what canst thou boast 
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ? 

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; 

But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him. 

' Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear ! 

Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : 

Having no fair to lose, you need not fear; 

The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you: 
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air 
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair : 

' And therefore would he put his bonnet on, 
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ; 
Tlie wind would blow it off and, being gone. 
Play with his locks: then would Adimis weep; 
And straight, in pity of his tender years, 
They both would strive who lust should dry his 
tears. 

' To see his face the lion walk'd along 

Behind some liedgi-, because he w (inld not fear him ; 

To recreate himself wlien he hath sung, 

The tiger would be tame and gently hear him ; 
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey 
And iHiver fright the silly lamb that day. 

' When he beheld his shadow in the brook, 
The fishes spread on it their golden gills; 
When he was by, the birds such jileasure took, 
That some would sing, s(nne other in their bills 

Would bring him niulbeiriesanil ripe-red cherries; 

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 

' But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 
AVliose downward eye still looketh for a grave, 
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; 
Witness the entertainment that he gave: 
If he did see his face, why then I know 
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 

' 'T is true, 't is true ; thus was Adonis slain : 
He ran upon the boar witli his sliarp sjiear. 
Who did not whet his teeth at liini again. 
But by a kiss tluuight to persuade him there; 
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine 
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 

' Had I been tootlTd like him, I must confess, 
With kissing him I sliould have kill'd him first; 
But he is (lead, and never did he bless 
Mv vonth witli his; the more am I accurst.' 
Witli this, she faUeth in the place slie stood. 
And stains her face witli his congealed blood. 

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; 

She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; 

She whisiiers in his ears a heavy tale. 

As if they heard the woeful words she told; 
Slie lifts tlie coffer-lids that close his eyes, 
Wliere, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies ; 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 

A thousand times, and now no more rertect ; 

Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd. 

And every beauty robl/d of liis effect : 

' Wonder of time," quolh she. ' this is my spite. 
That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light. 

' Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy: 
Sorrow on love liereafter shall attend : 
It shall be waited on with jealousy, 
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end, 
Xe'er settled equally, but high or low, 
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. 

' It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud. 
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while; 
Tlie bottom poison, ami the top o'erstraw'd 
■\Vith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile: 
The strongest body shall it make most weak. 
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak. 

' It sliall be sparing and too full of riot. 
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 
The staring rnlhan shall it keep in quiet. 
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures ; 
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild, 
Make the young old, the old become a child. 

' It shall suspect where is no cause of fear ; 

It shall not fear where it should most mistrust ; 

It shall be merciful and too severe. 

And most deceiving when it seems most just ; 
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward, 
Put fear to valoui', courage to the coward. 

' It shall be cause of war and dire events, 
And set di-ssension 'twixt the son and sire; 
Subject and servile to all discontents. 
As dry combustions matter is to hre : 



Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy. 
They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.' 

By this, the boy that by lier side lay kill'd 
Was melted like a vapour from her sight, ' 

And in his blood tliat on the ground lay spilFd, 
A purple liower si)rung up, chequer "d with white, 
Kesemblini: well his pale cheeks and the blood 
AVhich in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, 
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath. 
And says, w^ithin her bosom it shall dwell. 
Since he himself is reft from her by death : 
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears 
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. 

' Poor flower,' quoth she, ' this was thy father's 
guise — 

Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire — 

For every little grief to wet his eyes : 

To grow unto himself was his desire. 
And so 'tis tliine; but know, it is as good 
To wither in my breast as in his blood. 

' Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast ; 
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right: 
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
Aly throbbing heart shall rock thee day and nighL: 
There shall not be one minute in an hour 
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.' 

Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 
And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid 
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies 
In her light cliariot is quickly convey "d ; 

Holding their course to Paplios, where their 
queen 

Means to immure herself and not be seen. 




831 




THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



EIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

EARL OF SOUTHAMITON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. 

The love I dedicate to your lordship is witliout end; wliereof tliis pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous 
moietv. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the wortli of my untutored lines, mal<es it assured of 
acceptance. What I have done is yours; what I liave to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my 
worth greater, my duty would show greater ; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, 
still lengthened with all happiness. Your lordship's in all duty, 



/<VfvftWw, 



&(jc.{^r^^ 



THE ARGUMENT. 

LiTClUS TAEQUlNins, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus, after he had caused his own father-in-law Serviua 
Tullius to 1)6 cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's 
suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege 
Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the 
king's son, in their discourses after supper everyone commended the virtues of his own wife: among whom CoUatinus 
extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lueretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome ; and intending, 
by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only CoUatinus finds his 
wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids : the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, 
or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded CoUatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time 
Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed witli Lucrece's beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the 
rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was, according to his estate, royally 
entertained and lodged by Luerece at CoUatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently 
ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Luerece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, 
one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for CoUatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the 
other with Publius Valerius; and finding Luerece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, 
first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of liis dealing, and withal suddenly 
stabbed herself. Wliich done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hate* family of the Tarquins; and 
bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted "the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter 
invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were so moved, that with one consent and a general 
acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls. 



From the besieftert Ardea all in post, 
Borne by the trustless \vint;\s of false ilesire, 
Lnst-breatlied Tarquin leaves tlie Koman host, 
And to Collatiuni bears the liglitless lire 
Which, in jiale embers hid, lurks to aspire 
And S;irdle with embracing flames the waist 
Of Collatine's fair love, Luerece the cliaste. 

Haply that name of ' chaste ' unhappily set 
This bateless edge on his keen appetite; 
AVhen Collatine unwisely did not let 
To prai.se tlie clear unm;itelied red and white 
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight. 

Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beau- 
ties, 

With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
Unlock'd the'treasure of his liappy state; 
AVhat priceless wealth the lieavcn's had him lent 
In the possession of hia beauteous mate; 
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate. 
That kings might be espoused to more fame, 
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 

O hap)>iness enjoy'd but of a few! 
And, if possessed, as soon decay'd and done 
As is the morning's silver-melting dew 
Against the gcdden splendour of tlie sun! 
An expired date, canoell'd ere well begun: 
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms. 
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. 
832 



Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 

Tlie eyes of men without an orator; 

What needctli tlieii aiiologies be made, 

To set forth thai which is so singular? 

Or why is ("ollaline the itublislicr 
Of tiiat rieli jewel he should keep unknown 
From thievish ears, becau.se it is his own y 

Percliance his boast of Luerece' sovereignty 
.Suggested this proud issue of a king; 
For by (lur ears our hearts oft tainted be: 
Perchance tliat envy of so rich a tiling. 
Braving coniiiare, disdainfully did sting 

His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men 
should vaunt 

Tliat golden hap which their superiors want. 

But some untimely thought did instigate 
His all-too-timeless sjieed, if none of those: 
IHs lionour, his ah'airs, his friends, his state, 
Neglected all, with swift intent lie goes 
To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, 
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old I. 

When at Collatium this false lord arrived, 
AVell was he welcomed by the Roman dame, 
Witliin whiise face beauty and virtue strived 
Which of tlicni lioth should undeniro]) her fame: 
When virtue liraggM, beauty would liliish for shame; 
When beauly bnasted lililshes, in despite 
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. 



LUCRECE. 



But beauty, in that wliite intituled, 

From A'euus' doves doth cliallense that fair field: 

Tlien virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 

Which virtue gave the golden age to gild 

Their silver cheeks, and calPd it then their shield; 

Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, [white. 

"When shame assail'd, the red should fence the 

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen. 
Argued l)y beauty's red and virtue's white: 
Of either's colour was the other queen, 
Proving from world's minority their right : 
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight ; 
The sovereignty of either being so great, 
That oft tliey interchange each other's seat. 

Their silent war of lilies and of roses, 
AVhich Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, 
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; 
AVhere, lest between them both it shoultl be kill'd. 
The coward captive vanquished doth yield 
To those two armies that would let him go. 
Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 

A"'ow thinkshe that h^ husband's shallow tongue, — 
The niggard prodigal that praised her .so, — 
In tluit high task hath done her beauty wrong, 
AVhich far exceeds his barren skill to show : 
Tiierel'ore tliat praise which Collatine doth owe 

Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, 

In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 

This earthly saint, adored by this devil. 
Little suspecteth the false worshipper ; 
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil; 
Birds never limed no secret buslies fear : 
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
And reverend welcome to her princely guest, 
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd; 

For that he colour'd with his high estate. 
Hiding base sin in plaits'-of majesty; 
That nothing in him seeni'd inordinate, 
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, 
■\Vhich, having all, all could not satisfy; " 
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, 
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. 

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes, 
Could pick no meafiing from their parling looks, 
Xor read the subtle-shining secrecies 
"Writ in the glassy margents of such books: 
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks; 
Xor could slie moralize his wanton sight. 
More than his eyes were open'd to the light. 

He stories to her ears her husband's fame. 

Won in the fields of fruitful Italy; 

And decks wiili praises Collatine's high name. 

Made glorious by his manly chivalry 

AVitli bruised arms and wreaths of victory: 
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express, 
Aiul, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 

Far from the purpose of his coming hither. 
He makes excuses for his being there : 
JS'o cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
Dot 11 vet in his fair welkin once a])pear: 
Till sable Xight, mother of Dread and Fear, 
Ui)ou the world dim darkness doth display, 
And in her vanity prison stows the Day. 

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed. 
Intending weariness with heavy spright ; 
For, after supper, long he questioned 
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight : 
53 



And every one to rest themselves betake. 
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, 
that wake. 

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ; 
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, 
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstain- 
ing: 
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining; 
And when great treasure is the meed proposed, 
Though death be adjunct, there 's no death suj)- 
posed. 

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, 
For what they have not, that which they possess 
They scatter and unloose it from their bond. 
And so, by hoping more, they have but less; 
Or, gaining more, tlie profit of excess 
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, 
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. 

The aim of all is but to nurse the life 
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age; 
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, 
That one for all, or all for one we gage; 
As life for honour in fell battle's rage; 
Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth cost 
The death of aU, and all together lost. 

So that in venturing ill we leave to be 
The things we are for that which we expect ; 
And this ambitious foul infirmity, 
In having much, torments us with defect 
Of that w? have : so tlien we do neglect 
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit, 
Malie something nothing by augmenting it. 

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, 
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ; 
And for himself himself he nmst forsake: 
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust ? 
AVhen shall he thinlc to find a stranger ju.st. 
When he himself himself confouiids, betrays 
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days'? 

Now stole upon the time the dead of night. 
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes: 
No comfortable star did lend his light. 
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries; 
Now serves the season that they may surprise 
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still, 
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. 

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 

Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ; 

Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 

Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm ; 

But honest fear, bewitcli'd with lust's foul charm. 
Doth too too oft betake him to retire. 
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire. 

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth. 
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly ; 
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth. 
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye: 
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly, 
'As from this cold flint I enforced.tiiis fire, 
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.' 

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, 
And in his inward mind he doth debate 
What following sorrow may on this arise: 
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, 
And justly thus controls his thoughts mijust : 
833 



LUCRE CE. 



'Fair torch, burn out thy Ii,2;ht. and lend it not 
To darken her whose liiiht exccUetli thine: 
And die, unliallowM tliou.^lits, hefore you blot 
With your uncleanness tliat which is divine; 
Offer ])ure incense to so piu'e a shrine: 

Let fair humanity abhor the deed [weed. 

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 

' O shame to knighthood and to shining arms ! 

fonl dishonour to my household's grave ! 
(> impious act, including all foul harms ! 
A martial man to lie soft fancy's slave 1 
True valour still a true respect should have; 

Then my digression is so vile, so base, 
That it will live engraven in my face. 

' Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, 

And be an eye-sore in my golden coat ; 

Some loathsome dash the liefald will contrive, 

To cipher me how fondly I did dote; 

That ray posterity, shamed with the note. 
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for nasin 
To wish that I their father had not bin. 

' What win J, if I gain the thing I seek ? 

A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. 

Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? 

Or sells eternity to get a toy ? 

For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ? 
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown. 
Would with thesceptre straight be struckeudown? 

' If Collatinus dream of my intent. 
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent i* 
Tins siege that hath engirt his marriage. 
This blur to j'outh, this sorrow to the sage, 
This dying virtue, this surviving shame. 
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame ? 

'O, what excuse can my invention make. 
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed ? 
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake. 
Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart lileed '( 
Tlie guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; 
And extreme fear can neither fight nor My, 
But coward-like with trembling terror die. 

' Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire. 
Or lain in ambush to betray my life. 
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
Miglit have excuse to work upon his wife, 
As in revenge or quittal of such strife : 
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend. 
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 

' Shameful it is ; ay, if the fact be kno^^'n : 
Hateful it is ; there is no hate in loving : 

1 '11 beg her love ; but she is not her own : 
The worst is but denial and reproving: 

My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw 
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.' 

Thus, graceless, liolds he disputation 
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-liurning will, 
And with good thoughts makes ilisjiensation, 
Urging the worser sense for vantage still ; 
Which in a moment doth confound and kill 
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed. 
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. 

Quoth he, ' She took me kindly by the hand, 
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes. 
Fearing some hanl news from the warlike band, 
Wliere her belovcil Collatinus lies. 
O, how her fear did make her colour rise ! 
834 



First red as roses that on lawn we lay. 
Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 

'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 
Forced it to tremble witli'her loyal fear! 
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, 
Until her husband's welfare she did liear; 
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
Tliat had Narcissus seen her as she stood. 
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 

' Why hunt I then for colour or excuses ? 

All orators are dumb when beauty i)leadeth ; 

Poor wretches have remoi'se in poor abuses; 

Love thrives not in tlie heart tliat shadows dreadeth: 

Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
And when his gaudy banner is display'd. 
The coward fights and will not be dismay'd. 

' Then, childish fear, avaunt ! debating, die ! 
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age! 
My heart shall never countermand mine e5'e : 
Sad pause and dee]) regard beseem the sage; 
My ])art is youth, and beats these from the stage: 

Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; 

Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies? ' 

As corn o'ergrowai by weeds, so heedful fear 

Is almost choked liy unresisted lust. 

Away he steals with ojien listening ear. 

Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust; 

Both which, as servitors to tlie unjust, 
So cross him with their oiiposite jiersuasion, 
Tliat now he vows a league, and now im'asion. 

Within his thought her heavenly image sits, 
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine: 
That eye which loolvs on her confViunds his wits; 
That eye which him beholds, as more divine, 
LTnto a' view so false will not incline; 
But with a pure ajipeal seeks to the heart. 
Which once corrupted takes the worser part ; 

And therein heartens up his servile iiowers, 
AVho, fiatter'd by their leader's jocund show, 
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill tip hours; 
And as their captain, so tlieir pride doth grow, 
Paying more slavish tribute than tliey owe. 
By reprobate desire thus madly led. 
The Rgman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 

The locks between her chamber and his will. 
Each one by him enforced, retires his ward; 
But, as they open, tliey all rate his ill. 
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard : 
The thresliold grates tiie door to have him heard ; 

Kight-wandering weasels shriek to see him thei'e; 

They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 

As each unwilling portal yields him way. 
Through little vents and crannies of the place 
Tlie wind wars with his torch to make him stay, 
And blows the smoke of it into his face, 
Extinguishing his conduct in this case; 
But his hotheart, which fond desire doth scorch, 
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch : 

And being lighted, by the light he spies 
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks: 
He takes it from the rushes where it lies. 
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks; 
As who should say 'This glove to wanton tricks 

Is not inured; return again in haste; 

Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste.' 

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; 
He in the worst sense construes their denial : 



V 



LUCRECE. 



Tbe doors, tlie wind, the glove, that did delay liim, 
He takes for accidental things of trial; 
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, 
Who with a lingering stay his course doth let, 
Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 

' So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time. 
Like little frosts that sometime tlireat the spring, 
To add a more rejoicing to the prime, 
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. 
Pain pays the income of each precious thing ; 

Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves 
and sands, 

The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' 

INow is he come unto the chamber-door, 
Tliat shuts him from tlie heaven of his thought, 
Which witli a yielding latch, and with no more. 
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
So from himself impiety hath wrought. 
That for his prey to pray he doth begin. 
As if the heavens should countenance his sin. 

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 
Having solicited th' eternal iiower 
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, 
And they would stand auspicious to the hour. 
Even there he starts : quoth he, ' 1 must deflower: 
Tlie powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, 
How can they then assist me iu the act 'i 

' Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! 

lly will is back'd with resolution: 

Thouglits are but dreams till their effects be tried; 

The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution; 

Against love's tire fear's frost liatli dissolution. 
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.' 

This said, his guilty hand pluckM up the latch, 
And with his knee the door lie oiirns wide. 
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch: 
Tlius treason works ere traitors be espied. 
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside ; 
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, 
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 

Lite the chamber wickedly he stalks. 
And gazeth on her yet unstained lied. 
The curtains being close, about he walks. 
Rolling his greedy" eyeballs in his liead : 
By their high treason is his heart misled ; 

AVhich gives the watch-word to his hand full 
soon 

To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, 
Bushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; 
Even so, the curtain drawn, liis eyes begun 
To wink, being blinded witli a greater light: 
Whether it is that she retlects so bright. 

That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed ; 

But bliud they are, and keep themselves enclosed. 

O, had they in that darksome prison died ! 
Then had they seen the period of their ill ; 
Then Collatine again, by I>ucrece' side. 
In his clear bed miglit liave rcposnl still : 
But they must ope, this lilessed league to kill ; 
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to tlieir sight 
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, 
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss: 
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, 
Swelling on either ^ide to want his liliss; 
Between whose hills her head entombed is : 



Where, like a virtuous monnn 
To be admired of lewd unhallc 

Without the bed her other fair h 
On the green coverlet ; whose ije 
Show'd like an April daisy on th 
With pearly sweat, resembling d 
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sIk 
And canopied in darkness swe 
. Till they might open to adorn 

Her hair, like golden threads, pla\ 

O modest wantons! wanton uioi 

Showing life's tii\tmph in tlie ni: 

And death's dim look in life's ni 

Each in her sleep themselves so I ' ■ 

As if between them twain tliei 
But that life lived in death, ai ■ ,, i 

Her breasts, like ivory globes cii 
A pair of maiden worlds unconq • 
Save of their lord no bearing yol 
And him by oath they truly hon 
These worlds iu Tarquin new an 

AVho, like a foul usurper, went 

From this fair throne to heavf 

What could he see but mightily 
Wliat did he note but strongly h 
What he belield, on that he firm 
And in his will his wilful eye he , 
With more than admiration lie ;■ 

Her azure veins, her alabaster 

Her coral lips, her snow-white am piC'i c ■■ ■•. 

As the grim lion fawneth o'er hi : prey, 

Sharp hunger by the conquest sa Is'ii '1. 

So o'er this sleeping soul doth T..;.,a.^ it„y, 

His rage of lust by gazing qualified ; 

Slack 'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side, 
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, 
TJnto a greater uproar tempts his veins : 

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, 
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting, 
In bloody death and ravishment delighting, 
Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting, 
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: 
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking. 
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking. 

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, 
His eye coinniends the leading to his hand ; 
His liaiid. as proud of such a dignity. 
Smoking with pride, marcli'd on to make his stand 
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ; 
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale, 
Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet 
Wliere their dear governess and lady lies, 
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset. 
And fright her with confusion of their cries : 
She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, 
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, 
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and coutroH'd. 

Imagine her as one in dead of night 
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, 
Tliat thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, 
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking ; 
What terror 't is ! but she, iu worser taking. 
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view 
The sight which makes supposed terror true. 

Wrapji'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ; 
Sob 



LUCRECE. 



She dares not look; yet, winking, tliere appears 
Qnick-sliil'tin.L; antics, ugly in her eyes: 
Such shallows are the weak brain'sforgeries; 
Who, angry that the eyes tly from their lights, 
darkness dauuts them with more dreadful sights. 

il, that yet remains upon her breast, — 
n, to batter such an ivory wall I — 
er heart — poor citizen ! — distress 'd, 
itself to death, rise up and fall, 
bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
>s in him more rage and lesser pity, 
he breach and enter this sweet city. 

trumpet, doth his tongue begm 
parley to his lieartless foe ; 
Jie white sheet peers her whiter chin, 
.n Qf this rash alarm to know, 
e by dumb demeanour seeks to shtiw; 
e with vehement prayers urgeth still 
- what colour he commits tiiis ill. 

. he rei)lies : ' The colour in thy face, 
t even for anger makes the lily i)ale, 
d the red rose blush at her own disgrace, 
lall plead for me and tell my loving tale : 
Under that colour am I come to scale 
Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine, 
For those thiue eyes betray thee uuto mine. 

' Tluis I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide : 
Tliy beauty luitli ensnared tlice to this niglit, 
"W'liere thou witli patieuce must my will abide; 
Jly will that marks thee for my earth's delight, 
■\Vhich I to conquer sought with all my might; 
But as reproof and reason beat it dead, 
By thy bright beauty was it uewly bred. 

' I see what crosses my attempt will bring ; 
I know what thorns the growing rose defends ; 
I thiidc the honey guarded with a sting: 
All this beforehand counsel compreiieuds: 
But will is deaf and hears no lieedful friends; 
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty. 
And dotes ou what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. 

' I have debated, even in my soul, 

What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed; 

But nothing can affection's course control, 

Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 

I know repentant tears ensue the deed, 

Reproacli, disdain, and deadly enmity; 

Yet strive 1 to embrace mine infamy.' 

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 
Which, like a falcon towering in tlie skies, 
Coucheth the fnwl IkIow witli his wings' shade, 
AVhose crooked licak tlu'f-ats if he mount he dies: 
So under his insulting falcliion lies 
Harmless Lucretia. marking what he tells 
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells. 

' Lucrece,' quoth he, ' this night I must enjoy thee : 
If thou deny, then force must work my way, 
For in thy bed 1 puriiose to destroy thee: 
That done, some worthless slave o'f tliiue I '11 slay, 
To kill thine honoiu' witli thy life's decay; 
And in thy dead arms do I mean to jilace him, 
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 

' So thy surviving husband shall remain 
The scornful mark of every oi)eii eye: 
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, 
Thy issu(^ blurr'd \ytli nameless bastardy: 
And thou, the author of their obloquy, 
Shalt have tliy tresiwss cited up in rhymes, 
And sung by children in succeeding times. 
S3G 



' But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend : 
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted; 
A little harm done to a great good end 
For lawful policy remains enacted. 
Tiie poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 

In a pure compound ; being so applied, 

His venom in effect is purilied. 

' Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, 
Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot 
The shame that from them no device can take. 
The blemish that will never be forgot; 
Wtnse than a slavish wijie or birth-hour's blot: 
For marks descried in men's nativity 
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' 

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye 

He rouseth up himself and makes a pause; 

While she, the pietiu'e of pure piety, 

Ivike a white liind under the gripe's sharp claws, 

Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws. 

To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, 
• Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. 

Biit when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat. 
In liis dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, 
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, 
Which blows these pitcliy vapours from their biding. 
Hindering their present fall by this dividing; 
So his uuhallow'd haste her wiu'ds delays. 
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plaj'S. 

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, 
While in his liokl-fast foot the weak mouse panteth : 
Her sad iiehaviour feeds his vulture folly, 
A swallowing gul!' that even in jilenty wanteth : 
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 

No penetrable entrance to her plaining : [ing. 

Tears harden lust, though marble wear with rain- 

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd 
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face; 
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd. 
Which to her oratory adds more grace. 
She puts the [leriod often from his place ; 
And midst the sentence so her accent breaks. 
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. 

She conjures him by high almighty .Jove, 
By knightliood, gentry ,'and sweet friendship's oath, 
By her untimely tears, her husband's love, 
By holy human law, and conmion troth. 
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, 
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire. 
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 

Quoth she, ' Reward not hospitality 
With such black payment as thou hast protended; 
Mud not the fountain that gave ilriuk to thee; 
Mar not the thing that <-anni>t be amended; 
Enil thy ill aim before lliy shoot be ended; 

He is no woodman that doth bend his bow 

To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 

' My husband is thy friend : for his sake spare me : 
Tliyself art mighty ; for thine own sake leave me: 
Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare me: 
Thou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive me. 
My sighs, like whirl winds, labour hence to heave thee: 
If ever man were moved with woman's moans. 
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans : 

'All which together, like a troubled ocean. 
Beat at tiiy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, 
To soften it with their continual motion; 
For stones dissolved to water do convert. 
O, if no harder than a stone thou art. 



LUCRE CE. 



Melt at my tears, and be compassiouate ! 
Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 

' In Tarqiiin's likeness I did entertain thee: 
H;ist thou put on his shape to do him shame? 
To all the host of lieaven I complain me, [name. 
Tliou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely 
Tliou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same. 

Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king; 

Tor kings like gods should govern every thing. 

' ITow will thy shame be seeded in thine age, 
AVheii thus thy vices Imd before thy spring ! 
If in thy hope thou darest do such outrage, 
What darest thou not when once tliou art q, king ? 
O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing 

From vassal actors can be wijied away ; 

Tlieu kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 

' Tliis deed will make thee only loved for fear ; 
But hapi^y monarchs still are fear'd for love: 
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, 
AVhen they in thee the like offences prove : 
If but for fear of this, they will remove ; 
For princes are tlie glass, the school, the book, 
■\Vhere subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 

'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn? 

Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ? 

Wiit thou be glass wherein it shall discern 

Authority for shi, warrant for blame. 

To privilege dislionour in thy name ? 
Tliou back'st reproach against long-living laud, 
And makest fair reputation but a bawd. 

' Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee, 
From a pure heart command thy rebel will: 
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity. 
For it was lent thee all that Ijrocid to kill. 
Thy princely office how canst tliou fulfil, 
When, patteru'd by thy fault, foul sin may say, 
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way ? 

' Think but how vile a spectacle it were, 
To view tliy present trespass in another. 
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; 
Their own transgressions partially they smother : 
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 
O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies 
That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes ! 

' To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands appeal, 

yot to seducing lust, thy rash relier: 

I sue for exUed majesty's repeal ; 

Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire: 

His true respect will prison false desire, 
And wipe tlie dim mist from thy doting eyne, 
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.' 

' Have done,' quotli he : ' my uncontrolled tide 
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. 
Small lights are soon blown out, hu^e tires abide, 
And witli the wind in greater fury tret : 
The petty streams that pay a daily debt 
To their salt sovereign, with "their fresh falls' 
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.' [haste 

' Tliou art,' quoth she, ' a sea, a sovereign king ; 
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood 
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, 
AV'lio seek to stain the ocean df tliy blood. 
If all these petty ills sl-.all cliange thy good. 
Thy sea within a jiuddle's womb is hearsed. 
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. 

' So shall t !iese slaves be king, and thou their slave ; 
Thou nob y base, they basely dignihed ; 



Thou their fair life, and tliey thy fouler grave: 
Thou loathed in Iheir shame, they in thy jiride: 
The lesser tiling should not the greater hide ; 
The cedar stoops not to the base slirub's foot, 
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 

' So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state ' — 
'No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear 
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate, [tliee: 
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee: 
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee 
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom. 
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' 

This said, he sets his foot upon the light, 
For light and lust are deadly enemies : 
Shame folded up in blind concealing night. 
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. 
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries; 
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd 
Entombs her outcry in her lips" sweet fold: 

For with the nightly linen that she wears 
He pens her piteous clamours in her head; 
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears 
Tliat ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed I 
The spots whereof could weeping imrify, 
Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, \ 
And he hatli won what he would lose again: 
This forced league doth force a further'strife; 
This momentary joy breeds months of pain; 
This hot desire converts to cold disdain: 
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store. 
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, 
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk 
The prey wherein by nature they delight; 
So surfeit-taking Tarquin tares this night : 
His taste delicious, in digestion souring, 
Devoui's his will, that lived by foul devouring. 

O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit 

Can comprehend in still imagination ! 

Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt, 

Ere he can see his own abomination. 

While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation 
Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire. 
Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire. 

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, 
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless puce, 
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, 
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case: 
The flesh being proud, Desire dntli flglit with Grace, 
For there it'revels; and when tluit decays. 
The guilty rebel for remission prays. 

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, 
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased ; 
For now against himself he sounds this doom. 
That through the length of times he stands dis- 
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced ; [graced : 
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares. 
To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall. 
And liy their mortal fault brought in subjection 
Her immortality, and made her thrall 
To living death and pain perjietual : 
Which in her ])rescience she controlled still. 
But her foresight could not forestall their will. 
837 



LUCE EC E. 



Even in tliis thought tln-ough the dark nijjlit he 
A captive victor thiit liath lost in gain ; [stealelh, 
Bearing away the wound that notliing liealeth, 
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain ; 
Leaving his spoil i)erplexVl hi greater pain. 
She Ijears the load of lust he left behind, 
And he the burden of a guilty mind. 

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence ; 
Siie like a wearied lamb lies panting there; 
He scowls and hates himself for his offence; 
She, desperate, witli lier nails her llesh doth tear; 
He faintly flies, sweating witli guilty fear; 

She stays, exclaiming on the direful night; 

He runs, and chides Lis vanish 'd, loathed delight. 

He thence departs a heavy convertite ; 

She there remains a hopeless castaway; 

He in his speed looks for the morning light ; 

She prays she never may behold the day, 

'For day,' quoth she, 'night's scapes doth open lay, 
And my true eyes have never practised how 
To cloak oHences with a cunning brow. 

' They think not but that every eye can see 
The same disgrace which they tliemselves behold; 
And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
To have their unseen sin remain untold ; 
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
And grave, like water that dotli eat in steel. 
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.' 

Here she exclaims against repose and rest, 
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, 
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find 
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind. 
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite 
Against the unseen secrecy of night : 

'O comfort-killing Night, image of hell! 

Dim register and nulary nf shame ! 

Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! 

A'''ast sin-conccaliiig chaos! nurse of blame! 

Blind muiUed bawd ! dark harbour for defame! 
Grim cave of death ! whispering conspirator 
With elose-tongued treason and the ravisher ! 

' O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Kight ! 
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, 
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light. 
Make war against proi>ortion'd course of time; 
Or if thou wilt peiniit the sun to climb 
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 

' With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 

Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick 

The life of purity, the supreme fair. 

Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick; 

And let thy misty vapours march so thick. 
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light 
May set at noon and make perpetual night. 

' Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's child. 
The silver-shining cpieen he would distain; 
Her twinkling; handmaids too, by him defded, 
Through Night 's lilack bosom should not peep again: 
So slioulil 1 iuive co-partners in my pain; 
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage. 
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 

' Where now I have no one to blush with me. 
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine. 
To mask their l)r(iws and hide their infamy ; 
But I alone alone must sit and pine. 
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 
838 • 



4 



Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with 

groans. 
Poor wasting monuments of lasting means, 

'^O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
Let not the jealous iJay behold that face 
Whicli underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
Immodestly lies niartyrM with disgrace! 
Keep still possessiiin of thy gluoniy place. 
That all the faults which in thyreign are made 
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade I 

' Make me not object to the tell-tale Day ! 
The light will show, eharacter'd in my brow, 
The story of sweet chastity's decay. 
The impious breacli of holy wedlock vow: 
Yea, the illiterate, that know not how 
To cipher what is writ in learned liooks. 
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. 

' The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story. 

And fright her crying babe with Tarquin 's name: 

The orator, to deck liis oratory, 

Will conjile my reproach to Tarquin's shame; 

Feast -linding minstrels, tuning my defame, 
Will tie the hearers to atteml each line. 
How Tarquin w-ronged me, I Collatiue. 

' Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 
For Coilatine's dear love be kept mispotted: 
If that be made a theme for disputation. 
The branches of another root are rotted. 
And undeserved reproach to him allotted 
That is as clear from this attaint of mine 
As I, ere this, was pure to CollatLne. 

' O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 
O unfelt sore ! crest-woiuiding, private scar! 
Keproach is stamp'd in CoUatinus' face. 
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, 
Ilow he in peaceis wounded, not in war. 
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, 
Which not themselves, but he that gives them 
knows ! 

' If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me. 
From me by strong assault it is bereft. 
My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee. 
Have no perfection of my stunmer left. 
But robb'd and ransack'd by iiijurinus theft : 
In thy weak Jiive a wandering wasp hath crept. 
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee 
kept. 

' Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack ; 
Yet for tliy honliur di(i I entertain him; 
Coming from thee, I could not put him back. 
For it had been dislionour to disdain him: 
Besides, of weariness he did complain him, 
And talk'd of virtue : O unlonkM-for evil, 
AV'hen virtue is profaned in such a devil! 

' Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud ? 

Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ? 

Or tiiails infect fair fcmnts with venom mud ? 

Or tyrant tolly lurk in gentle breasts V 

Or kings be breakers of their own behests? 
But no perfection is so absolute. 
That some impurity doth not pollute. 

'The aged man that coffers-up his gold 
Is iilagueil with cramps and gouts and painful fits; 
And scarce hath e>es his treasure to behold. 
But like slill-piniilg Tantalus he sits. 
And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 
Having no citlier pleasure of his gain 
But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 



LUCRE CE. 



' So then he hath it when he cannot use it, 
And leaves it to be nKister'd by his young; 
Who in their pride do presently abuse it: 
Their father was too weak, and they too strong, 
To hold their cursed-blessed fortiuie long. 
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours 
Even in the moment that we call them ours. 

' Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ; 

I'n wholesome weeds take root with precious flowers ; 

Tlie adder hisses where the sweet birds sing ; 

Wliat virtue breeds iniquity devours : 

"Wc have no good that we can say is om-s, 

Lut ill-annexed Opportunity 

Or kills his life or else his quality. 

' O Opportunity, thy guilt is great ! 

'T is thou that executest the traitor's treason : 

Tliou set'st the wolf where he the Iamb may get ; 

Whoever plots the sin, thoii 'point'st the season ; 

'T is thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason ; 
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, 
Sits Siu, to seize the souls that wander by him. 

' Thou makest the vestal violate her oath ; 

Thou blow'st the tire when temperance is thaw'd ; 

Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth ; 

Tliou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 

Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud : 
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief 1 

' Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 
Thy private feasting to a public fast, 
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name, 
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : 
Thy violent vanities can never last. 
How comes it then, vile Opportunity, 
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ? 

'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend. 
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd ? 
AVhen wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end r* 
Or free that soul which wretchedness liath chain'd ? 
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd ? 

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee ; 

But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. 

' The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; 

The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ; 

Justice is feasting while the widow weeps; 

A<lvice is sporting while infection breeds ; 

Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds : 
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder'.s rages, 
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. 

' When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, 
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid : 
They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee, 
He gratis comes ; and thou art well appaid 
As well to hear as grant what he hatli said. 
My Collatine would else have come to me 
. When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. 

' Guilty thou art of murder and of theft, 

Guilty of perjury and subornation, 

Guilty of treason, forgery, and sliift, 

Guilty of incest, that alioniination ; 

An accessary by tinne iiicliiiatinn 
To all sins past, an<l all that are to come, 
From the creation to the general doom. 

' Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night, 
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care. 
Eater of youth, false slave to fals"e delight, 
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare ; 
Thou uursest all and murder'st all that are : 



O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time! 
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. 

' AVliy hath thy servant. Opportunity, 
Betray'd the hours thou gayest me to repose, 
Caneell'd my fortunes, and enchained me 
To endless date of never-ending woes? 
Time's ofiice is to tine the hate of foes; 
To eat up errors by opinion bred, 
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 

' Time's glory is to calm contending kings. 
To unmask falsehood and tiring truth to light, 
To stamp the seal of time in a^ed things. 
To wake the morn and sentinel tlie night, 
To wrong tlie wronger till he render right. 
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
And smear with dust their glittering golden 
towers ; 

' To fill with worm-holes stately monuments. 
To feed oblivion with decay of things, 
To blot old books and alter th.eir contents. 
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
To dry the old oak's Siip and cherish springs, 
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel. 
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel ; 

' To show the beldam daughters of her daughter, 
To make the child a man, tlie man a child. 
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter. 
To tame the unicorn and lion wild. 
To mock tlie subtle in themselves beguiled. 
To cheer the plougliniau with increaseful crops. 
And waste huge stones with little water-drops. 

' Why work'st thou mischief In thy pilgrimage. 
Unless thou couldst return to make amends 'i 
One poor retiring minute in an age 
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, 
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends: 

O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come 
back, 

I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack ! 

' Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity. 
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight : 
Devise extremes beyond extremity. 
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night: 
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes atfright ; 
And the dire tliought of his committed evil 
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 

' Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
AlHict him in his bed with l^cdrid groans; 
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances. 
To make him moan; but pity not his moans: 
Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than 
stones ; 
And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 

' Let him have time to tear his curled hair. 
Let liim have time against himself to rave, 
Let liim have time of Time's help to despair. 
Let him have time to live a loathed slave. 
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave. 
And time to see one that by alms doth live 
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. 

' Let him have time to see his friends his foes, 
And merry fools to mock at him resort ; 
Let liiin have time to mark how slow time goes 
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 
His time of folly and his time of sport; 
And ever let his unrecalling crime 
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time. 
839 



LUCRECE. 



' O Time, thou tutor both to good and bud. 
Teach me to curse him that t'lou tauglit'st tliis ill! 
At his own shadow let the tliief run mad, 
Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! [spill ; 
Sucli wretclied hands such wretched blood sliould 
l^'or wlio so base would sucli an office have 
As slanderous death 's-man to so base a slave ? 

' The baser is he, coming from a king. 
To sliame his hope witlnleeds degenerate: 
Tlie mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
That makes liim lionour'd, or begets him hate; 
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, 
But little stars may hide them when they list. 

' The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, 
And unperceived fly with the filth away ; 
But if tlie like tlie snow-white swan desire, 
Tlie stain upon his silver down will stay. 
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day : 
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er tliey ily. 
But eagles gazed upon with every eye. 

' Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 

Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators! 

Busy yourselves in skill-contending scliools ; 

Delwte wliere leisure serves witli dull debaters; 

To trembling clients be you mediators : 
For me, I force not argument a straw. 
Since that my case is past the help of law. 

' In vain I rail at Opportunity, 

At Time, at Tanjuin, and tmcheerful Night; 

In vain I cavil with mine infamy. 

In vain I spurn at my conhrm'd clespite: 

This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. 

Tlie remedy indeed to do me good 

Is to let forth my foul-defiled blood. 

' Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree ? 

Honour tliyself to rid me of this shame ; 

For if I die, my honour lives in thee; 

But if I live, thou livest in my defame: 

Since thou couldst not defend thy loj'al dame, 
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe. 
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.' 

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth. 
To find some desperate instrument of death : 
But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth 
To make more vent for passage of her breath ; • 
Which, tlirongiiig tlirough her lips, so vanisheth 
As smoke from ^Etiui, tliat in air consumes. 
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. 

' In vain,' quoth she, ' I live, and seek in vain 
Some liappy mean to end a hapless life. 
I fear'd hy Tarquin's falchion to be slain, 
Yet for tlie sTlf-sanif purpose seek a knife: 
But when I fear"d 1 was a loyal wife : 

So am I now: O no, that cannot be; 

Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 

' O, that is gone for which I sought to live, 

And therefore now I need not tear to die. 

To clear this spot by deatli, at least I give 

A badge of fame to slniidcr's livery; 

A dying life to li\iug infamy: 
Poor lielpless lielp, tlie treasure stol'n away, 
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay ! 

'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know 
The stained taste of violated troth ; 
I will not wrong thy true affection so. 
To flatter thee with an infringed oath; 
This bastard graff sliall never come to growth: 
,810 



He shall not boast wlio did thy stock pollute 
That thou art doting father of his fruit. 

' Xor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, 
Nor laugli willi his companions at thy state; 
But thou slialt know thy interest was not bought 
Basely with goM, liut stol'n from forth thy gate. 
For me, I am the mistress of my fate. 
And witii my trespass never will dispense, 
Till life to deatli acquit my forced offence. 

' I will not poison thee with my attaint. 
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; 
My sable ground of sin I will not jiaiiit. 
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses: 
My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes, like sluices, 
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale. 
Shall gush pure streams to purge my Impure tale.' 

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
Tlie well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow. 
And solemn night with slow sad gait descended 
To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow 
Lends liglit to all fair eyes that liglit will borrow: 
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see. 
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 

Revealing day through every cranny spies. 
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping; 
To whom she sobbing speaks : ' O eye of eyes. 
Why pry'st thou through my window':' leave thy 

peeping: 
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleep- 
ing: 
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, 
For day hath nought to do what 's done by night.' 

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees : 
True grief is fond and testy as a cliild. 
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees: 
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ; 
Continuance tames the one; the other wild. 
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still. 
With too much labour drowns for want of skill. 

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, 
Holds disputation with each thing she views. 
And to lierself all sorrow doth compare; 
No object but her passion's strength renews; 
And as one shifts, anotlier straight ensues: 

Sometime her grief is dumb and liatli no words; 

Sometime 't is mad and too mucli talk affords. 

The little birds that tune their morning's joy 
Make her moans mad with tlieir sweet melody: 
For mirth doth search tlie bottom of annoy; 
Sad souls are slain in merry company; 
Grief best is pleased with grief's society: 
True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed 
"When with like semblance it is sympathized. 

'T is double death to drown in ken of shore ; 
He ten times pines that pines beholding food ; 
To see the salve doth make tlie wound ache more; 
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ; 
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle Hood, 

Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er- 
flows ; 

Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 

' You mocking birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb 
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts, 
And in my hearing be j'ou mute and dumb: 
Jily restless discord loves no stops nor rests ; 
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests : 

Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears; 

Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. 



LUCRECE. 



'Come, Pliilomel, that sins'st of ravishment, 
Jliike Miy sad grove hi my dislieveH'i! hair: 
,\s the dank earth weeps at tliy lauuuislimeut, 
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, 
And with deep groans the diapason bear; 
For burden-wise I '11 hum on Tarquin still. 
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. 

'And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, 
To imitate thee well, against my heart 
Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye; 
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
These means, as frets upon an instrument, 
Shall tune our lieart-strings to true laiiguishment. 

'And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day. 
As sliaming any eye should thee behold, 
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
Tiiat knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, 
Will we tind out ; and there we will unfold 
To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their 

kinds: 
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle 
minds.' 

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 
Wildly determining which way to tiy. 
Or one enconipass'd witli a winding maze. 
That cannot tread the way out readily; 
So with herself is she in mutiny. 
To live or die which of the twain were better. 
When life is shamed, and death reproach's debtor. 

' To kill myself,' quoth she, ' alack, what were it, 
But with my body my poor soul's pollution "^ 
They that lose half with greater patience bear it 
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
That mother tries a merciless conclusion 

Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes 
one. 

Will slay the other and be nurse to none. 

' My body or my soul, which was the dearer. 
When the one pure, the other made divine '/ 
Wliose love of either to myself was nearer. 
When both were kept for heaven and CoUatine? 
Ay me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pfne, 

llis leaves will wither and his sap decay ; 

So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 

' Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, 

Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted, 

Grossly engirt with daring infamy: 

Tlicn let it not be call'd impiety, 
If in this blemish 'd fort I make some hole 
Through which I may convey this troubled soul. 

' Yet die I will not till my Collatine 
Have heard the cause of my untimely death ; 
Tliat he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, 
J^evenge onhim that made me stop my breath. 
My stained blood to Tarquin I "11 bequeath, 
Wliieli by him tainted shall for him be spent, 
And as his due writ in my testament. 

' ^ry honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife 
That woinids my body so dishonoured, 
'T is honour to deprive dishonour 'd life ; 
The one will live, the other being dead : 
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ; 
Kor in my death I miu-der shameful scorn : 
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. 

' Hear lord of that dear jewel I have lost. 
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee 'i 



Jily resolution, love, shall be thy boast, 
Bv whose example thou revenged niayst be. 
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me: 
Myself, thy friend, will kiU myself, thy foe. 
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so. 

' This brief abridgment of my will I make : 

Jly soul and body to the skies and ground; 

My resolution, husband, do thou take ; 

iline honour be the knife's tliat makes my wound ; 

My sliame be his tliat did my fame confound ; 
And all my fame that lives disbursed be 
To those that live, and think no shame of me. 

' TIiou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will; 

How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! 

Mv blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; 

ilv life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. 

Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say " 80 be it : " 
Yield to my liand ; my hand shall conquer thee : 
Thou deadj both die, and both shall victors be.' 

This plot of death when sadly she had laid. 
And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, 
AVith untuned tongucshe hoarsely calls her maid, 
AVhose swift obedience to her mistress hies: 
For lieet-wing'd duty with thouglit's feathers flies. 
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so 
As winter meads when smi doth melt their snow. 

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, 
AVith soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty. 
And sorts a sad loolc to her lady's sorrow, 
For why her face wore sorrow's livery; 
But durst not ask of her audaciously 
AVliy her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, 
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash 'd witli woe. 

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set, 
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye; 
Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet 
Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy 
Of those fair "suns set in her mistress' sky, 

AAHio in a salt-waved ocean quench their light. 

AVliich makes the maid weep like the dewy night. 

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, 
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns tilling : 
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand 
Xo cause", but company, of her drops siiilling : 
Tlieir gentle sex to weep are often willing; 
Grieving themselves to guess at others" smarts. 
And then they drown their eyes or break their 
hearts. 

For men have marble, women waxen, minds. 
And therefore are they form'd as marble will : 
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds 
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill : 
Then call them not the authors of their ill. 
No more than wax shall be accounted evil 
AVherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, 
Lays open all the little worms "that creep; 
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep: 
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep : 

Though men can cover crimes with bold stern 
looks. 

Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 

Xo man inveigh against the wither'd flower, - 
But chide rougli winter that the flower hath kill'd: 
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, 
Is wortliy blame, O, let it not be hild 
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd 
841 



LICRECE. 



Witli men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame, 
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. 

The precedent whereof in Lncrece view, 
Assail'd by niglit witli circumstances strong 
Of present death, and sluime that migiit ensue 
By that her death, to do her busba net wrong: 
Such danger to resistance did ln-lonfi-, 
Tliat dying fear through all lier body spread*, 
And who cannot abuse a body dead 'i ' >, 

By this, mild patience bid fair Liacrece speafe' . 
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining : .', 
' My girl,' quoth she, ' on what occasiou break 
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeKs are 

raining ? 
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining. 
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood : 
If tears "Could help, mine own would do me-good. 

' But tell me, girl, when went '—and there she stay'd 
Till after a deep groan — ■ Tarquin from hence? ' 
' Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, 
' The more to blame my sluggard negligence: 
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense; i^" 
Myself was stirring ere the break of day, Vj 
Aiid, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. %, 

' But, lady, if your maid may be so bold. 
She would request to know your heaviness.' 
' O, peace! ' quoth Lucrece: ' if it should be tojd, 
Tlie repetition cannot make it less ; 
For more it is than I can well express : 
And tliat deep torture may be call'd a hell 
When more is felt than one hath power to tell. 

'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen: 
Yet save that labour, for I have them here. 
What should I say y One of my liusband's men 
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear 
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear: 

Bid him wdth speed prepare to carry it ; 

The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.' 

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, 
First hovering o'er the paper witli her quill : 
Conceit and grief an eager coMiliiit lljjht ; 
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will; 
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill : 
Much like a press of people at a door. 
Throng her inventions, which shall go before. 

At last she thus begins : ' Tliou worthy lord 
Of that unworthy wife that greetcth tiiee. 
Health to thy person! next v<niclisafe t' afford — 
If ever, love,"tliy Lucrece thou wilt see — 
Some present speed to come and visit me. 
So, I commend me from our house in grief: 
My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.' 

Here folds she up the tenour of her woe. 

Her certain sorrow wi'it uncertainly. 

By this short schedule Collatine may know 

Her grief, but not her grief's true quality: 

She dares not tlicrcol' make discovery. 
Lest he sliould liold it lier own gross abuse. 
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse. 

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 
Slie hoards, to spend wlien'lie is by to hear her; 
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the 

fashion 
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 
From that suspicion which the world might bear 
lier. 
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter 
With words, till action ni iglit become them better. 
842 



To see sad sights moves more than hear them told ; 
For then the eye interprets to the ear 
The heavy motion tliat it doth behold, 
When every part a part of woe dotli bear. 
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear: 
Deep sounds make lesser noise tlian shallow fords, 
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of 
words. 

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ 
' At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.' 
The i>ost attends, and she delivers it. 
Charging the s<mr-faced groom to hie as fast 
As lagging fowls before the northern blast : 

Speed more than speed but dull and slow she 
deems : 

Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 

The homely villain court 'sies to her low; 
And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye 
Receives the scroll without or yea or no. 
And forth with bashful innocence doth liie. 
But tliey wliose guilt witliin their liosoms lie 

Imagine every eye belmlils tlieir blame; 

For Lucrece thought he blughVl to see her shame : 

When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 

Of spirit, life, and liold audacity. 

Such hariiili'ss creatures have a true respect 

To talk ill lUeds, while others saucily 

Promise more sjieed, but do it leisurely: 
Even so this pattern of the worn-out age 
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust. 
That two red fires in both their faces blazed; 
She thought he t)hish"d, as knowing Tarquin's lust, 
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed ; 
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed: 
The more she saw the liloud Iiis cheeks replenish. 
The more she thought he spied in her some 
blemish. 

But long she thinks till he return again, 
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
The weary time she cannot entertain. 
For noAv 't is stale to sigh, to weep, and groan: 
So woe h;fth wearied woe, moan tired moan. 
That she her plaints a little while doth stay, 
I'ausing for means to mourn some newer way. 

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
Of skilful iiainting, made tor Priam's Troy; 
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, 
F(n' Ileleirs I'apo the city to destroy. 
Threatening cloud- kissing Ilion with annoy; 
Which the conceited painter drew so proud. 
As heaven, it seem'd, to kiss the turrets bow'd. 

A thousand lamentable objects there. 
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life: 
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear. 
Shed for the slaugliter'd liusliaiid by the wife: 
The red blood reekM. to show the painter's strife; 
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, 
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 

There might you see the labouring pioner 
Begrinieii with sweat, and smeared all with dust; 
And from the towers of Troy there would appear 
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, 
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust : 
Such sweet observance in this work was had, 
Tliat one might see those far-off eyes look sad. 

In great commanders grace and majesty 
You might behold, triumphing in their faces ; 



LUCRECE. 



In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; 
And Iiere and there tlie painter interlaces 
Pale cowards, marching on with trernblin.!); paces; 
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, 
That one would swear he saw them quake and 
tremble. 

In A.jax and Ulysses, O, what art 

Of physiognomy might one behold ! 

The face of either cipher'd either's heart ; 

Their face their manners most expressly told: 

In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd ; 
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent 
Show'd deep regard and smiling government. 

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, 
As "t were encouraging the Greeks to fioht ; 
Making such sober action with Jiis hand, 
That it beguiled attention, charnrd the sight: 
In speech, it seem"d, his beard, all silver white, 
Wagg'd ui-> and down, and from his lips did fly 
Thin windmg breath, which puii'd up to the sky. 

About him were a press of gaping faces, 
"Which seem'd to swalltwv up his sound advice; 
All jointly listening, but with several graces, 
As if some mermaid did their ears entice, 
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice; 
The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. 

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, 

His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear; 

Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'u and 
red ; 

Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear ; 

And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, 
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. 

For much imaginary work was there ; 
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, 
That for Achilles' image stood his spear. 
Griped in an armed hand; himself , behind, 
AVas left unseen, save to the eye of mind: 

A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, 

Stood for the whole to be imagined. 

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy 
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to 
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy [field, 
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield ; 
And to their hope they such odd action yield. 
That through their light joy seemed to appear, 
Like bright things stam'd, a kind of heavy fear. 

And from the strand of Dardan, where they fought, 
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran," 
AVhose waves to imitate the battle sought 
AVith swelling ridges; and their ranks began 
To break upon the galled shore, and than 
Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks. 
They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. 

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come. 
To hnd a face where all distress is stell'd. 
^[any she sees where cares have carved some, 
But iione where all distrrss and dolour dwell'd. 
Till she despairing llccnlia beheld. 
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes. 
Which bleeding mider Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 

In her the painter had anatomized 
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign : 
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguised ; 
(_)f what she was no semblance did remain : 
Her blue blood changed to black in every vein, 



Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had 
Show'd Ul'e imprison'd in a body dead. [ted. 

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, 
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's woes. 
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries. 
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes: 
The painter was no god to lend her those ; 
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong. 
To give her so much grief and not a tongue. 

' Poor instrument,' quoth she, ' without a sound, 
I '11 tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue; 
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, 
And rail on Pyrrhus that liath dime him wrong; 
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long ; 
And with "my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 

' Show me the strumpet that began this stir. 
That with my nails her beauty I may tear. 
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear: 
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here ; 
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye. 
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die. 

' Why should the private pleasm'e of some one 
Become the public phigue of many moe '/ 
Let sin, alone committed, light alone 
Upon his head tiiat hath transgressed so; 
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe : 

For one's offence w'hy should so many faU, 

To plague a private sin in general '( 

' Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies. 
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swouuds. 
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, 
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds. 
And one man's lust these many lives confounds : 
Had doting Priam check'd his sou's desire, 
Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.' 

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes : 
For soiTOw, like a heavy-hanging bell, 
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes; 
Then little strength rings out the duleful knell: 
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell 

Topencill'dpensivenessandcolour'dsorrow; [row. 

She lends them words, and she their looks duth bor- 

She throws her eyes about the painting round. 
And whom slie finds forlorn she doth lament. 
At last she sees a wretched image bound, 
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent: 
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content; 
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, 
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 

In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
An liumble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, 
A brow unbent, that se^n'd to welcome woe; 
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
That blushing red no guilty instance gave. 
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 

But, like a constant and confirmed devil. 
He entertain'd a show so seeming just. 
And therein so ensconced his secret evil. 
That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
False-creeping craft ami perjury should thrust 
Into so bright a day such black-faced storms. 
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. 

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 
For perjiu-ed Siuon, whose enchanting story 
843 



LUCRECE. 



The credulous old Priam after slew; 
Whose words like wildfire Imrnt the shining glory 
Of rich-built Ilion, that tlie skies were sorry, 
And little stars shot from their fixed places, 
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their 
faces. 

This picture she advisedly perused, 
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill, 
Saying, some shai)e in Sinon's was abused ; 
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill : 
And still on him she gazed ; and gazing still. 
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied. 
That slie concludes the picture was belied. 

' It cannot be,' quoth she, ' that so much guile ' — 
She would have said ' can lurk in such a look ; ' 
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while. 
And from lier tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took: 
' It cannot be ' she in that sense forsook. 
And tum'd it thus, ' It cannot be, I find. 
But such a face should bear a wicked mind : 

' For even as subtle Sinon liere is painted, 
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
As if with grief or travail lie had fainted, 
To me came Tarquin armed ; so beguiled 
With outward honesty, but yet defiled 
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish, 
So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish. 

'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, 
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds ! 
Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise i* 
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds: 
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds ; 
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity, 
Are balls of quenchless tire to burn thy city. 

' Such devils steal effects from lightless hell ; 
For Sinon in his fire doth ([iiake with cold, 
And in that cold hot-ljurnin"- fire doth dwell; 
These contraries such unity do hold. 
Only to flatter fools and make them bold: 
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter. 
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.' 

Here, all enragedv, such passion her assails. 
That patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
She tears the senseless Sinon witli her nails. 
Comparing him to that unhapjiy guest 
Whose deed hath made herself iierself detest: 

At last she smilingly with this gives o'er; 

' Fool, fool ! ' quoth she, ' his wounds will not be 
sore.' 

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow. 
And time doth weary time with her complaining. 
Slie looks for night, and tlien she longs for morrow, 
And both slie thinks too lonu' witli her remainins: 
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustainijig : 

Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; 

And they that watch see time how slow it creeps. 

Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, 

That she with painted images liath spent ; 

Being from the feeling of her owm grief brought 

By deep surmise of others' detriment ; 

Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 
It easetli some, though none it ever cured. 
To think their dolour others have endured. 

But now the mindful messenger, come back. 
Brings home his lonl ami other company ; 
Who finds his Lurrcce clad in mourning black: 
And round about Iicr tear-distained eye 
Blue circles stream 'd, like rainbows in the sky : 
844 



These water-galls in her dim element 
Foretell new storms to those already spent. 

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 

Amazedly in her sad face he stares : 

Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw, 

Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. 

He hath ho power to nsk lier liow she fares: 
Both stood, like old acipiainlance in a trance. 
Met far from home,wondering each other's chance. 

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, i 

And thus begins: ' Wliat imcouth ill event \ 

Hath thee befalPn, that thou dost trembling stand ? ■; 

Sweet love, what spite liath thy fair colour spent ? : 

Why art thou thus attired in discontent ? i 

L^nmask, dear dear, tliis moody lieaviness, ' 

And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.' ' 

i 

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, j 

Ere once she can discharge one word of woe; i 

At length address'd to answer his desire, ' 
She modestly prepares to let them know 

Her honour is ta'en ]irisoner by tlie foe; | 

While Collatine and his consorted lords \ 

With sad attention long to hear her words. '. 

And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending; : 

' Few words,' quoth she, ' shall fit the tresjiass best, ' 
Where no excuse can give the fault amending: ' 

In me moe woes than words are now depending ; 
And my laments would be drawn out too long, 
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 



' Then be this all the task it hath to say : 
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
A stranger came, and on that iiillow lay 
Where tliou wast wont to rest thy weary head; 
And what wrong else may be imagined 
By foul enforcement might be done to me. 
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free. 

' For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
AVith shining falchion in my chamber came 
A creeiiing creature, with a flaming light. 
And softly cried ''Awake, thou Roman dame, 
And eiiterlain my love ; else lasting shame 
On thee and thine this night I will inflict. 
If thou my love's desire do contradict. 

' "For some hai'd-favour'd groom of thine," quoth 
" Unless thou yoke tliy liking to my will, [he, 

I '11 murder straiglit, and then I '11 slaughter thee 
And swear I found .you where you did fidlil 
The loathsome act cif lust, and so did kill 
The lechers in their deed : tliis act will be 
My fame and thy perpetual infamy." 

' With this, I did begin to start and cry; 

And then against my heart he sets his sword. 

Swearing, unless I took all iiatiently, 

I slKUild not live to speak another word; 

So should my shame still rest upon record. 
And never be forgot in mighty Home, 
Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 

' Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
And far the weaker with so strong a fear: 
jMv l)Ioody judge forbade my tongue to speak ; 
No rigliflui plea iniglit iilcad fiu- justice there : 
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 

That my jioor beauty had purloin'd his eyes; 

And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies. 

' O, teach me how to make mine own excuse ! 
Or at the least this refuge let me find; 



LUCE EC E. 



Though my gross blood be staiii'd with this abuse, 

Iminafulate and spotless is my mind; 

That was not forced ; that never was inclined 
To accessary, yieldings, but still pure 
Doth in her poisoii'd closet yet endure.' 

Lo. here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, 
AVith liead declined, and voice damm'd up with woe, 
AVith sad set eyes, and wretched arms across, 
From lips new-waxen pale begins to Ijlow 
The grief away tliat stops his answer so : 

J5ut, wretched as he is, he strives in vain; 

"What he breathes out-his breath drinks up again. 

As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste, 
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
Back to the strait that forced him on so fast ; 
lu rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being i>ast : 
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw, 
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. 

■\Vhich speechless woe of his poor she atteudeth, 
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh : 
' Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
Another power; no tiood by raining slaketh. 
!RIy woe too sensible thy passion maketh 
jNIore feeling-painful : let it then suffice 
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 

' And for my sake, when I might charm thee so 
For slie tliat was thy Lucrece, now attend me : 
Be suddenly revenged on my foe, 
Tliine, mine, his own : suppose thou dost defend me 
From what is past : the help that thou shalt lend me 

Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 

For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 

' But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she, 
Sjieaking to those that came with Collatine, 
' Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, 
AViili swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ; 
For 't is a meritorious fair design 
To chase injustice with revengeful arms: 
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' 
harms.' 

At this request, with noble disposition 
Each present lord began to promise aid, 
As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. 
But she, that yet her sad task liath not said, 
Tlie protestation stops. ' O, speak,' quoth she, 
' How may this forced stain be wiped from me ? 

' "What Is the quality of mine oifence. 

Being constrain'rt with dreadful circumstance ? 

IMay my pure mind with the foul act dispense, 

]My low-declined honour to advance? 

Way any terms acquit me from tliis chance ? 

The poisonVl fountain clears itself again; 

And why not I from this compelled stain V 

With this, they all at once began to say, 
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears; 
AN'hile with a joyless smile she turns away 
The face, that map which deep impression bears 
Of liard misfortune, carved in it with tears. 
' No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living. 
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.' 

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, 
She throws forth Tarquin's name: 'He, he,' she 

says, 
But more than ' he ' her poor tongue could not speak ; 
Till after many accents and delays. 
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 



She utters this, ' He, he, fair lords, 't is he, 
That guides this hand to give this Vvound to me.' 

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed: 
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
Of tliat polluted prison where it breathed : 
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeatli'd 
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth 

fly 

Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 

Stone-still, astonish 'd with this deadly deed, 
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew ; 
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed, 
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw; 
And from the purjile fountain Brutus drew 
Tlie murderous knife, and, as it left the place, 
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ; 

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
In two Aow rivers, that the crimson blood 
Circles her body in on every side, 
Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood 
Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood. 
Some of her blood still pure and red remaiii'd. 
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin 
stain'd. 

About the mourning and congealed face 
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes. 
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place: 
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece" woes, 
Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 
And blood imtainted gtill doth red abide, 
Blushing at that which is so putrihed. 

' Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries, 
' That life was mine which thou hast here dei-rived. 
If in the child the father's image lies. 
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived ? 
Tliou wast not to this end from me derived. 
If children pre-decease progenitors. 
We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 

' Poor broken glass, I often did behold 
In thy svi'eet semblance my old age new born ; 
But now that fresh fair mirror, dim and old, 
Shows me a bare-boned death by time outworn: 
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn. 
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, 
That I no more can see what once 1 was ! 

' O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer, 
If tliey surcease to be that should survive. 
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger 
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive V 
The old bees die, the young possess their hive: 
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see 
Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! ' " 

By this, starts Collatine as from a dream. 
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place; 
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
He falls, and Viathes the pale fear in his face, 
And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath 
And live to be revenged on her death. 

The deep vexation of his inward soul 
Hath served a dumb arrest upon his tongue; 
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control. 
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long. 
Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 

Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's 
aid, 

That no man could distinguish what he said. 



LUCRECE. 



Yet sometime ' Tarquin ' was proiiomiced plain, 
Ikit through liis teetli. as if the naine he tore. 
This windy tempest, till it bldw up rain, 
Held back his sorrow's tide, to )nake it more; 
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er: 
Then son and father weep with equal strife 
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife. 

The one doth call her his, the other his. 
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
The father says ' She 's mine.' ' O, mine she is,' 
Replies her husband : ' do not take away 
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say 
He weeps for her, for she was only mine. 
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.' 

' O,' quoth Lucretius, ' I did give that life 
Wliich she too early and too late hath spill'd.' 
'Woe, woe,' quothColIatine, 'she was my wife, 
I owed her, and 't is mine that she hath kill'd.' 
' My daughter ' and ' my wife ' with clamours flU'd 
The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece' life, 
Answer'd their cries, ' my daughter ' and ' my 
wife.' 

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side. 
Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride. 
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 
He with tlie Romans was esteemed .so 
As silly-jeering idiots are witli kings, 
For sportive words and uttering foolish things : 

But now he throws that shallow Iiabit by, 
Wlierein deep policy did liiui disguise; 
And arni'd his long-hid wits advisedly, 
To check the tears in Collatiuus' eyes. 
'Thou wronged lord of Itduie,' quoth he, 'arise ; 
Let my unsounded self, suiiposed a fool, 
Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. 
846 



' Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe 'f 
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous 
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow [deeds V 

For his foul act liy whcmi thy fair wife bleeds? 
Such ehildisli huuidur from weak n)inds proceeds: 
Thy wretched wile mistook the matter so, 
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. 

'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
In such relenting ilew of lamentations; 
But kneel with me and help to liear thy part. 
To rouse our Roman gods witli invocations. 
That they will suffer these abominations. 
Since Rome herself in them doth stand di.sgraced, 
By our strong arms from forth her fair "streets 
chased. 

' Now, by the Capitol that we adore, 
And by this chaste Iilood so mijustly stain'd. 
By heaven's fair sun that l)rcedst lie fat earth's store. 
By all our country rights in Home maintain'd. 
And by chaste Lucrece" soul tliat late coniplain"d 
Her wrongs to us. and by this bloody knife. 
We will revenge the death of this true wife.' 

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow; 
And to his protestation urged the rest. 
Who, wondering at liim, did liis words allow: 
Then jointly to the ground tlieir knees they bow; 
And that deep vow, which Brutus made before, 
He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 

When they had sworn to this advised doom, 
Tliey did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence ; 
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, 
And so to publish Taniuin's foul offence: 
Which being done with speedy diligence, 
The Romans phiusilily did give con.sent 
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 





SONNETS. 

TO THE ONLIE BEGETTER OF 

THESE IXSUING SONNETS 

MR. W. H. ALL HAPPIXESSE 

AND THAT ETERNITIE 

PROMISED BY 

OUR EVER-LIVING POET 

WISHETH 

THE WELL-WISHING 

ADVENTURER IN 

SETTING 

FORTH 

T. T. 



I. 

Fro3I fairest creatures we desire increase, 
Tliat tliereby beauty's rose might never die, 
But as tlie riper should by time decease, 
His tender heir might bear his memory r 
But thou, contracted to thine own briglit eyes, 
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel. 
Making a famine where abundance lies, 
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament 
And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
AVithin thine own bud buriest thy content 
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. 
Pity the world, or else this glutton be^ 
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 



When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, 
Aud dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, 
Tliy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now, 
"Will be a tatter'd weed, of small wortli held: 
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, 
Wliere all tlie treasure of thy lusty days, 
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, 
AVere an all-eating shame and thriftless "praise. 
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use. 
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine 
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,' 
Proving his beauty by succession thine ! 
This were to be new made when thou art old, 
Aud see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it 
cold. 

_^ m. 

liook in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest 
Now is the time that face should form another; 
"Whose fresli repair if now thou not renewest, 
.Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. 
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb 
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry ? 
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb 
Of his self-love, to stop posterity ? 
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the lovely April of her prime : 
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see 
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. 
But if thou live, remember'd not to be. 
Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 



Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy "? 
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend. 
And being frank she lends to those are free. 
Tlien, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse 
The bounteous largess given thee to give ':* 
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live V 
For having traffic with thyself alone, 
Thou of tliyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
Tlien how, when nature calls thee to be gone. 
What acceptable audit canst thou leave '^ 
Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, 
"Wliich, used, lives th' executor to be. 



Those hours, that with gentle work did frame 
Tlie lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, 
AVill playthe tyrants to the very same 
And that unfair which fairly doth excel; 
For never-resting lime leads summer on 
To hide<nis winter and confounds him there ; 
Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, 
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every wlitre: 
Then, were not summer's distillation left, 
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass. 
Beauty's elfect witli beauty were bereft, 
Xor it nor no reniemlirance wliat it was : 
But flowers distill'd.thouglitlieywitli winter meet, 
Leese but their show; their substance still lives 
sweet. 

VI. 

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd : 
Make sweet some vial ; treasure thou some place 
AVitli beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. 
That use is not forbidden usury 
Which happies those that pay the willing loan; 
That 's for thyself to breed another thee. 
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ; 
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art. 
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee : 
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart, 
Leaving thee living in posterity ':* 
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair 
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. 
847 



SONNETS. 



Lol in the orient when the gracions light 
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye 
Doth hoiiia.i^e to his new-apijeariiig sight, 
Serving \vi{li loolvs liis suered majesty; 
And having chmb'd tlie steep-up lieavenly liill, 
Resemljling strong youth in liis middle age, 
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still. 
Attending- on his golden pilgrimage ; 
But when from highmost pitcli, witli weary car, 
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, 
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now concerted are 
From his low tract and look another way: 
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, 
Uidook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 



Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly ? 
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. 
Wliy lovest thou that which " thou receivest not 

gladly. 
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy ? 
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, 
By unions married, do offend thine ear. 
They do but sweetly chide tliee, who confounds 
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. 
!Mark how one string, sweet husband to another. 
Strikes cacli in each by mutual ordering, 
llcsi'inbling sire and child and haiipy mother 
■Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: 
"Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one. 
Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.' 



Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye 
That thou consumest thyself in single life? 
Ah! if thou issueless sliall hap to die. 
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife; 
The world will be thy widow and still weep 
That thou no form of thee hast left behind. 
When every private widow well may keep 
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind. 
Look, what an unthrift in tlie world dotli spend 
Sliifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; 
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, 
And kept unused, the user so destroys it. 
No love toward others in that bosom sits 
That on himself such murderous shame commits. 



For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, 
Who for thyself art so unprovident. 
(Grant, if tljoii wilt, thou art beloved of many. 
But that thou none lovest is most evident; 
For thou art so i>ossess'd with murderous hate 
That 'gainst tliyself thou stick'st not to conspire, 
Seeking lliat beauteous roof to ruinate 
Wliieli Id repair sl)ould be thy chief desire. 
O, cliangi' tliy tliought, that I may change my mind! 
Shall hale be fairer lo4ged than gentle love? 
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind. 
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove: 
Hake thee another self, for love of me. 
That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 



As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest 
In one of thine, from that which thou departest; 
And that fresh blood which yonngly thou bestowest 
Thou mayst call thine wheii thou from youth con- 
llerein lives wisdom, beauty and increase; [vertest. 
Without this_, folly, age and cold tlecay : 
If all were minded so, the times should cease 
And threescore j'ear would make the world away. 
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store, 
llarsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish: 
848 



Look, whom slie best endow'd she gave the more ; 

Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty 
cherish : 
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby 
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. 



When I do count the clock that tells the time, 
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; 
When I behold the violet past prime. 
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves 
Borne on the bier witli white and bristly beard, 
Then of thy beauty ilo I (iuesti<in make. 
That thou among "the wastes of time must go, 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake 
And die as fast as they see others grow; [fence 

And nothing 'gainst Time's seytlie can make de- 
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. 



O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are 
No longer yours tiian you yourself here live: 
Against this coming end you should prepare, 
And your sweet sendilanee to some other give. 
So should that beauty wliich you hold in lease 
Find no determination; then you were 
Yourself again after yourself 's decease. 
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. 
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay. 
Which husbandry in lidjiour might uphold 
Against the storniy gusts of winter's day 
And iiarren rage of death's eternal cold":' 
O, none but nnthrifts ! Dear my love, }'0U know 
You had a father : let your son say so. 



Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ; 
And yet methinks I have astronomy, 
But not to tell of good or evil luck," 
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality ; 
Nor can 1 fortune to lirief minutes tell. 
Pointing t<i each liis thunder, rain and wind, 
Or say with princes if it sliall go well. 
By oft jirediet that I in hcavi'u lind: 
But from thine eycs^ny knowledge I derive. 
And. constant stars, in tliem I read such art 
As trntli and beauty shall together thrive. 
If from thyself to stoic thou wouldst convert ; 
Or else of thee this I prognosticate: 
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 



When I consider every thing that grows 
Holds in perfection but a little moment. 
That this luige stage iiresenteth nought but shows 
AV'liereon tlii' stars in seciit inlluenee comment; 
WIk'U 1 |Micc-i\e that nun as plants increase. 
Cheered and clieck'd <'\i'n Ijy the selt-sanie sky. 
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, 
And wear theirbrave state out of memory; 
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
Sets you most rich in youtli before my sight. 
Where wasteful Time deliateth with Decay, 
To change your day of youth to sullied night ; 
And all in war with Time for love of you, 
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 

XVI. 

But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
Make war upon this bloody tyrant. Time ? 
And fortify yourself in j'oiu- decay 
With meansmore blessed than my barren rhyme ? 
Now stand you on the top of hapi)y hours. 
And many maiden gardens yet luiset 



SONI^ETS. 



Witli virtuous wisli would bear 5t>ur living flowers, 
Much liker tUau juur iminted couulerlVit: 
80 should tlie lines of life tliat life repair, 
Svhieh this, Tiuie's pencil, or my pupil pen, 
Keitlier iu inward worth nor outwari-l fair. 
Can make you live yourself iu eyes of men. 
To give away yourself keeps yourself still, 
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. 



Who will believe my verse in time to come. 
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? 
Thougli yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
Wliicii hides your life and shows not half your parts. 
If I could write the beauty of your eyes 
And ill Iresli numbers number all your graces, 
Tlie age to come would say ' This poet lies ; 
Such lieavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' 
So should my papers yellow'd with their age 
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, 
And your true riglits be term'd a poet's rage 
And stretched metre of an antique song : 
Uut were some cliild of yours alive that time. 
You should live twice ; iu it and iu my rhyme. 



Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 
Hough winds do shake the darliug buds of May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 
And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
Ey chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd ; 
But thy eternal summer shall uot fade 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor sliall Death brag thou wander 'st in Ins shade, 
"When ill eternal lines to time thou growest : 
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, 
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. 



Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws. 
And make tlie earth devour her own sweet brood ; 
Pluck ilie keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, 
Ami burn tlie long-lived plioenix in her blood ; 
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou (ieets, 
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, 
To tlie wide world and all her fading sweets; 
But I forliid thee one most heinous crime: 
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow. 
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; 
Ilim in thy course untainted do allow 
For beauty's pattern to su'-ceeding men. 
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong. 
My love shall iu my verse ever live young. 



A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted 
Ilast thou, the inaster-mistress of my jiassiou; 
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 
"With shifting change, as is false women's fashion ; 
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling. 
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; 
A man in hue, all ' hues ' in bis controlling. 
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. 
And for a woman wert thou first created ; 
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-dotiug, 
And by addition me of thee defeated. 
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 

But siince she prick 'd thee out for women's pleas- 
ure, 

Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. 

XXI. 

So is it not with me as with that Muse 
Siirr'd by a paiuted beauty to his verse, 
54 



Who heaven itself for ornament doth use 

And every fair with his fair doth rehearse; 

Making a couplement of proud compare, 

^Vitli sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, 

With April's tir.st-born flowers, and all things rare 

Tliut heaven's air iu this huge rondure hems. • 

O, let me, true in love, but truly write. 

And then believe me, my love is as fair 

As any mother's child, though uot so bright 

As those gold candles tix'd in heaven's air: 

Let tliem say more that like of hearsay well ; 

I will uot praise that purpose uot to sell. 



Islj glass shall not persuade me I am old. 
So long as youth and thou ;ire of one date; 
But wlien iu thee time's furrows I behold. 
Then look I death my days should expiate. 
For all that beauty that doth cover thee 
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart. 
Which iu thy breast doth live, as thine in me: 
How can I then be elder than thou art ? 
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary 
As I, not for myself, but for thee will; 
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 

Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ; 

Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again. 



As an imperfect actor on the stage 
Who witli his fear is put besides his part. 
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage. 
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart. 
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
The perfect ceremony of love's rite. 
And in mine own love's strength seem to detay, 
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might. 
O, let my books be then the eloquence 
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast. 
Who plead for love and look for recompense 
!More than that tongue that more hath more ex- 
press 'd. 
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ : 
To hear with eyes belongs to love's flue wit. 



Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd 
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart ; 
My body is the frame wherein 't is held. 
And perspective it is best [laiuter's art. 
For thrmigh the painter must you see his skill, 
To find where ycuu- true image pictured lies; 
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still. 
That liatli his windows glazed witli thine eyes. 
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have clone : 
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
Are windows to my breast, where-through tlie sun 
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; 

Yet eyes this cunning want to gj-ace their art; 

They draw but what they see, know uot the lieart. 



Let those who are in favour with their stars 
Of public honour and proud titles boast. 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. 
Great princes' tavourites their fair leaves spread 
But as the marigold at the sun's eye. 
And in themselves their pride lies Imried, 
For at a frown they in their glnry die. 
Tlie painful warrior fainousrd lor fight. 
After a thousand victories once foil'd. 
Is from the book of honour razed quite. 
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd ; 
Then happy I. that love and am belove 1 
Where I may uot remove nor be removed. 
849 



jSOI^NUTS. 



Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 

Thy merit liath my duty strongly knit, 

To tliee I send this written embassage, 

To witness duty, not to sliow my wit : 

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 

]\ray make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, 

Bnt that I hope some good conceit of thine 

In thy soul's tliouglit. all naked, will bestow it; 

Till whatsoever star that guides uiy moving 

Points on me graciously with fair aspect 

And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, 

To show me wortiiy of tliy sweet respect : 

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; 

Till then not sliow my head where thou mayst 
prove me. 

XXVII. 

"Weary with toil, I hasti- me to my bed, 
Tlie dear repose for linilis witli travel tired; 
Bnt then begins a journey in my head. 
To work my mind, wlien body's work 's expired : 
For then my thouglits, from far where I abide, 
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee. 
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, 
Looking on darkness wliicli the blind do see : 
Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
Presents thy .shadow to my siglitlcss view. 
Which, like ajewel hung in ghastly night. 
Makes black night beauteous and lier old face new. 
Lo ! tlius, by day my limbs, by niglit my mind, 
For thee and for myself no quiet iind. 



How can I then return in happy plight, 
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ? 
AVhen day's oppressiim is not eased by night. 
But day Ijv night, and nigld liy day, op]ires»'d? 
And eacli, tliouuli enemies to eitlirr's reign. 
Do in consent shake liands to torture me; 
The one by toil, the otlier to comidain 
How far I toil, still farther off from thee. 
I tell the (hiy. to pl.^ise liini tliou art bright 
And dost liiiu grace w hen rhuids do lilot t lie heaven: 
So flatter I tln^ sw^irl-roniplfxidu'd ni^lit. 
When sparkling starstwirenot thou gil<rst tlieeven. 
But day ddtli daily draw my sorrows longer 
And night doth nightly make grief's strength 
seem stronger. 

XXIX. 

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state 
And-troublc deal' licaven witli my bootless cries 
And look npcm niysclt and cur.se my fate. 
Wishing me like to one moi'e rich in hope. 
Featured like him, like him with friends pcssess'd. 
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope. 
With what I mo.st enjoy conteided least; 
Vet in tlie.se thoughts niysidl' almost despising, 
Ilaply I think on thee, and then my state. 
Like to tlie lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 

For thy sweet love; remember'd such wealth 
brings 

That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 

XXX. 
"Wlien to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : 
Then can I drown an eye, unused to How, 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. 
And weep afresh love's long-since caneell'd woe, 
And moan the expense of many a vanish 'd sight : 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
850 



The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
Which I new [lay as if not paid before. 
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
All losses are restored and sorrows end. 

XXXI. 

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts. 
Which I by lacking have supposed dead. 
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, 
And all those friends which I thought buried. 
How many a holy and obsequious tear 
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye 
As interest of the dead, wliich now iippear 
Bnt things removed that hidden in thee lie ! 
Tliou art the grave where buried love doth live, 
Hung witli the trophies of my lovers gone. 
Who all tlieir i>arts of me to thee did give; 
That due of many now is thine alone: 
Their images I loved I view in thee. 
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. 



If thou survive my well-contented day, [cover, i 

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall I 

And slialt by fortune once more re-survey j 

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, I 

Compare them with the bettering of tlie time, '. 

And tliough tliey be outstrijip'd Ijy every pen, ' 

Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, ' 

Exceetled by the height of hajipier men. ' 
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought : 
' Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing 

i'ge, ; 

A dearer birth than this his love had brought, j 

To march in ranks fif better equipage : j 

But since he died and poets better prove, | 

Theirs for their style I '11 read, his for his love.' i 

XXXIII. , 

Full many a glorious inoniing have I seen 
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, 
Kissing witli golden face the meadows green, j 

Gilding jiali' streams with heavenly alchemy; 
Anon permit the b.isest clouds to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide, i 

Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: j 

Even s(i my sun one early morn did shine > 

AVith all-triumiihant siilendour on my brow; 
But out, alack ! lie was but one hour mine; ' 

The region cloud hath niask'd him from me now. ' 

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 

Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun 
staineth. 

XXXIV. 

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day 

And make me travel forth without my cloak, ' 

To let base clouds o'ertal^e me in my way. 

Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 

'T is not enough that through the cloud thou break. 

To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, '■ 

For no man well of such a salve can speak 

That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace: 

Xor can thy shame give physic to my grief; 

Though thou reiient, yet I have stillthe loss: 1 

The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief \ 

To him that bears the striuig olfenee's cross. ) 

Ah ! but those tears are iiearl whicli thy love sheds, ; 

And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. ] 

XXXV. i 

Xo more be grieved at th.at which thou hast done : 
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; 
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun. 
And loatlisonie canker lives in sweetest bud. 1 

All men make faults, and even I in this, ' 

Authorizing thy trespass with compare, 



sowwi:ts. 



Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss. 
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; 
For to thy sensual fault I liring in sense — 
Tliy adverse party is thy a<lvocate — • 
And 'gainst myself a lawful i)Iea commence: 
Jiucli civil war i§ in my love and hate 
That I an accessary needs must be 
To that sweet thief which som-ly robs from me. 



Let me confess that we two must be twain, 
Although our undivided loves are one: 
So shalllhose blots that do with me remain 
"Without thy help by me be borne alone. 
In our two loves there is but one respect. 
Though in our lives a separable spite, 
AVhich though it alter irot love's sole effect. 
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. 
I may not evermore ai^knowledge thee, 
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, 
jSTor thou with puWic kindness lionour me. 
Unless thou take tljat honour from thy name : 
But do not so ; I love tliee in such sort 
As, thou being miue, mine is thy good report. 



As a decrepit father takes delight 

To see his active child do deeds of youth. 

So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite. 

Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. 

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, 

Or any of these all, or all, or more, 

Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 

I make my love engrafted to this store : 

So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, 

Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give 

That I in thy abundance am sufficed 

And by a part of all thy glory live. 

Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee; 

This wish I have; then ten times happy me! 



How can my ]\Iuse want subject to invent, 
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse 
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
For every vulgar paper to rehearse V 
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 
"Worthy perusal stand against thy sight ; 
For who 's so dumb that cannot write to thee. 
When thou thyself dost give invention light ? 
Be tliou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth 
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate; 
And he that calls on thee, let lum bring forth 
Eternal numbers to outlive long date. 
If my slight Muse do please these curious days. 
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 



O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
AVhen thou art all the better part of me ? 
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring ? 
And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee? 
Even for this let us divided live, 
And our dear love lose name of single one. 
That by this separation I may give 
That due to thee which thou deservest alone. 
( ) absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove. 
Were it not thy sour leisure ga\e sweet leave 
To entertain tlie time with thoughts of love, 
"Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive, 
And that thou teachest how to make one twain. 
By praising him here who doth hence remain ! 



Take all my loves, my love, yea, take tliem all ; 
What hast thou then more than thou hadst be- 
fore y 



No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; 
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. 
Then if for my love thou my love receivest, 
I cannot blame thee for mylove thou usest ; 
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest 
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief. 
Although thou steal thee ;ill my poverty; 
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief 
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury. 
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well sluiws. 
Kill me with spites ; yet we nmst not be foes. 



Those petty wrongs that liberty commits, 
"When I am somet"ime absent from thv lieart, 
Thy beauty and thy years full well belits. 
For still temptation follows wlierc thou art. 
(ientle thou art and therefore to be won. 
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed ; 
And when a woman woos, what woman's son 
Will sourly leave her till she have iirevuiled V 
Ay me! but yet thou niigbtst my scat forbear, 
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, 
AVho lead thee in their riot even there 
AVhere thou art forced to break a twofold truth, 
Hers, by tliy beauty tempting her to thee, 
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 



That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, 

And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; 

That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 

A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 

Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: 

Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her ; 

And for my sake even so doth she abuse me. 

Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. 

If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, 

Anil losing her, my friend hath found that loss ; 

]5oth ttnd each other, and I lose both twain. 

And both for my sake lay on me this cross: 

But here 's the joy; my friend and I are one ; 

Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone. 



When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, 
For all the day they view things unrespected ; 
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on tliee. 
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed. 
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make 

bright, 
How would thy shadow's form form happy show 
To the clear day with thy much clearer light, 
AVhen to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so I 
How would, I soy, mine eyes be blessed made 
By looking on thee in the living day. 
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade 
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! 

All days are nights to see till I see thee, [me. 

And nights bright days when dreams do show tliee 



If the dull substance of my flesh were thought. 
Injurious distance should not stoii my way ; 
For then despite of space I would be brought, 
From limits far remote, wliere thou dost slay. 
Xo matter tlieu although my foot did stand 
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee; 
For nimble thought can jump botli sea and land 
As soon as think the place wliere he would be. 
But, ah ! thought kills me that 1 am not thought, 
To leaji large lengths of miles when thou art gone, 
But that so niueh of earth and water wrought 
I nuist attend time's leisure with my moan. 
Receiving nought by elements so slow 
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe. 
851 



SONNETS. 



The other two, slight iiir and pnrgina; fire, 
Are both witli tliee, wlipvever 1 aiiide : 
Tlie lirst my thoii^^ht, the (iUut iijy desire, 
These prpseiit-iil)seiit with swift iiiutioii slide. 
Fur whin these i|\iicker elements are gone 
III teiiilcr ciiihussy of love to thee, 
^Iv litr, hciiiL! iiiiide of four, with two alone 
Sillies (liiwii Id (Uatli, oppressed with melancholy; 
I'liiil lilr's (■(uniKisition be recured 
Ijv those BWii't iiii'ssenii-ers returned from thee. 
Who even but imw I'liine back again, assured 
Of thy fair heaUh, ri'inunting it to me: 
Tiiis told, I jny ; but tlien no longer glad, 
I send them back again and straight grow sad. 

XLvr. 
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war 
How to divide the conquest of thy sight; 
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, 
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
My heart dotli pleiid tliat thou in him dost lie, — 
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes — 
But the defendant dolli that jilea deny 
And says in liini thy lair aiiiiearauce lies. 
To 'cide this title is impanueled 
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, 
And by their verdict is determined 
Tlie clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part : 
As thus ; mine eye's due is thy outward part. 
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. 

XL VII. 

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, 
And each doth good turns now unto tlie other : 
■When that mine eye is famish'd for a look. 
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, 
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast 
And to the painted banquet bids my heart ; 
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest 
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: 
So, either by tliy ])icture or my love, 
Tliyself away art present still with me; 
Por thou nut farther than my thoughts canst move, 
And I am still witli them and they" with thee; 
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight 
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 

XLVIII. 

How careful was I, when I took my way. 
Each trifle under truest bars to tlirust. 
That to my use it ini^ht unused stay 
From hands of fals;'lio(iil., in sure wards of trust ! 
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, 
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, 
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care, 
Art left the prey of every vulgar tliief. 
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest. 
Save wliere tliou art not, tliough I feel thou art, 
Within the gentle i-losure of my breast. 
From wlieneeat ]ileasure lliou mayst come and part; 
And even thenee thou wilt be stol'n, I fear. 
For Irutli iiruves tliievisli for a prize so dear. 

XLIX. 

Against that time, if ever that time come, 
Wlien I shall see thee frown on my defects, 
Wiien as thy love liath east his utmost sum, 
Call'd to that audit by advised respects; 
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass 
And scarcely greet me witli that sun, thine eye, 
When love, converted from the thing it was, 
Shall reasons find of settled gravity, — 
Against that time do I ensconce me here 
Within the knowledge of mine own desert. 
And this my hand against myself uprear. 
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part : 
S52 



To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, 
Since why to love I can allege no cause. 



How heavy do I journey on the way. 
When what I seek, my weary travel's end. 
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say 
' Thus far the miles are measuretl from thy friend ! ' 
The beast that bears me, tired vvitli my woe, 
Plods dully on, to bear tliat weiglit in me. 
As if Ijy some instinct the wretcli did know 
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee: 
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
Tliat sometimes anger thrusts into his hide; 
AVhich heavily he answers with a groan. 
More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; 

For that same groan doth put this in my mind; 

My grief lies onward and my joy behind. 

LI. 

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence 
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: 
From where thou art why should I haste me thence ? 
Till I return, of posting is no need. 
O, what excuse will my jioor beast then And, 
When swift extremity can seem but slow? 
Then sliould 1 spur, though mounted on the wind; 
In winged speed no motion shall I know: 
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; 
Therefore desire, of perfect 'st love being made, 
Shall neigh — no dull flesh — in his fiery race; 
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade; 
Since from thee going he went wilful-slow, 
Tov.ards thee I "11 run, and give him leave to go. 

LIT. 

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 
The which he will not every hour survey, 
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare. 
Since, seldom coming, in the long year set, 
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, 
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. 
So is the time that keeps you as my chest. 
Or as the wardrobe wliieh llie robe doth hide, 
To make some special instant special blest. 
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. 
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope. 
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. 



What is your substance, whereof are you made, 
That millions of strange shadows on you tend? 
Since every one hath, everyone, one shade, 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after j'ou ; 
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
And yon in Grecian tires are painted new: 
Speak of the spring and foison of the year; 
Tlie one dotli sliadow of your beauty show, 
The otiier as your bounty doth appear; 
And you in every blessed shape we know. 
In all external grace you have some part. 
But you like none, none you, for constant heart. 

LTV. 

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem 

By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! 

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 

For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 

The canker-Vilooms have full as deep a dye 

As the perfumed tincture of the roses. 

Hang on sucli thorns and jilay as wantonly 

When summer's lireatli their masked buds discloses: 

But, for their virtue only is their show. 

They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, 



SONNUTS. 



Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made : 
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, 
■\Vheu that shall fade, my verse distills your truth. 

LV. 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; 

But you shall shine more bright in these contents 

Tlian unsvvept stone besmeared with sluttish time. 

AVIien wasteful war sliall statues overturn, 

And Ijroils I'oot out the work of mastuu'y. 

Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn 

The living record of your memory. 

'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find 

room 
Even in the eyes of all posterity 
That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So, till the judgment that yourself arise. 
You live in this, and dwell iu lovers' eyes. 



Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said 
Tliy edge sliould blunter be than appetite, 
Whicli but to-day by feeding is allay'd. 
To-morrow sharpen 'd in his former might: 
So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou till 
Thy hungry eyes even till tliey wink with fullness, 
To-morrow see again, and do not kill 
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness. 
Let this sad interim like the ocean be 
AVhicli parts the shore, where two contracted new 
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
Return of love, more blest may be the view; 
Else call it winter, which being full of care 
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, 
more rare. 

LVII. 

Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of yom- desire ? 
I have no precious time at all to spend, 
Nor services to do, till you require. 
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hoiu' 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock tor you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
"When you have bid your servant once adieu ; 
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose. 
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
Save, wliere you are how happy you make those. 
So true a fool is love that in your will. 
Though you do any thing, he thiuks no ill. 



That god forbid that made me first your slave, 

I should in thought control your times of pleasure, 

Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, 

Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! 

O, let me suffer, being at your beck, 

Tlie imprison 'd absence of your liberty; 

And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check. 

Without accusing you of injury. 

B.e where you list, your charter is so strong 

That you yourself may privilege your time 

To what you will ; to you it doth belong 

Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. 

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell ; 

Not blame yoiu' pleasure, be it ill or well. 



If there be nothing new, but that wliich is 
IFatli been bei'ore, how are our brains beguiled, 
AVhich, labouring for invention, bear amiss 
Tlie second burden of a former child ! 
O, that record could with a backward look. 
Even of five hundred courses of the smi, 



Show me your image in some antique book, 
Since mind at first in character was done ! 
That I might see what tlie oUl world could say 
To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
AVlielher we are mended, or whether better they. 
Or wliether revolution be the same. 
O, sure I am, the wits of former days 
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 



Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shoie. 
So do om' minutes hasten to their end ; 
Eacli changing place with that which goes before. 
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
Nativity, once m the main of light. 
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, 
Crooked ecliiises 'gainst his glory fight. 
And Time that gave doth miw his gift confound. 
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth 
And delves the parallels iu beauty's brow, 
Feeds on tlie rarities of nature's truth, 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: 
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel liaiid. 



Is it thy will thy image should keep open 
My hi'ii\ y (■> elids to the weary night ? 
I)i)^l I hi 111 ill sire my slumbers should be broken, 
AVIiili' hluiilnws like to thee do mock my sight '^ 
Is it thy spirit that thou seiid'st from tliee 
So far from home into my deeds to pry. 
To find out shames and idle hours in me, 
The scope and tenour of thy jealousy V 
O, no ! thy love, though much, iS not so great : 
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake; 
jNIine own true love that ilotli my rest defeat. 
To play the watchman ever for thy sake : 
For thee watch I '\\liilst thou dost wake elsewhere, 
From me far off, with others all too near. 



Sin of self-love possessetli all mine eye 
And all my soul and all my every part; 
And for this sin there is no remedy. 
It is so grounded inward iu my heart. 
Metliinks no face so gracious is as uiine. 
No shape so true, no truth of such account; 
And for myself mine own worth do define. 
As I all other in all worths surmount. 
But when my glass shows me myself indeed, 
Beated and chopp'd with taiiiiM antiquity, 
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read ; 
Self so self-loving were iniquity. 
'T is thee, myself, tliat for myself I praise, 
Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 



Against my love shall be, as I am now. 

With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn ; 

Wlien hours have drain'd his blood and fiird his 

brow 
With lines and wrinkles : when his youthful morn 
Ilath tntvell'd on to age's stee]iy night, 
Anil all those beauties whereof now lie 's king 
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight. 
Stealing away the treasure of his spring; 
For surli a time do I now fortify 
Against confounding age's cruel knife, 
Tiiat he shall never cut from memory 
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life: 
ilis beauty shall m these black liiii's be seen. 
And they shall live, and he in tliem still green. 



When I have seen by Time's fell hand.defaced 
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age ; 
853 



SONNETS. 



AVHien sometime lofty towers I see dowu-razed 
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the sliore. 
And the rirni soil win of tlie watery main, 
Increasing store with loss and loss witli store ; 
When 1 have seen such isiterchange of state, 
Or state itself eonfouuded to decay; 
Kuin hath tauglit me tlius to ruminate, 
Tiiat Time wiil cume and take my love away. 
This tlionght is as a deatli, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 



Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless 

sea. 
But sad moi-tality o'ersways their power. 
How with tliis rage siiall beauty hold a plea, 
Whose action is no stronger than a Hower? 
O, how sliall summer's honey breaili hold out 
Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
"\Vhen rocks impregnable are not so stout, 
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays ? 
O feai'ful meditation I where, alack, 
Shall Time's best jewel fnjm Time's chest lie hid ? 
Or what strong hand can liolil liis swift foot back'r' 
Or who his spoil of beauty can forliid 'i 
O, none, unless this miracle have might, 
That ill black ink my love may still shine bright. 



Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, 
As, to beiiold desert a beggar born. 
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity. 
And purest faith unhappily forsworn. 
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced. 
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, 
And strength by limping sway disabled. 
And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
And folly doctor-like controlling skill. 
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity. 
And captive good attending captain ill : 
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, 
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 



Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live. 
And with his presence grace impiety, 
That sin by him advantage should achieve 
And lace itself with his society 'i 
Wliy should false painting imitate his cheek 
And steal dead seeing of iiis living hue 'i 
Wliy should poor beauty indirectly seek 
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true y 
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, 
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins ? 
For she hath no exchequer now but his, 
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. 
O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had 
In days long suice, before these last so bad. 



Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, 
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, 
Before these bastard signs of fair were born. 
Or durst inhabit on a livinfj brow ; 
Before the golden tresses of the dead, 
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, 
To live a second life on second head ; 
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: 
In him those holy antique hours are seen, 
AVitliout all ornament, itself and true, 
flaking no suuuner of another's green, 
lloljliing no old to dress his beauty new; 
And him as for a map doth Nature store. 
To show false Art what beauty was of yore. 
bo-k 



Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view 
Want notliing that the thought of hearts can mt nd ; 
All tongues, tlie voice of souls, give thee that due. 
Uttering bare trutli, even so as foes commend. 
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown 'd ; 
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own 
In other accents do this praise confound 
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. 
They look into the beauty of thy mind. 
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; 
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their ejes 

were kind. 
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: 
But why tliy odour matcheth not thy show. 
The solve is this, that thou dost common grow. 



That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, 
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; 
The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 
And thou present 'st a pure unstained prime. 
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, 
Either not assail'd or victor being charged; 
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise. 
To tie up envy evermore enlarged: 
If some siisjiect of ill niask'd not thy show. 
Then thou i.loue kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. 



No longer mourn for me when I anvdead 
Tluni you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: 
Nay, if you read tliis line, remember not 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
O, if, I say, you look upon tliis verse 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay. 
Do not so mucli as my poor name rehearse. 
But let your love even witli my life decay. 
Lest the wise world should look into your moan 
And mock you with me after I am gone. 



O, lest the world should task j'ou to recite 
What merit lived in me, that you should love 
After my death, dear love, forget me quite, 
For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; 
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, 
To do more for me than mine own desert. 
And l)ang more praise ujiou deceased I 
Than niggard truth would v/illingly impart: 
O, lest your true love may seem false in this. 
That you for love speak v\ell of me untrue, 
My name be buried where my body is, 
And live no more to shame nor me nor you. 
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth. 
And so should you, to love things nothing worth. 



That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
AVhen yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 
Bare ruiu'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang 
In me thou seest tlie twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west. 
Which by and by lilack niglit doth take away, 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 



SONNETS. 



As the death-bed whereon it must expire 
Consuiued witli that which it wiis iiourish'd by. 

This thou perceivest, wliich makes thy love more 
strong. 

To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 



But be contented : when tliat fell arrest 
Without all bail shall carry me away. 
My life liath in tliis line some interest, 
AVhich for memorial still with thee shall stay. 
When tli(.)u reviewest this, thou dost review 
The very part was consecrate to thee : 
The earth can have but earth, which is his due; 
My spirit is thine, the better part of me : 
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, 
The prey of worms, my body being dead. 
The coward conquest of a wretch's kuife, 
Too base of thee to be remembered. 
The worth of that is that which it contains. 
And that is this, and this with thee remains. 



So are you to my thoughts as food to life, 

Or as sweet-season 'd showers are to the ground ; 

And for the peace of you I hold such strife 

As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is fomid; 

Now proud as an enjoyer and anon 

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, 

Now counting best to be with you alone, 

Then better'tl that the world may see my pleasure; 

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight 

And by and l)y clean starved for a look ; 

Possessing or pursuing no delight, 

Save what is had or must from you be took. 

Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, 

Or gluttouiug on all, or all away. 



Why is my verse so barren of new pride, 
So far from variation or quick change y 
Why witli the time do I not glance aside 
To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? 
AVliy write I still all one, ever the same, 
And keeii invention in a noted weed. 
That every word doth almost tell my name. 
Showing their birth and where they did proceed ? 
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you. 
And you ami love are still my argument; 
So all my liest is dressing old words new, 
Spending again what is ah-eady spent: 
For as tlie sun is daily new and old. 
So is my love still telling what is told. 



Tliy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, 
Tliy dial how tliy precious minutes waste; 
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear. 
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. 
The wrinkles wliich thy glass will truly show 
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ; 
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know 
Time's tliievish progress to eternity. 
Ijook, what thy memory can not contain 
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shall find 
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain, 
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, 
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. 



So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, 

And found such fair assistance in my verse, 

As every alien pen hath got my use. 

And under tliee their poesy disperse. 

Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing, 

And heavy iguorauce aloft to Hy, 



Have added feathers to the learned's wing, 
And given grace a double majesty. 
Yet be most proud of that wliich I compile. 
Whose influence is thine and born of thee : 
In others' works thou dost but mend the style, 
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ; 
But thou art all my art and dost advance 
As liigh as learning my rude iguorauce. 



Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, 
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace. 
But now my gracious nundjers are decay'd 
And my sick Muse dotli give another place. 
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, 
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent 
He robs thee of and pays it thee again. 
He lends thee virtue and he -stole that word 
From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give 
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford 
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 

Then thank him not for that which he doth 
sav, 

Smce what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. 



O, how I faint when I of you do write. 
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name. 
And in the praise thereof spends all his might. 
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your tame ! 
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, 
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
My saucy bark inferior far to his 
On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat. 
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; 
Or, lifing wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, 
He of tall buikUng and of goodly pride: 
Then if he thrive and 1 be cast away. 
The worst was this ; my love was my decay. 



Or I shall live your epitaph to make. 
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten ; 
From hence your memory death cannot take, 
Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
Your name from hence immortal life shall have, 
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: 
Tlie earth can yield me but a common grave. 
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
Your monument shall be my gentle verse. 
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read. 
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse 
When all the breathers of this world are dead; 
You still shall live — such virtue hatli my pen — 
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths 
of men. 

LXXXII. 

I grant thou wert not married to my Muse 
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook 
The dedicated words wliicli writers use 
Of their fair sul)ject, blessing every book. 
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue. 
Finding tliy worth a limit past my praise, 
And therefore art enforced to seek anew 
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
And do so, love; yet when they have devised 
What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized 
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend; 
And their gross painting might be lietter usc<l 
Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abused. 

LXXXIII. 

I never saw that you did painting need 
And therefore to your fair no painting set: 
too 



SONNETS. 



I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
Tlie barren tender of a poet's debt; 
And therefore have I slept in your report. 
That you yourself being extaut well might show 
How far a modern quill doth come too short, 
S])eakiiig of wortli, what worth in you doth grow. 
This silence for my sin you did impute, 
Wliieh sliall be most my glory, being dumb; 
For I impair not beauty being mute, 
Wlien otliers would give life and bring a tomb. 
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes 
Than both your poets can in praise devise. 



Wlio is it that says most ? which can say more 
Than this ricli praise, that you alone are youV 
In Whose confine immured is the store 
Which should example where your equal grew. 
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell 
Tliat to his subject lends not some small glory ; 
Bat he that writes of you, if he can tell 
Tliat you are you, so dignifies his storj^, 
Let him but copy what in you is writ, 
Not making worse what natiu'e made so clear, 
And such a counterpart sliall fame liis wit, 
Making his style achninMl every wliere. 

You to your lieautedus blessings aild a curse. 
Being fond on praise, whieli makes your praises 
worse. 

LXXXV. 

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, 
While comments of your praise, richly compiled. 
Reserve their character witli golden quill 
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. 
I think good tliouglits whilst otlier write good words. 
And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen ' 
To every hymn that able spirit affords 
In polish'd form of well-refined pen. 
Hearing you praised, I say ' 'Tis so, 'tis true,' 
And to the most of praise aild something more; 
But that is in my thought , wliose leve to you, 
Though words come liinilni(ist,lioliis his rank before. 
Then others for the breath of words respect, 
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 



Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, 
Bound for the prize of all too ]irecious you, 
That did my ripe tliouglits in my brain inhearse. 
Making their tmub the womb wherein they grew? 
Was it his sjiirit, liy spirits taught to write 
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ? 
No, neither lie, nor his compeers by night 
Giving liim aid, my verse astonished. 
He, nor that affable familiar ghost 
AVIiieh nightly gulls him with intelligence, 
As victors of my silence cannot boast; 
I was not sick of any fear from thence: 
But when your countenance filPd up his line, 
Then lack'd 1 matter; that enfeebled mine. 



Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; 
My bonds in tliee are all determinate. 
For how do I bold thee but by thy granting? 
And for that riches where is my deserving ? 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting. 
And so my patent back again is swerving. 
Thyself tliou gavest, thy own worth then uot know- 

Or me, to whom thou gaA-est it, else mistaking; 
So thy great gift, ujion ini-|n ision growing. 
Conies home again, cm belter judgment making. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter. 
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. 
856 



Lxxxviir. 

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light 
And place my merit in the eye of scorn, 
Upon thy side against myself I "11 liglil 
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. 
With mine own weakness being best acquainted. 
Upon thy part I can set down a story 
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted. 
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory : 
And I by this will be a gainer too ; 
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, 
The injuries that to myself I do. 
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 
Such is my love, to thee I so belong. 
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. 



Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, 
And I will comment upon that offence ; 
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, 
Against thy reasons making no defence. 
Tliou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, 
To set a form upon desired change. 
As I 'U myself disgrace : knowing thy will, 
I will acquaintance strangle and lo<ik straiige. 
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue 
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell. 
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong 
And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
For thee against myself I '11 vow debate. 
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 

xc. 
Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; 
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross. 
Join with the spite of fortime, make me "bow. 
And do not drop in for an after-loss : 
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow. 
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 
To linger out a purposed overthrow. 
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 
"When other petty griefs have done their spite. 
But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 
At first the very worst of fortune's might. 
And other strains of woe, w'hich now seem woe, 
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. 



Some glory in their birth, some in their skill. 
Some in their wealtli, smne in their bodies' foi'ce. 
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, 
Some in their hawks and hounds, .some in their 

horse ; 
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure. 
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest : 
But these i>articulars are not my measure ; 
All these I better in one general best. 
Thy love is better than high birth to me, 
Kicher than wealth, proudei- than garments' cost, 
Of more delight than luiwks or horses be ; 
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast: 
Wretclied in this alone, that thou mayst take 
All this away and me most wretched make. 



But do thy worst to steal thyself away. 
For term of life thou art assured mine. 
And life no longer than thy love will stay. 
For it depends upon that love of thine. 
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, 
AV^hen in the least of them my life hath end. 
I see a better state to me belongs 
Than that which on thy humour doth depend; 
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind. 
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 



SONNJETK 



O, what a happy title do I find, 
Happy to have tliy love, happy to die I 
But what 's so blessed-fair tliat fears no blot V 
Thou mayst be false, aud yet 1 Iviiow it not. 



So shall I live, supposing thou art triie, 
Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; 
Thy looks with me, thy lieart in other place : 
For there can live no hatred in thine eye. 
Therefore in that I cannot know tliy change. 
In many's looks the false heart's history 
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange. 
But lieaven in thy creation did decree 
Tliat in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; 
Wliate'er tliy thoughts or thy heart's workings be, 
Thy loolcs should nothing thence but sweetness 
tell. 
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, 
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show ! 



Tliey that have power to hurt and will do none, 
Tliat do not do the thing they most do show, 
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, 
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces 
And liiisbaiid nature's riches from expense; 
Tliey are the lords and owners of their faces, 
Others but stewards of their excellence. 
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 
Though to itself it only live and die. 
But if that flower with base infection meet, 
The basest weed outbraves his dignity: 

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 



How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
Uoth spot the beauty of thy budding name! 
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! 
That tongue that tells the story of thy days, 
Making lascivious comments on thy sport. 
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; 
Naming thy name blesses an ill, report. 
O, what a mansion have those vices got 
■\Vhieh for their habitation chose out thee, 
Where bfauty's veil doth cover every blot. 
And all tilings turn to fair that eyes" can see! 

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ; 

The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. 

xcvi. 

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; 
.Some say tliy grace is youth and gentle sport; 
Both grai-i- and faults are loved of more and less; 
Thou uKikrst faults graces that to thee resort. 
As on the linger of a throned queen 
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd, 
So are those errors that in thee are seen 
To truths translated and for true things deem'd. 
•How many lamlis miglit the stern wolf betray, 
If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
How many gazers mightst thou lead away, 
Ifthou wouldst use the strength of all thy state ! 
But do not so; I love thee in such sort 
As, thou being mme, mine is thy good report. 

XC\"II. 

How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! 
What old December's bareness every where ! 
And yet this time remov-ed was summer's time. 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 



Bearing the wanton burden of the i)rime. 
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: 
Yet this abundant issue seeni'd to me 
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; ' 
Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer 
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near. 



From you have T been absent in the spring. 
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim 
Hath put a spirit of youtli in every thing, 
Tliat heavy Saturn laugh 'd and leap'd witli liim. 
Yet nor the lays of liirds nor the sweet smell 
Of different flowers in odour and in hue 
Could make me any summer's story tell, [grew ; 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, 
Xor praise the deep verniilion in the rose; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
Drawn after you, ymi pattern of all those. 
Yet seem'd" it winter si ill, and, you away. 
As with your shadow I with these did play: 



The forward violet thus did I chide : [smells, 

Sweet thief, wlience didst thou steal thy sweet that 
If not from my love's l.ireath '^ The jiurple pride 
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells 
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand. 
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair : 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand. 
One blushing shame, another white despair; 
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both. 
And to his robbery had annex 'd thy breath ; 
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see 
But sweet or colour it had stol'u from thee. 



Where art thou. Muse, that thou forget 'st so long 
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might ':' 
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, _ 
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? 
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
In gentle numbers time so idly spent; 
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem 
Anil gives thy pen both skill and argument. 
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, 
If Time have any wrinkle graven there; 
If any, be a satire to decay. 
And make Time's spoils despised every where. 

Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life; 

So thou prevent 'st his scythe aud crooked knife. 



O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends 
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed V 
Both truthand beauty on my love depends; 
So dost thou too, and therein dignified. 
Make answer. Muse: wilt thou not haply say 
' Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd; 
Beauty no pencil, beauty's trutii to lay; 
But best is best, if never intermix'd ? ' 
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb ? 
Exctise not silence so; for 't lies in thee 
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb. 
And to be praised of ages yet to be. 
Then do tliv otlice. Muse; I teach thee how 
To make him seem long hence as he shows now. 



My love is strengthen 'd, though more weak in seem- , 

I love not less, though less the show appear : [ing ; 

857 



SONNETS. 



Tliat love is merchaiKlized whose rich esteeming 
The owner's tongne doth pnlilisli every where. 
Our love was new and tlien lint in tlie spring 
"Wlii'ii I was wont to gi'eet it with my lays, 
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing 
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days : 
Kot that the summer is less pleasant now 
Than when her mournful liymns did hush the 

night, 
But tliat wild music burtliens every bough 
And sw^eets grown common lose tlieir dear delight. 
Therefore like her I sometime hold iHy tongne. 
Because I would not dull you with my song. 



Alack, what poverty my liluse brings forth, 
That having such a scope to show her pride. 
The argument all bare is of more worth 
Than when it hath my added praise beside! 
(J, blame me not, if I no more can write! 
Look in your glass, and there appears a face 
That over-goes my blunt invention quite. 
Dulling my lines and doing nie disgrace. 
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, 
To mar the subject that before was well V 
For to no other pass my verses tend 
Thau of your graces and your gifts to tell ; 
And more, nmcli more, than in my verse can sit 
Your own glass shows you when you look in it. 



• To me, fair friend, you never can be old. 
For as you were when first your eye I eyed. 
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 
Have from the foi'ests shook three summers' pride. 
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
lii process of the seasons iiave I seen. 
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
.Since lirst I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand. 
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived ; 
So your sweet hue, which methinks st ill doth stand. 
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived : 
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; 
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 



Let not my love be call'd idolatry. 
Nor my beloved as an idol show," 
Since all alike my songs and praises be 
To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 
Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 
Therefore my verse to constancy confined. 
One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
'Fair, kind, ami true' is all my argument, 
'Fair, kind, and true' varying to other words; 
And in this change is my invention spent. 
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. 
' Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived alone, 
Which three till now never kept seat in one. 

cvi. 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see desri'iptions of the fairest viights, 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
In iiraise of ladies dead and lovely knights, 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's Ijest, 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of Iti-ow, 
I see tlieir antique pen would have express'd 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are iiul iiropliecies 
Of this our time, all you pretignring; 
And, for they lookM liut with divining eyes, 
They Iiad not skill enough your worth to sing: 
For we, which now behold these present days. 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
858 



Xot mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, 
Can yet the lease of my true love control. 
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. 
The mortal moon hath her ecliiise endured 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage; 
Incertainties now crown themselves assured 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, 
Since, spite of him, I '11 live in this poor rhyme, 
While Jie insults o'er dull and sjieecldess tribes: 
And thou in this slialt find thy monument. 
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. 



What 's in the brain tb.at ink may character 
Which hath not figured to thee my true siiirit ? 
What 's new to speak, what new to register, 
That may express my love or tliy deai'merit ? 
Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine, 
I must eacli day say o'er the very same. 
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
Even as when first I liallow'd thy fair name. 
So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, 
But makes antiquity for aye liis page. 
Finding the first conceit of love there bred 
Where time and outward form would show it dead. 



O, never say that I was false of heart, 
Though absence seem'd my fiame to qualify. 
As easy might I from myself depart 
As from my soul, which in thy breast dotli lie : 
That is my home of love: if I have ranged, 
Like him tliat travels I return again, 
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; 
For nothing this wide universe I call, 
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all. 



Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there 

And made myself a motley to the view. 

Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most 

dear, 
Made old offences of affections new; 
Most true It is that I have look'd on truth 
Askance and strangely: but, by all above. 
These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
And worse essays proved thee my best of love. 
Now all is done, have what shall liave no end: 
Mine appetite I never more will grind 
On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
A god in love, to whom I am confined. 
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, 
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 



O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide. 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds. 
That did not lietter for my life provide 
Than imblic means which public manners breeds. 
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
And almost thence my natm'e is subdued 
To what it wcsrks in, like the dyer's liand: 
Pity me then and wish I were renew'd ; 
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection; 



SONNETS. 



No bitterness that I will bitter tliiiik, 
Nor double penance, to correct correction. 
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye 
Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 

CXII. 

Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
AV'hich vulgar scandal stamp'd ui)on my brow; 
For vi-hat care I who calls me v/ell or ill, 
So you o'er-greeu my bad, my good allows 
You are my all the world, aiid I must strive 
To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
None else to me, nor I to none alive. 
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong. 
In so profound abysm I throw all care 
Of otliers' voices, that my adder's sense 
To critic and to llatterer stopped are. 
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense : 
You are so strongly in my purpose bred 
That all the world besides methinks are dead. 



Since I left you, mine ej^e is in my mind ; 
And that wliich governs me to go about 
Doth part his function and is partly blind, 
Seems seeing, but effectually is out ; 
For it no form delivers to the heart 
Of bird, of llower, or shape, wliich it doth latch: 
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part. 
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; 
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight, 
Tlie most sweet favour ordeformed'st creature, 
The mountain or the sea, the day or night. 
The crow or dove, it sliai)es them to your feature: 
Incapable of more, replete with you, 
ily most true mijid thus makes mine eye untrue. 



Or whether doth my mind, being crown 'd with you, 
Drink up the monarch"s plague, tliis flattery 'i 
Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, 
And that your love taught it this alchemy, 
To make of monsters and things indigest 
Sucli cherubins as your sweet self resemble, 
Creating every bad" a perfect best, 
As fast as objects to his beams assemble ? 
O, 't is the first ; 't is flattery in my seeing, 
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: 
Mine eye well knows wliat with his gust is 'greeing, 
Ami to his palate doth prepare the cup: 
If it be poisou'd, 't is the lesser sin 
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. 

cxv. 

Those lines that I liefore have writ do lie, 
Even tliose tliat said I could not love you dearer: 
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 
]\Iy must full flame sliould afterwards burn clearer. 
Hut rt-c-koniug time, whose million'd accidents 
Cr: ep in "twixt vows and change decrees of kings. 
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents. 
Divert strong niiuds to the course of altering 

things; 
•Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny. 
Might I not then say ' Now I love you best,' 
When I was certain o'er iucertainty. 
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ? 
Love is a babe; then might I not say so. 
To give full growth to that which still doth grow? 

cxvi. 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit iuipedinu'uts. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds. 
Or bends with the remover to remove : 
O, nol it is an ever-fixed mark 
That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 



It is the star to every wandering bark, 

Whose worth 's unknown, although kis height be 

taken. 
Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
But beiirs it out even to the edge of doom. 
If this be error and upon me proved, 
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 



Accuse me thus : that I have scanted nil 
Wherein I should your great-deserts repay, 
Forgot upon your "dearest love to call. 
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; 
That I have frequent been with unknown minds 
And given to time your own dear-purchased right; 
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
Which should transport me farthest from j'our sight. 
Book both my wilfulness and errors down 
And on just proof surmise accumulate; 
Bring me within the level of your frown. 
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate ; 
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove 
The constancy and virtue of your love. 



Like as, to make our appetites more keen, 
Witli eager compounds we our palate urge, 
As, to prevent our maladies unseen. 
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge. 
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, 
To bitter sauces did l"frame my feeding 
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness 
To be diseased ere that there was true needing. 
Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured 
And brought to medicine a healthful state 
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured : 
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, 
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 

cxix. 
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, 
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within. 
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears, 
Still losing when I saw myself to win ! 
AVhat wretched errors hath my heart committed. 
Whilst it hath thought itsrlf so blessed never! 
How have mine eyrs out of thrir spheres been fitted 
In the distraction of lliis madding fever I 
O benefit of ill ! now I find true 
That better is by evil still made better; 
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, 
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
So I return rebuked to my content 
And gain by ill thrice more than I Lave spent. 



That you were once unkind befriends me now, 
And for that sorrow which I then did feel 
Needs must I under my transgression bow, 
Uuless my nerves were" brass or hannner'd steel. 
For if you were by my uid^indness shaken 
As I by yours, you 've pass'd a hell of time, 
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure tidien 
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 
O, that our night of woe might have remember'd 
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, 
And soon to you, as }"ou to me, then tciider'd 
The humble salve which wounded Ik.miihs ills! 
But that your trespass now becniins a tec : 
Miue ransoms yours, aud yours umst ransom me. 

CXXI. 

'T is better to be vile than vile esteem'd, 
AVheu not to be receives reproach of being, 
859 



soni^i:ts. 



And tlie just pleasure lost which is so deem'd 

Not by our feeling but by others' seeing : 

For why should others' false adulterate eyes 

(iive salutation to my sportive blood ? 

< )r on my frailties why are frailer spies, 

Which in their wills count bad what I think good? 

'No, I am that I am, ajul they that level 

At my abuses reckon up their (jwn: 

I may be straight, though they tiiemselves be bevel; 

Uy their rank tliouglits my ih'cds must not be shown; 
Unless tills general evil they maintain. 
All men are bad, and in tlieir badness reign. 

cxxir. 

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain 
Full rharai'ferM with lasting memory, 
Whii-h shall above that idle rank remain 
Beyonil all date, even to eternity; 
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart 
Have faculty by nature to subsist ; 
Till each to razed oblivion .yield his part 
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
Tliat poor retention .could not so much hold, 
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ; 
Therefore to give tliern from me was I bold, 
To trust those tallies that receive thee more: 

To keep an adjunct to remember thee 

Were to import forgetfulness in me. 



No, Time, thou slialt not boast that T do change: 

Thy pyramids built up witli newer might 

To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; 

They are but dressings of a former sight. 

Our dates are brief, and therefore we' admire 

What thou dost foist upon us that is old. 

And rather make them born to our desire 

Than think tliat we before have lieard them told. 

Thy registers and thee 1 both defy. 

Not wondering at the present nor the past, 

For thy records and whal; we see doth lie, 

Made more or less by thy continual liaste. 

This I do vow and this shall ever be; 

I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. 



If my dear love were but the child of state, 
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd. 
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, 
AVeeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gath- 
er 'd. 
No, it was builileil far from accident ; 
It suffers not in smiling pump, nor falls 
Under the blow of thralled discontent, 
AVhereto the inviting time our fashion calls: 
It fears not pidicy, that heretic, 
Whicli works on leases of short-number'd hours. 
But all alone stands hugely politic, [showers. 

That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with 
To this I witness call the fools of time, 
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. 



Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy, 
"With my extern the outward honouring, 
Or laid great bases for eternity, 
Which prove more short than waste or ruining? 
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, 
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour. 
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing siient V 
No, let me be olisequious in thy heart. 
And take thou my oblation, poor but free, 
AVnucli is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art. 
But mutual render, only me fur thee. 

Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a time soul 
i. When most impeach'd stands least iu thy control. 
860 



O tliou, my lovely boy, who in tliy power 
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; 
AVIio hast by waning grown, and therein show'st 
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st ; 
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack. 
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, 
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her sl;ill 
j\Iay time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. 
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure ! 
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure: 
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, 
And her quietus is to render thee. 



In the old age black was not coxnited fair. 
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; 
But now is black beauty's successive heir. 
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame: 
For since each hand hath put on nature's power, 
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face, 
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower. 
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. 
Therefoi'e my mistress' brows are raven black, 
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem 
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, 
Slandering creation with a false esteem : 
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe. 
That every tongue says beauty should look so. 



How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, 
Ujion that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds. 
Do I envy those jacks that nind)le leap 
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, 
Whilst my poor li]is, which should tliat harvest reap, 
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand I 
To be so tickled, they would change their state 
And situation with those dancing chips. 
O'er whom thy lingers walk with gentle gait. 
Making dead wooil more blest than living lips. 
Since saury jacks so happy are iu this. 
Give them tiiy Angers, me thy lips to kiss. 



The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
Is lust in action ; and till action, lust 
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust. 
Enjoy 'd no sooner but despised straight, 
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had 
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait 
On puriiose laid to make the taker mad; 
Mad in pursuit and in possession so; 
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; 
A bliss in proof, and pro\'ed, a very woe ; 
Before, a joy proi)osed ; behind, a dream. [well 

All tliis the world well knows ; yet none knows 
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 



My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; 
Cciral is far more red than her lips' red ; 
If snow be while, why then her breasts are dun; 
If hairs be wires. Mack wires grow on her head. 
I have seen roses damask 'd, red and white, 
But no such roses see I in her cheeks; 
And in some perfumes is there more delight 
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 
I love to hear lier speak, yet well I know 
That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; 



SONNETS. 



I grant I never saw a goddess go ; 

My mistress, when slie walks, treads on the 
ground : 
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare 
As any she belied with false compare. 



Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, 
As those whose beauties proudly make them rruel; 
For well tliou know'st to my dear doting lieart 
Thou art the fairest and most preeimis jewt'l. 
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold 
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan : 
To say they err I dare not be so bold, 
Although I swear it to myself alone. 
And, to be sure that is not false I swear, 
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 
One on another's neck, do witness bear 
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. 
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, 
And thence this slander, as I think, "proceeds. 



Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me. 
Knowing tliy heart torments me with ilisdain, 
Have put on black and loving monrners be, 
Ijooking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, 
Nor that fidl star that ushers in the even 
Doth half that glory to the sober west, 
As those two mourning eyes become thy face : 
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart 
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, 
And suit thy pity like in every part. 
Tlien will I swear beauty herself is black 
And all tliey foul that thy complexion lack. 



Besln-ew that heart that makes my heart to groan 
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me I 
Is 't not enough to torture me alone, 
But slave to slavery my svveet'st friend must be'? 
Me from myself thy cruel eye hatli taken, 
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd : 
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken; 
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd. 
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward. 
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail ; 
^V'hoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; 
Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : 
And yet thou wilt; for-I, being pent in thee, 
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 

cxxxiv. 
So, now I have confess 'd that he is thine, 
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, 
Myself I "11 forfeit, so that other niine 
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still : 
But tliou wilt not, nor he will not be free. 
For thou art covetous and he is kind ; 
He learn'd but surety-like to write for me 
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
' The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take. 
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use. 
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake ; 
So him I lose through my unkind abuse. 
Hun have I lost; thou hast both him and me: 
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. 



Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy ' Will,' 
And ' Will ' to boot, and ' AV^ill ' in ovcriiliis; 
More than enough am I tliat vex thee still, 
To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, 
Kot once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? 



Shall will in others seem right gracious, 
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? 
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still 
And in abundance addeth to his store ; 
So thou, being rich in ' Will,' adtl to thy ' Will ' 
One will of mine, to make thy large ' Will ' more. 
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill : 
Think all but one, and me in that one ' Will.' 



If thy soul check thee that I come so near. 
Swear to thy blind soul that I was'thy ' Will,' 
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted tliere; 
Thus far forlove my love-suit, sweet, fuUil. 
' Will ' will fullil the treasure of thy love. 
Ay, till it full with wills, and my will one. 
In things of great receipt with ease we prove 
Among a number one is reckon 'd none : 
Then in the number let me pass untold, 
Though in thy stores' account I one must be; 
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee : 
-Malve l)ut my name thy love, and love that still, 
And then thou lovest ine, for my name is ' Will.' 



Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mine ej'es, 
That they belidld, arid see not what they see? 
They know what beauty is, see where it lies, 
Yet what the best is take tlie worst to be. 
If eyes corrupt by over-partial hioks 
Be anchor'd in the bay where all me}! ride. 
Why of eyes' falsehood hast tlidu t'nrgrd liooks, 
Whereto tlie juilgmcnt of my heart is tieil V 
Why should my lieart tliink that a several plot 
Which my heart knows the wide world's common 
Ov mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, [place i* 
To put fair truth upon so foul a face? 
In things right true my heart and eyes have eiTed, 
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. 

CXXXVIII. 

When my love swears that she is made of truth 
I do believe her, though I know she lies. 
That she might think me some uiitnlor'd youth. 
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. 
Thus vainly thinking tliat slie tliinks me young, 
Altliough she knows my days iirc past the b'est, 
Simply 1 credit her false-siieaking tongue : 
On both sides thus is sinijile trutli su]ipress'd. 
But wherefore says she not she is unjust? 
And wherefore say not I that I am old ? 
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust. 
And age in love loves not to have years told: 
Therefore I lie with her and she with me, 
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 

CXXXIX. 

O, call not me to justify the wrong 
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; 
Wound me not with thine eye Iml with thy tongue; 
Use power with power and slay me not by art. 
Tel! me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight, 
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eje aside : 
What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy 

might 
Is more tlian my o'er-press'd defence can bide ? 
Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies. 
And therefore from my face slie turns my foes. 
That they elsewhere miglit dart their injuries: 
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, 
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain. 



Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press 
My tongue-tied patience with too nmch disdain; 
861 



SOj^I^UTS. 



Lest sorrow leiul me words and words express 
The maiiuer of my pity-wanting pain. 
If I miglit teacli tliee wit, better it were, 
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell nie so; 
As testy sick men' when their deaths be near. 
No news but health from their physicians know ; 
For if I should des|iair, I should grow mad, 
And in my madness might speak ill of thee: 
Kow this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, 
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. 
That I may not be so, nor thou belied. 
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart 
go wide. 

CXLI. 

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, 
For they in thee a thousand enurs note"; 
But 't is my heart tliat loves what they despise, 
AVho in despite of view is pleased to dote ; 
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune de- 
lighted. 
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, 
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited 
To any sensual feast with thee alone: 
But my five wits nor my live senses can 
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, 
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man. 
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: 
Only my plague thus far I count my gain. 
That she that makes me sin awards me pain. 



Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate, 
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving : 
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, 
And tliou Shalt find it merits not reproving ; 
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, 
That have jirofaned their scarlet ornaments 
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, 
liolib'd otiiers' beds' revenues of their rents. 
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those 
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee: 
Boot pity in thy heart, that when it grows 
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. 
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, 
By self-example mayst thou be denied ! 



Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch 
One of jier feather'd creatures broke away, 
Sets down licr babe and makes all swift dispatch 
In pursuit of the tiling she would have stay, 
Wliilst her neglected cliilil iidlds her in chase, 
Cries to cati-li hrr wliosc liusy care is bent 
To follow that wliich Hies be'fcire her face, 
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; 
80 runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, 
Wliilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; 
But if thou catch thy Impe, turn back to me. 
And play tlie nidtlier's i)art, kiss me, be kind: 
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy ' Will,' 
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 



Two loves I have of comfort and despair, 
AVhicli like two spirits do suggest me still: 
The better angel is a man right fair. 
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. 
To will me sijoii to hell, my female evil 
Temptelh my better angel from my side. 
And would coirnpt my saint to be a devil, 
Wooing his purity with ]icr foul jiride. 
And wliellier that my angel be tunrd fiend 
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; 
But being both from me, both to each friend, 
I guess one angel in another's hell : 
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 
862 



Tliose lips that Love's own liand did make 
Breathed fortli the sound that said 'I hate' 
To me that languislTd tor lier sake; 
But when she saw my woeful state. 
Straight in her heart did mercy come, 
Cliiding that tongue that ever sweet 
Was used in giving gentle doom, 
And taught it thus anew to greet; 
' I hate ' she alter'd with an end, 
That follow'd it as gentle day 
Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
From heaven to hell is fiown away; 
'I hate' from hate away she threw, 
And saved my life, saying 'not you.' 



Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
.... these rebel powers that thee array. 
Why dost thou jiine within and suffer dearth, 
Painting thy outward -wall so costly gay ? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
Sliall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ? 
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more: 
So Shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, 
And Death once dead, there 's no more dying then. 

CXLVII. 

My love is as a fever, longing still 

For that which longer nurseth the disease, 

Feeding on that wliich doth preserve the ill, 

The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 

My reason, the physician to my love. 

Angry that his preseri|itioiis an^ not kept, 

Hath left me. and I desiierate now approve 

Desire is deatli, wliicli physii- did except. 

Past Clue 1 ain, now reason is past care. 

And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; 

My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, 

At random from the truth vainly express'd ; 

For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee 
bright. 

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 



O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head, 
Which have no correspondence with true sight 1 
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, 
That censures falsely what tliey see ariglit? 
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote. 
What means the world to say it is not so 'i* 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's ' No.' 
How can it ? O, how can Love's eye be true. 
That is so vex'd with wati'liing and with tears? 
No marvel then, though 1 niistahe my view; 
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. [blind, 
O cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me 
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 



Canst thou, O cruel! say 1 love thee not, 
When I against myself with thee partake ? 
Do I not think on thee, when I fcn'got 
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake ? 
Who hateth thee tllat I do call my friend? 
On whom frown "st thou that I do fawn upon? 
Nay, if tliou lour'st on nie, do I not spend 
Revenge upon myself with present moan ? 
What merit do I in myself respect. 
That is so proud thy service to despise, 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



When all my best doth worship thy defect, 
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? 

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; 

Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind. 



O, from what power hast thou this powerful might 
Witli insufficiency my heart to sway 't 
To make me give the lie to my true sight, 
And swear that brightness dolh not grace the day ? 
AVlitnce hast thou this becoming of things ill, 
Tliat in the very refuse of tliy deeds 
There is such strength and warrantise of skill 
That, in my mind, tliy worst all best exceeds ? 
"Wlio taught tliee how to make me love tliee more 
The more I hear and see just cause of hate V 
O, tliougli I love what others do abhor, 
AVith others thou shouldst not abhor my state: 
If thy unworthiness raised love in me, 
More woii,hy I to be beloved of thee. 



Love is too young to know what conscience is : 
Yet who knows liot conscience is born of love ? 
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss. 
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove : 
For, thou betraying me, I do betray 
>Iy nobler part to my gross body's treason; 
'My soul dnth tell my body that he may 
Triumph in love; Hesh stays no farther reason; 
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, 
He is contented thy poor drudge to be. 
To stand iu tliy affairs, fall b}'"thy side. 
No want of conscience hold it that I call 
Her ' love ' for whose dear love I rise and fall. 



In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, 
But tliou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing, 
In act thy Ijed-vow broke and new faith torn 
In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
But wliy of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
AVhen I break twenty ? I am perjured most ; 



For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee 
And all my honest faith in thee is lost. 
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness. 
Oaths of thy love, tliy trutli, thy constancy. 
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, 
Or made them swear against the thing they see; 
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured I, 
To swear against the truth so foul a lie 1 



Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep : 
A maid of liian's this advantage found. 
And his love-kindling hre did quickly steep 
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; 
AVhicli borrow'd from this lioly fire of Love 
A dateless lively heat, still to endure. 
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired. 
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired. 
And thither hied, a sad disteniper'd guest. 
But found no cure : the bath for my help lies 
"Where Cupid got new lire — my mistress' eyes. 



The little Love-god lying once asleep 
Laid by his sidehis heart-intlaming brand. 
"Whilst many n>nnplis that vow'd chaste life to keep 
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
The fairest votary took up that fire 
"Which many legions of true Iiearts had warm'd ; 
And so the general of hot desire 
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm 'd. 
This brand she quenched in a cool well by. 
Which from Love"s fire took heat perpetual. 
Growing a bath and healthful remedy 
For men diseased ; but I, my mistress' thrall. 
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, 
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 



A LOVERS COMPLAINT. 



From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 
A plaiiitful story from a sistering vale. 
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded. 
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale; 
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale. 
Tearing of papers, lireaking rings a-twain, 
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 

Upon her head a platted hive of straw. 
Which fortified her visage from the sun, 
" Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 
The carcass of a beauty spent and done : 
Time had not scythed all that youth begun, 
Xor youth all quit ; but, spite of heaven's fell rage. 
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. 

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne. 
Which on it had conceited characters, 
Laundering the silken figures in the brine 
Tliat season'd woe had pelleted in tears. 
And often reading what contents it liears ; 
As often shrieking undistinguisli'd woe. 
In clamours of all size, both high and low. 



Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride. 
As tliey did battery to the spheres intend ; 
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied 
To tlie orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend 
Their view- right on ; anon their gazes lend 
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd, 
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, 

Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride 

For some, untuck "d, descended her slieaved hat. 

Hanging her pale and pined cheek lieside ; 

Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, 

And true to bondage would not break from thence. 

Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 

A thousand favours from a maund she drew 
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet, 
AVhich one by one she in a river threw. 
Upon whose weeping margent she was set; 
Like usury, applying wet to wet. 
Or monarch's hands tliat let not bounty fall 
AVhere want cries some, but where excess begs all. 
863 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



Of folded schedules had she many a one, 
Which she perused, sish'd, tore, and gave the flood; 
Ciack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone, 
Bidding them find tlieir sepulchres in mud; 
Found vet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood, 
Witli sleided silk feat and affectedly 
Enswathed,andseard to curious secrecy. 

Tliese often bathed she in her fiuxive eyes, 

And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear; 

Cried 'O false lilood, tliou register of lies. 

What unapproved witness dost thou liear! 

Ink would liave seem \1 more black and damnedhere!' 

Tliis said, in top of rage the lines she rents, 

Big discontent so breaking their contents. 

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh — 

.Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 

Of court, of city, and had let go by 

Tlie swiftest hours, observed as they flevsr — 

Towards this affiicted fancy fastly drew. 

And, privileged by age, desires to know 

In brief tlie grounds and motives of her woe. 

.So slides he down upon his grained bat, 
And comely-distant sits he by lier side; 
When he again desires her, being sat. 
Her grievance with his liearing to divide : 
If that from him there may be aught applied 
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
'T is promised in the charity of age. 

' Father,' she says, ' though in me you behold 
The injury of many a blasting hour. 
Let it not tell your judgment I am old ; 
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power: 
I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 
Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied 
Love to myself and to no love beside. 

' But, woe is me ! too early I attended 

A youthful suit — it was to gain my grace — 

Of one by nature's outwards so commended, 

That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face: 

Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place ; 

And when in Iiis fair parts she did abide, 

.Slie was new lodged and newly deified. 

' His browny locks did hang in crooked curls; 
And every light occasion of the wind 
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
What 's sweet to do. to do will aptly find: 
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind. 
For on his visai;-e was in little drawn 
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn. 

' Small sliow of man was yet upon his chin ; 

His phcenix down began but to appear 

Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin 

Wliose liare (uit-braggM the web it seemVl to wear: 

Yet showM his visage by that cost more dear ; 

And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 

If best were as it was, or best without. 

' His qualities were beauteous as his form. 

For maiden-longued he was, and thereof free ; 

Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm 

As oft 't w ixt ^^ay and A]ii'il is to see, 

Wlien wnids I'reathe sweet, mindy though they be. 

His rudeness so with Ids authorized youth 

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 

' Well coidd he ride, and often men would say 
" That liorse his mettle from his rider takes: 
rriiUil of subjection, noble by the sway, 
AViiat rounds, wliat liounds,wliat course, what stophe 
And controversy hence a question takes, [makes ! " 
864 



Whether the horse by him became his deed. 
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 

' But quickly on this side the verdict went: 

His real habitude gave life and grace 

To appi'rtainiugs and to ornament, 

Accoin|)lisird in himself, not in his case: 

All aids, themselves made fairer by their jilace. 

Came for additions; yet their purposed trim 

Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him. 

' .So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
All kind of arguments and qiiestidn deep. 
All replication prompt, and reason strong. 
For his advantage still did wake and sleep: 
To make tlie weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 
He had the dialect and different skill, 
Catching all passions in his craft of will : 

' That he did in the general bosom reign 
Of young, of old; and sexesboth enchanted. 
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
In personal duty, following where he haunted : 
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted; 
And dialogued for him wliat he would say, 
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 

' Many there were that did his picture get, 

To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; 

Like fools that in th' imagination set 

The goodly objects which aliroad they find 

Of lands anil mansions, tlieirs in thought assign 'd; 

And labouring in moe jileasures to bestow them 

Thau the true gouty landlord which doth owe them : 

' So many have, that never tonch'd his hand, 
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.. 
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, 
And was my own fee-simple, not in part. 
What with his art in youth, and j'outh in art. 
Threw my affections in his cluirmed power. 
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower. 

' Yet did I not, as some my equals did. 

Demand of him, nor being desired yielded; 

Finding myself in honour so forbid, 

With safest distance I mine honour shielded: 

Experience for me many bulwarks budded 

Of proofs new-bleeding, which remainM the foil 

Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 

' But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent 

The destined ill she must herself assay V 

Or forced examples, 'gainst lier own content. 

To put the liy-past perils in her way? 

Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay; 

For when we rage, advice is often seen 

By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 

' Xor gives it satisfaction to our blood, 
That we must curb it ujmn others' proof; 
To be forliod the sweets lliat seem so good. 
For fear of harms that preacli in our iielKjof. 
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof! 
The one a palate hath that needs will taste. 
Though Eeason weep, and cry ''It is thy last." 

' For further I could say " This man 's untrue," 
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; 
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew. 
Saw how deceits were gilded in his sndling; 
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; 
Thought characters and words merely but art. 
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 

'And long upon these terms I held my city. 
Till thus he gan besiege me: "Gentle maid, 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, 
Aiid be not of my holy vows afraid : 
Tliat 's to ye sworn to none was ever said ; 
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto, 
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo. 

' " All my offences that abroad you see 

Are errors of the blood, none of the mind ; 

Love made them not: witli acture they may be. 

Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 

They sought their shame that so their shame did find ; 

And so much less of shame in me remains, 

By how much of me their reproach contains. 

' "Among the many that mine eyes have seen. 

Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd. 

Or my affection put to the smallest teen, 

Or any of my leisures ever charm'd : 

Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd; 

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine owti was free, 

And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy. 

' " Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent 

Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood ; [me, 

Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me 

Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 

In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood; 

Effects of terror and dear modesty, 

Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 

' " And, lo, behold these talents of their hair, 
With twisted metal amorously impleaeh'd, 
I liave received from many a several fair, 
Tlieir kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd, 
With the annexions of fair gems enricli'd. 
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 

' "The diamond, — why, 'twas beautiful and hard, 

Whereto his invised imiperties did tend; 

The deep-green enicralil, in whose fresh regard 

Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend; 

Tlie lieaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 

AVith ob.jecfs manifold: each several stone. 

With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan. 

' " Lo, all these trophies of affections hot. 
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender, 
Natiu-e hath cliarged me that I hoard them not, 
But yield them iip where I myself must render, 
That is, to you, my origin and ender; 
For these, of force, must your oblations be, 
Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 

' " O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand. 
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise^ 
Take all these similes to your own command, 
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise ; 
What me your minister, for yoii obeys. 
Works under you; and to your audit comes 
Their distract parcels in combined sums. 

' " Lo, tliis device was sent me from a nun. 
Or sister sanctified, of lioliest note ; 
Which late her noble suit in court did shun. 
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; 
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat. 
But kept cold distance, and did tlience remove, 
To spend her living in eternal love. 

' " But, O my sweet, what labour is 't to leave 
The tiling we have not, mastering what not strives. 
Playing the place which did no form receive. 
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves ?, 
She that her fame so to herself contrives. 
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight. 
And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 
55 



' " O, pardon me, in that my boast is true: 
The accident which brought me to her eye 
Upon the moment did her force subdue. 
And now she would the caged cloister fly : 
Religious love put out Religion's eye : 
Not to be tempted, would she be immured. 
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured. 

' " How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell ! 

The broken bosoms tliat to me belong 

Have emptied all their fountains in my well. 

And mine 1 pour your ocean all among : 

I strong o'er tliem, and you o'er me being strong, 

Must for your victory us all congest, 

As compound love to physic your cold breast. 

' " My parts had power to charm a sacred nun, 
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace. 
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun, 
All vows and consecrations giving place : 
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space, 
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, 
For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 

' " When thou impressest, what are precepts worth 
Of stale example 'i When thou wilt inflame. 
How coldly those impediments stand forth 
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame! 
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 

'gainst shame. 
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, 
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 

' " Now all these hearts that do on mine depend. 
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine; 
And supplicant their sighs to you extend. 
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine, 
Lending soft audience to my sweet design. 
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath 
That shall prefer and undertake my troth." 

'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount. 
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face; 
Each cheek a river running from a fount 
With brinish current downward flow'd apace : 
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace! 
AVho glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses 
That flame through water which their hue en- 
closes. 

' O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 

In the small orb of one particular tear ! 

But witli the inundation of the eyes 

Wliat rocky heart to water will liot wear? 

Wliat breast so cold that is not warmed here ? 

O cleft efliect ! cold modesty, liot wrath. 

Both fire from hence and chill extiucture hath. 

' For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft, 

Even there resolved my reason into tears ; 

There my white stole of chastity I daff'd. 

Shook olf my sober guards and civil fears ; 

Appear to him, as he to me ajipears. 

All melting; though our drops this difference 

bore. 
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 

' In him a plenitude of subtle matter. 

Applied to crtutels, all strange forms receives, 

Of l)urning blushes, or of weeping water. 

Or swooning jialeness; and he takes and leaves, 

In eitlii-r's aptness, as it Vtest deceives. 

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes. 

Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows: 

' That not a heart which in his level came 
Could 'scape the hail of liis all-hurting aim, 
865 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



Showing fair nature is botli kind and tame; 
And, veilM in tlieni, did win wliom lie would maim: 
Against the tiling he sought he would exclaim; 
"When he most buni'd in heart-wish'd luxury, 
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity. 

' Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 
The naked and concealed fiend he covered ; 
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place, 
Which like a clierubin above them hover'd. 
"Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd ? 



Ay me ! I fell ; and yet do question make 
"What I should do again for such a sake. 

'O, that infected moisture of his eye, 
O, that false lire which in his cheek so glow'd, 
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly, 
O, that sad breath his spongy lun^s bestow'd, 
O, all that borrowed motion seeming owed, 
"Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 
And new pervert a reconciled maidl ' 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
I do believe her, though I know she lies. 
That she might think me some untutor'd youth, 
"Unskilful in the world's false forgeries. 
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young. 
Although I know my years be past the best, 
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue, 
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest. 
But wherefore says my love that she is young ? 
And wherefore say not 1 that I am old 't 
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue. 
And age, in love, loves not to have years told. 
Tlierefore I '11 lie with love, and love with me, 
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be. 



Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, 
That like two spirits do suggest me still ; 
My better angel is a man right fair, 
:My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. 
To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
Ternpteth my better angel from my side, 
And would corrupt niysaint to be a devil, 
Wooing his purity with her fair pride. 
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell : 
For being both to me, both to each friend, 
I guess one angel in another's hell ; 
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt. 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 



Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument, 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
Vows for thee broke deserve not iiunishment. 
A woman 1 forswore ; but I will prove, 
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
Thy grace being gaia'd cures all disgrace in me. 
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; 
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine. 
Exhale this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 
It broken, then it is no faidt of mine. 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
To break an oath to win a paradise 'r' 



Sweet Cytlierea, sitting by a brook 
AVith young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, 
Did court the lad with many a lovely look. 
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 
866 



She told him stories to delight his ear ; 

She show'd him favours to allure his eye ; 

To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there, — 

Touches so soft still conquer chastity. 

But whether unripe years did want conceit. 

Or he refused to take her figured proffer. 

The tender nibbler would not touch the bait. 

But smile and jest at every gentle offer : 

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward ; 

He rose and ran away; ah, fool too frowardl 



If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to 
love y 

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd : 

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 constant 
prove ; 

Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers 
bow'd. 

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes. 

Where all those pleasures live that art cau compre- 
hend. 

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suf- 
fice; 

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee com- 
mend ; 

AU ignorant that soul that sees thee without 
wonder ; 

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire : 

Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 
dreadful thunder. 

Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. 
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, 
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly 
tongue. 

VI. 

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn. 
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade. 
When Cytlierea, all in love forlorn, 
A longing tarriance for Adonis made 
Under an osier growing by a brook, 
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen : 
Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look 
For his approach, that often there had been. 
Anon he conies, and tlirows his mantle by. 
And stdod stark naked on the brook's green brim : 
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye. 
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him. 
He, spying her, bounced in, whereas he stood : 
' O Jove,' quoth she, ' why was not I a flood 1 ' 



Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle ; 
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; 



THE PASSIONATE PILQRUL 



Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle; 

Softer tlian wax, and yet, as iron, rusty: 
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her, 
JS^one fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 

Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, 

Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing ! 

How many tales to please me hath she coin'd. 

Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing I 
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings. 
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were 
jestings. 

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth ; 

She burn'd out love, as soon as straw out-burneth ; 

She framed the love, and yet she foiFd the fram- 
ing? 

She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning. 
Was this a lover, or a lecher whether 'i 
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. 



If music and sweet poetry agree. 
As they must needs, the sister and the brother. 
Then umst the love be great 'twixt thee and me, 
Because thou lovest the one, and I the other. 
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; 
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such 
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound 
That Phnelius' lute, the queen of music, makes; 
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd 
When as himself to singing he betakes. 

One god is god of both, as poets feign; 

One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. 



Fair was the mom when the fair queen of love. 

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove. 
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ; 
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill : 
Anon Adonis comes witli horn and hounds; 
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will. 
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds : 
' Once,' quoth she, ' did I see a fair sweet youth 
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar. 
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
See, in my thigii,' quoth she, ' here was the sore.' 
Slie show'd hers: he saw more wounds than one. 
And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 



Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon 

vaded, 
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring! 
Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded ! 
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp 
sting ! 
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree. 
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. 

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ; 
. For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will : 
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; 
For why I craved nothing of thee still : 
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee. 
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 



Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her 

Un<ler a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 

She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, 

And as he fell to her, so fell slie to him. 

' Even thus,' quoth she, ' the warlike god embraced 

me.' 
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms ; 



' Even thus,' quoth she,'the warlike god unlaced me,' 
As if the boy sliould use like loving charms; 
' Even thus,' quoth slie, ' he seized on my lips,' 
And with her lips on his did act the seizure : 
And as she fetched breath, away he skips, 
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 

Ah, that I had my lady at this bay. 

To kiss and clip me till I run away ! 



Crabbed age and youth cannot live together : 
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care; 
Youth like summer morn, age^like winter weather; 
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. 
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; 

Youth is nimble, age is lame ; 
Yo\ith is hot and bold, age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee ; youth, I do adore thee; 

O, my love, my love is young I 
A^e, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee, 

For methiuks thou stay'st too long. 



Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good ; " 

A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly; 

A flower that dies when first it gins to bud ; 

A britt'.e glass that 's broken presently: 
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, 
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour. 

And as goods lost are seld or never found. 
As vaded gloss no ruljbing will refresh. 
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground, 
As broken glass no cement can redress. 
So beauty blemish 'd once 's for ever lost. 
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost. 



Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share: 
She bade gootl night that kept my rest away ; 
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care, 
To descant on the doubts of my decay. 

'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again to-mor- 
row : ' 

Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile. 
In scorn or friendship, niU I construe whether: 
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
'T may be, again to make me wander thither: 
' Wander,' a word for shadows like myself. 
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. 



Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! 
My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise 
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes. 

While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, 

And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty. 
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: 
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty; 
Heart liath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ; 

Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd witli sor- 
row; 

For why, she sigh'd and bade me come to-morrow. 

Were I with her, the night would post too soon ; 
But now are minutes added to the hours ; 
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ; 
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! 
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now 

borrow : 
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to- 
morrow. 

867 



SONNETS TO SUNDET NOTES OF MUSIC. 



[XVI.] 

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, 
That liked of her master as well as well luifiht be. 
Till looking on au Englishman, the fuir'st that eye 

could see. 
Her fancy fell a-turning. 
Long was the combat doubtful that love with love 

did fight. 
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant 

knight: 
To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite 

Unto the silly damsel ! 
But one must be refused ; more mickle was the pain 
That not h ing could be used tot urn them both to gain , 
Tor of the two the trusty knight was wounded with 

disdain: 
Alas, she could not help it ! 
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the 

day, 
AVhich by a gift of learning did bear the maid away : 
Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay ; 
For now my song is ended. 

xvn. 
On a day, alack the day I 
Love', wliose month was ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair. 
Playing in tlie wanton air : 
Tlirougli the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, gan passage find; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath, 
'Air,' quoth lie, 'thy cheeks may blow; 
Air, would I might triumpli so ! 
But, alas! my hand bath sworn 
Ne'er to pluck tbfe fnmi thy thorn: 
Yow, alack ! for youth unmeet : 
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Thou for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love.' 

[xvin.] 
My flocks feed not, 
My ewes breed not, 
My rams speed not. 

All is amiss: 
Love 's denying, 
Faith 's defying. 
Heart's renying. 

Causer of this. 
All my merry jigs are quite forgot, 
All my lady's love is lost, (iod wot : 
Where her faith was lirnily tix'd in love, 
There a nay is placed without remove. 
One silly cross 
Wrought all my loss ; 

O fi-b\\Tiing Fortune, cursed, fickle dame I 
For now I see 
Inconstancy 

More in women than in men remain. 

In l)lack mourn I, 
All fears scorn I, 
Love haih forlorn me, 



Living in thrall : 
Heart is bleeding, 

All help needing, ; 

O cruel speeding, 

Frauglited with gall. ? 

!My sht'iiherd's pipe can sound no deal; 
My wctlier's bell rings doleful knell: 
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd. 
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; 
My sighs so deep 
Procure to weep, 

In howling wise, to see my doleful plight. 
How sighs resound 
Through heartless ground, 

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody 
fight ! 

Clear wells spring not. 
Sweet birds sing not, 
Green plants bring not 

Fiirtii their dye ; 
Herds stand weeping, 
Flocks all sleeping, 
Kvniplis back peeping 

Fearfully: 
All our pleasure known to us poor swains. 
All our merry meetings on the plains, 
All our evening sport from us is fled, 
All our love is lost, for Love is dead. 
Farewell, sweet lass, 
Thy like ne'er was 

For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan : 
Poor Corydon 
Must live alone; 

Other help for him I see that there is none. 



When as thine eye hath chose the dame, 
And stall'd the (leer fliat thou shouldst strike, 
Let reason rule things worthy blame. 
As well as fancy ]iartial might : 
Take counsel of some wiser head, 
Neither too young nor yet unwed. 

And when thou comest thy tale to tell. 
Smooth not thy tongue with tiled talk. 
Lest she some subtle practice smell, — 
A cripiile soon can lind a halt ; — 

But |)Iainly say thou lovest her well, 

And set thy person forth to sell. 

What though her frowTiing brows be bent. 

Her cloudy looks will calm ere night: 

And then too late she will I'epent 

That thus dissembled her delight; 
Anil twice desire, ere it be day. 
That which with scorn she put away. 

What though she strive to try her strength. 
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay. 
Her feeble force will yield at length. 
When craft hath taught her thus to say, 
' Had women been so strong as men, 
In faith, you had not had it then.' 

And to her will frame all thy ways : 
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



ere tliy desert may merit praise, 
ringing in tliy lady's ear: 
lie strongest castle, tower, and town, 
lie goldeii bullet beats it down. 

.-e always with assured trust, 

i in thy suit be humble true ; 

ess thy lady prove unjust, 

SB never thou to choose anew: 

'.'hen time shall serve, be thou not slack 

■ proffer, though she put thee back. 

K The wiles and guiles that women work, 
;! Dissembled with an outward show, 
\\ The tricks and toys that in them lurk, 
'j_; Tlie cock that treads them shall not know. 
?_ Have you not heard it said full oft, 
A woman's nay doth stand for nought 'i 

Think women still to strive with men. 
To sin and never for to saint : 
There is no heaven, by holy then, 
"When time with age doth them attaint. 
. Were kisses all tlie joys in bed, 
One woman would another wed. 

But, soft! enough, too much, I fear; 
Lest that my mistress hear my song, 
She will not stick to round me i' the ear, 
To teach my tongue to be so long : 
Yet will she blush, here be it said. 
To hear her secrets so bewray 'd. 

[XX.] 

Live with me, and be my love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dales and fields. 
And all the craggy inomitains yields. 

There will we sit upon the rocks. 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks. 
By shallow rivers, by whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There wOl I make thee a bed of roses. 
With a thousand fragrant posies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroider'd aU with leaves of myrtle. 

A belt of straw and \\y buds, 
With coral clasps and amber studs ; 
And if these pleasures may thee move. 
Then live with me and be my love. 

LOVE'S ANSWER. 

If that the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live witii thee and be thy love. 



[XXI.] 

As it fell upon a day 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasant shade 

Whicli a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing. 

Trees did grow,jind plants did spring; 

Every thing did banish moan. 

Save "the nightingale alone: 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 

Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 

And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, 

That to hear it was great pity : 

' Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry; 

' Tereu, tereu I ' by and by ; 

That to hear her so complain. 

Scarce I could from tears refrain; 

For her griefs, so lively shown. 

Made me think upon rume own. 

Ah, tliought I, thou mourn'st in vain! 

None takes pity on thy pain: 

Senseless trees they cannot hear thee; 

Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee: 

King Pandion he is dead ; 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; 

All thy fellow birds do sing, 

Careless of thy sorrowuig. 

Even so, poor bird, like thee, 

None alive will pity me. 

AVhilst as fickle Fortune smiled. 

Thou and I were botli beguiled. 

Every one that flatters thee 
Is no friend in misery. 
Words are easy, like the wind ; 
Faithful friends are hard to find : 
Every man will be thy friend 
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; 
But if store of crowns be scant. 
No man will supply thy want. 
If that one be prodigal". 
Bountiful they will him call. 
And with sucli-like flattering, 
' Pity but he were a king ; ' 
If he be addict to vice. 
Quickly him they will entice ; 
If to women he be bent. 
They have at commandenient : 
But if Fortune once do frown. 
Then farewell his great renown ; 
They that fawn'd on liim before 
Use his company no more. 
He that is thy friend indeed, 
He will help thee in thy need : 
If thou sorrow, he will weep; 
If thou wake, he cannot sleep; 
Thus of every grief in heart 
He with thee doth bear a part. 

I These are certain signs to know 
Faithful friend from flattering foe. 
869 




THE PHCENIX AND THE TURTLE. 



Let the bird of loudest lay, 
On the sole Arabian tree, 
Herald sad and trumpet be, 
To whose sound chaste wings obey. 

But thou slirieking harbinger, 
Foul precurrer of the fiend, 
Augur of the fever's end, 
To this troop come thou not near I 

From this session interdict 
Every fowl of tyrant wing, 
Save tlie eagle, feather'd king : 
Keep the obsequy so strict. 

Let the priest in surplice white, 
Tliat defunctive music can. 
Be the death-divining swan. 
Lest the requiem lack his right. 

And thou treble-dated crow, 

Tliat tliy sable gender niakest 

"With the breath thou givest and takest, 

'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 

Here the anthem doth commence : 
Love and constancy is dead ; 
PlKi'iiix anil tlie turtle fled 
In a mutual flame from hence. 

So they loved, as love in twain 
Had the essence but in one ; 
Two distincts, division none ; 
!N umber there in love was slain. 

Hearts remote, yet not asunder ; 
Distance, and no space was seen 
'Twixt the turtle and his queen; 
But in them it were a wonder. 

So between them love did shine, 
That the turtle saw his riglit 
Flaming in the plioenix' sight ; 
Either was the other's mine. 
870 



Property was thus appall 'd. 
That the self was not the same; 
Single nature's double name 
Neither two nor one was call'd. 

Reason, in itself confounded, 
Saw division grow together, 
To tliemselves yet either neither. 
Simple were so well compounded. 

That it cried, How true a twain 
Seemetli this concordant one ! 
I^ive hatli reason, reason none, 
It what pans can so remain. 

Whereupon it made this threne 
To the phcenix and the dove, 
C'o-snpremes and stars of love, 
As chtfrus to their tragic scene. 



Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
Grace in all simplicity, 
Here enclosed in cinders lie. 

Death is now the phoenix' nest; 
And the turtle's loyal breast 
To eternity doth rest, 

Leaving no posterity : 
'T was not their infirmity. 
It was married chastity. 

Truth may seem, but cannot be; 
Beauty brag, but 't is not she ; 
Truth and beauty buried be. 

To this urn let those repair 

That are either true or fair; 

For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 





GLOSSARY TO SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS. 



Ahnte, v.t. to shorten. M. N's Dr. m. 2. 

To cast down. Cor. in. 3. To blunt. R. 

III. V. 4. 
Abatenientf sb. diminution. Lear, I. 4. 
Abide, v.i. to .sojourn. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 

v.t. to expiate (a corruption of 'Aby'). 

J. 0. HI. 1 ; Ibid. III. 2. 
Able, v.t. to uphold. Lear, IV. 6. 
Abridtjtnent, sb. a short play. Ham. II. 2. 
Abrooh-, v.l. to brook, abide. 2 H. VI. ii. 4. 
Absej/'Iioolc, sb. a primer. John, 1. 1. 
Absolute, adj. positive, certain. Cym. iv. 

2 ; Ham. V. 2. Complete. Temp. I. 2. 
Abuse, v.t. to deceive. Lear, iv. 7. 
Abuse, sb. deception. M. for M. v. 1. 
Abu, v.t. to expiate a fault. M. N's Dr. in. 2. 
Abysm, sb. abyss. Temp. i. 2. 
Aecite, v.t. to cite, summon. 2 H. IV. V. 2. 
Aeetise, sb. accusation. 2 H. VI. ill. 1. 
Aehieve, v. to obtain. H. V. iv. 3. 
Acknnwn, ^.p. ' to be acknown ' is to ac- 
knowledge. 0th. III. 3. 
Acquittance, sb. a receipt or discharge. 

Ham. IV. 2. 
Actiou'taJcittff, adj. litigious. Lear, ii. 2. 
Acture, sb. action. Lover's Com. 
Addition, sb. title, attribute. All 's Well, 

II. 3; T. &Cr. 1.2. 

Address, v.r. to prepare oneself. 2 H. VI. 

V. 2; Ham. i. 2. 

Addressed, part, prepared. L's L's L. n. 1. 
Advance, v.t. to prefer, promote to honour. 

Tim. I. 2. 
Advertisetnent, sb. admonition. Much 

Ado. &c. V. 1. 
Advertising/, pr.p. attentive. M. for M. 

v.l. 
Advice, sb. consideration, discretion. Two 

Gent. 11.4; M. for M. v.l. 
Advise, V. sometimes neuter, sometimes re- 

Jlective, to consider, reflect. Tw. N. iv. 2. 
Advised, p.p. considerate. Com. of E. v. 1. 
Advocation, sb. pleadhijK odvocacy. 0th. 

III. 4. 

Aff-ard, adj. afraid. Merry Wives, iii. 4. 
Afffct, V.l. to love. Merry Wives, ii. 1. 
Affieri'd, p.p. assessed, confirmed. Mac. 

IV. 3. 

Affij, v.t. to afBance. 2 H. VI. iv. 1. To 

trust. T. A. 1. 1. 
Afront, adv. in front. 1 H. IV. II. 4. 
Affaeed, p.p. looking in amazement. I H. 

VI. I. 1. 

Aglct'tmby, sb. the small figure engraved 

on a jewel. Tarn, of S. i. 2. 
Af/nise, v.t, to acknowledge, confess. 0th. 

1.3. 
A'ffood, adv. a good deal, plenteously. Two 

Gent. IV. 4. 
A'hold, adj. a sea- term. Temp. 1. 1. 
Aiery, sb. the nest of a bird of prey. R. 

III. I. 3. 
Aim, sb. a guess. Two Gent. m. 1. 
Alder-liefest, adj. most loved of all. 2 H. 

VI. 1. 1. 



Ale, sb. alehouse. Two Gent. ii. 5. 
Allow, v. to approve. Tw. N. I. 2. 
Allowance, sb. approval. Cor. in. 2. 
Anies^ace, sb. two aces, the lowest throw 

of the dice. All 's Well, n. 3. 
Amort, adj. dead, dejected. Tarn, of S. IV. 3. 
An, conj. if. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Anchor, sb. an anchorite, hermit. Ham. 

III. 2. 

^iiCi>H<,«6. an ensign-bearer. 1H.IV.IV.2. 
Angel, sb. a coin, so called because it bore 

the image of an angel. Merry Wives, i. 3. 
Anight, adv. by night. As you Like it, ii. 4. 
Answer, sb. retaliation. Cym. V. 3. 
Anthropophaginian, sb, a cannibal. 

Merry Wives, iv. 5. 
Antick, sb. the fool in the old plays. R. II. 

in. 2. 
Aytire, sb. a cave. 0th. i. 3. 
Ajjparent, sb. heir-apparent. Wint. Tale, 

I. 2. 
Appeal, sb. accusation. M. for M. V. 1. 
Appeal, v.t. to accuse. R. II. 1. 1. 
Appeared, p.p. made apparent. Cor. iv. 3. 
Apple-John, sb. a kind of apple, 1 Hen. 

IV. III. 3. 

Ajtpointnient, sb. preparation. M. for M. 
ni. 1. 

Apprehension, sb. opinion. Much Ado, 
in. 4. 

Apprehensive, adj. apt to apprehend or 
understand. J. C. in. 1. 

Approbation, sb. probation. Cym. I. 5. 

Apjtroof, sb. approbation, proof. All's 
Well, I. 2 ; Temp. ii. 5. 

Approve, v.t. to prove. R. II. I. 3. To jus- 
tify, make good. Lear, n. 4. 

Approver, sb. one who proves or tries. 
Cj-m. n. 4. 

Arch, sb. chief Lear, ii. 1. 

Argal, a ridiculous word intended for the 
Latin ergo. Ham. v. 1. 

Argentine, adj. silver. Per. v. 2. 

Argier, sb. Algiers. Temp. i. 2. 

Argosy, sb. originally a vessel of Ragusa 
or Ragosa, a Ragosine : hence any ship 
of burden. M. of V. 1. 1. 

Argument, sb. subject. Much Ado, ii. 3. 

Armigero, a mistake for Armiger, the 
Latin for Esquire. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Annul, v.r. found only in the imperat 
mood, get thee gone. Mac. i. 3 ; Lear, in. 4. 

A-row, adv. in a row. Com. of E. v. 1. 

Articulate, v.i. to enter into articles of 
agreement. Cor. i. 9. v.t. to exhibit in ar- 
ticles. 1 H. IV. V. 1. 

Ask, v.t. to require. 2 H. VI. i. 2. 

Aspect, sb. regard, looks. A. & C. I. h. 

Aspersion, sb. sprinkling ; hence blessing, 
because before the Reformation benedic- 
tion was generally accompanied by the 
sprinkling of holy water. Temp. in. 3. 

Assay, sb. attempt. M. for M. in. 1. 

Assay, v.t. to attempt, test, make proof of 
Merry Wives, ii. 1. 



Assinego, sb. an ass. T. & Cr. II. 1. 
Assul^jugate, v.t. to subjugate. T. it Cr. n. 3. 
Assurance, sb, deed of assurance. Tam. 

ofS. IV. 2. 
Assured, p.p. betrothed. Com. of E. in. 2. 
Atomy, sb. an atom. As you Like it, in. 2. 

Used in contempt of a small person. 2 H. 

IV. V. 4. 

Atone, V. t. to put people at one, to recon- 
cile. R. II. 1. 1. v.i. to agree. Cor. iv. 6. 
Attach, v.t. to seize, lay hold on. Temp. 

III. 3; Com. of E. IV. 1. 

Attasked, p.p. taken to task, reprehended. 

Lear, i. 4. 
Attend, v.t. to listen to. Temp. I. 2: M. of 

V. V. 1. 

Attent, adj. attentive. Ham. i. 2. 

Attmrney, sb. an agent. R. III. iv. 4. 

Attorney, v.t. to employ as an agent. M. 
for M. V. 1. To perform by an agent. 
Wint. Tale, 1. 1. 

^K(?«cio«.«,arf;'. spirited, daring, but with- 
out any note of blame attached to it. L's 
L's L. v. 1. 

Augur, sb. augury. Mac. in. 4. 

Authentic, adj. clothed with authority. 
Merry Wives, n. 2. 

Avuunt, int. be gone, a word of abhorrence. 
Com. of E. IV. 3. 

Ave, int. the Latin for hail ; hence accla- 
mation. M. for M. 1. 1. 

Ave*Mary, sb. the angelic salutation ad- 
dressed to the B. Virgin Mary. 2 H. VI. 
1.3. 

Averring, pr.p. confirming. Cj-m. V. 5. 

Awful, adj. worshipful. Two Gent. IV. L 

Awkward, adj. contrary. 2 H. VI. III. 2. 

Baceare, int. keep back. Tam. of S. il. 1. 

Backward, sb. the hinder part; henc*e, 

when applied to time, the past. Temp. 1.2. 

Balked, p.p. heaped, as on a ridge. 1 L^ 

IV. I. 1. 

Ballow, sb. a cudgel. Lear, iv. 6. 

Bnlm,sb. the oil of consecration. R. II. 
IV. 1 ; 3 H. VI. in. 1. 

Ban, v.t. to curse. Lucr. 

Bank, v.t. to sail by the banks. John, v. 2. 

Bartn, sb. yeast. M. N's Dr. n. 1. 

Barn, sb. a child. 1 H. IV. II. 3. 

Barnacle, sb. a shell-fish, supposed to 
prodlice the sea-bird of the same name. 
Temp. IV. 1. 

Base, sb. a game, sometimes called Pris- 
oners' base. CjTU. v. 3. 

Bases, sb. an embroidered mantle worn 
by knights on horseback, and reaching 
from the middle to below the knees. 
Per. n. 1. 

Basilisk, sb. a kind of ordnance. 1 H. IV. 
IV. 3. 

Basta, int. (Italian) enough. Tam. of S. 1. 1. 

Bastard, sb. raisin wine. M. for 51. in. '2. 

Bat-fowling, part, catching birds with a 
clap-net by night. Temp. u. 1. 
871 



GLOSSARY. 



Jtnte, r.i. to flutter, as a hawk. 1 H. IV. IV. 1. 

Itate, V.I. to except. Temp. ii. 1. To abate. 
Much Ado, II. 3. 

JiiitUt, sb. a small bat, used for beating 
clothes. As you Like it, li. 4. 

Buttle, sb. army. 1 H. IV. iv. 1. 

liavin, sb. used as an adj. a piece of waste 
wood, applied contemptuously to any- 
thing worthless. 1 H. IV. in. 2. 

Jliitvcock, sb. a fine fellow. Tw. N. in. 4. 

Bay, sb. the space between the main tim- 
bers of the roof M. for M. ii. 1. 

Beadsnia h, 5&. one who bids bedes, that is, 
prays prayers for another. Two Gent. 1. 1. 

Bear itifi -cloth, sb. a rich cloth in which 
children were wrapt at their christen- 
ing. Win~t>5^1e, III. 3. 

Bent, v.i. to fiutl^ as a falcon, to meditate, 
consider earnestly* Temp. i. 2. 

Beaver, sb. the lower part of a helmet. 
1 H. IV. IV. 1. 

Beetle, sb. a mallet. 2 H. IV. I. 2. 

Being, sb. dwelling. Cym. I. 6. 

Being, conj. since, inasmuch as. A. & C. 
III. 6. 

Be^mete, v.i. to measure. Tarn, of S. IV. 3. 

Be-nioiled, p.p. daubed with dirt. Tarn. 
ofS. IV. 1. 

Bending, pr.p. stooping under a weight. 
H. V. V. Chorus. 

Benvenuto, sb. (Italian), welcome. L's L's 
L. IV. 2. 

Bergonin.ilt, adj. a rustic dance. M. N's 
Dr. V. 1, 

Be.slireiv, int. evil befal. Com. of E. ii. 1. 

Bestraiight, p.p. distraught, distracted. 
Induct, to Tam. of S. 

Beteem, v.t. to pour out. M. N's Dr. 1. 1. 

Betid, p.p. happened. Temp. i. 2. 

Besoniaii, sb. a beggarly fellow. 2 H. IV. 
V. 3. 

Biding, sb. abiding-place. Lear, iv. 6. 

Biggen, sb. a night-cap. 2 H. IV. IV. 5. 

Bilberry, sb. the whortleberry. Merry 
Wives. V. 5. 

Bilbo, sb. a sword, from Bilboa, a town in 
Spain where they were made. Merry 
"Wives, 1. 1. 

Bilboes, sb. fetters or stocks. Ham. v. 2. 

Bill, sb. a bill-hook, a weapon. Much Ado, 

III. 3. 

BiH = bee7i, are. Cym. ii. 3. 

Bird-holt, sb. a bolt to be shot from a cross- 
bow at birds. Much Ado. i. 1. 

Birding, part, hawking at partridges. 
Merry Wives, ill. 3. 

Bissau, adj. blind. Cor. ii. 1. 

Blank, sb. the white mark in the middle 
of a target; hence, metaphorically, that 
which is aimed at. Wint. Tale, ii. 3. 

Bleneli, v.i. to start aside, flinch. M. for M. 

IV. 5. 

Blent, p.p. blended. M. of V. III. 2. 
Btood-bottered, part, smeared with blood. 

Mac. IV. 1. 
Blow. V.I. to inflate. Tw. N. n. 5. 
Board, v.t. to accost. Tam. of S. i. 2. 
Bob, sb. a blow, metaph. a sarcasm. As 

you Like it, ii. 7. 
Boh, v.t. to strike, metaph. to ridicule, or 

to obtain by raillery. T. & Cr. III. 1. ; 0th. 

V.I. 
Bodge, v. to botch, bungle. 3 H. VI. i. 4. 
Bodikin, sb. a corrupt word used as an 

oath. 'Od's Bodikin, God's little Body. 

Ham. II. 2. 
Boitier vert (French), green box. Merry 

Wives, I. 4. 
Bold, v.t. to embolden. Lear, v. 1. 
Bollen, adj. swollen. Lucr. 
Bolted, p.p. sifted, refined. H. V. ii. 2. 
Butter, sb. a sieve. 1 H. IV. III. 3. 
872 



Bolting-hiitch, sb. a hutch in which meal 

was sifted. 1 H. IV. II. 4. 
Bombard, sb. a barrel, a drunkard. Temp. 

II. 2. 

Bombast, sb. padding. L's L's L. V. 2. 
Bona-roha, sb. a harlot. 2 H. IV. Iii. 2. 
Bond, sb. that to which one is bound. 

Lear, i. 1. 
Book, sb. a paper of conditions. 1 H. IV. 

III. 1. 

Boot, sb. help, use. Tam. of S. v. 2. 
Boot, v.t. to help, to avail. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Bootless, adj. without boot or advantage, 

useless. Temp. i. 2. 
Boots, sb. hots, a kind of worm. Two Gent. 

I.I. 
Bore, sb. calibre of a gun ; hence, metaph. 

size, weight, importance. Ham. iv. 6. 
Bosky, adj. covered with underwood. 

Temp. III. 3. 
Bosom, sb. wish, heart's desire. M. for M. 

IV. 3. 

Bots, sb. worms which infest horses. 1 H. 
IV. II. 1. 

Bourn, sb. a boundary. Wint. Tale, i. 2. 
A brook. Lear, in. 6. 

Brace, sb. armour for the arm, state of de- 
fence. 0th. 1.3; Per. II. 1. 

Brack, sb, a hound bitch. Indue, to Tam. 
ofS. 

Braid, adj. deceitful. All 's Well, IV. 2. 

Brave, adj. handsome,well-dres5ed. Temp. 
1.2. 

Brave, sb. boast. John, v. 2. 

Bravery, sb.&Tieiy. Tam. of S. IV. 3. Boast- 
fulness. Ham. V. 2. 

Brawl, sb. a kind of dance. L's L's L. III. 1. 

Breast, sb. voice. Tw. N. Ii. 3. 

Breathe, v.t. to exercise. All 's Well, n. 3. 

Breathing, pr.p. exercising. Ham. v. 2. 

Breeching, adj. liable to be whipt. Tam. 
ofS. III. 1. 

Breed-hate, sb. a breeder of debate, a fo- 
menter of quarrels. Merry Wives, I. 4. 

Breese, sb. the gadfly. A. & C. in. 8. 

Bribe-buck, sb. a buck given away in 
presents. Merry Wives, v. 5. 

Bring, v.t. to attend one on a journey. M. 
for M. 1. 1. 

Brock, sb. a badger, a term of contempt. 
Tw. N. II. 5. 

Broke, v.i. to act as a procurer. All 's Well, 

III. 5. 

Broken, p.p. having lost some teeth by 
age. All's Well, Ii. 3. 

Broken tniisic, the music of stringed in- 
struments. T. & Cr. in. I. 

Broker, sb. an agent. Two Gent. I. 2. 

Brotherhood, sb. trading company. T. & 
Cr. I. 3. 

Brownist, sb, a sectary, a follower of 
Brown, the founder of the Independents. 
Tw. N. III. 2. 

Bruit, sb. noise, report, rumour. 3 H. VI. 

IV. 7. 

Bruit, v.t. to noise abroad. Mac. V. 7. 
Brush, sb. rude assault. 2 H. VI. V. 3 ; Tim. 

IV. 3. 
Buck, sb. suds or lye for washing clothes 

in. Merry Wives, ni. 3; 2 H. VI. IV. 2. 
Buck-basket, sb. the basket in which 

clothes are carried to the wash. Merry 

Wives. III. 5. 
Bucking, sb. washing. Merry Wives, in. 3. 
£iicfc-«'(»s;ii>isr,s6. washing in lye. Merry 

Wives, III. 3. 
Bug, sb. a bugbear, a spectre. 3 H. VI. v. 

2; Cym. v. 3. 
Bully-rook, sb. a bragging cheater. Merry 

Wives, I. 3. 
Burgonet, sb, a kind of helmet. 2 H. VI. 

v.i. 



Burst, V.I. to break. Ind. to Tam. of S. 
Busky, adj. bushy. 1 H. IV. V. 1. 
Butt-shaft, sb. a light arrow for shooting 

at a butt. L's L's L. i. 2. 
Buxom, adj. obedient. H. V. in. 6. 
By*rlakin, int. by our little Lady; an oath. 

M. N's Dr. III. 1. 

Caddis, sb. worsted galloon, so called 
because it resembles the caddis-worm, 
Wnit. Tale, iv. 3. 
Cade, sb. a cask or barrel. 2 H. VI. iv. 2. 
Cage, sb. a prison. Cym. in. 3. 
Cain-coloured, adj. red (applied to hair). 

Merry Wives. I. 4. 
Caitiff, a captive, a slave; hence, a witch. 

All 's Well, in. 2. 
Calculate, v.t. prophesy. J. C. I. 3. 
Caliver, sb, a hand -gun. 1 H. IV. IV. 2. 
Cullet, sb, a trull. 0th. iv. 2. 
Calling, sb, appellation. As you Like it, 

1.2. 
Cahn, sb. qualm. 2 H. IV. II. 4. 
Can, V.I. to know, be skilful in. Ham. iv. 7. 
Cunakin, sb. a little can. 0th. ii. 3. 
Canary, sb. a wine brought from the Can- 
ary Islands. Merry Wives, in. 2. 
Ca ndle-wasters, sb. persons who sit up 

all night to drink. JIuch Ado, v. 1. 
Canker, sb. a caterpillar. Two Gent. 1. 1. 

The dog-rose. Much Ado, i. 3. 
Canstick, sb. a candlestick. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 
Cuntle, sb. a slice, corner. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 
Canton, sb. a canto. Tw. N. i. 5. 
Canvas, v.i. to sift; hence, metaphori- 
cally, to prove. 2 H. IV. n. 4. 
Capable, adj. subject to. John, in. 1. In- 
telligent. T. & Cr. III. 3. Capable of in- 
heriting. Lear, n. 1.. Ample, capacious. 
0th. in. 3. 
Capitulate, v.i. make head. 1 H. IV. in. 2. 
Cajmcchia, sb. a simpleton. T. & Cr. iv. % 
Capricio, sb. (Italian; caprice. All 's Well, 

II. 3. 
Capricious, adj. lascivious. As you Like 

it, III. 3. 
Captious, adj. capacious. All 's Well, I. 3. 
Carack, sb, a large ship of burden. Com. 

of E. III. -2. 
Carbonado, sb, meat scotched for broil- 
ing. 1 H. IV. v. 3. 
Carbonado, v,t, to scotch for broiling. 

Lear, ii. 2. 
Card, sb, the paper on which the points 
of the compass are marked under the 
mariner's needle. Ham. v. 1. 
Careire, sb. the curvetting of a horse. 

Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Carkanet, sb. a necklace. Com. of E. in. 1. 
Carl, sb. a churl. Cym. v. 2. 
Carlot, sb. a churl. As you Like it, in. 5. 
Castilian, sb. a native of Castile; used as 

a cant term. Merry Wives, n. 3. 
Castiliano vulgo, a cant term, meaning, 
apparently, to use discreet language. 
Tw. N. I. 3. 
Catalan, adj. a native of Cathay, a cant 

word. Tw. N. n. 3. 
Catling, sb. cat-gut. T. & Cr. III. 3. 
Cautel, sb. deceit. Ham. i. 3. 
Cantelous, adj. insidious. Cor. iv. 1. 
Cavalero, sb. a cavalier, gentleman. 2 H. 

IV. v. 3. 
Caviare, sb. the roe of .sturgeon pickled; 
metaph. a delicacy not appreciated by 
the vulgar. Ham. n. '2. 
Cease, sb. decease. Ham. in. 3. 
Cease, p.p. put oflT, made to cease. Tim. II. 1. 
Censure, s6. judgment. 1 H. VI. n. 3. 
Censure, v.l. to judge, criticise. Two Gent. 

1.2. 
Century, sb. a hundred of anything, 



GLOSSARY. 



whether men. prayers, or anything else. 
Cor. I. 7; Cym. iv. 2. 

Ceretnony^ j«6. a ceremonial vestment, re- 
ligious rite, or anything ceremonial. J. 
C. 1. 1 ; Mac. ill. 4. 

CerteSf adv. certainly. 0th. 1. 1, 

CesMf sb. rate, reckoning. 1 H. IV. ri. 1. 

Cliace, sb. a term at tennis. H. V. i. 2. 

Chamber, 56. a Species of great gun. 2 H. 
IV. 11. 4. 

Chamberer, sb. an effeminate man. 0th. 

III. 3. 

Clmnson, fb. a song. Ham. 11. 2. 
Clmract, sb. affected quality. M. for M. v. 1. 
Chnracter, sb. a letter, handwriting. Lear, 

Character, v.l. to carve or engrave. Two 

Gent. II. 7 ; Ham. i. 3. 
CJinraetery, sb. handwriting. Slerry 

Wives, V. 5. That which is written. J. C. 

II. 1. 
Chare, sh. a turn of work. A. & C. iv. 13. 
Charge'houae, sb. a free-school. L"s L's 

L. V. 1. 
Charles* wain, sb. the constellation called 

aLso Ursa Major, or the Great Bear. 1 H. 

IV. II. 1. 

CJiarneco, sb. a species of sweet wine. 2 
H. VI. II. 3. 

Chaudron, sb. entrails. Mac. iv. 1. 

Cheater, sb. for escheator, an officer who 
collected the fines to be paid into the 
Exchequer. Merry Wives, I. 3. A decoy. 
2 H. IV. II. 3. 

Chech, v.l. a technical term in falconry: 
when a falcon flies at a bird which is 
not her proper game she is said to check 
at it. Tw. N. II. 0. 

Checks, sb. perhaps intended for ethics. 
Tarn, of S. i. I. 

C/ieer, sb. fortune, countenance. Temp. 1. 1. 

Cherry-pit, sb. a game played with cherry- 
stones. Tw. N. III. 4. 

Cheveril, sb. kid leather. R. & J. II. 4. 

aiewit, sb. chough. 1 H. IV. v. 1. 

Chitdin/f, adj. pregnant. M. N's Dr. 11. 2. 

Ch'ilt, vulgar for ' I will.' Lear, iv. 6. 

Chirurgeonly, adv. in a manner becom- 
ing a surgeon. Temp. II. 1. 

Chopin, sb. a high shoe or clog. Ham. 11. 2. 

Chrislendoin, sb. the state of being a 
Christian. John, iv. 1. Name. All's Well, 
1.1. 

Christom, adj. clothed with a chrisom, 
the white garment which used to be put 
on newly-baptized children. H. V. II. 3. 

Chiich, sb. chicken, a term of endearment. 
Mac. III. 2. 

Chuff, sb. a coarse blunt clo\vn. 1 H. IV. 
II. 2. 

Cinque pace, sb. a kind of dance. Much 
Ado, II. 1. 

Cipher, v.t. to decipher. Lucr. 

Circumstance, sb. an argument. Two 
Gent. 1. 1; John, 11. 1. 

Cital, sb. recital. 1 H. IV. v. 2. 

Cite, V. to incite. Two Gent. 11. 4 ; 3 H. VI. 

II. 1. 

Cittern, sb. a guitar. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Clack-dish, sb. a beggars dish. M. for M. 

III. 2. 

Clap i' the clout, to shoot an arrow Into 
the bull's eye of the target. 2 H. IV. III. 2. 

Ctate, v.t. to flatter. Much Ado, i. 3. 

Clepe, v.t. to call. Ham. i. 4. 

Cliff,di. clef, the key in music. T. & Cr. v. 2. 

Cling, v.t. to starve. Mac. v. ft. 

Clinquant, adj. glittering. H. VIII. i. \. 

Clip, v.l. to embrace, enclose. 2 H. VI. IV. 
1 ; Cor. I. 6 ; 0th. III. 3. 

Clout, sb. the mark in the middle of a tar- 
get. L's L's L. IV. 1. 



Coast, v.i. to advance. V. & A. 
CtMoaf, sb. a big loaf. T. & Cr. n. 1. 
Click, sb. a cockboat. Lear, iv. 6. 
Cork, sb. a euphemism for God. Tam. of 

S. IV. 1. 
Coek-and-pie, an oath. Merry Wives. 1. 1. 
Cockle, sb. tares or darnel, L's L's L. iv. 3. 
Cockney, sb. a cook. Lear, 11. 4. 
Cock-shut-time, sb. the twilight, when 

cocks and hens go to roost. R. III. v. 3. 
Cog, v.i. to cheat, dissemble. Merry Wives, 

III. 3. 
Cognizance, sb. badge, token. 1 H. VI. 11. 4. 
Coign,sb. projecting comer-stone. Mac. 1.6. 
Coil, sb. tumult, turmoil. Temp. i. 2. 
Collection, sb. drawing a conclusion. Ham. 
.IV. 5. 
Coined, p.p. blackened. 0th. II. 3; M. N's 

Dr. 1. 1. 
Colour, sb. pretence. L's L's L. iv. 2. 
Colourable, adj. specious. Ibid. 
Colt, v.t. to defraud, befool. 1 H. IV. 11. 2. 
Co-mart, sb. a joint bargain. Ham. i. 1. 
Conibinate,p:p. betrothed. M. for M. in. 1. 
Combine, v.t. to bind. M. for M. IV. 3. 
Commodity, sb. interest, profit. M. of V. 

III. 3. 

Commonly, sb. used ludicrously for com- 
edy. Induction to Tam. of S. 
Compact, p.p. compacted, composed. M. 

N's Dr. V. 1. 
Comparative, adj. drawing comparisons. 

1 H. IV. I. 2. 
Comparative, sb. rival. 1 H. IV. in. 2. 
Compare, sb. comparison. T. & Cr. ill. 2. 
Compassionate, adj. moving comparison. 

R. II. I. 3. 
Competitor, sb. one who seeks the same 

thing, an as.sociate in any object. Two 

Gent. II. 6. 
Coi«/j/c»i-e«f.s&. accomplishment. L's L's 

L. I. 1. 
Complexion, sb. passion. Ham. I. 4. 
Compose, v.i. to agree. A. & C. 11. 2. 
Composition, sb. composition. Tim. iv. 3. 
Comptible, adj. tractable. Tw. N. i. 5. 
Con, v.t. to learn by heart. M. N's Dr. i. 2. 

To acknowledge. All 's Well. iv. 3. 
Conceit, sb. conception, opinion, fancy. 

Two Gent. ill. 2. 
Concupy, sb. concubine. T. & Cr. v. 2. 
Condition, sb. temper, quality. M. of V. 

I. 2: Lear, 1. 1. 
Condolement, sb. grief. Ham. i. 2. 
Conduct, sb. escort. John. i. 1. 
Confect,v. to make up into sweetmeats. 

Much Ado, IV. 1. 
Confound, v.t. to consume, destroy. 1 H. 

IV. 1.3; Cor. 1.6; Cym. 1.5. 
Conjcct, sb. conjecture. 0th. in. 3. 
Consign, v. to sign a common bond, to 

confederate. 2 H. lA'. iv. 1. 
Consort, sb. company. Two Gent. iv. 1. 
Consort, v.t. to accompany. L's L's L. II. 1. 
Constancy, sb. consistency. M. N's Dr. v.l. 
Constant, adj. settled, determined. Temp. 

II. 2; Lear. v. 1. 

Constantly, adv. firmly. M. for M. iv. 1. 

Conster, v.t. to construe, Tw. N. i. 4. 

Contemptible, adj. contemptuous. Much 
Ado, II. 3. 

Continent, sb. that which contains any- 
thing. Lear, in. 2: M. Ns Dr. n. 2. That 
which is contained. 2 H. IV. n. 4. 

Continuate, adj. uninterrupted. Tira. 1. 1. 

Contraction, sb. the marriage contract. 
Ham. III. 4. 

Contrary, v.t. to oppose. R. & J. I. 5. 

Contrive, v.i. to conspire. J. C. II. 3. v.t. to 
wear away. Tam. of.?, i. 2. 

Control, v.t. to confute. Temp. i. 2. 

Convent, v.t. to convene, summon. H. 



VIII. v. 1. v.i. to be convenient. Tw. N. 

v.l. 
Convert, v.i. to change. Tim. iv. 1. 
Cunvertite, sb. a convert. As you Like it, 

V.4. 
Coiirej/jt'.;. to manage. Lear, 1.2. To filch. 

Merry Wives, i. 3. 
Conveyance, sb. theft, fraud. 1 H. VI. I. 3. 
Convict, p.p. convicted. R. III. i. 4. 
Convicted, p.p. overpowered, vanquished. 

John. III. 4. A doubtful word. 
Convince, v.t. to conquer, subdue. Cym. i 3. 
Convive, r.i. to feast together. T. i Cr. iv. -5. 
Convoy, sb. escort. All 's Well, iv. 3. 
Cony. catch, v.i. to cheat. Tam. of S. v. 1. 
Cony-catching, pr.p. poaching, pilfering. 

Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Cooling card, sb. used metaphorically for 

an insurmountable obstacle. 1 H. VI. v. 3. 
Copatain hat, a high-crowned hat. Tam. 

ofS. V. 1. 
Cope, v.l. to reward, to give in return. M. 

of V. IV. 1. 
Copped, p.p. rising to a cop or head. Per. 

I.I. 
Copy, sb. theme. Com. of E. V. 1. 
Coragio (Italian), !7!(. courage ! Temp. V. 1. 
Coram, an ignorant mistake for Quorum. 

Merry Wives, i. \. 
Coranto, sb. a lively dance. H. V. in. 5. 
Corinth, sb. a cant term for a brothel. 

Tim. II. 2. 
Corinthian, sb. a weneher. 1 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Corky, adj. dry like cork. Lear, in. 7. 
Cornulo (Italian), sb. a cuckold. Merry 

Wives, III. 6. 
Corollary, sb. a surplus. Temp. iv. 1. 
Corporal, adj. corporeal, bodily. M. for 

M. III. 1. 
Corporal of the field, an aide-de-camp. 

L's L's L. III. 1. 
Corrival, sb. rival. 1 H. IV. i. 3. 
Costard, sb. the head. R. III. i. 4. 
Co.«fer-Hio>w;cr,a(//. peddling, mercenary. 

2 H. IV. I. 2. 
Cote, sb. a cottage. As you Like it, in. 2. 
Cote, v.t. to quote, instance. L's L's L. iv. 3. 
Cote, v.t. to come alougside, overtake. 

Ham. II. 2. 
Cot-quean, sb. an effeminate man, molly- 
coddle. R. & J. IV. 4. 
Coachings, sb. crouchings. J. C. in. 1. 
Count confect, sb. a nobleman composed 

of affectation. Much .\6o. iv. 1. 
Countenance, sb. fair shew. M. for M. v. 1. 
Counterfeit, .<b. portrait. M. of V. in. 2. 

A piece of base coin. 1 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Counterpoint, sb. a counterpane. Tam. of 

S. II. 1. 
Countervail, r.t. to counterpoise, out- 
weigh. R. & J. II. 6. 
Country, adj. belonging to one's country, 

0th. III. 3: Cym. 1.5. 
County, sb. count, earl. R. & ]. i. 3. 
Couplement, sb. union. L's L's L. v. 2; 

Son. 19. 
Court holy-water, sb. flattery. Lear. in. 2. 
Covent, sb. a convent. M. for M. iv. 3. 
Cover, v.t. to lay the table for dinner. M. 

ofV. III. 5; As you Like it, II. 5. 
CDivish, adj. cowardly. Lear. iv. 2. 
Coirl-staff, sb. the staff on which a ve.ssei 

is supported between two men. Merry 

Wives. III. 3. 
Cox my pa.tsion, an oath, a euphemism 

for " God's Passion." All 's Well. v. 2. 
Coy, v.t. to stroke, fondle. M. N's Dr. iv. i. 

r.f. to condescend with difficulty. Cor. v.l. 
Coysiril,sb. a kestrel, a cowardly kind of 

hawk. Tw. N. i. 3. 
Cozen, v.t. to cheat. M. of V. n. 9. 
Cozenage, sb. cheating. Merry Wives, iv. 5. 

873 



GLOSSARY. 



Cozener, s6. a cheater. 1 H. IV. i. 3. 

Cozier, gb, a tailor. Tw. N. n. 3. 

Crackf v.i. to boast. L's L's L. iv. 3. 

Crack, sb. a loud noise, clap. Mac. iv. 1. 
A forward boy. 2 H. IV. in. 2. 

Cracke^Tf sb. boaster. John, ii. 1. 

Crack-hetnp, sb. a gallows-bird. Tarn, of 
S. V. 1. 

Crank, sb. a winding passage. Cor. 1. 1. 

Crattking,pr.p. winding. 1 H. IV. III. 1. 

CrnntSf sb. garlands. Ham. V. 1. A doubt- 
ful word. 

Crtire, sb. a ship of burden. Cym. iv. 2. 

Crrtueii, 6-6. a dunghill cock. Tam.ofS. ii.l. 

Create, p.p. formed, compounded. H. V. 
n. 2. 

Credent^ adj. creditable. M. for M. iv. 4. 
Credible. Wint. Tale, I. 2. Credulous, 



Ha 



.1.3. 



Credit, sb. report. Tw. N. IV. 3. 

Crescive, adj. increasing. H. V. i. 1. 

Crestle.^s, adj. not entitled to bear arms, 
lowborn. 1 H. VI. II. 4. 

€ri.s2>, adj. curled, winding. Temp. iv. 1. 

Cross, sb. a piece of money, so called be- 
cause coin was formerly stamped witli a 
cross. As you Like it. ii. 4. 

Cftuvkeepcr, sb. ouc who scares crows. 
Lear, iv. 6. 

Cr.owner, sb. a coroner. Ham. v. 1. 

Crownetf sb. a coronet. A. & C. v. 2. 

Cri/, sb. the yelping of hounds. M. N's Dr. 

IV. 1. A pack of hounds. Ibid. iv. 1. A 
company, used contemptuously. Ham. 

III. 2. 

Crt/ aim, v.L to encourage. John, ii. 1. 
Cufy sb. the last words of an actor's speech. 

which is the signal for the next actor to 

begin. Lear, i. 2. 
Cuisses, sb. pieces of armour to cover the 

thighs. 1 H. IV. IV. 1. 
Cnllion, sb. a base fellow. Tam. of S. iv. 2. 
CttnninfffSb. skill. Induction to Tam. of S. 
Canning, adj. skilful. Ibid. 
Curb, r.i. to bend, iruckle. Ham. ni. 4. 
Currents, sb. occurrences. 1 H. IV. II. 3. 
Curtt, adj. petulant, shrewish. Tam. of S. 

Curstnes.9, sb. shrewishness. A. &. C. ii. 2. 

Curtail, sb. a cur. Com. of E. ni. 2. 

C«r/rt/,,s&. a docked horse. AU'sWell.ii.S. 

Cartal-axe, sb. a cutla.ss. As you Like it, 
1.3. 

Citstntornm, a ludicrous mistake for Gus- 
tos Kotulorum. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

CuJttard -coffin, sh. the crust of a custard- 
pudding. Tam. of S. IV. 3. 

ri*,sMmer,.55.acommon woman. Oth.iv.l. 

Cut,sb. a cheat. Tw. N. ii. 3. 'To draw 
cuts' is to draw lots. Com. of E. v. 1. 

Cu press, sb. a kind of crape. Tw. N. ill. 1. 

Ifaff', v.t. to befool. Much Ado. IV. 1. To 
put off; this seems to be a corruption of 
'doff.' Ibid. 11.3. 

J>nmn, xKt. to condemn. J. C. rv. 1. 

J>anger, sb. reach, control, power. M. of 

V. IV. 1. 

DnnskPT, sb. a Dane. Ham. ii. 1. 
J>are, v.t. to challenge. 2 II. VI. III. 2. 
Darkling, adv. in the dark. M. N's Dr. 

II. 2. 
J>rtivrti(/w,i'.(.tosetin array. 3H.VI. Ii.2. 
J)anb, v.t to disguise. Lear, iv. 1. 
Daxihery, sb. imposition. Merry Wives, 

IV. 2. 

Dagmipoman, sb. a dairy-maid. L's L's L. 
I. 2. 

Dear, adj. dire. Tim. V. 1. That which 
has to do with the affections. R. II. 1. 1 ; 
R. & J. III. 3. Piteous. T. A. in. 1. Im- 
portant. Lear, iv. 3. 

S74 



Den mi adj, lonely. Per. m. (Gower). 

Di'-boshedf p.p. debauched, drunkeQ. 
Temp. III. 2. 

Deckf v.t. to bedew. This is probably a 
form of the verb ' to dag,' now a provin- 
cial word. Temp. i. 2. 

Deck, sb. a pack of cards. 3 H. VI. v. 1. 

I>eclinef v.t. to enumerate, as in going 
through the eases of a noun. T. & Cr. ii. 3. 

Declined, p.p. fallen. T'. & Cr. III. 3. 

Deem, sb. doom, judgment. T. &. Cr. iv. 4. 

Be/eaf, i>.(. to undo, destroy. 0th. 1. 3; iv.2. 

Di'j'ent, sb. destruction. Much Ado, IV. 1. 

Defeature, sb. disfigurement. Com. of E. 

II. 1. 

Defence, sb. art of fencing. Tw. N. m. 4. 
Defend, v.t. to forbid. Much Adu, ii. 1. 
Defenitible, adj. having the power to de- 
fend. 2 H. IV. II. 3. 
Deftly, adi>. dexterously. Mac. rv. 1. 
Defy, v.i. renounce. 1 H. IV. I. 3. 
Degrees, sb. a .step. J. C. ii. 1. 
D-'Uty, v.i. to let slip by delaying. Cor. i. 6. 
Demerit, sb. merit, desert. 0th. i. 2. 
Demurely, adv. solemnly. A. & C. IV. 9. 
Denny, sb. denial. Tw. N. ii. 4. 
Denier, sb. the 12th part of a French sol. 

R. III. I. 2. 
Denotement, sb. marking. 0th. II. 3. Note 

or manifestation. Ibid. ill. 3. 
Deny, v.t. to refuse. Tim. iii. 2. 
Depart, sb, departure. 2 H. VI. 1. 1. 
Depnrt, v.t. to part. L's L's L. II. 1. 
Departing, sb. parting, separation. 3 H. 

VI. II. 6. 
Depend, v.i. to be in service. Lear, i. 4. 
Derived, p.p. born, descended. Two Gent. 

V. 4. 
Derogate, p.p. degraded. I^ear, i. 4. 
De.tcant, sS. a variation upon a melody, 

hence, metaphorically, a comment on a 

given theme. Two Gent. i. 2. 
Design, v.i. to draw up articles, ^m. 1. 1. 
Despatch, v.t. to deprive, bereave. Ham. 

1.5. 
Desperate, adj. determined, bold. R. & J. 

III. 4. 

Detect, v.t. to charge, blame. M. for M. in. 2. 

Determine, v.t. to conclude. Cor. in. 3. 

Dich, v.i. optative mood, perhaps con- 
tracted for ■ do it.' Tim. i. 2. 

Diet, ^. food regulated by the rules of 
medicine. Two Gent. ii. 1. 

Diet, v.t. to have one's food regulated by 
the rules of medicine. All 's Well, iv. 3. 

Diffused, p.p. confused. Merry Wives, iv. 4. 

Digressing, pr.p. transgressing, going out 
of the right way. R. II. v. 3. 

Digression, sb. transgression. L's L's L.I.2. 

Dig-yoK.gnod-den, int. give you good 
evening. L's L's L. iv. 1. 

Difdo, sb. the chorus or burden of a song. 
Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 

Dint, sb. stroke. J. C. III. 2. 

Direction, sb. judgment, skill. R. III. v. 3. 

Disable, v.t. to disparage. As you Like it, 

IV. 1. 

Disappointed, p.p. uT)preps.red. Ham. I. .5. 
Disease, v.r. to undress. Wint. Tale. iv. 3. 
Di.sconteHt, sb. a malcontent. A. & C. i. 4. 
Discourse, sb. power of reasouing. Ham. 

IV. 4. 
Di.idnined, p.p. disdainful. 1 H. IV. i. 3. 
Dislimn, v.t. to disfigure, transform. A. & 

0. IV. Vi. 
Disme, sb. a tenth or tithe. T. & Cr. ii. 2. 
Dispnrk, v.t. to destroy a fiark. R. II. ill. 1. 
Disponge, v.i. to squeeze out as from a 

sponge. A. & C. IV. 9. 
Dispose, sb. disposal. Two Gent. iv. 1. 
Dispose, v.i. to conspire. A. & C. IV. 12. 
Disposition, sb. maintenance. 0th. X. 3, 



Disputable, adj. disputatious. As you Like 
it, 11. 5. 

Dispute, v.L to argne, examine. 0th. i. 2. 

Dissembly, sb. used ridiculously for as- 
sembly. Much Ado, IV. 2. 

Distaste, v.t. to corrupt. T. & Cr. ii. 2. 

Distempered, adj. discontented. John, 
IV. 3. 

Distraction, sb. a detached troop or com- 
j)any of soldiers. A. & C. iii. 7. 

J>i*f I'rtMflF/tf, j).^. distracted, mad. R. III. 

III. 5. 

Diverted, p.p. turned from the natvural 

course. As you Like it, ii. 3. 
Division, sb. a phrase or passage in a 

melody. K. & J. in. 5. 
Divulged, p.p. published, spoken of. Tw. 

N. I. 5. 
Doff, v.t. to do off, strip. Tam. of S. m. 2. 

To put off with an excuse. 0th. iv. 2. 
Doit, sb. a small Dutch coin. Temp. ii. 2. 
Dole,sb.poTiwn dealt. Merry Wives, ill. 4; 

2 H. IV. 1. 1. Grief, lamentation. M. N's 

Dr. V. 1. 
Don, v.t. to do on, put on. T. A. I. 2 ; Ham. 

IV. 5. 

Done, p.p. ' done to death,' put to death. 

2 H. VI. III. 2. 
Dotant, sb. one who dotes, a dotard. Cor. 

V. 2. 

Dmti, V.I. to do out, quench. Ham. i. 4. 
Dowlas, sb. a kind of coarse sacking. 1 H. 

IV. III. 3. 
Dowle, sb. the swirl of a feather. Temp. 

in. 3. 
Doten.gyved, adj. hanging down like 

gyves or fetters. Ham. ii. 1. 
Drob. sb. a harlot. Wint. Tale. iv. 2. 
Drnbbing, pr.p. whoring. Ham. u. 1. 
Draught, sb. a privy. T. A. V. 1. 
Drawn, p.p. having his sword drawn. 

Temp. u. 1. 
Drawn, p.p. drunk, having taken a good 

draught. Ibid. 
Dribbling, adj. weak. M. for M. I. 4. 
Drive, v.i. to rush impetuously. T. A. ii. S. 
Drollery, sb. a puppet-show. Temp. in. 3. 
Drumble, v.i. to dawdle. Merry Wives, 

ni. 3. 
Dry, adj. thirsty. Temp. 1.2. 
Duc.dnme, perhaps the Latin duc-ad-me, 

bring him to me. As you Like it. 
Dudgeon, sb. a dagger. Mac. II. 1. 
Dull, adj. soothing. 2 H. IV. IV. 4. 
Dullard, sb. a dull person. Cym. v, 5. 
Dump, sb. complaint. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Dup, v.i. to do up, lift up. Ham. iv. 5. 

Eager, adj. sour. Ham. I. 5. Harsh. 3 H. 

VI. II. 0. Biting. Ham. 1. 4. 
Eanling, sb. a yeanling, a lamb. M. of V. 

I. 3. 

Ear, v.t. to plough. All 's Well, I. 3. 

Eche, v.t. to eke out. Per. in. (Gower). 

Ecstacy, sb. madness. Temp. in. 3. 

Eft, adj. ready, convenient. Much Ado, 
IV. 2. 

Eisel, sb. vinegar. Ham. v. 1 ; Son. in. 

Eld, sb. old age. M. for M. in. 1. 

Embossed, adj. swollen into protuber- 
ances. As you Like it, II. 7. Covered 
with foam. A. & C. iv. U. 

Embowelled, p.p. discmboweUed, emp- 
tied. All 's Well. I. 3. 

Embrasure, sb. embrace. T. & Cr. iv. 4. 

Eminence, sb. exalted station. Mac. in. 2. 

Em2>ery, sb. empire. H. V. I. 2. 

Emulation, sb. jealousy, mutiny. T. & Cr. 

II. 2. 

Emulous, arfj. jealous. T. & Or. iv. 1. 
Encnve, v.r. to plucc Oneself iu a cave. 

OUl. lY. 1. 



GLOSSARY. 



Enily sb. 'Still an end,' continually for 
ever. Two Gent. iv. 4. 

Enfeoff, v.t. to place in possession in fee 
.simple. 1 H. IV. in. 2. 

Engine, sb. a machine of war. T. & Cr.n. 3. 

Englut, v.t. to swallow speedily. Tim. ii. 2. 

Engross, v.t. to make gross or fat. R. III. 
III. 7. 

Engrossment, sb. Immoderate acquisi- 
tion. 2 H. IV. IV. 4. 

Enkindle, v.t. to make keen. Mac. I. 3. 

Entneiv, v.t. to shut up, as a hawk is shut 
up in a mew. M. for M. ill. 1. 

Ensconce, v.t. to cover as with a fort. 
Merry Wives, II. 2. 

Enseanied, p.p. fat, rank. Ham. ni. 4. 

Enshieldfp.p. hidden. M. for M. ii. 4. 

£iifer«ai>i, t'.(. encounter. H.V.I. 2. Ex- 
perience. A. & C. II. 7. 

Entertfiinnient, sb. treatment. Temp. i. 2. 
A disposition to entertain a proposal. 
Merry Wives, I. 3. Service. All 's Well, 
IT. 1. 

Entreatnients, sb. interviews. Ham. i. 3. 

Ephesian, sb. a toper, a cant term. Merry 
Wives, IV. 5. 

Equipage, sb. attendance. Merry Wives, 

II. 2. 

Erewhile, adv. a short time since. As you 
Like it. II. 4. 

Escot, v.t. to pay a man's reckoning, to 
maintain. Ham. ii. 2. 

Espcrnnce, sb. hope, used as a war-cry. 
IH. IV. V. 2; T. &Cr. V. 2. 

Espial, sb. a scout or spy. 1 H. VI. iv. 3. 

Estimation, sb. conjecture. 1 H. IV. i. 3. 

Estridue, sb. ostridge. 1 H. IV. IV. 1. 

Eterne, adj. eternal. Mac. lU. 2. 

Even, adj. coequal. Ham. v. 1. 

Even, v.t. to equal. All 's Well, I. 3 ; Cym. 
ui. 4. 

Examine, v.l. to question. All 's Well, III. 
5. 

Excrement, sb. that which grows out- 
wardly from the body and has no sen- 
sation, like the hair or uails. L's L's L. 
v. 1; Ham. ill. 4. Any outward show. 
M. of V. III. 2; Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 

Executor, sb. an executioner. H. V. I. 2. 

Exetnpt, adj. excluded. 1 H. VI. ii. 4. 

Exercise, 56. a religious service. R. III. 

III. 2. 

Exhale, v.t. to hale or draw out. R. III. i. 

2: v.i. to draw the sword. H. V. II. 1. 
Exhibition, sb. allowance, pension. Two 

Gent. I. 3. 
Exigent, sb. death, ending. 1 H. VI. n. 5. 
Ex ion, s6. ridiculously used for 'action.* 

2 H. IV. II. 1. 
Expect, sb. expectation. T. & Cr. i. 3. 
Expedience, sb. expedition, undertaking. 

A. & C. I. 2. Haste. R. II. n. 1. 
Expedient, adj. expeditious, swift. John, 

II. 1. 
Expiate, p.p. completed. R. III. III. 3. 
Expostulate, v.t. to expound, discuss. 

Ham. II. 2. 
Exposture, sb. exposure. Cor. rv. 1. 
Express, v.t. to reveal. Wint. Tale, III. 2. 
Expulse, v.t. to expel. 1 H. VI. in. 3. 
Exsufficate, adj. that which has been 

hissed off. c/)utemptible. Tw. N. in. 3. 
Extent/, v.t. to seize. A. & C. I. 2. 
Extent, sb. a seizure. As you Like it, in. 1. 
Extern, adj. outward. 0th. 1. 1. 
Extirp, v.t. to extin^ate. M. for M. in. 2. 
Extracting, adj. distracting. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Extraught, part, extracted, descended. 

3H.VL n. 2. 
Extravagant, adj. foreign, wandering. 

Oth. I. I. 
Extremes, sb. extravagance of conduct. 



Wint. Tale, IV. 3. Extremities. E. & J. 

IV. 1. 

Eyas, sb. a nestling hawk. Ham. 11. 2. 
i'»/a*-inM«fcef,s6.a nestlingof the musket 

or merlin, the smallest species of British 

hawk. Merry Wives, in. 3. 
Ege, sb. a glance, oeillad. Temp. I. 2. 
Eye, sb. a shade of color, as in shot silk. 

Temp. II. 1. 
Eyne, sb. pi. eyes. L's L's L. V. 2, 

Eaeinorous, adj. wicked. All 's Well, II. 3. 
Eact, sb. guilt. Wint. Tale, ill. 2. 
Eactions, adj. instant, importunate. J. C. 

1.3. 
Faculty, sb. essential virtue or power. H. 

V. 1. 1. 

Fudge, v.i. to suit. Tw. N. II. 2. 
Fading, sb. a kind of ending to a song. 

Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Fain, adj. glad. 2 H.VI. n. 1. 
Fain, adv. gladly. Lear, i. 4. 
Fair, sb. beauty. As you Like it, in. 2. 
Faitor, sb. a traitor. 2 H. IV. II. 4. 
Fall, v.t. to let fall. Temp. 11. 1. 
Fallow, adj. fawn-coloured. Merry Wives, 

1. 1. ' 

False, sb. falsehood. M. for M, n. 4. 
Falsing, adj. deceptive. Com. of E. 11. 2. 
Familiar, sb. a familiar spirit. 2 H. VI. 

IV. 7. 
Fancy, sb. All's Well, v. 3. 
Fancy-free, adj. untouched by love. M. 

N's Dr. n. 2. 
Fang, v.t. to seize in the teeth. Tim. IV. 3. 
Fantastic, sb. a fantastical person. R. & J. 

II. 4. 
Fap, adj. drunk. Merry Wives. 1. 1. 
Far, adv. farther. Wint. Tale, IV. 4. 
Farced, p.p. stuffed. H. V. IV. 1. 
Fardel, sb. a burden. Wint. Tale, IV. 4. 
Fartuous, adj. used ridiculously for ' vir- 
tuous.' Merry Wives, 11. 2. 
Fast, adv. assuredly, unalterably. M. for 

M.I. 3; 2 H.VI. V. 2. 
Fat, adj. dull. 1 H. IV. I. 2. 
Favour, sb. countenance. M. for M. IV. 2. 

Complexion. T. & Cr. i. 2. Quality. Lear, 

1.4. 
Fear, sb. the object of fear. Ham. m. 3. 
Fear, v.t. to affright. A. & C. 11. 6. 
Fearful, adj. subject to fear, timorous. 

Temp. I. 2. 
Feat, adj. dexterous. Cym. v. 5. 
Feat, v.t. to make fine. Cym. 1. 1. 
Feater, adv. comp. degree, more neaUy. 

Temp. II. 1. 
Featly, adv. nimbly, daintily. Temp. I. 2. 
Featttre, sb. beauty. Cym. v. 5. 
Federar^tSb. confederate. Wint. Tale, II. 1. 
Feeder, sb. agent, servant. As you Like it, 

II. 4. 
Fee-grief, sb. a grief held, as it were, in 

fee-simple, or the peculiar property of 

him who possesses it. Mac. iv. 3. 
Feere, sb. a companion, husband. T. A. 

IV. 1. 
Fehemently, adv. used ridiculously for 

'vehemently.' Merrj' Wives, in. 1. 
Fell, sb. the hide. As you Like it, in. 2. 
Fence, sb. art or skill in defence. 2 H. VI. 

n. 1." 
Feodary, sb. one who holds an estate by 

suit or service to a superior lord; hence 

one who acts under the direction of an- 
other. Cym III. 2. 
Fester, v.i. to rankle, grow virulent. Cor. 

1.9. 
Festinately, adv. quickly. L's L's L. m. 1. 
Fet, p.p. fetched. H. V. in. 1. 
Fico, sly. a fig. Merry Wives, i. 3. 
Fielded, adj. in the field of battle. Cor. i. 4. 



Fig, v.t. to insult. 2 Hen. IV. v. 3. 
Fights, sb. clothes hung round a ship to 

conceal the men from the enemy. Merry 

Wives, II. 2. 
File, sb. a list or catalogue. Mac. v. 2. 
File, v.t. to defile. Mac. in. 1. To smooth 

or polish. L's L's L. To make even. H. 

VIII. in. 2. 
Fill-horse, sb. shaft-horse. M. of V. II. 2. 
Fills, sb. the shafts. T. & Cr. ill. 2. 
Filth, sb. a whore. Tim. iv. 1. 
Pine, sb. end. Ham. v. i. 
Fine, v.t. to make fine or specious. H. V. 1. 2. 
Fineless, adj. endless. Oth. in. 3. 
Firago, sb. ridiculously used for ' Virago.' 

Tw. N. III. 4. 
Fire.drake, sb. Will 0' the Wisp. H. VIII. 

v. 3. 
Fire-netp, adj. with the glitter of novelty 

on. like newly-forged metal. R. III. I. 3. 
Firh, v.t. to cha-vtise. H. V. iv. 4. 
Fit, sb. a canto or division of a song. T. & 

Cr. in. 1. A trick or habit. H. VIII. i. 3. 
Fitcheic, sb. a polecat. Lear, iv. 6. 
Fives, sb. a disease Incident to horses. Tam. 

ofS. 
Flap. dragon, sb. raisins In burning 

brandy, L's L's L. v. 1. 
Flap.Jack, sb. a pan-cake. Per. II. 1. 
Flat, adj. certain. 1 H. IV. iv. 2. 
Flatness, sb. lowness, depth. Wint. Tale, 

in. 2. 
Flaw, sb. a gust of wind. 2 H. IV. IV. 4. 

Metaph. sudden emotion, or the cause 

of it. Mac. III. 4 ; A. & C. in. 10. 
Flaw, v.t. to make a flaw in, to break. H. 

VIII. 1. 1. 
Flecked, p.p. spotted, streaked. R. & J. n. 3. 
Fleet, v.i. to float. A. & C. in. 11. To pa.'^ 

away. A. & C. i. 3. v.t. to pass the tfme. 

As you Like it, 1. 1. 
Fleeting, pr.p. inconstant. R. III. i. 4. 
Fleshment, sb. the act of fleshing tlie 

sword, hence the first feat of arms. Lear, 

n. 2. 
Flewed, adj. furnished with hanging lips, 

as hounds are. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
Flight, sb. a particular mode of practising 

archery. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Flirt-gill, sb. a light woman. R. & J. II. 4. 
Flote, sb. wave. sea. Temp. i. 2. 
Flourish, sb. an ornament. L's L's L. iv. 3. 
Flourish, v.t. to ornament, disguise with 

ornament. M. for M. iv. 1. 
Flush, adj. fresh, full of vigour. A. & C. 

1.4. 
Foil, sb. defeat, disadvantage. Temp. in. 1. 
Foin, v.i. to fence, fight. Merry Wives, II. 3. 
Foison, sb. plenty. Temp. n. 1. 
Fond, adj. foolish, foolishly affeotlonate. 

Oth, I. 3; IV. 1. 
Foot-cloth, sb. a saddle-cloth hanging 

down to the ground. 2 H. VI. iv. 7. 
For,conj. for that, because. M. for M. 11. 1. 
Forbid, p.p. accursed, outlawed. Mac. 1.3. 
Forbade, p.p. forbidden. Lover's Com. 
Force, v.t. to stuff, for ' farce.' T. & Cr, v. 5. 
Forced, p.p. falsely attributed. Wint. Tale, 

n. 3. 
Fordo, v.t. to kill, destroy. Lear, V. 3. To 

weary. M. N's Dr. v. 2. 
Foreign, adj. obliged to live abroad. H. 

VIII. n. 2. 
Forepast, adj. former. All's Well, V. 3. 
Foreslow, v.i. to delay. 3 H. VI. II. 3. 
Forfend, v.t. forbid. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Forgetive, adj. inventive. 2 H. IV. IV. 3. 
Forked, adj. horned. Wint. Tale, 1.2; Oth. 

ni. 3. 
Formal, adj. regular, retaining its proper 

and essential characteristic. Com. of E. 

V. 1 ; A. & C. n. 5. 

875 



GLOSSARY. 



Fwsppak, v.t. to speak against. A. & C. 

III. 7. 

Forspent, p.p. exhausted, weary. 2 H. IV. 

I. 1. 
Forthright, sb. a -straight path; forth- 

rights and meanders, straight paths and 

crooked ones. Temp. ill. 3. 
Forwenry, v.t. to weary, exhaust. John, 

n. 1. 
Fosni't'seller, sb. one who sells the pipes 

inserted into a vessel to give vent to the 

liquor, and stopped by a spigot. Cor. ii. 1. 
Fojc, sb. a sword ; a cant word. H. V. IV. 4. 
Fox-ahlp, sb. the cunning of the fox. Cor. 

IV. 2. 

Frampold, adj. peevish, unquiet. Merry 

Wives, II. 2. 
Frank, sb. the feeding-place of swine. 2 

H. IV. II. 2. 
Franked, p.p. confined. R. III. I. 3. 
Franklin, sb. a freeholder, a small squire. 

Cym. III. 2. 
Frautjht, p.p. freighted. M. of V. ii. 8. 
Frauyhtage, sb. freight. Com. of E. iv. 1. 
Fraughting, pr. p. of v. to fraught; load- 
ing or constituting the cargo of a ship. 

Temp. I. 2. 
Fresh, sb. a spring of fresh water. Temp. 

in. 2. 
J'ref.sft. the stop of a guitar. Tarn, of S. ii. 1. 
Fret, v.t. to wear away. R. II, ill. 3 ; Lear, 

I. 4. To variegate. J. C. ii. 1. 
Friend, v.t. to befriend. H. VIII. i. 2. 
Frippery, sb. an old-clothes shop. Temp. 

IV. 1. 
From, prep, contrary to. Ham. in. 2. 
Front, v.t. to aflront, oppose. A. & C. Ii. 2. 
Frontier, sb. opposition. 1 H. IV. i. 3. 
Frontlet, sb. that which is worn on the 

forehead. Lear, i. 4. 
Frush, V.I. to break or bruise. T. & Cr. v. 6. 
Frustrate, p.p. frustrated. A. & C. V. 1. 
Fub off, v.t. to put off. 2 H. IV. II. 1. 
Fulfill, v.l. to fill full. Prol. to T. & C. 
Full, adj. complete. 0th. ii. 1. 
FuUain,sb.& loaded die. Merry Wives, i, 3. 
Fulsome, adj. lustful. M. of V. I. 3. 
Fnrnished,p.p.e(im^\)^(\. Wint.Tale, 1V.3. 
Fumitor, sb. fumitory, an herb. Lear, IV. 4. 

Gaberdine, sb. a loose outer coat, or smock 
frock. Temp. ii. 2; M. of V. i. 3. 

Gad, sb. a pointed instrument, a goad. T. 
A. IV. 1. Upon the gad, with impetuous 
haste, upon the spur of the moment. 
Lear, i. 2. 

Gain-giving, sb. misgiving. Ham. v. 2. 

Gait, .s6. going, steps. Tw. N. i. 4. 

Galliard, sb. a kind of dance. Tw. N. i. 3. 

Gnlliasse, sb. a kind of ship. Tam. of S. ii.l. 

Gallimaufry, sb. a ridiculous medley. 
Wint. Tale, IV. 4. 

Gallon', v.t. to scare. Lear. ill. 2. 

Gallon-glass, sb. the irregular infantry of 
Ireland, and the Highlands of Scotland. 
Mac. I. 2. 

Ganie.ster, sb. a frolicsome person. H. 
VIII. 1.4. Aloosewoman. All's Well, V. 3. 

Gnrboil, sb. disorder, uproar. A. & C. i. 3. 

Garish, adj. gaudy, staring. R. III. iv. 4. 

Garner, v.l. to lay by, as corn in a barn. 
0th. IV. 2. 

Gast, p.p. frightened. Lear, ii. 1. 

Gaudy, adj. festive. A. & C. ill. 13. 

Gase, sb. an object of wonder. Mac. v. 7. 

Gear, sb. matter of business of any kind. 
M. ofV. II. 2. 

Geek, sb. a fool. Cym. v. 4. 

General, sb. the generality, common peo- 
ple. M. for M. II. 4. 

©•"nfrririoiKi, s6. children. Wint. Tale,II.l. 

Generosity, sb. noble birth. Cor. I. 1. 

S76 



Generous, adj. noble. M. for M. 1. 1. 

Gentility, sb. good manners. L's L's L. 1. 1. 

Gentle, sb. gentlefolk. L's L's L. iv. 1. 

Gentle, adj. noble. Temp. i. 2. 

Gentle, v.t. to ennoble. H. V. IV. 3. 

Gentry, sb. complaisance, conduct be- 
coming gentlefolk. Ham. Ii. 2. 

German, adj. akin. Wint. Tale, IV. 4. Ap- 
propriate. Ham. V. 2. 

Gernien, sb. seed, embryo. Lear, ill. 2. 

Oest, sb. period. Wint. Tale, I. 2. 

Gib, sb. a he-cat. Ham. ill. 4. 

Gifts, sb. talents, endowment. Merry 
Wives, 1. 1. 

Giglot, sb. a wanton girl. M. for M. v. i. 

Gilder, sb. a coin of the value of Is. 6d. or 
■2s. Com. of E. IV. 1. 

Gilt, sb. money. H. V. ii. Ch. State of 
wealth. Tim. IV. 3. 

Gimmal, adj. double. H. V. IV. 2. 

Gimmor, sb. contrivance. 1 H. VI. I. 2. 

Ging, sb. gang. Merry Wives, IV. 2. 

Gird, v.i. to gibe. 2 H. I V. i. 2 ; Cor. 1. 1. 

Gird, sb. a sarcasm or gibe. Tam. of S. v. 2. 

Gleek, v.i. to scoff. M. N's Dr. III. 1. 

Gleek, sb. a scoff. 1 H. VI. m. 2. 

Glose, v.i. to commenf ; hence, to be gar- 
rulous. R. II. II. 1. 

Glut, V. to swallow. Temp. 1. 1. 

GxnW.tJ.i. to snarl. R. II.I.3; 2 H. VI. III. 1. 

Good'deed, adv. indeed. Wint. Tale. i. 2. 

Good-den, int. good-evening, contracted 
from ' Good-evening.' John, 1. 1. 

Good-year or Good-Jer, sb. a corruption 
of the French goujere; the venereal dis- 
ease. Merry Wives, i. 4. 

Gttrbellied, adj. corpulent. 1 H. IV. ii. 2. 

Gourd., sb. a species of game of chance. 
Merry Wives, i. 3. 

Gout, sb. a drop. Mac. II. 1. 

Government, sb. discretion. 3 H. VI. I. 4. 

Gracious, adj. abounding in grace Divine. 
Ham. 1. 1. 

Grained, adj. engrained. Ham. iii. 4. 

Gramercy, int. grand mercy, much 
thanks. M. of V. ii. 2. 

Grange, sb. the farmstead attached to a 
monastery, a solitary farm-house. 0th. 
1. 1. 

Gratillity, sb. used ridiculously for ' gra- 
tuity.' Tw. N. II. 3. 

Gratulate, v.t. to congratulate. T. A. :. 2, 

Gi-ave, v.t. to bury. Tim. IV. 3. 

Greasily, adv. grossly. L's L's L. IV. 4. 

Greek, sb. a bawd. Tw. N. iv. 1. 

Green, adj. immature, fresh, unused. E. 
IIL II. 2; Tam. of.'^. in. 2. 

Greenly, adv. foolishly. Ham. IV. 5. 

Greet, v.i. to weep. T. A. I. 2. 

Grixe, sb. a step. Tw. N. iii. I. 

Grossly, adv. palpably. H. V. II. 2. 

Gi'ouitdling, sb. one who sits in the pit 
of a theatre. Ham. in. 2. 

Growing, pr.p. accruing. Com. of E. IV. 1. 

Guard, sb. decoration. M. for M. in. 1. 

Guard, v.t. to decorate. M. of V. ii. 2. 

Gnardage, sb. guardianship. 0th. I. 2. 

Gttinea-hen, sb. the pintado, a cant term. 
0th. I. 3. 

Gules, adj. red, a term in heraldry. Tim. 
IV. 3. 

Gulf, sb. the throat. Mac. iv. 1. 

Gun-stone, sb. a cannon-ball. 

Gust, sb. taste, relish. Tw. N. i. 3. 

Gyve, v.t. to fetter. 0th. n. 1. 

Back, v.i. to become common. Merry 

Wives, II. 1. 
Haggard, sb. a wild or unreclaimed 

hawk. Tam. of S. iv. 1. 
Sag-seed, sb, seed or offspring of a hag. 

Temp. I. 2. 



Hair, sb. course, order, grain. Merry 

Wives, n. 3. 
Halidom, sb. holiness, sanctification, 

Christian fellowship; used as an oath, 

and analogous to 'By my faith.' Two 

Gent. IV. '2. 
Hall, sb. an open space to dance in. R. & 

J. I. 5. 
Hallowmas, sb. All Hallows' Day. Two 

Gent. II. 1. 
Handsaw, sb. perhaps a corruption of 

Heronshaw ; a hern. Ham. n. 2. 
Hap, sb. chance, fortune. Com. of E. 1. 1. 
Happily, adv. accidentally. Tam. of S. 

IV. 4. 
Havdiment, sb. defiance, brave deeds. 1 

H. IV. I. 3. 
Harloek, sh. charlock, wild mustard. 

Lear, iv. 4. 
Harry, v.t. to annoy, harass. A. & C. III. 3. 
Hauijht, adj. haughty. 3 H. VI. n. 1. 
Haunt, sb. company. Ham. iv. 1. 
£rffvl/i(7,s6. property, fortune. Tw. N. in. 4. 
Haviour, sb. behaviour. Merry Wives, i. 3. 
Hay, sb. a term in fencing. R. & J. n. 4. 
Heady, adj. violent, headlong. Com. of E, 

v.l. 
Heat, p.p. of v.t. 'to heat,' heated. M. ofV. 

I. 1. 
Hebenon, sb. henbane. Ham. i. .'). 
Heft, sb. a heaving. Wint. Tale, n. 1. 
Heft, p.p. furnished with a handle: hence, 

metaphorically, finished off, delicately 

formed. Lear, n. 4. 
Helm, v.t. to steer, manage. M. for M. in. 2. 
Hence, adv. henceforward. 2 H. IV. v. 5, 
Henchman, sb. a page or attendant. M. 

N's Dr. II. 2. 
Hent, v.t. to seize, take. M. for M. iv. 6; 

Wint. Tale, IV. 2. 
Hermit, sb. a beadsman, one bound to 

pray for another. Mac. i. 6. 
He.st, sb. command. Temp. in. 1. 
High, adv. usc4 in composition with ad- 
jectives to heighten or emphasize their 

signification, as, high-fantastical. TW'. N. 

1. 1. 
Hight, p.p. called. L's L's L. 1. 1. 
Hild, p.p. held. Lucr. 
Hilding, sb. a paltry fellow. Cym. n. 3. 
Hint, sb. suggestion. Temp. i. 2. 
Hiren, sb. Qy. a prostitute, with a pun on 

the word ' iron.' 2 H. IV. ii. 4. 
Hit, v.i. to agree. Lear. i. 1. 
Hoise, v.t. to hoist, heave up on high. 2 

H. VI. I. 1. 
Hoist, p.p. hoisted. Ham. in. 4. 
Holp, p.p. of the V. to help ; helped. John, 

1. 1. 
Home, adv. to the utmost. Cor. n. 2 ; Cym. 

III. Ti; Lear, in. 3. 
Honest, adj. chaste. 0th. iv. 2. 
Honesty, sb. chastity. As you Like it, m. 3. 
Honey-stalks, sb. the veA clover. T.A.iv.4. 
Hood man-blind, sb. the game now called 

blindman's-buff. Ham. ill. 4. 
Horn-tnad, adj. probably, '/jam-mad,* 

that is. brain-mad. Merry Wives, i. 4. 
Horologe, sb. a clock. 0th. n. 3, 
Hot-hmtse, sb. a brothel. M. for M. II. 1. 
Hox, v.t. to hamstring. Wint. Tale, I. 2. 
Hngger-umtgger, sb. secresy. Ham. IV. 5. 
Hitll, v.i. to drift on the sea like a wrecked 

ship. H. VIII. II. 4. 
Humourous, adj. fitful, or, perhaps, hur- 
ried. R. & J. II. 1. 
Hunt-counter, v.i. to follow the scent the 

wrong way. 2 H. IV. I. 2. 
Hunts-up, sb. a holla used in hunting 

when the game was on foot. R. & J. in. 5. 
Hurly , sb. noise, e<yniumor\. Tam.ofS.IV.l, 
Hurtle, v.i. to clash. J. C. Ii. 2. ' 



GLOSSARY. 



BurtUttg, ?b. noise, confusion. As you 
Like it, iv. 3. 

Husbandry tsb.fTngs.\itY. Mac. ii. 1. Man- 
agement. M. of V. III. 4. 

Husicife, sb. a jilt. Cor. i. 3. 

Ice'brookf sb. an icy-cold brook. 0th. V. 2. 

I*fechs, int. in faith, a euphemism. Wint. 
Tale, I. 2. 

Iffitomi/f sb. ignominy. 1 H. IV. V. 4. 

Itnage, sb. representation. Ilara. iii. 2. 

Xtnharct v.t. to bare, lay open. H. V. i. 2. 

Jill HI erfi«r»/,«6. close connexion. Lear,v.3. 

Jnttnoinent, adj. unimportant. A. & C. v. 2. 

Imp, r.^ to graft, to splice a falcon's broken 
feathers. R. II. ii. 1. 

Itnpf sb. a scion, a child. 2 H. IV. v. 5. 

Impawn, v.t. to stake, compromise. H. V. 
I. 2. 

Imjifnch, v.t. to bring into question. M. 
N's Dr. II. 2. 

Impe-nch, sb. impeachment. C. of E. V. 1. 

Im peachment ^ sb. cause of censure, hin- 
drance. Two Gent. i. 3. 

Intjterceiverantf adj. dull of perception. 
Cym. iv. 1. 

Jmprticos, v.t. to pocket. Tw. N. II. 3. 

Importance, sb. importunity. Tw. N. v. 1. 

Important, adj. importunate. C. of E. v. 
1 ; Lear, iv. 4. 

Importhiff, adj. significant. All's Well, 
V. 3. 

Impose, sb. imposition, meaning com- 
mand or task imposed upon any one. 
Two Gent. iv. 3. 

Imposition, sb. command. M. of V. i. 2. 

Imprese, sb. a device with a motto. R. II. 
III. 1. 

Impress, v.t. to compel to serve. Mac. iv. 1. 

Ineapahie, adj. unconscious. Ham. IV. 7. 

Incarnardine, v.t. to dye red. Mac. ii. 2. 

Incensed, p.p. incited, egged on. R. III. 

III. 1. 

Inch-meal, sb. by inch-meal, by portions 

of inches. Temp. ii. 2. 
Inclining, adj. compliant. 0th. ii. 3. 
Inclining, sb. inclination. Ham. ir. 2. 
Inclip, v.t. to embrace. A. & C. ii. 7. 
Include, v.t. conclude. Two Gent. v. 4. 
Ineonij, adj. fine, delicate. L's L's L. ni. 1. 
Incorrect, adj. ill-regulated. Ham. i. 2. 
Ind, sb. India. Temp. ii. 2. 
Indent, v.i. to compound or bargain. 1 H. 

IV. I. 3. 

Index, sb. a preface. R. III. IV. 4 ; Ham. 

ni. 4. 
Indifferent, adj. ordinary. Ham. ii. 2. 
Indigest, adj. disordered. Son. Iii. 
Indite, v.t. to invite. R. & J. u. 4. To con- 
vict. Ham. II. 2. 
Induction, sb. introduction, beginning. 

1 H. IV. III. 1. 
Indurance, sb. delay. H. VIII. v. 1. 
Jii/iiiife,sb. infinite power. Much Ado.ii.3. 
Ingraft, part, of v. to engralT, engrafted. 

0th, II. 3. 
Jiiyifi6i^«&^^, at/;. uninhabitable. R. II. i.l. 
inherit, v.t. to possess. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Inliooped, p.p. penned up in hoops. A. 

& C. II. 3. 
Inhharn-mate, sb. a contemptuous term 

for an ecclesiastic, or man of learning. 1 

H. VI. III. 1. 
Inkle, sb. a kind of narrow fillet or tape. 

Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Inland, adj. civilized, well-educated. As 

you Like it, in. 2. 
Inly, adj. inward. Two Gent. ii. 7. 
Inly, adv. inwardly. Temp. v. 1. 
Inquisition, sb. enquiry. Temp. 1.2. 
Insane, adj. that which causes insanity. 

Mac. I. 3. 



Insconce, v.t. to arm, fortify. Com. of E. 

II. 2. 

In.itance, sb. example. Tw. N. IV. 3. In- 
formation. 2 H. IV. III. 1. Reason, proof. 
H. V. II. 2; Merry Wives, II. 2. 

Intend, v.i. to pretend. Tam. of S. rv. 1. 

Intending, pr. p. regarding. Tim. Ii. 2. 

Intendment, sb. intention. 0th. IV. 2. 

Intentively, adv. attentively. 0th. I. 3. 

Interessed, p.p. allied. Lear, 1. 1. 

Interfnission,sb. pause, delay. Mac. iv. 3. 

Intrenchment, adj. not capable of being 
cut. Mac. v. 7. 

Intrinse, adj. intricate. Lear, ii. 2. 

Intrinsicate, adj. intricate. A. & C. v. 2. 

Invention, sb. imagination. Mac. in. 1. 

Imvard, sb. an intimate friend. M. for M. 

III. 2. adj. intimate. R. III. ill. 4. 
Inwardness, sb. intimacy. Much Ado, 

IV. 1. 

Irregulous, adj. lawless, licentious. Cym. 

IV. 2. 

Iteration, sb. reiteration. 1 H. IV. I. 2. 

Jack, sb. a mean fellow. R. III. I. 3. 
Jack-a.lent, sb. a puppet thrown at in 

Lent. Merry Wives, v. 5. 
Jack guardant, sb. a jack in office. Cor. 

V. 2. 

Jade, v.t. to whip, to treat with contempt. 

H. VIII. HI. 2; A. & C. III. 1. 
Jar, sb. the ticking of a clock. Wint. Tale, 

1.2. 
Jar, v.i. to tick as a clock. R. II. V. 5. 
Jaunce, v.i. to prance. R. II. v. ^. 
Jess, sb. a strap of leather attached to the 

talons of a hawk, by which it is held on 

the fist. 0th. III. 3. 
Jest, v.i. to tilt in a tournament. R. II. 1. 3. 
Jet, v.i. to strut. Tw. N. ii. 5. 
Journal, adj. daily. Cym. iv. 2. 
Jovial, adj. appertaining to Jove. Cym. v. 4. 
Jxtdicious, adj. critical. Merry Wives, i. 3. 
Jutnp, v.i. to agree. 1 H. IV. I. 2. v.t. to 

hazard. Cym. v. 4. 
Jump, sb. hazard. A. & C. in. 8. 
Jutnp, adv. exactly, nicely. 0th. II. 3. 
J'iis*icer,s&. a judge, magistrate. Lear, in. 6. 
Jut, v.i. to encroach. R. III. II. 4. 
Jutty, sb. a projection. Mac. i. 6. 
Jutty, v.i. to jut out beyond. H. V. in. 1. 
Juvenal, sb. youth, young man. L's L's L. 

I. 2. 

Kam, adj. crooked. Cor. in. 1. 

Kecksy, sb. hemlock. H. V. v. 2. 

Keech, sb. a lump of tallow. H. VIII. 1. 1. 

Keel, v.t. to skim. L's L's L. v. 2. 

Seep, v r. to restrain. Two Gent. iv. 4. 

Keep, sb. keeping, custody, Tam. of S. i. 2. 

Keisar, sb. Ca;sar, Emperor. Merry Wives, 
1.3. 

Kern, sb. the rude foot soldiers of the Irish. 
Mac. I. 2. 

Kibe, sb. a chilblain. Temp. II. 1. 

Kickshaw, sb. & made dish. 2 H. IV. V. 1. 

Kieksy wicksy, sb. a wife, used in dis- 
dain. All 's Well, II. 3. 

Kihi'hole, sb. the ash-hole under a kiln. 
Merry Wives, iv. 2. 

Kind, sb. nature. A. & C. v. 2; T. A. n. L 

Kindle, v.i. to bring forth young; used 
only of beasts. As you Like it. in. 2. 

Kindless, adj. unnatural. Ham. n. 2. 

Kindly, adj. natural. Much Ado, iv. 1. 

Kirtle, sb. a gown. 2 H. IV. II. 4. 

Knap, V.I. to snap, crack. M. of V. III. 1. 

Knave, sb. a boy. J. C. IV. 3. A serving- 
man. All's Well. II. 4. 

Knot, sb. a figure in garden beds. E. II. 
in. 4. 

Know, v.t. to acknowledge. Mac. n. 2. 



labras, sb. lips. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Laced-mutton, sb. a courtezan. Two Gent. 
I.l. 

Zag, sb. the lowest of the people. T. A.m. 6. 

I,ag, adv. late, behindhand. R. III. n. 1 ; 
Lear, i. 2. 

lakin, n. ladykin, little lady, an endear- 
ing term applied to the Virgin Mary in 
the oath, ■ By our lakin.' Temp. Hi. 3. 

land'damn, v.t. perhaps to extirpate: 
Hanmer thinks it means to kill by stop- 
ping the urine. Wint. Tale, ii. 1. 

Lapsed, p.p. taken, apprehended. Tw. N. 
ni. 3. 

Zrtrf^<',arfj.licentious,free. Much Ado.iY.l. 

T^arge.ss, sb. a present. Tam. of S. i. 2. 

Lass-lorn, adj. deserted by a mistress. 
Temp. IV. \. 

latch, V.I. to smear. M. N's Dr. in. 2. To 
catch. Mac. iv. 3. 

Latedtp.]}. belated. A. & C. III. 9. 

Latten, adj. made of brass. Merry Wives, 
I.l. 

laund, sb. lawn. 3 H. VT. III. 1. 

iMvolta, sb. a dance. H. V. in. 5. 

Lay, sb, wager. 0th. n. 3. 

League, sb. besieging army. All's W'ell, 
in. 6. 

leasing, sb, lying. Tw. N. i. 5. 

leather-coats, sb. a kind of apple. 2 H. 

IV. V. 3. 

leech, sb. a physician. T. A. v. 4. 

leer, sb. countenance, complexion. As 

you Like it, iv. 1 ; T. A. iv. 2. 
leet, s6. a manor court. 0th. in. 3. 
Lege, v.t. to allege. Tam. of S. i. 2. 
Legerity, sb. lightness. H. V. IV. 1. 
Lriger, sb. an ambassador resident abroad. 

M. for M. III. 1 ; Cym. i. 6. 
Zeman, sb. a lover or mistress. 2 H. IV. 

V. 3. 

Lenten, adj. meagre. Ham. II. 1. That 
which may be eaten in Lent. K. & J. ii. 4. 

L'envoy, sb. the farewell or moral at the 
end of a tale or poem. L's L's L. in. 1. 

Let, v.i. to hinder. Tw. N. V. 1. v.t. to hin- 
der. Ham. I. 2. 

Let, sb. hindrance. H. V. v. 2. 

Lethe, sb. death. J. C. in. 1. 

Level, v.i. to aim. M.ofV. i. 2; R. III. iv. 4. 

Level, sb. that which is aimed at. H. VIII. 
1.2. 

Lewd, adj. ignorant, foolish. R. III. i. 3. 

Lewdly, adv. wickedly. 2 H. VI. n. 1. 

Lewdster, sb. a lewd person. Merry Wives, 
V. 3, 

Libbard, sb. a leopard, L's L's L. v. 2. 

Liberal, adj. licentious. Two Gent. in. I ; 
0th. II. 1. 

Liberty, sb. libertinism. T. A. iv 1. 

Licen.te, sb. licentiousness. M. for M. in. 2. 

Lief, adj. dear. 2 H. VI. in. 1. 

Lifter, sb. a thief. T. & Cr. i. 2. 

Light o' love, sb. a tune so called. Two 
Gent. I. 2. 

Lightly, adv. easily, generally. Com. of E, 
IV. 4 ; R. in. III. 1. 

Like, v.t. to please. R. III. in. 4 ; Lear, ii. 2. 

Like, v.t. to liken, compare. 1 H. VI. iv. 6. 

Like, adj. likely. M. for M. v. i. 

Likelihood, sb. promise, appearance. R. 
III. HI. 4. 

Liking, sb. condition. 1 H. IV. in. 3. 

Limbeck, sb. an alembick, a still. Mac. i. 7. 

Liniho, or Limbo patrum, sb. the place 
where good men under the Old Test. 
were believed to be imprisoned till re- 
leased by Christ after his crucifixion. 
All's Weil, V. 3; H. VIII. v. 3. 

lAine, sb. bird-lime. Temp. iv. 1. 

Litne, v.t. to entangle as with bird-Time. 
Tw. N. III. 4. To smear with biud-lime. 

877 



GLOSSARY. 



2 H. VI. I. 3. To mix lime with beer or 
other liquor. Merry Wives, i. 3. 

XjitnUf v,i. to draw. As you Like it, II. 7. 

Xinet v.t. to cover on the inside. Cym. ii. 3. 
To strengthen by Inner works. 1 H. IV. 

II. 3; 2H. IV. I. 3. 

JOinstockf $b. a staff with a match at the 
end of it, used by gunners in firing can- 
non. H. V. III. Chorus. 

Zist, sb. a margin, hence a bound or en- 
closure. Tw. N. III. 1 ; 1 H. IV. IV. 1. 

Zither, adj. lazy. 1 H. VI. IV. 7. 

LittU't ?h. miniature. Ham. ll. 2. 

Jjivellhoodf sb. appearance of life. All's 
Well, 1. 1. 

Ztiveryf sb. a law phrase, signifying the 
act of delivering a freehold into the pos- 
session of the heir or purchaser. R. II.II.3. 

Jjiving, adj. lively, convincing. 0th. in. 3. 

Jxiacli, sb. a fish so called. 1 H. IV. II. 1. 

Xob, sb. a looby. M. N's Dr. ii, 1. 

Xocfcrffm,5&. a sort of coarse linen. Cor.ii.l. 

IjO(Je:star, sb. the leading-star, pole-star. 
M. N's Dr. I. 1. 

Xojfc, v.i. to laugh. M. N's Dr. n. 1. 

Xriggiits, sb. the game called nine-pins. 
Ham. v. 1. 

Xongltj, adv. longingly. Tam. of S. 1. 1. 

Xoofj v.t. to lufi", bring a vessel up to the 
wind. A. & C. ill. 8. 

XooH, 56. a low contemptible fellow. Mac. 
V. 3. 

Xot, sb. a prize in a lottery. Cor. v. 2. 

iMtteri/, sb. that which falls to a man by 
lot. A. & C. II. 2. 

Xoivt, sb. a clown. Cor. III. 2. 

Xowt, v.t. to treat one as a lowt, with con- 
tempt. 1 H. VI. IV. 3. 

Xozel, sb. a spendthrift. Wint. Tale, n. 3. 

Xubber, sb. a leopard. 2 H. IV. II. I. 

Xiice, n. the pike or jack, a fresh-water 
fish. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Xnmplsh, adj. dull, dejected. Two Gent. 

III. 2. 

Xunes, sb. fits of lunacy. Wint. Tale, 11. 2. 
I/iirch, v.t. to defeat, to win. Cor. 11. 2. 
Xurcli, v.i. to shift, to play tricks. Merry 

Wives, II. 2. 
LurCf sb. a thing stuffed to resemble a bird 

with which the falconer allures a hawk. 

Tam. of S. iv. 1. 
Lush, arfj. juicy, luxuriant. Temp. 11. 1. 
Liistig, adj. lusty, cheerful. AH 's Well, 11. 3. 
Luxurious, adj. lascivious. Much Ado, 

IV. 1. 

Luxiiry, sb. lust. Lear, iv. fi. 

Lijni, sb. a limer or slow hound. Lear, ui. 6. 

Made, p.p. having his fortune made. Tw. 

N. in. i. 
M'lanifico, sb. the chief magistrate at 

Venice. 0th. i. 2. 
Magot-pie, sb. a magpie, a pie which feeds 

on magots. Mac. in. 4. 
JUiiilcd, p.p. covered as with a coat of 

mail. 2 H. VI. 11. 4. 
Mfiin'CfiHr.ie, sb. a sea-term. Temp. 1. 1. 
Make, v.t. to do up, bar. Com. of E. in. 1. 

To do. L'B L's L. IV. 3: R. III. i. 3. 
JIffiikin, sb. a familiar name for Mary; 

hence a servant wench. Cor. 11. 1. 
JUftUecho, sb. mischief. Ham. in. 2. 
JUammering,pr.p. hesitating. 0th. in. 3. 
Mammets,sb. a woman's breasts. 1 H. IV. 

II. 3. A doll. E. & J. III. 5. 
JUummock, v.t. to break, tear. Cor. I. 3. 
Man, v.t. to tame a ha-wk. Tam. of S. iv. 1. 
JUanage, sb. management. Temp. i. 2. 

1 aplant of soporiferous 
Mandrngnra, sb. I quality, supposed to 
Mandrake, sb. [ resemble aman. 0th. 
J III.3;2H. IV. 1.2. 



Mankind, adj. having a masculine na- 
ture. Wint. Tale, 11. 3. 
Marches, sb. frontiers, borders. H. V. I. 2. 
Marchpane, sb. a kind of sweet biscuit. 

R. & J. I. 5. 
Margent, sb. margin. L's L's L. 11. 1. 
Marry trap, int. nn oath. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Martlemas, sb. the Feast of St. Martin, 

which occurs on the 11th of Nov. when 

the fine weather generally ends; hence 

applied to an old man. 2 H. IV. n. 2. 
Match, sb. an appointment. 1 H. IV. i. 2. 
Mate, v.t. to confound, dismay. Mac. v. 1. 
Meacock, adj. tame, cowardly. Tam. of 

S. II. 1. 
Mealed, p.p. mingled. M. for M. iv. 2. 
Mean, sb. instrument used to promote an 

end. Two Gent. iv. 4. 
Mean, sb. the tenor part in a harmony. 

Two Gent. I. 2. 
Mean, sb. opportunity, power. H. VIII. V. 2. 
Measure, sb. reach. Two Gent. v. 4. A 

stately dance. Much Ado, 11. 1. 
Meazel, sb. a leper, spoken in contemi»t 

of a mean person. Cor. ill. 2. 
Sledal, sb. a portrait in a locket. Wint. 

Tale, I. 2. 
Medicine, sb. a physician. AH 's Well, II. 1. 
Meed, sb. reward, hire. Two Gent. II. 4. 

Merit. 3H.VI. 11. 1. 
Mehercle, int. by Hercules. L's L's L. IV. 2. 
Meiny, sb. retinue. Lear, II. 4. 
Mell, v.i. to mix, to meddle. All 's Well, IV.3. 
Memorize, v.t. to cause to be remembered. 

Mac. I. 2. 
Mephistophilus,sb. thenameof a familiar 

spirit. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Mercatante, sb. (Italian), a foreign trader. 

Tam. of S. iv 2. 
Merely, adv. simply, absolutely. Temp. 1. 1. 
Mess, sb. a company of four. L's L's L. IV. 

3; V. 2. 
Metaphysical, adj. supernatural. Mac. 1.5. 
MetC'yard, sb. measuring-wand. Tam. of 

S. IV. 3. 
Meiv up, v.t. to confine. R. III. 1. 1. 
Micher, sb. a truant. 1 H. IV. 11. 4. 
Miekle, adj. much. Com. of E. ill. 1. 
Mitl-sixpenee, sb. a milled sixpence. 

Merry Wives, i. 1. 
Mince, v.t. to do anything aff'ectedly. H. 

V. V. 2. 
Mincing, adj. affected. 1 H. IV. III. 1. 
Miscreate, p.p. illegitimate. H. V. i. 2. 
Mi-idoubt, v.t. to suspect. 3 H. VI. V. 6. 
Misery, sb. avarice. Cor. 11. 2. 
Misprise, v.t. to despise. As you Like it, 

1. 1. To mistake. M. N's Dr. in. 2. 
Misprision, sb. mistake. Much Ado.iv.l. 
Missive, .^b. messenger. A. & C. II. 2. 
Mistenipered, adj. angry. John. V. 1. 
Misthink, v.t. to think ill of. 3 H. VI. 5. 
Mistress, sb. the jack in bowling. T. & Cr. 

III. 2. 
Mohled, p.p. mufl^led. Ham. n. 2. 
Modern, adj. commonplace. John, III. 4. 
Module, sb. a model, image. John, v. 7. 
Moe, adj. and adv. more. Of frequent oc- 
currence. 
Moiety, sb. a portion. Lear, 1. 1. 
Mome, sb. a stupid per.son. Com. of E. in. 1. 
Monientany, adj. momentary. M. N's Dr. 

1. 1. 
Months-mind, sb. a monthly commemo- 
ration of the dead, but used ludicrously 

to mean a great mind or strong desire. 

Two Gent. i. 2. 
Mood, sb. anger. Two Gent. rv. 1. 
Moon-calf, sb. a nick-name applied to 

Caliban. Temp. II. 2; in. 2. 
Moonish, adj. iuconstaut. As you Like it, 

III. 2. 



Mop, sb. nod. Temp. in. 3. 

Morisco, sb. a Moor. 2 H. VI. in. 1. 

Morris-pike, sb. Moorish-pike. Com. of 
E. IV. 3. 

Mart, sb. death, applied to animals of the 
chase. Wint. Tale, I. 2. 

Mort-du-vinaigre, int. (French), a ridic- 
ulous oath. All 's Well, II. 3. 

Mortal, adj. fatal, deadly. 0th. v. 2. Mur- 
derous. Mac. I. 5. 

Mortified, p.p. ascetic. Mac. V. 2. 

Mose, v.i. a doubtful word, applied to some 
disease in a horse. Tam. of S. in. 2. 

Motion, sb. solicitation. Com. of E. I. 1. 
Emotion. 0th. i. 2. 

Motion, sb. a puppet. Two Gent. n. 1. 

Motive, sb. one who moves. All 's Well, 

IV. 4. That which moves. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 
Motley, adj. used as sb. the many-coloured 

coat of a fool. As you Like it, 11. 7. A 

fool. Ibid. III. 3. 
Motley -tn inded, adj. foolish. As you Like 

it, v. 4. 
Mouse-hunt, sb. a weasel. R. & J. IV. 4. 
Mow, v.i. to make grimaces. Temp. 11. 2. 
Moy, sb. a coin, probably a moidore. H. 

V. IV. 4. 

Much, int. significant of contempt. 2 H. 

IV. II. 4. 
Mtich, adj. used ironically. As you Like 

it, IV. 3. 
Mure, sb. a wall. 2 H. IV. IT. 4. 
Must, sb. a scramble. A. & C. in. 11. 
Mutine, v.i. to mutiny. Ham. in. 4. 
Mutine, sb. a mutineer. Ham. v. 2. 

Napkin, sb. a handkerchief. As you Like 

it, IV. 3. 
Natural, sb. an idiot. Temp. in. 2. 
Nayward, adv. towards denial. Wint. 

Tale, II. 1. 
Nayiv&rd, sb. a catch-word, by-word. 

Merry Wives, n. 2. 
Neb, sb. the beak. Wint. Tale, i. 2. 
Neeld, sb. a needle. M. N's Dr. ni. 2. 
Netf, sb. hand. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
Nephew, sb. a grandson. 0th. 1. 1. 
Nether-stocks, sb. stockings. Lear, n. 4. 
Next, adj. nearest. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 
Nice, adj. foolish. Tam. of S. in. 1. 
Nick, sb. score or reckoning. Two Gent. 

IV. 2. 
Nick, v.t. to brand with folly. A. & C. in. 11. 
Nighted, p.p. black as night. Ham. I. 2. 
Night-mtle, sb. nightly solemnity. M. N's 

Dr. III. 2. 
Nine men's morris, sb. a place set apart 

for a Moori.sh dance by nine men. M. 

N's \>T. II. '2. 
Ninny, sb. a fool, jester. Temp. in. 2. 
Nobility, sb. nobleness. Ham. i. 2. 
Noble, sb. a coin, worth 63. 8d. R. II. 1. 1. 
Noddy, sb. a dolt. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Nonce, sb. for the nonce, corrupted from 

' for then once,' for the occasion. 1 H. IV. 

I. 2. 
Nook-shotten, adj. indented with bays 

and creeks. H. V. in. 5. 
Nourish, sb. a n»rse. 1 H. VI. 1. 1. 
Noimnt, sb. a game at dice. L's L's L. V. 2. 
Notrl, sb. head. M. N's Dr. in. 2. 
Nnthook, sb. a hook for pulling down nuts, 

hence a thief. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

O, sb. a circle. M. N's^ Dr. in. 2. 

Oar, v.t. to row as with oars. Temp. 11. 1. 

Obsequious, adj. behaving as becomes 
one who attends funeral obsequies. 
Ham. I. 2. 

Obsequiously, adv. funereally. R. III. 1. 2. 

Obstacle, adj. ridiculously used for ' ob- 
stinate.' 1 H. VI. V. 4. 



GLOSSARY. 



OerupatioHi 56. persons occupied in busi- 
ness. Cor. IV. 6. 
Occurent, sb. an incident. Ham. V. 2, 
Ott's body, inter). 1 H. IV. 



'Od's in these 
and all similar 
. exclamations 
is a euphem- 
ism for 'God's.' 



Oil's henrtUngs. Merry 

Wives, III. 1. 
Od's pittikins. Cym. IV.2. 
Od's plessed will. Merry 

Wives, 1. 1. 
Oeillind, s6. an amorous glance. Merry 

Wives, I. 3. 
O'crpnrted, p.p. having too important a 

part to act. L's L's L. v. 2. 
O'or-raugkt, p-p. overreached. Com. of 

E. I. 2. Overta.>iked. Ham. ill.-*. 
Offering, p.p. challenging. 1 H. IV. IV. 1. 
0^ee,sb. benefit, kindness. 4^1 's Well, IV. 

4 : use. function. H. V. II. 2. 
Old, adj. a cant term for great, as we say 

fine, or pretty. Merry Wives, 1.4; Mac. 

II. 3. 

Once, adv. some time. Merry Wives, III. 4. 
Oiieyer, sb. a banker. 1 H. IV. II. 1. A 

doubtful word. 
Ope, cidv. open. Com. of E. III. L 
Ope, v.i. to open. 3 H. VI. II. 3. ».(. to open. 

M. of V. 1. 1. 
Open, adj. plain. M. for M. n. 1. Public. 

H. VIII. II. 1. 
Open, v.i. to give tongue as a hound. 

Merry Wives. IV. 2. 
Operant, adj. active. Tim. IV. 3. 
Opin ioned, p.p. used ridiculotisly for pin- 
ioned. Much Ado, IV. 2. 
Opposite, sb. adversary. Tvv. N. in. 4. 
Opposition, sb. combat. Cym. IV. 1. 
Or, adv. before. Mac. iv. 3. 
Order, sb. measures. Com. of E. v. 1 ; H. 

V. IV. 5. 
Ordinance, sb. rank, order. Cor. ni. 2. 
Orgulous, adj. proud. Prol. to T. & Cr. 
Ort, sb. leaving, refuse. Tim. iv. 3. 
Ostent, sb. show, appearance. M. of V. 11. 2. 
Ostentation, sb. show, appearance. Much 

Ado, IV. 1 ; Cor. i. 6. 
Ounce, sb. a beast of prey of the tiger kind. 

M. N's Dr. II 3. 
Ouphe, sb. a fairy. Merry Wives, iv. 4. 
Ousel'Cock, sb. the blackbird, M. N's Dr. 

III. 1. 

Out, adv. all out, fully. Temp. i. 2. 
Out'look, v.t. to face down. John, v. 2. 
Outward, adj. not in the secret of afTairs. 

All's Well. III. 1. 
Outward, sb. outside. Cym. 1. 1. 
Owe, v.i. to own. Temp. 1. 1. 

Pack, v.i. to practise unlawful confed- 
eracy. Much Ado, v. 1 ; Tam. of S. v. 1. 

I*aek, sb. a numberof people confederated. 
R. III. 111.3. 

Paddock, sb. a toad. Mac. 1. 1. 

fuid, p.p. punished. Cym. v. 4. 

Fnlabras, sb. words, a cant term, from the 
Spanish. Much Ado, III. 5. 

Pale, v.t. to enclose. A. & C. u. 7 ; H. V. 
V. Ch. 

Pall, v.t. to wrap as with a pall. Mac. i. 5. 

Palled, p.p. impaired. A. & C. 11. 7. 

Pahner, sb. one who bears a palm-branch, 
in token of having made a pilgrimage 
to Palestine. R. & J. i. 5. 

Paling, adj. victorious. Ham. 1. 1. 

Parcelled, p.p. belonging to individuals. 
R. III. II. •>. 

Pard, sb. the leopard. Temp. IV. 1. 

Paritor, sb. an apparitor. L's L's L. III. 1. 

Parle, sb. talk. Two Gent, I. 2. 

Parlous, adj. perilous. As you Like it. In. 
2; keen, shrewd. R. III. in. 1. 

Parted,p.p. endowed, gifted. T. & Cr. in. 3. 



Partizan, 56. a pike. R. & J. 1. 1. 
Push, sb. tlie face. Wint. Tale, i. 2. 
Push, v.t. to strike violently, to bruise, 

crash. T. & Cr. 11. 3. 
Pass, v.i. to practise. Tw. N. in. 1 ; Lear, 

III. 7. To surpass expectation. Merry 
Wives, IV. 2. 

Passant, pr.p. a term of heraldry, applied 

to animals represented on the shield as 

passing by at a trot. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Passing, adv. surpassingly, exceedingly. 

M. N's Dr. II. 1. 
Passion, v.i. to have feelings. Temp. V. 1. 
Passionate, v.l. to sufler, T. A. in. 2. 
Passg^meastire, sb. a kind of dance. 

Tw. N. V. 1. 
Pastry, rf>. the room where pastry was 

made. R. & J. iv. 4. 
Patch, sb. a mean fellow. Temp. III. 2. 
Patched, p.p. dressed in motley. M. Ks 

Dr. IV. 1. 
Patcliery, sb. trickery. T. & Cr. II. 3. 
Path, v.i. to walk. J. C. II. 1. 
Pathctical, adj. affected, hypocritical. 

As you Like it, iv. 1. 
Patient, v.r. to make patient, to compose. 

T. A. I. 2. 
Patine, sb. the metal disc on which the 

bread is placed in the administration of 

the Eucharist. M. of V. v. 1. 
Pattern, v.t. to give an example of. Wint. 

Tale, III. 2. Afford a pattern for. M. for 

M. II. 1. 
Pauca verba, few words. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Paucas, adj. few, a cant word. Ind. to 

Tam. of S. 
Pavin, sb. a dance. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Pax, sb. & sra&ll image of Christ. H. V.ni.6. 
Pay, v.l. to despatch. 1 H. IV. n. 4. 
Peat, sb. a term of endearment for a child. 

Tam. of S. 1. 1. 
Pedascule, sb. a ijedant, schoolmaster. 

Tam. of S. in. 1. 
Peer, v.i. to peep out. R. & J. 1. 1. 
Peize, v.t. to balance, weigh down. John, 

II. 2; R. III. V. 3. 
Pelting, adj. paltry. M. for M. II. 2. 
Perdu, adj. lost. Lear, IV. 7. 
Perdurable, adj. durable. H. V. IV. 5. 
Perdy, int. a euphemism for Par Dieu. 

Com. of E. IV. 4. 
Perfect, adj. certain. Wint. Tale. III. 3. 
Perfect, v.t, to inform perfectly. M. for M. 

IV. 3. 

Periapts, sb. charms worn round the neck. 

1 H. VI. V. 3. 
Perjure, sb. a perjured person. L's L's L. 

IV. 3. 
Persever, v. to persevere. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Perspective, sb. a telescope, or some sort 

of optical glass. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Pete-fellow, sb. a comrade. R. III. IV. 4. 
Pheeze, v.t. to comb, fleece, curry. Ind. to 

Tam. of S.; T. & Cr. n. 3. 
Pia-mater, sb. the membrane covering 

the brain, the brain itself Tw. N. i. 5. 
Pick, v.t. to pitch, throw. H. VIII. v. 3. 
Picked, adj. chosen, selected. John, 1. 1. 
Pickers (and stealers), sb. the fingers, used 

ridiculously. Ham. in. 2. 
Picking, adj. insignificant. 2 H. IV. 1. 1. 
Pickt-hatch,sb. a place noted for brothels. 

Merry Wives, n. 2. 
Pied, adj. motley-coated, wearing the 

motley coat of a je-ster. Temp. in. 2. 
Pieled, p.p. shaven. 1 H. VI. I. 3. 
Pightfp.p. pitched. T. & Cr. v. 11. 
Pilcher, sb. a scabbard. R. & J. in. 1. 
Pill, v.i. to pillage. Tim. iv. 1. 
Pin, sb. a malady of the eye. Lear, in. 4. 

The centre of a target. L's L's L. iv. 1 ; 

R. & J. n. 4. 



Pinfold, sb. a pound, a place to confine 

lost cattle. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Pinned, p.p. digged. Temp. in. 3. 
Placket, sb. a petticoat-front. Wint. Tale, 

IV. 3. 
Plain song, sb. a simple air. H. V. III. 2. 
Plaited, p.p. intricate. Lear, 1. 1. 
Planched, adj. made of boards. M. for M. 

IV. 1. 
Plantation, sb. colonizing, planting a 

colony. Temp. n. I. 
Plnu.iice, adj. plausible. All's Well, I. 2. 
Pleached, adj. interwoven. Much Ado. i. 2. 
Point, sb. a lace furnished with a lag by 
which the breeches were held up. 1 H. 
IV. II. 4. 
Point-'de'Vice, adj. derived from the 

French, faultless. Tw. N. n. 5. 
Poise, sb. balance. M. for M. II. 4. Doubt. 

Lear, 11. 1. 
Polled, p.p. bare. Cor. iv. 5. 
Pomander, sb. a perfumed ball. Wint. 

Tale, IV. 4. 
Poniewater, sb. a kind of apple. L's L's L. 

IV. 2. 
"poor-John, sb. a herring. Temp. n. 2. 
Popinjay, sb. a parrot. 1 H. IV. i. 3. 
Port, sb. pomp, state. Tam. of S. 1. 1. 
Port, sb. a gate. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 
Portable, adj. bearable. Mac. rv. 3. 
Portance,sb. conduct, behaviour. Cor.ii.3, 
Possess, v.t. to inform. Tw. N. n. 3. 
Patch, v.i. to push violently. Cor. 1. 10. 
Potent, sb. a potentate. John, 11. 2. 
Pouncet'box, sb. a box for holding per- 
fumes. 1 H. IV. I. 3. 
Power, sb. forces, army. 2 H. IV. i. 1. 
Practice, sb. wicked stratagem. Tw. X. v. 1. 
Practisant, sb. a confederate. 1 H. VI. in. 2. 
Prank, v.t. to dress up. Wint. Tale, iv. 3; 

Cor. in. 1. 
Precept, sb, a justice's summons. 2 H. I V. 

v.l. 
Preciously, adv. in business of great im- 
portance. Temp. I. 2. 
Pregnancy, sb. fertility of invention. 2 H. 

IV. I. 2. 
Pregnant, adj. fertile of invention. M. for 
M. I. 1. Ready. Ham. in. 2. Obvious. 
M. for M. II. 1. 
Prenoniiuate, v.t. to name beforehand, to 

prophesy. T. & Cr. iv. h. 
Pre-ordinance, sb. old-established law. 

J. C. III. 1. 
Presence, sb. the presence chamber. H. 
Viy. in. 1. High bearing. M. of V. III. 
2. 
Prest, adj. ready. M. of V. I. 1. 
Pretence, sb. design. Wint. Tale. in. 2. 
Pretend, v.t. to portend. 1 H. VI. iv. 1. To 

intend. Mac. n. 4. 
Prevent, v.t. to anticipate. J. C. v. 1. 
Prick, sb. the mark denoting the hour on 

a dial. R. & J. n. 4. 
Prick, v.t. to incite. Tam. of S. in. 2. To 
choose by pricking a hole with a pin op- 
posite the name. J. C. in. 1. 
Prick-.iong, sb. music sung in parts by 

note. R. & J. II. 4. 
Pricket, sb. a stag of two years. L's L's L. 

IV. 2. 
Pride, sb. heat. 0th. in. 3. 
Prig, v.t. to steal. Wint. Tale, iv. 2. 
Prime, adj. rank, lecherous. 0th. in. 3. 
Primer, adj. more-important. H. Vlll. i. 2. 
Primero, sb. a game at cards, n. VIII. v. 1. 
Principality, sb. that which holds the 

highest place. Two Gent. n. 4. 
Princox, sb. a coxcomb. R. & J. i. 5. 
Priser, sb. a prize-fighter. As you Like it, 

II. 3. 
Procure, v.t. to bring. R & J. in. 5. 

879 



GLOSSARY. 



Preface, inlerj. much good may it do you. 

2 H. IV. V. 3. 
Profane, adj. outspoken. 0th. ii. 1. 
Progress, sb. a royal ceremouial journey. 

Ham. I. 3. 
Project, v.l. to shape or contrive. A. & C. 

V. 2. 
Prompture, sb. suggestion. M. for M. n. 4. 
Prone, adj. ready, willing. Cym. v. 4; M. 

for M. I. 3. 
Proof, sb. strength of manhood. Much 

Ado, IV. 1. 
Propaijate, v.l. to advance, to forward. 

Tim. I. 1. 
Prnpagntion, sb. obtaining. M. for M. i. 3. 
Proper-false, sb. natural falsehood. Tw. 

N. II. 2. 
Propertied, p.p. endowed with the prop- 
erties of A. & C. v. 2. 
Properties, sb. scenes, dresses, &c. used 

in a theatre. Merry Wives, iv. 4. 
Property, v.t. to take possession of. John, 

V. 2. 
Propose, v.t. to suppose, for the sake of 

argument. 2 H. IV. v. 2. To converse. 

Much Ado, III. 1. « 

J»<'u7)ose,s6. conversation. Much Ado, in. 1. 
Prorogue, v.l. to defer. R. & J. ii. 2. 
Provand, sb. provender. Cor. ii. 1. 
Provision, sb. forecast. Temp. i. 2. 
Piicelle, ab. a virgin, the name given to 

Joan of Arc. 1 H. VI. v. 4. 
Ptittency, sb. modesty. Cym. ii. 5. 
Piii/r/iiig, adj. thieving. Wint. Tale, IV. 2. 
Pun, r.l. to pound. T. & Cr. ii. 1. 
Purchase, v.t. to acquire, win. As you 

Like it, iii. 2. 
Purchase, sb. gain, winnings. ] H. IV. ii. 1. 
Put, v.t. to compel. M. for M. 1. 1. 
Putter-on, sb. an instigator. H. VIII. I. 2. 
Putter-out, sb. one who lends money at 

interest. Temp. jii. 3. 
Putting-on, sb. instigation. M. for M. iv. 2. 
Puttock, sb. a kite. Cym. i. ■>. 

Quail, v.i. to faint, be languid, be afraid. 

As you Like it, ii. 2. v.l. to cause to 

quail. A. & C. v. 2. 
Oii(n"n(,a(y. curiously beautiful. Temp.i.2. 
Quake, v.t. to cause to quake or tremble. 

Cor. I. 9. 
Qualify, v.t. to moderate. Much Ado, v. 4. 
Quality, sb. those of the same nature. 

Temp. I. 2. Rank or condition. M. for 

M. II. 1; 2H. IV. v. 2. 
Quarrel, sb. a suit, cause. 2 H. VI. III. 2. 
Quarry, sb. game, a heap of gam# Ham. 

V. 2; Cor. I 1. 
Quart d'4cu, sb. a quarter crown. All 's 

Well, IV. 3. 
Quarter, sb. the post allotted to a soldier. 

Tim. V. 5. 
Quat, sb. a pimple ; used in contempt of a 

person. 0th. v. 1. 
Queasy, adj. squeamish, unsettled. Much 

Ado, II. 1 ; Lear, ii. 1. 
Quell, sb. murder. Mac. I. 7. 
Quench, v.i. to grow cool. Cym. i. 6. 
Quern, sb. a hand-mill. M. N's Dr. ii. 1. 
Quest, sb. enquiry, search, inquest, jury. 

M. lor M. IV. 1; R. 111. i. 4 ; Ham. v. 1. 
Questrist, sb. one who goes in search of 

another. Lear, in. 7. 
Quick, adj. so far gone in pregnancy that 

the child is alive. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Quicken, v.i. to come to life. Lear. in. 7. 
Quiddit, ) sb. a subtle question. Ham. v. 
Quiddity, I 1; 1 H. IV. 1.2. 
Quillet, sb. quidlibet, a subtle case in law. 

L's L's L. IV. 3. 
Quintain, sb. a. post for tilting at. As you 

Like it, i. 2. 



Quip, sb. sharp jest, a taunt. Much Ado, 

n. 3. 
Quire, v.i. to sing in concert. M. of V. v. 1. 
Quit, v.i. to requite, respond. Lear, in. 7; 

Ham. v. 2. 
, Quit, v.t. past tense of the verb to quit. 

quitted. Cym. i. 1. 
Quitanee, sb. requital. H. V. n. 2. 
Quiver, adj. active. 'J H. IV. in. 2. 
Quote, v.t. to note. R. & J. i. 4. 

Rabato, sb. a ruff. Much Ado, in. 4. 
Jtabbit-sucker, sb, a weasel. 1 H, IV. ii. 4. 
if ace, sb. breed; inherited nature. Temp. 

1.2. 
Rack, sb. wreck. Temp. iv. 1. 
Rack, v.t. to enhance the price of any- 
. thing. Much Ado. iv. 1 : Cor. v. 1. v.i. to 

drive as clouds. 3 H. VI. n. 1. 
Rag, sb. a term of contempt applied to 

persons. Tim. iv. 3. 
Rake, v.l. to cover. Lear, iv 6. 
Rapt, p.p. transported with emotion. Mac. 

1.3. 
Rapture, sb. a fit. Cor. ii. 1. 
Rascal, sb. a lean deer. J. C. iv. 3. 
Rash, adj. quick, violent, Wint. Tale, I. 2. 
Rate, sb. opinion, judgment. Temp. n. 1. 
Rate, K.t. to assign, to value. A. & C. in. 6 ; 

Cym. I. 5. To scold. M. of V. I. 3. 
Ratolorum, a ludicrous mistake for Ro- 

tulorum. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Raught, past tense of ti. to reach. H. V.iv.6. 
Ravin, adj. ravenous. All 's Well, in. 2. 
Ravin, v.t. to devour. Mac. ii. 4. 
Raudy, adv. inadequately. H. V. iv. 1. 
Rawness, sb. Unprovided state. Mac. iv. 3. 
7f«;/ed,p.p. arrayed, served. Tam. of S.IV.l. 
Razed, p.p. slashed. Ham. in. 2. 
Rear-mouse, sb. the bat. M. N's Dr. n. 3. 
Rebate, v.l. to deprive of keenness. M. for 

M. I. 5. 
Rebeck, sb. a three-stringed fiddle. R. & J. 

IV. 5. 
Receipt, sb. money received. R. II. 1. 1. 
Receiving, sb. capacity. Tw. N. in. 1. 
Recheat, sb. a point of the chase to call 

back the hounds. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Record, v.l. to sing. Two Gent. V. 4. 
Recorder, sb. a flute. Ham. in. 2, 
Recure, v.t. to cure, recover. R. III. in. 7. 
Red-lattice, adj. suitable to an ale-house, 

because ale-houses had commonly red 

lattices. Merry Wives, n. 2. 
Red-plague, sb. erysipelas. Temp. i. 2. 
Reduce, v.l. to bring back. R. III. v. 4. 
Reechy, adj. smoky, dirty. Cor. n. 1. 
Refell, v.t. to refute. M. for M. v. 1. 
Refer, v.r. to reserve to. M. for M. in. 1. 
Regiment, sb. government. A. & C. in. 6. 
Regreet, sb. a salutation. M. of V. ii. a. 
Regreet, v.t. to salute. R. II. i. 3. 
Regucrdon, sb. requital. 1 H. VI in. 1. 
Relative, adj. applicable. Ham. n. 2. 
Remember, v.t. to remind. Wint. Ttle, in. 

2; M. for M. ii. 1. 
Remorse, sb. pity. M. for M. v, 1. 
Remorseful, adj. full of pity, compassion- 
ate. Two Gent. iv. 3. 
Remotion, sb. removal. Tim. iv. 3. 
Removed, *adj. sequestered, remote. M. 

for M. I. 4: As you Like it. in. 2. 
Render, v.t. to describe you. As you Like 

it, IV. 3. 
Render, sb. account. Cym. iv. 4. 
Renege, v.l. to renounce, to deny. A. & C. 

1. 1 ; Lear, n. 2. 
Repair, v.l. to renovate, comfort. All's 

Well, I. 2. 
Repeal, v.l. to reverse the sentence of 

exile. Two Gent. v. 4. 
Reproof, sb. confutation. 1 H. IV. I. 2. 



Repugn, v.t. to resist. 1 H, VI. iv. 1. 

Requiem, sb. mass for tlie dead, so called 
because it begins with the words. Re- 
quiem etemam dona eis, Domine. Ham. 
v.l. 

Resolve, v.t. to satisfy. 3 H. VI. III. 2. To 
dissolve. Ham. I, 2. 

Respect, sb. consideration. Much Ado. ii. 3. 

Respective, adj. respectful, thoughtful. 
M. of V. V. 1. 

JJMi>cc(iBe,ad/. corresponding. Two Gent 
IV. 4. 

Respectively, adv. respectfully. Tim. in. 1. 

Retailed, pp. handed down. ft. III. in. 1. 

Retire, sb. retreat. 1 H. IV. ii. 3. 

Retire, v.l. to draw back. R. II. ii. 2. 

Reverb, v.l. to echo. Lear, 1. 1. 

Revolt, sb. a rebel. John, v. 4. 

Rib, v.t. to enclose as within ribs. M. of V. 
II. 7. 

Rid, v.t. to destroy. Temp. i. 2. 

Rift, v.i. to split. Wint. Tale, v. 1. vji. to 
split. Temp. v. 1. 

Rift, sb. a split. Temp. i. 2. 

Riggish, adj. wanton. A. & C. II. 2. 

Rigol, sb. a circle. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 

Ripe, adj. drunk. Temp. v. 1. 

Rivuge, sb. the shore. H. V. in. Chorus. 

Rival, sb. a partner. Ham. i. 1. 

Rivality, sb. equal rank. A, & C. III. 5. 

Rive, v.t. to flre, 1 H, VI. iv. 2. 

RoadfSb. the high road, applied to a com- 
mon woman (traviata). 2 H. IV. n. 2. 

Roisting, adj. roistering, violent. T. & Cr. 
n. 2. 

Romage, sb. unusual stir. Ham, 1. 1. 

Ronyon, sb. a term of contempt applied 
to a woman. Mac. i. 3. 

Rood, sb. the crucifix. R. & J. i. 3. 

Rook, sb. a cheater. Merry Wives, i. 3. 

Ropei'y, sb. roguery. R. & J. n, 4. 

Rope-tricks, sb. tricks such as are played 
by a rope-dancer. Tarn, of S. i, 2. 

Round, v.i. to whisper. 0th. i. 3. To be- 
come great with child. Wint. Tale, II. 1. 
v.t. to finish olT. Temp. iv. 1. 

Round, sb. a diadem. Mac. I. 5. 

Round, adj. unceremonious. Mac. I. 5. 

Roundel, sb. a dance or song. M. N's Dr. 
n, 3. 

Roundure, sb. an enclosure. John, II. 1. 

Rouse, sb. carousal. Ham. i. 4. 

Roguish, adj. mangy As you Like it, II. 2. 

Rubious, adj. ruddy. T%v. N. i. 4. 

Ruddock, sb. the redbreast. Cym. iv. 1. 

Rush, v.t. to push. R. & J. III. 3. 

Rushting, adj. rustling. Merry Wives, ii. 2. 

Sacrificial, adj. reverent, as words used 

in religious worship. Tim. 1. 1. 
Sacring-bell, sb. the little bell rung at 

mass to give notice that the elements arc 

consecrated. H. VIII. in. 2. 
Sad, adj. serious. Two Gent. i. 2. 
Sadly, adv. seriously. Much Ado, n. 3. 
Sadness, sb. seriousness. R. & J. 1. 1. 
Safe, v.l. to make safe. A. &. C. iv. 6. 
Sag, v.i. to hang down. Mac. v. 3. 
Salt, adj. lascivious. 0th. ii. 1 ; in. 3. 
Salt, sb. taste. Merry Wives, ii. 3. 
Sanded, adj. marked with yellow spots. 

M. N's Dr. IV. 1. 
Sans, prep, without. Temp. i. 2. 
Saucy, adj. lascivious. All *s Well, iv. 4. 
Saw, sb. a moral saying. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Say, adj. silken. 2 H. VI. IV. 7. 
Say, sb. assay, taste, relish. Lear, v. 3. 
Scaffoldage, sb. the gallery of a theatre. 

T. & Cr. I. 3. 
Scald, adj. scurvy, scabby. Merry Wives, 

III. 1. 
Scale, v.l. to weigh in scales. Cor. ii. 3. 



GLOSSARY. 



SenlU sb. a scab, a word of reproach. 

Merry Wives, iii. 1. 
Scnmblef v.i. to scramble. H. V 1. 1. 
Scnntelf sb. probably a misprint for sea- 

mel. sea-mew. Temp. ii. 2. 
ScaUf v.t. to examine subtly. 0th. in. 3. 
Scant, v.t. to cut short, to spare. M. of V. 

in. 2. 
Scanty adj. scanty, short. Ham. v. 2. adv. 

scarcely. R. & J. I. 2. 
^crt»i(/(«*/,?&. a small portion. T. «feCr. 1.3. 
ScajiCf v.t. to escape. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Scape, sb. a sally. M. for M. i. 1. 
ScathOf sb. injury. 2 H. VI. ii. 4. 
Scathe, v.t. to injure. R. & J. I. 5. 
Scathfitl, adj. destructive. Tw. N. V. 1. 
Sconce, sb. the head. Ham. v. 1. 
Scotch, v.t. to bruise or cut slightly. Mac. 

III. 2. 

Scrinier, sb. a fencer. Ham. iv. 7. 

Srroyle, sb. a scabby fellow. John, ii. 3. 

Scull, sb. a shoal of tish. T. & Cr. v. 5. 

Scurvy, adj. scabby ; melaph. mean. 
Temp. II. 2. 

Seal, v.t. to set one's seal to a deed; hence, 
to confiim. Cor. ii. 3. 

Seittn, sb. fat. T. & Cr. ii. 3. 

Seamy, adj. showing the seam or sewing. 
0th. IV. 2. 

Sear, adj. scorched, withered. Mac. V. 3. 

Sear, v.t. to stigmatise. All's Well. ii. 1. 

Search, v.t. to probe; hence, to apply a 
healing remedy. Two Gent. i. 2. 

Seated, adj. fixed, confirmed. Mac. i. 3. 

Sect, sb. a slip or scion. 0th. i. 3. A polit- 
ical party. Lear, v. 3. 

Securely, adv. inconsiderately. T. & Cr. 

IV. 5. 

Seel, v.t. to close. 0th. in. 3. 

Seeling, pr.p. closing, blinding. Mac. III. 2. 

Seeming, adv. seemly, becomingly. As 
you Like it, v. 4. 

Seeming, sb. outward manner and ap- 
pearance. Wint. Tale, iv. 4. 

Seen, adj. versed, instructed. Tarn. ofS.l.2. 

Seld, adv. .seldom. T. &. Cr. iv. 5. 

.S>//-6oHH^i/,s6. native goodness. Oth.iii.3. 

Semblnbly, adv. alike. 1 H. IV. v. 3. 

Seniory, sb. seniority. R. III. iv. 4. 

Sennet, sb. a flourish of trumpets. 

Sepulchre, v.t. to bury. Two Gent. IV. 2. 

Sequestration, sb. separation. Oth. i. 3. 

Sere, adj. dry. Com. of E. iv. 2. 

Serjeant, sb. a bailiff. Ham. v. 2. 

Serpigo, sb. a cutaneous disease. M. for M. 

HI. 1. 

Serviceable, adj. ' serviceable vows,' vows 

that you will do her service, or be her 

sen'ant. Two Gent. III. 2. 
Seteboa, sb. the name of a fiend. Temp. i. 2. 
Setter, sb. one who watches travellers to 

give information to thieves. 1 H. IV. ii. 2. 
Several, sb. land which is not common 

but appropriated. L's L's L. n. 1. 
Shame, v.i. to be ashamed. Cor. ii. 2. 
Shatne, sb. modesty. Com. of E. in. 2. 
Shards, sb. shreds, broken fragments of 

pottery. Ham. v. 1. 
* Shards, sb. the wing cases of beetles; 

hence 'sharded.' Cym. iii. 3; and 'shard- 
borne.' Mac. in. 2. 
Sharhed, p.p. snatched up, as a shark 

does his prey. Ham. i. 1. 
Sheen, sb. brilliancy. M. N's Dr. n. 1. 
Sheer, adj. pure. R. II. v. 3. Unmixed. 

Ind. to Tarn, of R. 2. 
Shent, p.p. rebuked, blamed. Cor. v. 2. 

Hurt. Ham. iii. 3. 
Sheriff* s-imst, sb. a post at the door of a 

sheriff, to which royal proclamations 

were fixed. Tw. N. i. 6. 
Shive, sb. slice. T, A. II. 1. 

56 



Shot. sb. the reckoning at an ale-house. 

Two Gent. II. 5. 
Shoughs, sb. shaggy dogs. Mac. iii. 1. 
iShoulderedf p.p. R. III. in, 7. A doubtful 

word. 
Shovel'board , sb. game played by sliding 

metal pieces along a board at a mark. 

Merry Wives. 1. 1. 
S/irptcd,adj. mischievous. All's Well. III. 5. 
S/iri/«,s6. confession. K. III. iii. 4. Abso- 
lution. M. for M. IV. 2. 
Shrive, v.t. to confess. M. of V. I. 2. 
Shrivlng.time, sb. time for confession. 

Ham. V. 2. 
Shroud, v.r. to enshroud oneself, cover 

oneself up. Temp. ii. 2. 
Side.sleeves, sb. loose hanging sleeves. 

Much Ado, III. 4. 
Siege, sb. seat. M. for M. iv. 2. Stool. 

Temp. II. 2. Rank. Ham. IV. 7. 
Sight, sb. an aperture in a helmet. 2 H. 

IV. IV. 1. 

Sightless, adj. invisible. Mac. I. 5, Un- 
sightly. John, III. 1. 
Sign, v.i. to give an omen. A. & C. IV. 3. 
Silti/, adj. simple, rustic. Cym. v. 3. 
Simutar, adj. couuterfeit, feigned. Cym. 

V. 5. 

Single, adj. feeble. Mac. I. 3. 

Sir, sb. a title applied to a bachelor of arts 
at the Universities. Tw. N. iv. 2. 

Silh, conj. since. Two Gent. i. 2. 

Sithence, conj. since. Cor. ill. 1. 

Sizes, sb. allowances. Lear, ii. 4. 

Shains-rnates, sb. scapegraces. R. & J. ii.4. 

Skill, v.i. to be of importance. Tam. of S. 
III. 2. 

Skiltess, adj. ignorant. Temp. in. 1. 

Skimble-aknmble, adj. rambling, dis- 
jointed. 1 H. IV. III. 1. 

Skinker, sb. a drawer of liquor. 1 H. IV. 

II. 4. 

Skirr, v.i. to scour. Mac. v. 3. 

Slack, v.t. slacken. Oth. iv. 3. 

Slave, v.t. to turn to slavish uses. Lear, iv. 1. 

Sleave, sb. floss-silk. Mac. ii. 2. 

Sledded, p.p. sledged. Ham. i. 1. 

Sleided, p.p. untwisted, raw, applied to 

silk. Per. iv. (Gower). 
Sleights, sb. artifices. Mac. iii. 5. 
Slice, int. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 
Slipper, adj. slippery. Oth. n. 1. 
Slips, sb. a kind of noose, or leash. H. V. 

III. 1. A piece of base money. R. *fej. n.4. 
Sliver, v.t. to slice. Lear, iv. 2. 

Sliver, sb. a slice. Ham. iv. 7. 
Slops, sb. loose breeches. Much Ado, III. 2. 
Slubber, v.t. to slur over. M. of V. ii. 8. 
Smirched, p.p. smeared, soiled. Much 

Ado, IV. 1. 
Smooth, v.t. to flatter. Per. i. 2. 
Smoothed, p.p. flattered, fawned upon. 

Tim. IV. 3. 
Sneap, sb. taunt, sarcasm. 2 H. IV. II. 1. 
Sneaped, p.p. pinched. Lucr. 
Snenping, adj. nipping. L's L's L. 1. 1. 
Sneck.up, int. go hang ! Tw. N. II. 3. 
Snuff, sb. anger. L's L's L. ' To take in 

snuff' is to take offence. 
Softly, adv. gently. Wiat. Tale, IV. 2 ; Ham. 

IV. 4. 

Soil, sb. spot, taint. Ham. I. 3. 

Solicit, sb. solicitation. Cym. ii. 3. 

Sotidare, sb. a small coin. Tim. in. 1. 

Sitlve, sb. solution. Son. 69. 

Sometimes, adv. formerly. M. of V. 1. 1. 

Sooth, sb. truth. Wint. Tale, IV. 3. Con- 
ciliation. R. II. III. 3. 

Sooth, adj. true. Mac. V. 5. 

Sorel, sb. a buck of the third year. L's L's 
L. IV. 2. 

Sorriest, adj. most sorrowful. Mac. in. 2, 



Sorry, adj. sorrowful, dismal. Com. of E. 

V. 1. 
Sort, sb. a company. M. N's Dr. in. 2. 
Rank, condition. R. U. IV. L Lot. T. & 
Cr. I. 3. ' In a sort,' in a manner. Temp, 
n. 1. 
Sort, v.t. to choose. Two Gent. III. 2. v.i. to 
suit. Much Ado, V. 2. To consort. 2 H. 
IV. II. 4. 
Sot, sb. fool. Cym. v. 5. 
Sotil.f earing, adj. soul-terrifying. John, 

II. 2. 
Sotvl, v.t. to lug, drag. Cor. iv. 5. 
Sowter, sb. name of a dog. Tw. N. ii. 5. 
Specialty, sb. a special contract. Tam. of 

S. II. 1. 
Sjied, p.p. settled, done for. R. & J. in. 1. 
Speed, sb. fortune. Wiut. Tale, m. 2. 
Sperr, v.t. to bolt, fasten. T. & C. prol. 
Spial, sb. a spy. 1 H. VI. i. 4. 
Spill, v.t. to destroy. Lear. III. 2. 
Spilth, sb. spilling. Tim. ii. 2. 
Spleen, sb. violent haste. John, n. 2; V. 7. 
Used of the lightning flash. M. N's Dr. 1. 1. 
Sprag, adj. quick. Merry Wives, iv. 1. 
Spring, sb. shoot, bud. V. & A. Begin- 
ning. M. N's Dr. II. 2; 2 H. IV. IV. 4. 
Springhalt, sb. stringhalt, a disease of 

horses. H. VIIL I. 3, 
Sprited, p.p. haunted. Cym. II. 3. 
Spurs, sb. roots of trees. Temp. v. 1 ; Cym. 

IV. 2. 
Squandered, p.p. scattered. M. of V. I. 3. 
Square, v.t. to quarrel. M. N's Dr. n. 1. 
Square, sb. the front part of a woman's 

dress, stomacher. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 
Square, adj. equitable. Tim. v. 1. 
Squarer, sb. quarreller. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Squash, sb. an unripe peascod. Tw. N. 1.5. 
Squier, sb. a square or rule. L's L's L. V. 2. 
Sqniny, v.i. to squint. Lear, iv. 6. 
Staggers, sb. a disease in horses, attended 
with giddiness ; hence any bewildering 
distress. Cym. v. 5. 
Stain, v.t. to disfigure. Temp. I. 2. 
Stale, sb. a decoy. Temp. IV. 1. A gull. 
Tam. of S. 1. 1. A prostitute. Much Ado, 
II. 2. 
Stale, v.t. to make stale, deprive anything 

of its freshness. T. & Cr. n. 3. 
Stand ti2>on, to be incumbent on. R. II. 

IV. 2. 

Staniel, sb. an inferior kind of hawk. Tw. 

N. H. 5. 
Stark, adv. stifl'. Cym. iv. 2. 
Starkly, adv. stiffly. M. for M. IV. 2. 
State, sb. a canopied chair. Tw. N. n. 5. 
Station, sb. attitude. Ham. in. 4. Act of 

standing. A. & C. in. 3. 
Statist, sb. a statesman. Cym. n. 4. 
Statua, sb. a statue. R. III. in. 7. 
Statue, sb. image, picture. Two Gent. iv. 4. 
Statute, sb. security, obligation. Son. 134. 
Statute.caps, sb. woollen caps worn by 

citizens. L's L's L. v. 2. 
Stay, sb. a check. John, n. 2. 
Stead, v.t. to profit. Temp. I. 2. 
Stelled, p.p. (a doubtful word) set or fixed. 

Lucr. Son. 24. 
Sternage, sb. steerage, course. H. V. in. 

Chorus. 
Stickler, sb. an arbitrator In combats. T. 

& Cr. v. 9. 
Stigmatic, sb. a deformed person. 2 H. VI. 

V. 1. 

Stigitiaticat, adj. deformed. Com. of E. 

IV. 2. 
Still, adj. constant. T. A. III. 2. 
Still, adv. constantly. Temp. i. 2. 
.Still;/, adv. softly. H. V. iv. Chorus. 
Stint, v.t. to stop. H. Vm. I. 2. v.i. To 

stop. R. & J. I. 3. 

881 



GLOSSARY. 



Stiffif/, fb. a smith's forge. Ham. in. 2. 
Stitlii/, V.I. to forge. T. & Cr. iv. 5. 
StoccudOf sb. a stoccata, or thrust in fenc- 
ing. Merry Wives, ii. 1. 
Stock, sb. a stocking. Tam. of S. ill. 3. 
A7oi«ffc/i,s6. courage, stubbornness. Temp. 

I. 2. Appetite, inclination. Temp. II. 1, 
StoticboWf sb. a cross-bow for throwing 

. stones. Tw. N. Ii. 5. 

Stoitpf sb. a cup. Tw. N. ii. 3. 

Stout, adj. strong, healthy. Tim. IV. 3. 

Stover, sb. fodder. Temp. in. 8. 

Struclnj, sb. A word of doubtful meaning. 
Tw. N. II. 5. 

Strnlffht, adv. immediately. Ham. v. 1. 

Strain, sb. lineage. Much Ado, II. 1. Dis- 
position. Merry Wives, ii. 1. 

Slrtiited,p.p. straitened. Wint. Tale, iv. 4. 

Strniige, adj. foreign. L's L's L. iv. 2. Coy, 
reserved. R. & J. ii. 2. Marvellous. 0th. 
V.2. 

Straiiffetiess, sb. coyness, reserve. T. & 
Cr. in. 3. 

Stranger, sb. foreigner. H. VIII. II. 3, 

Strappado, sb. a kind of punishment. 1 
H. IV. II. 4. 

Stricture, sb. strictness. M. for U. i. 4. 

Strossers, sb. trowsers. H. V. III. 7. 

Stuck, sb. a thru.st of a sword. Ham. IV. 7. 

Stuck in, sb. corruption of stoccala. Tw. 
N. III. 4. 

Stuff, sb. baggage. Com. of E. iv. 4. Ma- 
terial, substance. 0th. 1. 1. 

Stuffed, p.p. filled, stored. Much Ado, 1. 1. 

Sty, v.t. to lodge as in a sty. Temp. 1. 2. 

Subscribe, v.t. to yield. Lear, I, 2. v.i. to 
succumb. T. cS: Cr. iv. 5. 

Success, sb. issue, consequence. Much 
Ado, I. 3. Succession. Wint. Tale, I. 2. 

Successive, adj. succeeding. 2 H. VI. III. 1. 

Successively, adv. in succession. 2 H. IV. 
IV. 4. 

Sudden, adj. hasty, rash. As you Like it, 

II. 7. 

Suddenly, adv. hastily. R. III. IV. 1. 
Sufferance, sb. suliering. M. for M. ill. 1. 
Suggest, v.L\.o tempt, entice. All's Well, 

IV. 5. 
Suggestion, sb. temptation, enticement. 

Mac. I. 3. 
Suited, p.p. dressed. All 's Well, 1. 1. 
Sullen, adj. doleful, melancholy. John, I.l. 
Sumpter, sb. a horse that carries provisions 

on a journey. Lear, ii. 4. 
Suppose, sb. a trick, imposition. Tam. of 

S. V. 1. 
Supposed, p.p. counterfeit. Tam. of S. II. 1. 
Surcease, v.i. to cease. Cor. in. 2. 
Surcease, sb. cessation, end. Mac. I. 7. 
Surjyrise, v.t. to capture by surprise. 3 U. 

VI. IV. 2. 
Sur-reined, p.p. over-worked. H. V. ill. 5. 
Suspect, sb. suspicion. R. III. i. 3. 
Suspire, v.i. to breathe. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. 
Swabber, sb. a sweeper of the deck of a 

ship. Temp. ii. 2. 
Swart, adj. black. John, in. 1. 
Surarth, adj. black. T. A. ii. 3. 
Swarth, sb. quantity of grass cut down by 

one sweep of the scythe. Tw. N. ii. 3. 
Su-asher, sb. swaggerer. H. V. in. 2 
A'wfi.s/iiHj/jpr.p. dashing, smashing. R. & 

J. 1. 1. 
Sicatlt, sb. The same as ' swarth.' T. & Cr. 

v. ,=i. 
Swathling, adj. swaddling. 1 H. IV. in. 2. 
Sway, v.i. to move on. 2 H. IV. iv. 1. 
Swear, v.t. to adjure. Lear, 1. 1. 
Swear over, v.t. to out-swear. Wint. Tale, 

I. 2. 
Swift, adj. ready, quick. Much Ado, III. 1. 
SwingC'buckler, .ih. a bully. 2 U. I V. lU. 2. 

882 



Table, sb. a tablet, note-book. Ham. i. 2. 
J'n6«e-6ooA-,s6. note-book. Wint. Tale. iv.3. 
Tables, sb. the game of backgammon. L's 

L's L. V. 2. A note-book. Ham. i. 5. 
labor, sb. a small side-drum. Temp. iv. i. 
Taborer, sb. a player on the labor. Temp. 

III. 2. 

Tabourine, sb. tambourine, drum. T. & 

Cr. IV. 5. 
Tag, sb. the rabble. Cor. in. 1. 
Taint, p.p. tainted. 1 H. VI. v. 3. 
Taiuture, sb. defilement. 2 H. VL II. 1. 
Take, v.t. to infect, blast, bewitch. Merry 

Wives, IV. 4; Ham. i. 1. 
Take in, v.t. to conquer. A. & C. in. 7 ; Cor. 

I. 2. 
Take out, v.l. to copy. 0th. in. 4. 
Take up, v.t. to borrow money, or buy on 

credit. 2 H. VI. iv. 7. To make up a 

quarrel. As you Like it, v. 4. 
Taking, sb. infection, malignant influ- 
ence. Lear, ni. 4. 
Taking up, sb. buying on credit. 2 H. IV. 

1.2. 
Tale, sb. counting, reckoning. Mac. i. 3. 
Tall, adj. strong, valiant. Tw. N. i. 3. 
TalloW'Catch, sb. a lump of tallow. 1 H. 

IV. II. 4. 

Tang, sb. twang, sound. Temp. Ii. 2. 
Tang, v.t. to sound. Tw. N. II. 5. 
Tanling, sb. anything tanned by the sun. 

Gym. IV. 4. 
Tnrre, r.t. to excite, urge on. John, iv. 1. 
Tarriance, sb. delay. Two Gent. n. 7. 
Tartar, sb. Tartarus. H. V. n. 2. 
Task, v.t. to tax. 1 H. IV. IV. 3. Challenge. 

R. II. IV. L 
Tasking, sb. challenging. 1 H. IV. v. 2. 
Taste, v.t. to try. Tw. N. in. 4. 
Tairdry'lace, sb. a rustic necklace. Wint. 

Tale. IV. 3. 
Taxation, sb. satire, sarcasm. As you Like 

it, I. 2. 
Taxing, sb. satire. As you Like it, ii. 7. 
Teen, sb. grief. Temp, i. 2. 
Tell, v.t. to count. Temp. ii. 1. 
Temper, v.t. to mix. Cym. v. 5. 
Temperance, sb. temperature. Temp. II. 1. 
Tenipered,p.p. mixed. Ham. v. 2. 
Tend, v.t. to attend to. 2 H. VI. 1. 1. 
Tender, v.t. to hold, to esteem. Temp. Ii. 1. 

To have consideration for. Two Gent. 

IV. 4, 
Tent, v.t. to probe as a wound. Cor, in, 1. 
Tent, sb. a probe for searching a wound. 

Cym. III. 4. 
Tercel, sb. the male of the goshawk. T. & 

Cr. III. 2. 
Termagant, sb. a ranting character in 

old plays. Ham. in. 2. 
Tested, p.p. pure, assayed. M. for M. n. 2. 
I'estern, v.t. to reward with a tester, or 

sixpence. Two Gent. 1. 1. 
Tharborough, sb. (corrupted from ' third- 

boroutih') a constable. L's L's L. i 1. 
Theorick, sb. theory. All 's Well. IV. 3. 
Theives, sb. sinews, muscles. 2 H. I V. in. 2. 
T/iicfc, adv. rapidly. 2 H. IV. ii. 3; Cym. 

in. 2. 
Th ick-pleached, p.p. thickly intertwined. 

Much Ado. I. 2. 
Third-borough, sb. a constable. Ind. to 

Tam. of S. i. 
Thought, sb. anxiety, grief. Ham. in. 1 ; 

A. & C. IV. 6. So • to take thought' is to 

give way to grief, J, C. n. 1. 
Thrasonical, adj. boastful. As you Like 

it, V. 2. 
Three-man beetle, sb. a wooden mallet 

worked by three men. 2 H. IV. 1. 2. 
Three-man-song-tnen, sb. singers of 

glees in three parts. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. 



Three-pile, sb. three-piled velvet. Wint 

Tale. IV. 3. 
Threne, sb. lament. Ph. & T. 
Thrid, sb. thread, fibre. Temp. iv. 1. 
Throe, v.t. to put in agonies. Temp. ir. 1. 
Thrum, sb. the tufted end of a thread in 

weaving. M. N's Dr. v. 1. 
Thrummed, p.p. made of coarse ends or 

tuft-s. Merry Wives, iv, 2, 
Tickle, adj. ticklish, M. for M. i. 3. 
Tight, adj. nimble, active. Tam, of S. II, 

1; A, &C. IV. 4. 
Tightly, adv. briskly, promptly. Merry 

Wives, I. 3; ii. 3, 
Tike, sb. a eur. H. V. n. 1. 
Tilly*vally, int. an exclamation of con- 
tempt. Tw. N. 11. 3. 
Tilth, sb. tillage. Temp. ii. 1. 
Timeless, adj. untimely. R. II. IV. 1. 
Tinct, sb. stain, dye. Ham. iii. 4. 
Tire, sb. attire, head-dress. Two Gent. IV. 4. 
Tire, v.i. to tear as a bird of prey. S H. VI. 

I 1. Hence, metaphorically, to feed. 

Cym. III. 4. 
Tire, v.t. to attire, dress. Com. of E. ii. 2. 
Tod, v.i. to yield a tod of wool. Wint. Tale, 

IV. 3. 
Tokened, p.p. marked with plague spots. 

A. &C. 111.8. 
Tokens, sb. plague spots. L's L's L. V. 2, 
Toll, v.t. to exact toll. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. To 

pay toll. All's Well, v, 3, 
Too too, adv. excessively. Two Gent. I. 4; 

Ham. I. 2. 
Topless, adj. supreme, without superior. 

T. & Cr. I, 3. 
Touch, sb. touchstone for testing gold. R. 

III. IV. 2. Trait. As you Like it, lU, 2. 

An acute feeling, Cym. 1. 1. 
Touched, p.p. pricked. T. A. iv. 4. 
Touse, v.t. to pull, drag, M. for M. v. 1. 
To((?«rrf,a(ii'. nearly ready. M. N's Dr. in. 1. 
Towards, adv. nearly ready. R. & J. i. 5. 
Toys, sb. trifles, foolish tricks. 2 H. I V. II. 4. 
Trade, sb. beaten path. H. VIII. v. 1. 
Tranect, sb. a ferry. M. of V. 111. 4. 
Translated, p.p. transformed. M. N's Dr. 

III. I. 

Trash, v.t. to check, as a huntsman his 
hounds. Temp, i 2; Oth. n. 1. 

Travail, sb. labour, toil. 1 H. VI. v. 4. 

Tray-trip, sb. an old game played with 
dice. Tw. N. ii. 5. 

Treachers, sb. traitors, Lear, I. 2. 

Treaties, sb. entreaties. A. & C. III. 9. 

Trenched, p.p. carved. Two Gent. in. 2. 

Trick, sb. technically, a copy of a coat of 
arms; hence, any peculiarity which dis- 
tinguishes voice or feature. Lear, iv. 6; 
Wint. Tale, n. 3. 

Trick, V.I. to dress up. H. V. III. 6. 

Tricked, p.p. blazoned. Ham. n. 2. 

Tricking, sb.oru&meni. Merry \Vives,rv.4. 

Tricksy, adj. elegantly quaint. Temp. v. 1. 

Triple, adj. third. A & C. i 1. 

Triifan, sb. a cant word for a thief. 1 H. 

IV. II. 1. 

Trol-niy-dames, sb. Fr. trou-madame; the 
name of a game; also called pigeon- 
holes. Wint. Tale, iv. 2. 

Troth-plight, adj. betrothed. H. V. il. 1. 

Trow, v.i. to trust, think. H. VIII. 1. 1. 

True, adj. honest. Cym. n. 3. 

Trundle-tail, sb. a long-tailed dog. Lear, 
111. 6. 

Tucket-sonnnce, sb. a flourish on the 
trumpet. H. V. iv. 2. 

Tundish, sb. a funnel. M. for M. in. 2. 

Turtygood,sb. a name adopted by bedlam- 
beggars. Lear, n. 3. 

r«rii,i'.(. to modulate. As you Likeit. n.5i 

Twangling, pr.p. twanging. Temp. in. 2. 



GLOSSARY. 



TtriffffeUf adj. made of twigs, wicker. 

0th. ir. 3. 
Twilled, p.p. Temp. ill. 3. A doubtful 

word. 
Tirink, sft. a twinkling. Temp. m. 3. 
Ttcire, v.i. to peep, twintle. Son. 28. 

Vadc, v.i. to fade. P. P. 

Vail, r.l. to lower. M. for M. V. 1. 

Tnilinff^pr.p. lowering. M. of V. I. 1. 

Vainness, sb. vanity. H. V. V. Chorus. 

Valanced, p.p. adorned with a valance or 
fringe: applied to the beard. Hum. ii. 2. 

Vnlidity, sb. value. All's Well, v. 3. 

fanhif/e, sb. advantage. Two Gent. I. 3. 

T'a n tbracet .tb. armour for the front of the 
arm. T. & Cr. I. 3. 

Tnrlet, sb. a servant, valet T. cS: Cr. 1. 1. 

Vast, sb. properly a waste-place, meta- 
phorically, the dead of night. Temp. 1.2. 
A gulf. Wint. Tale, 1. 1. 

Tastidity, sb. immensity. M. for M. m. 1. 

Tnstttj, adv. like a waste. Luc. 

Tasty, adj. vast, waste. 1 H. IV. III. 1. 

Vaiuit, sb. the van, that which precedes. 
T. & Cr. Prol. 

Vaunt'Coiiriers, sb. forerunners. Lear, 



Toward, sb. the van, vanguard, advanced 
guard of an army. H. V. iv. 3. Hence, 
metaphorically, the first of anything. 
M. N's Dr. IV. 1. 

Tegetives, sb. herbs. Per. in. 2. 

Telure, sb. velvet. Tam. of S. in. 2. 

Telvet-guards, sb. literally, velvet trim- 
mings; applied metaphorically to the 
citizens who wore them. 1 H. IV. in. 1. 

Tenew, sb. a bout in fencing, metaphori- 
cally applied to repartee and sallies of 
wit. L's L's L. V. 1. 

Teney, sb. a bout at fencing. Merry Wives, 
1. 1. 

Tenge, v.i. to avenge. H. V. i. 2. 

Tcntagcs, sb. holes in a flute or flageolet. 
Ham. III. 2. 

Terbnl, adj. wordy. Cym. ii. 3. 

Tery, adj. true, real. Two Gent. III. 1. 

Tia, int. off with you ! Merry Wives, II. 2. 

Tice, v.t. to screw. Wint. Tale, i. 2. 

Tice, sb. the buffoon in the old morality 
plays. Ham. in. 4. 

Tie, v.i. to challenge; a term at cards. A. 
& C. V. 2. To play as for a wager. Tam. 
of S. II. 1. 

Tieivless, adj. invisible. M. for M. III. 1. 

Tillain, sb. a lowborn man. As you Like 
it, 1. 1. 

Tinewed, p.p. mouldy. T. & Cr. Ii. 1. 

Tiol-de-ganihoySf sb. a bass viol. Tw. N. 
1.3. 

TirginalUng, pr.p. playing as on the vir- 
ginals, a kind of a spinet. Wint. Tale, i. 2. 

Tirttte, sb. the essential excellence. Temp. 
I. 2. Valour. Lear, v. 3. 

Tirtiions, adj. excellent. M. N's Dr. in. 2. 
Endowed with virtues. As you Like it, 1.3. 

Vizatnent, sb. advisement. Merry Wives, 
I. L 

Voluble, adj. fickle. 0th. II. 1. 

Tolnntary, sb. volunteer. John, ii. 1. 

Votarist, sb. votary, one who has taken a 
vow. M. for M. I. 5. 

Ttitgar, sb. the common people. L's L's L. 
I. 2. 

Vulgar, adj. common. John. II. 2. 

Vulgarly, adv. publicly. M. for M. V. 1. 

timbered, p.p. stained, dark, as with um- 
ber. H. V. IV. Chorus. 

Unanele.d,p.p. without extreme unction. 
Ham. I. 5. 

Viiavoided, adj. unavoidable. R. III. iv. 4. 



Unharbed, p.p. untrimmed. Cor. in. 2. 
XTubated, p.p. unblunted. Ham. iv. 7. 
UnlMilt, V.I. to disclose. Tim. i. I. 
Unbolted, ji.p. unsifted, unrefined. Lear, 

II. 2. 
Unbreathed, p.p. unpractised. M. N's Dr. 

V.I. 

Uncape, v.i. to throw oS' the hounds. 
Merry Wives, in. 3. 

Uncharged, p.p. undefended, applied to 
the gates of a city. Tim. v. 4. 

Uneleie, v.i. to unravel, undo. Tim. 1. 1. 

Vitcoined, p.p. unalloyed, unfeigned. H. 
V. V. 7. 

Undergo, v.t to undertake. Tim. m. 5. 

Undertaker, 56. one who takes up an- 
other's quarrel. Tw. N. in. 4. 

Under-wrought, p.p. undermined. John, 

II. 1. 

Uneath, adv. hardly. 2 H. VI. III. 4. 

Unexpressive, adj. inexpressible. As you 
Like it, lit. 2. 

Unfair, v.t. to deprive of beauty. Son. 5. 

I7i*/t«pj3i;(/, arfu. censoriously. H. VIII. 1.4. 

■Unhappy, adj. mischievous. All's Well, 
IV. 5. 

Unhatched, p.p. undisclosed. 0th. in. 4. 

Unhouseled, p.p. without receiving the 
sacrament. Ham. i. 5. 

Unimj^roved, p.p. unreproved. Ham. 1. 1. 

Union, sb. a pearl. Ham. v. 2. 

UnjH.it, adj. dishonest. 1 H. IV. iv. 2. 

Unkind, adj. unnatural. Lear, in. 4. 

Unlived, adj. bereft of life. Lucr. 

Unmanned, p.p. untamed, applied to a 
hawk. E. & J. in. 2. 

Ihtowed, p.p. unowned. John, iv. 3. 

Uupregnant, adj. stupid. M. for M. iv. 4. 

Unprojyer, adj. common to all. 0th. iv. 1. 

Unquestionable, adj. not inquisitive. As 
you Like it, in. 2. 

Unready, adj. undressed. 1 H. VI. II. 1. 

Unrespective, adj. inconsiderate. R. III. 
IV. 2. 

Unsistintj, adj. unresting. M. for M. iv. 2. 

Unstanched,p.p. incontinent. Temp. 1. 1. 

Untempering, adj. unsoftening. H. V. V.2. 

Untented, adj. unsearchable. Lear, i. 4. 

Untraded, adj. unused, uncommon. T. & 
Cr. IV. 5. 

Untrimmed, p.p. spoiled of grace or orna- 
ment. Son. 18. 

Untrue, sb. untruth. Son. 113. 

Unvalued, adj. invaluable. R. III. T. 4. 

Upsprin/f reel, sb. a boisterous dance. 
Ham. I. 4. 

Urchin, sb. the hedge-hog. Temp. i. 2. 

Usance, sb. usurj'. M. of V. I. 3. 

Use, sb. interest. M. for M. 1. 1. 

Utis, sb. riotous merriment, which accom- 
panied the eighth day of a festival. 2 H. 

IV. II. 4, 

Utter, v.t. to expel, put forth. Much Ado, 

V. 3. 

Utterance, sb. extremity. Mac. III. 1 ; Cym. 

III. I. 

Waft, v.t. to wave, beckon. Ham. i. 4. To 

Turn. Wint. Tale, i. 2. 
IVaftngv, sb. passage. T. & Cr. in. 2. 
n'afture, sb. waving, beckoning. J. C. 11. 1. 
IVage, v.t. to reward as with wages. Cor. v. 5. 
Wailful, adj. lamentable. Two Gent. in. 2. 
Waist, sb. the middle of a ship. Temp. 1.2. 
Wannion. 'With a wannion' = ' with a 

vengeance.' Per. 11. 1. 
Wappened, p.p. withered, overworn. Tim. 

IV. 3. 

Ward, sb. guard. Temp. 1.2. Prison. 2 H. 

VI. v. 1. 

Warden, sb. a large pear used for baking. 
Wint. Tale, iv. 2. 



Warder, sb. truncheon. R. II. i, 3. 
Warn, v.t. to summon. R. III. l. 3. 
Wassail, sb. a drinking bout. A. & C. I. 4. 

Festivity. Ham. i. 4. 
Wat, a familiar word for a hare. V. & A. 
Watch, sb. a watch light. R. III. v. 3. 
Watch, v.t. to tame by keeping constantly 

awake. 0th. in. 3. 
Water-gall, sb. a secondary rainbow. 

Lucr. 
Water-rug, sb. a kind of dog. Mac. in. 1. 
Water-work, sb. painting in distemper. 

2 H. IV. II. 1. 
Wax, v.i. to grow. H. V. v. 1. 
Waxen, v.i. perhaps, to hiccough. M. N's 

Dr. II. 1. 
Wealth, sb. weal, advantage. M. of V. 

V.I. 

Wear, sb. fashion. As you Like it. II. 7. 
Weather-fend, v.t. to defend from the 

weather. Temp. v. \. 
Web and pin, sb. the cataract in the eye. 

Lear, in. 4 ; Wint. Tale. i. 2. 
Wee, adj. small, tiny. Merry Wives, i. 4. 
Weed, sb. garment. Tw. N. v. 1. 
Ween, v.i. to think. 1 H. VI. n. 5. 
Weet, v.t. to wit. know. A. & C. 1. 1. 
Weigh out, v.t. to outweigh. H. VIII. in. 1. 
Welkin, sb. the sky. Merry Wives, i. 3. 
Welkin, adj. sky-blue. Wint. Tale, i. 2. 
Well-liking, adj. in good condition. L's 

L's L. V. 2. 
Well said, int. well done ! 2 H. IV. in. 2. 
Wend, v.i. to go. M. for M. IV. 3. 
Wesand, sb. the wind-pipe. Temp, ill, 2. 
Whelk, sb. a weal. H. V. in 6. 
Whelked, p.p. marked with whelks or 

protuberances. Lear,iv. 6. 
When, an exclamation of impatience. 

Tam. of S. iv; 1. 
Wlien as, adv. when. Son. 49. 
Where, adv. whereas. 2 H. VI. in. 2 ; Lear, 

I. 2. 

IHtei-e, sb. a place. Lear, 1. 1. 

Whiffler, sb. an officer who clears the 

way in processions. H. V. v. Chorus. 
While-ere, adv. a little while ago. Temp. 

ni. 2. 
Whiles, adv. until. Tw. N. iv. 3. 
Whip-stock, sb. handle of a whip. Tw. N. 

II. 3. 

Whi.it, adj. hushed, silent. Temp. i. 2. 
White, sb. the centre of an archery butt. 

Tam. ofS. v. 2. 
Wliitely, adj. pale-faced. L's L's L.iii. 1. 

A doubtful word. 
Whiting-time, sb. bleaching time. Merry 

Wives, in. 3. 
W7i itster, sb. bleacher. Merry Wives, in. 3. 
miittle, sb. a clasp knife. Tim. v. 3. 
JFlioo-bub, sb. hubbub. Wint. Tale. IV. 4. 
Wtmop, v.i. to crj' out with astonishment. 

H. V. II. '2. Comp. As you Like it, in. 2. 
Wicked, adj. noisome, baneful. Temp. i. 2. 
Widow, v.t. to give a jointure to. M. for M. 

V. I. 
Widowhood, sb, widow's jointure. Tam. 

OfS. II. 1. 
Wight, sb. person. 0th. n. 1. 
iriW, sb. weald. 1 H. IV. II. 1. 
Wilflerness, sb. wildne.ss. M. for M. in. h 
Wimpled, p.p. veiled, hooded. L's L'.^ L. 

in. 1. 
Window-bars, .^b. lattice-work across a 

woman's stomacher. Tim. iv. 3. 
Windring, pr.p. winding. Temp. in. 3. 
Winter-ground, v.t. to protect (a plant) 

from frost. Cym. iv. 2. 
Wis, in the compound ' I wis,' certainly, 

R, III. 1.3. 
Wi.ih, v.t. to commend. Tam. of S. 1. 1. 
Wistly, adv. w istfully. R. II. v. 4. 



AN INDEX TO FA3IILIAR PASSAGES. 



Wit, sb. knowledge, wisdom. M. of V. :i. 1. ; 

J. C. III. 2. 
Without, prep, beyond. M. N's Dr. iv. 1. 
Wits, five, the live senses. Much Ado, 1. 1. 
Vittol, sb. a tonteuted cuckold. Merry 

Wives, II. 2. 
Wittij, adj. intelligent. 3 H. VI. i. 2. 
ir<iman-tired, adj. hen-pecked. Wint. 

Tale, II. 3. 
Trmuleved, p.p. marvellously gifted. 

Temp. IV. 2. 
Wnixl, adj. mad. Two Gent. II. 3. 
Woodcock, sb. a simpleton. Tarn, of S. I. 

2. 
Woodman, sb. a forester, huntsman. Cym. 

III. 6. A cant term for a weucher. M. for 

M. IV. 3. 
Woolward, adj. shirtless. Us L's L. V. 2. 
Word, ikL to flatter or put off with words. 

A. & C. V. 2. To repeat the words of a 

song. Cym. iv. 2. 



World. ' To go to the world ' is to get mar- 
ried. Much Ado, II. 1. So 'a woman of 
the world ' is a married woman. As you 
Like it, V. 3. 

Worm, sb. a serpent. M. for M. m. 1. 

WoTser, adj. worse. Temp. iv. 1. 

Worship, v.t. to honour. H. V. I. 2. 

Worth, sb. wealth, fortune. Tw. N. in. 3. 

Worts, sb. cabbages. Merry Wives, 1. 1. 

Wot, v.t. to know. Two Gent. IV. 4. 

Wound, p.p. twisted about. Temp. ii. 2. 

Wreak, sb. vengeance. Cor. iv. 5. 

Wrenk, v.t. to avenge. T. A. iv. 3. 

Trrf«A-/«^,a(i;. revengeful, avenging. Tim. 
IV. 3. 

Wrest, sb. an instrument used for tuning 
a harp. T. & Cr. in. 3. 

Writ, sb. gospel, truth. Per. n. fGower). 

Writhled, p.p. shrivelled. 1 H. VI. ii. 3. 

Wroth, sb. calamity, misfortune. M. of V 
II. 9. 



Wrung, p.p. twisted, strained. 1 H. IV. 

II. 1. 

Wry, v.i. to swerve. Cym. v. 1. 

Tare, adj. ready. Used as an int., 'be* 

being understood. Temp. 1. 1. 
Yarely, adv. readily. Temp. 1. 1. 
T-clnd,p.p. clad. 2 H. VI. 1. 1. 
T'Ctept, p.p. called, named.- L's L's L. v. 2. 
Tearn, r.l. to grieve, vex. Merry Wives, 

III. 5; R. II. V. 5. 

Yellowness, sb. jealousy. Merry Wives, i. 3. 
Telloirs, sb. a disease of horses. Tarn, of 

S. III. 2. 
Yeoman, sb. a sheriff's oflScer. 2 H. IV. 

II. 1. 
Yield, vi. to reward. A. & C. IV. 2. To 

report. A. & C. II. 5. 
Yond, adj. and adv. yonder. Temp. I. 2. 

Znnij, sb. a clown, gull. L's L's L. V. 2. 



.a:n^ i^dex 



FAMILIAR PASSAGES IN SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS. 



Ancient and fish-like smell ....Temped 18 

All his successors M. W.of Wind. 35 

Alacrity in sinking M, ^V. of Wind. 48 

As good luck would have it 

M. W. 0/ Wind 48 

A man of my kidney. ..3f. W. of Wind. 48 

As when a giant dies Mea.Jor M. 65 

Ay, but to die and go we know not 

where Mea./or if. 65 

A mere anatomy Com. of E. BO 

A living dead-man Com. of E. 90 

A very valiant trencher-man 

Much Ado 92 

A bachelor of threescore Much Ado 93 

As merry as the day is long..3/iicft Ado 93 

Are you good men and true ? 

Much Ado 101 

A thousand blushing apparitions 

Much Ado 105 

All men's office to speak patience 

Much Ado 107 

Apollo's lute, strung with his hair 

Love's L. L. 124 

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 

Love's L. L. 132 

A proper man as one shall see 

Mid. N. D. 135 

And certain stars shot madly 

Mid. N. D. 137 
And the imperial votaress passed on.. 

Mid.N.D. 137 

A lion among ladies is a Mid. N. D. 139 

A stage where every man Jlfer. Yen. 150 

A goodly apple rotten at the heart 

3i"fr. Yen. 153 

According to Fates and Destinies 

Mer. Yen. 154 

All that glisters is not gold...3/fr. Yen. 157 

A harmless necessary cat Mer. Yen. 164 

A Daniel come to judgment-.iUer. Yen. 165 

An hour by his dial .4s You L. 177 

All the world 's a stage As You. L. 178 

884 



An ill-favored thing, sir, biit...^fi You L. 
An onion will do well for... Tarn, of S. 

And, will you, nill you Tarn, oj S. 

A woman moved is like a fountain 

troubled Tarn, of S. 

All impediments in fancy's course 

AWs Well 

At my fingers' ends Twelfth N. 

Au yo» had any eye behind you 

Twelfth N. 
An I thought he had been valiant 

Twelfth N. 
As the old hermit of Prague said 

Twelfth N. 

Another lean, unwashed artificer 

K. John 

All places that the eye of heaven 

Rich. IL 

As in a theatre the eyes of men 

Rich. IL 
A Corinthian, a lad of mettle 

iHen.IY. 

A plague of nil cowards 1 Hen. lY. 

A plague of sighing and grief 

1 Hen. IV. 
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood... 

1 Hen. IV. 

A man can die but once 2 Hen. lY. 

A valiant flea that dares Hen. Y. 

All that poets feign of. 3 Hen. YI. 

A little fire is quickly 3 Hen. VI. 

Afternoon of her best A&ys... Rich. III. 
A horse! a horse! my kingdom 

Rich. in. 

After my death, I wish no other 

Hen. VIU. 
An hour before the worshipped sun... 

Rom. <Sc J. 
At lovars' perjuries they say. .Rom. & J. 

A word and a blow ....Rom. tt J. 

A plague o' both your houses 

Rom. li /. 



Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy... 

Rom. i- J. 
A feasting presence full of light 

Rom. <t J. 
Are not within the leaf of pity 

Tim. of A. 

As proper men as ever trod Jul. C. 

A friend should bear a Jul. C. 

All his faults observed Jul. C. 

Attempt, and not the deed, confounds.. 
Macb. 

'Amen ' stuck in my throat Macb. 

A falcon towering in her pride.. 3/ac6. 

After life's fitful fever he Macb. 

A deed of dreadful note Macb. 

Air-drawn dagger Macb. 

A deed without a name Macb. 

Angels are bright still, though. ..Jfocft. 

AU the perfumes of Arabia will not... 

Macb. 

Applaud thee to the very echo...3/nc6. 

A little month or ere Ham. 

A beast that wants discourse Ham. 

Armed at pointexactly Ham. 

Angels and ministers of grace. .../fam. 

Art thou there, truepenny Ham. 

A plentiful lack of wit Ham. 

A man that fortune's buH'ets Hatn. 

A pipe for fortune's finger to Hum. 

At your age the heyday in Ham. 

Assume a virtue if you have Ham. 

A man may fish with a worm....Ka7n. 

A very riband in the cap of youth 

Ham. 
Alas, poor Yoricfe ! I knew hiva..Ham. 

A hit. a very palpable hit Ham. 

Absent thee from felicity awhile Ham. 

A poor, infirm, weak, and despised... 

K. Lear 

Ay, every inch a king! K. Lear 

Age cannot wither her. nor....47i/. & C. 
Against self-slaughter there is... .Cym. 



AN INDEX TO FA3IILIAR PASSu. 



Bettering of my mind 

r.ascless fabric of this vision... Tcmpeel 
liest men are moulded out of faults... 
Mea.JoT M. 
Benedick the married raan..Jf«c/i Ado '. 

By my penny of observation 

Lwe's L. L. '. 
Beadle to ahumorous sigh. Loi'e's L. L. 

Begot in the ventricle of memory 

Lave's L. L. ' 

Brief as the lightning Mid. N. V. 

Bless thee ! thou art translated 

Mid. N. D. 

By adventuring both. I oit.-.Mer. Yen. 

Beauty provoketh thieves. ...As You L. 

Big round tears cours'd one another... 

As You L. 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 

As You L. 

Berwixt the wind and his nobility 

1 Hen. lY. 

Brain him with his lady's fan 

1 Ben. lY. 

Banish plump Jack 1 Hen. lY. 

But in the way of bargain....! Hen. IV. 
But a shirt and ahalf inall..! Hen. IV. 

Better part of valor is discretion 

1 Hen. IV. 

Ba.<5e is the slave that pays Hen. V. 

Bid them achieve me Hen. V. 

Between two hawks 1 Hen. VI. 

By that sin fell the angels.. .//en. VIII. 

Be just, and fear not Hen. VIII. 

Baby figure of the giant mass 

TroU. & C. 

Bud bit with an envious worm 

Rom. & J. 

Bud of love Rom. <i /. 

Beggarly account of empty boxes 

Rom. & J, 

Beauty's ensign yet is crimson 

Rom. & J. 

Beware the Ides of March Jul. C. 

Between the acting of Jtil. C. 

Brutus is an honorable man Jul. C. 

But yesterday the word of Caesar 

Jul. a 

Be the serpent under 't Macb. 

Borrower of the night Maeb. 

Better be with the dead Maeb. 

By the pricking of my thumbs. ..3/a<:6. 

Be thou (amiliar, but by no Ham. 

Beware of entrance to a quarrel. .//am. 

Be somewhat scanter of your Ham. 

Brevity is the soul of wit Ham. 

Beggar that I am. I am Ham. 

Be thon as chaste as ice Ham. 

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks.. 

K. Lear 

But mice and rats and such. ...A'. Lear 

But 1 will wear my heart OtheUo 

Beware, my lord, of jealousy... OiAeto 



6^0 



Credit his own lie Temped 2 

Cross'd with adversity... ITiuo Gen. Ver. 29 

Convey, the wise it call M. W. oj W. 37 

Condemn the fault, and not the actor.. 

Mca./orM. 61 

Comparisons are odorous.. ...Sfucft Ado 103 

Condemned intoeverlasling..l/Hc/i.4rfo 107 

Care killed a cat Mueh Ado lOS 

Child of our grandmother Eve 

ioi'e's L. L. 114 

Cupid painted blind '.Mid. N. D. 135 

Conscience, say I, you counsel well ... 

Mer. Yen. 154 

Chewing the food As You L. 186 

Clubs cannot part them As You L. 1^ 

Care 's an enemy to life Twelfth N. 233 

Come the three corners of A'. John 294 

Call you that backing of your friends.. 

1 Hen. IV. 324 



Cankers of a calm world 1 Hen. IV. S 

Cause that wit is in other men 

2 Hen. IV. 3 

Consideration, like an angel, came 

Hen. V. 3 

Crammed with distressful bread 

Hen. V. 3 
Come near your beauty with my nails.. 

2 Hen. VL 4 

Corruption wins not more..//oi. YIII. 5 

Cruelty to load a falling man 

Hen. Yin. 5 

Crows to peck the eagles Coriol. 5 

Chaste a5 the icicle Coriol. 5 

Care keeps his watch Rom. & J. 5 

Cowards die many times before.../u^. C. 6 

Cry ' Havoc,' and let slip Jul. C, 6 

Confusion now hath made his. ..A/acb. 6 

Can such things be, and Macb. C 

Curses, not loud, but deep Maeb. € 

Canst thou not minister to a Macb. t 

Canker galls the infants of a .... Ham. I 
Custom more honored in the breach.. 

Ham. i 

Conscience does make cowards.. //am. ( 

Cudgel thy brains no more Ham. f 

Child Rowland to the dark tower 

A". Lear ', 

Cassio. I love thee ; but never... Othello ' 

Come, thou monarch of the vine 

Ant. & a '. 

Chaste as unsunned snow Q/mb. ' 

Die a dry death Tempest 

Dark backward and &bysui.... Tempest 

Do my spiriting gently Tempest 

Deeper than e'er plummet sounded... 

Tempest 

Deeper than did ever plummet sound. 

Tcmpe-^t 

Divinity in odd numbers.. 3/. W of W. 

Drest in a little brief authority 

Mea. for M. 

Done to death by slanderous tongues.. 

Much Ado 

Devise, wit ! write, pen !....£ot'c's L. L. 

Dan Cupid ; regent of love rhymes 

Love's L. L. 

Dainties that are bred in a book 

Love's L. L. 

Devil can cite Scripture Mer. Yen. 

Dry as the remainder biscuit 

As You L. 

Drops that sacred pity As You L. 

Do as adversaries do in law. ...Jam. S. 
Daffodils that come before.. Winter's T. 
Diana's foresters, gentlemen. 1 Ilen.IV. 

Diseased nature oftentimes breaks 

1 Hen. IV. 

Deal of skimble-skamble stuff. 

1 Hen. IV. 
Death as the Psalmist 5aith..2 //«!. IV. 
Delays have dangerous ends..l Hen. YI. 
Drunken sailor on a mast. ...Rich. III. 
Dance attendance on their..//cn. VIII. 

Dreams which are Rom. & J. 

Darest thou, Cassius, now Jul. C. 

Deep damnation of his taking off. 

Macb. 

Does not divide the Sunday Ham. 

Duller shouldst thou be than Ham. 

Doubt thou the stars are fire Ham. 

Do not saw the air too much Ham. 

Dead, for a ducat, dead Ham. 

Down, thou climbing sorrow. .A'. Lear 

Every thing advantageous to life 

Tempet^t 

Excellent dumb discourse Tern-pest 

Except I be by Sylvia Two Gen. Ver. 

Excellent to have a giant's strength... 
Mea.Jor M. 



Every true mm 

thief. 

Every one can master u j, .Jue 
Everything handsome about hin 
Much ^ 

Endure the toothache patiently 

Much Ado 
Ere the leviathan can swim..3/id. N. D. 1 

Even there where merchants 

Mer. Yen. 1 
Error, but some sober brow...3/er. Yen. 1 
Every one fault seeming monstrous... 

As You L. . 

Evermore thanks Rich. II. .' 

Eating the bitter bread of banish- 
ment Rich. II. . 

Even such a man so faint. ...2 Hen. IV. ' 

Every subjects duty is the king's 

Hen. i 

Early village cock hath twice 

Rich. Ill 

Eagle suffers little birds to sing 

Tit. And. 

Eyes, look your last Ro.n. & J 

Every room hath blazed with lights.. 
Tim. of 

Earth hath bubbles as the Mq/^o. ( 

Eaten on the insane root Meieb. ( 

Eye of newt and toe of frog Mi icb. ( 

Engineer hoist with his own petar. ,...<. 

H( -m. ( 

Egregiously an ass Othello ' 

Every inordinate cup is unblessed 

OtheUo 1 

Fill all thy bones with aches... renipcs! 
Full fathom five thy father. ...Tempi 
Fringed curtains of thine eye.. Tonpe 

Foreheads villanous low Tempe- 

Fire that's closest kept..Two Gen. Ve 
Flat burglary as ever was....3/ucft j4. 
Fellow that hath had losses..i/i«:/!.< 
From women's eyes this doctrine.. ; 
Love's L\ 
Feast of languages and stolen ^ 

scraps Love's Ic. 

For sufferance is the badge...>/er. „. 

For ever and a day As Yofy. 

For courage mounteth with occas^^ 
K-'cb. 

Fires the proud tops Ricm. 

Falstaff sweats to death 1 Hcrt^- 

Food for powder 1 Hai. 

First bringer of unwelcome news 

2 Hen. 
For my voice, I have lost it..2 Hen. 1 
Friend i' the court is better..2 Hen. I\ 

Familiar as his garter Hen. Y, 

Framed in the prodigality of nature.. 

Rich. in. i 
Farewell to all my grei.tness 

Hm. Yin. E 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck... 

Hen. YIIL 
Fool slides o'er the ice that. 2Voi7. d- C. 

Flesh, how art thou fishified 

Rom. <!• J. ; 
Flies an eagle flight, bold... . Tim. o/ .4. ( 

Fierce fiery warriors fought Jut. C. f 

Friends, Romans. countrymen..j!i(. C. ( 
Foremost man of all this world../Mi. C. i 
Forever and forever, farewell. ..^n/. C. ( 
Full o' the milk of human kindness... 

Macb. ( 

Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier Maeb. ( 

For this relief much thanks .Ham. ( 

Frailty, thy name is woman Ham. i 

Foul deeds will rise, though Ham. i 

Flash and outbreak of a fiery mind... 

Ham. t 

Find out the cause of this Hain. ( 

False as dicer's oaths Ham. ( 

885 



INDEX TO FAMILIAR PASSAGES. 



.s Ham. 692 

.1 _iwors' heads. ..i/am. 695 

torn .3 women false. .O^ftc^^o 727 

- 11 the tranquil mind Othello 736 

jod thingswillstrive todwelLTempesi 5 

ireat globe . . . shall dissolve.. Tanpcsi 13 

Good luck lies in odd numbers 

M. W. of W. 53 

Guiltier than him they try-Mea. Jor M. 59 

Gainst the tooth of time...,i/fa./<>r M. 73 

jentleman is not in your books 

Much Ado 92 

jodfathers of heaven's lights 

Love's L. L. 113 

jives to airy nothing Mid. N. D. 146 

tod made him, and therefore.i/6r. Ven, 1.52 

'ving thy sum of more ^s You L. 174 

d wine ueeds no bush... .43 You L. 189 

ef fills the room up of my..fi.'. John 285 

rehisbodytothatpleasant.JJic/i. //. 310 

> id names were to be bought 

1 Hen. IV. 317 

■e the devil his due 1 Hen. IV. 318 

■e you a reason on compulsion 

1 Hen. IV. 321 
thing, to make it too common... 

2 Hen. IV. 313 
ireadful note of preparation 

Hen. V. 377 
y, blabbing and remorseful day.. 

2 Hen. VI. 425 

me another horse Rich. III. 484 

ry, remember thy swashing 

V Horn. & J. 585 

. night! parting is such sweet 

Rom. & J. 591 

d digestion wait on appetite..jl/ac6. 6.56 

e sorrow words ! the grief.. .....Va^t). 661 

it an understanding, but no. //(im. 669 

thy thoughts no tongue Ham. 670 

us a taste of your quality. ../Ta/rt. 677 

las given you one face Ham. 679 

he world assurance Ham. 683 

y to find quarrel in a Ham. 687 

ae an ounce of civet K. Lear 716 

'ly worst of thoughts Othello 7SJ 

le the ocular proof Othello 736 

e to drink mandragora.^ln(.t& C. 752 

•nes eat up the little ones. ..Per. 807 

t dies pays all debts Tempest 11 

e-keeping youth Two Oen. Ver. 18 

is spring of love.. T^'O Gen. Ver. 21 
1 unmellowed, but his judgment. 

Two Oen. Ver. 23 

e makes sweet music. JV'o Oen. Yer. 25 

low nse doth breed Two Gen. Yer. 33 

Handsome in three hundred pounds.. 

M. W. of W. 47 

Happy man be his dole M. W. of W. 47 

1 Hen. IV. 322 

Heaven doth with us Med. for M. 56 

He was ever precise Mea.for M. 57 

He hnth indeed better bettered ex- 
pectation Much Ado 92 

How if a' will not stand? Much Ado 102 

How to cheat the devil Love's L. L. 124 

He draweth out the thread..Z,Oi'«'s L. L. 124 

His reasons are as two grains..il/er. Ven. 151 

How like a younker or a prodigal 

Mer. Ven. 156 

Hath not a Jew eyes Mer. Ven. 159 

He hath refused it in the Mer. Ven. 166 

He is well paid that is Mer. Ven. 166 

How full of briers is !.....As You L. 173 

He that doth the ravens teei.As You L. 175 

How the world wags Aa You L. 177 

Hast any philosophy in thee. As You L. 179 

He must needs go that All's Well 212 

He might have took his answer 

Twclflh N. 236 

886 



Halloo your name to the Twelfth N. 

He does it with abetter grace. Tw^/lhN. 

Here I and sorrows sit K, John 

He that stands upon a slippery. K. John 

How now, foolish rheum K. John 

How oft the sight of means K. John 

Heaven still guards the right.. ivi'cft. //. 

He was perfumed like a milliner 

1 Hen. JV, 

Honor pricks me on 1 Hen. IV. 

How this world is given to lying 

1 Hen. IV. 
He hath eaten me out of house 

2 Hen. IV. 

He was indeed the glass 2 Hen. IV. 

He hath a tear for pity 2 Hen. IV. 

Hung be the heavens with bla£;k 

1 Hen. VI. 
He dies, and makes no sign..2 Hen. VI. 

How sweet a thing it is 3 Hen. VI. 

Honest tale speeds best being plainly- 

Hieh. Ill 

Heaven that frowns on me-Rkh. III. 

Had I but served my God...7/e«. VIII. 

He gave his honors to the world 

Hen. VIIL 

He was a man of an Hen. VIIL 

He was a scholar Hen. VIIL 

Hear you this Triton of the minnows.. 
Coriol. 

His nature is too noble for Coriol. 

He that is strucken blind ... Rom. & J. 

Hangs upon the cheek of night 

Rom. & J. 

He jests at scars that Rom.&J. 

How silver - sweet sound lovers' 

tongues J?077i. & J. 

Here comes the lady Rom. & J. 

" Othello 

Honor is the subject of. Jul. C. 

Help me, Cassius Jul. C. 

He doth bestride the narrow Jul. C. 

His life was gentle Jul. C\ 

Heaven's breath smells wooingly here 
Macb. 

Hear it not. Duncan Macb. 

Hence, horrible shadow ! unreal 

mockery Macb. 

Hang out our banners on the Macb. 

Head is not more native to the. .JIam. 

Hyperion to a satyr Ham. 

He was a man, take him for Ham. 

Hold, as 't were, the mirror up... Ham. 

Here's metal more attractive Ham. 

Help, angels! make assay ! Bow-.iTam. 

Has this fellow no feeling of. Ham. 

How absolute the knave is! Ham. 

How sharper than a serpent's tooth... 
A'. Lear 

Her voice was ever soft K. Lear 

Head and front of my offending. Othello 

He that fdches from me my. Othello 

He that is robb'd not wanting...O//icMo 

He hath a daily beauty in Othello 

He wears the rose of youth. ...47i/. ct C. 
Hark ! the lark at heaven's gate. Oymb. 

I think him so because.. Two Qeiit. Ver. 
Is she not passing fair... Two Gent. Ver. 
I will make a Star-chamber matter.... 

M. W. of W. 

It is a familiar beast M. W. of W. 

If there be no great love. ..3/. ]V. of W. 
I hope, upon familiarity... 3/. W. of W. 

In his old lunes again M. W. of W. 

I hold you as a thing ensky'd 

Mea.for M. 

In time the savage bull Much Ado 

I were but little happy, if.. ..Much Ado 
I did not think I should Mve.Much Ado 

Is most tolerable and not to be 

Much Ado 



I know that Deformed Much Ado 

I never tempted her Much Ado 

Into the eye and prospect.. ..ifwcA Ado 

It adds a precious seeing to the eye.... 

Love's L. L. 

In single blessednes.s Mid. N. D. 

I will roar you gently Mid. N. D. 

In maiden meditation, fancy free 

Mid. N. D. 

I '11 put a girdle round Mid. N. D. 

I know a hank where Mid. N. D. 

I have an exposition of sleep 

Mid. N. D. 

I hold the world but as Mer. Ven. 

I am Sir Oracle Mer. Ven. 

I dote on liis very absence. ...ATer. Ven. 

I will buy with you Mer. Ven. 

I will feed fat the ancient grudge 

Mer. Ven, 

In a bondman's key, with bated 

Jfd". Ven. 

It is a wise father that Mer. Ven. 

If my gossip Report be an honest 

McT. Ven. 
If it will feed nothing elsc-.J/er, Ven. 
In law, what plea so tainted. -Jt/er. Ven. 

I am a tainted wether Mer. Ven. 

Is it so nomduated in the bond 

Mer. Ven. 

I thank thee, Jew, for Mer. Ven. 

I am never merry when Mer. Ven. 

In my youth I never did As You L. 

If ladies be but young As You L. 

I must have liberty withal. .^Is You L. 
I do desire we may be better strangers 

As You L. 
I would the gods had made thee poeti- 
cal As You L. 

It is a melancholy of mine own 

As You L. 
I had rather have a fool to..-ls You L. 
I will kill thee a hundred and fifty 

ways As You L. 

If is the only peacemaker. ...<4« You L. 
I will show myself highly fed 

Airs Well. 

Inaudible and noiseless foot of Time.. 

All's Welt 

If music be the food of love- Twelfth N. 

I am all the daughters of.. . ..Twelfth N. 

If this were played upon a stage 

Twelfth N'. 
I would that I were low laid in my 

grave A'. John 

I was never so bethumped with 

words K.John 

I saw a smith stand with his hammer. 
A'. John 

In those holy fields 1 Hen. IV, 

If all the year were playing holidays.. 

1 Hen. IV. 
I know a trick worth two.-l Hen. IV. 
It would be argument for a week 

1 Hen. IV. 

I am a Jew else 1 Hcti. IV. 

I was now a coward on instinct 

1 Hai. IV. 

In King Carabyses' vein 1 Hen. IV. 

1 am not iu the roll of common 

1 Hen. IV. 

I can call spirits from 1 Hen. IV. 

I had rather be a kitten 1 Hen. IV. 

Isawyoung Harry with his..l Hen. IV. 
I would 'twere bedtime, Hal 

1 Hen. IV. 
I could have better spared.-l Hen. IV. 
In thevawardofouryouth..2 Hen. IV. 
I'll tickle your catastrophe. 2 Hen. IV. 

If it be a sin to covet honor Hen. V. 

I eat and eat, I swear Hen. V. 

If he be not fellow with Hen. V. 

I have passed a miiierable....Aic/i. ///. 



AN INDEX TO FA3IILIAR PA, 



I have set my life upon Rich. III. 

I have touuh'd the highest point 

Hen. VTII. 

I have had my labor for. Troil. & C. 

I tlianli you for your voices Coriol. 

I do remember an apothecary 

Rom. & J. 
I '11 example you with thievery 

Tim. of A. 

It was Greek to me Jul. C. 

I am constant as the north ern..^u^. C. 

If any, speak: for him Jul. C. 

If you have tears prepare Jul. C. 

I omt- not. friends, to steal Jul. C. 

1 had rather be a dog Jul. C. 

If you can look into the seeds.. ..3/ac6. 

If it were done when 't is. Mach. 

1 have bought golden opinions.. .A/ocb. 

I dare do all that may Macb. 

If we should fail Macb. 

Is this a dagger which I Macb. 

It was the owl that shrieked Macb. 

Infirm of purpose Macb. 

I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined. .Jfa<r&. 
I'll make assurance double sure-.3/ac6. 

I cannot but remember such Macb. 

I have supp'd full with horrors...Vac&. 

I 'gin to be a-weary of. Macb. 

I bear a charmed life Mach. 

It sUirted like a guilty thing Ham. 

In equal scale weighing delight. i/am. 

It is not. nor it cannot come Ham. 

In my mind's eye. Horatio Ham. 

In the dead vast and middle Ham. 

It was, as I have seen it Ham. 

I do not set my life at Ham. 

I am thy father's spirit Ham. 

I could a tale unfold Ham. 

I know a hawk from a handsaw. //mre. 
I am myself indifferent honest.. .ifam. 

It out-Herods Herod Ham. 

It means mischief. Ham. 

It will discourse most eloquent music. 
Ham. 

I will speak daggers to her Ham. 

Is there not rain enough Ham. 

I must be cruel only to be Ham. 

Imperious Caesar, dead and turned 

Ham. 
I thought thy bride-bed to have 

decked Ham. 

I 'U rant as well as thou Ham. 

It did me yeoman's service Ham. 

Into a towering passion Ham. 

If it be now, 'tis not to come Ham. 

I have shot mine arrow o'er Ham. 

Ingratitude, thou marble - hearted 

fiend A'. Lear 

I tax not you, you elements.. ..A'. Acar 

I am a man more sinned against 

A*. Lear 

I '11 talk a word with this A'. Lear 

In faith, 'twas strange. OtkeUo 

I do perceive here a divided Othello 

I saw Othello's visage in his Othello 

I am nothing, if not critical Othello 

I am not merry; but I do Othello 

I am declined into the vale of years... 
Othello 

I understand a fury in your words 

Othello 

1 have done the state some service..... 

Othello 

It beggared all description..4n^ & Geo. 

Journeys end in lovers' meeting 

Twelfth N. 
Jove, not I, is the doer of this. Twelfth N. 

King's name twenty thousand names. 

Rich. IL 

Keen encounter of our wits.-iJirft. ///. 



King's name is atower Rich. III. 482 

Keep the word ot promise Macb. 664 

King of shreds and patches Ham. 6d4 

Library was dukedom large enough... 

Tempest 2 

Leave not a rack behind Tempest 13 

Life is rounded with a sleep... remj^esi 14 

Love hath twenty pair of ej-es 

Two Gen. Ver. 23 

Love's a mighty lord Two Gen. Ver. 23 

Like a fair house built M. H'. of W. 42 

Life is a shuttle M. W. of W. 53 

Looker-on here in Vienna-.ifea./or M. 75 

Let every eye negotiate for itself. 

Much Ado 96 

Light, seeking light, doth light 

Love's L. L. 112 

Love looks not with the eyes-ifid. JV. D. 135 

Love is blind, and lovers Mer. Yen. 156 

Let him look to his bond Mer. Ven. 159 

Let it serve for table talk Mer. Ven. 163 

Let no such man be trusted. .Afer. Ven. 168 

Look'd on better days As You L. 177 

Look into happiness through.-4s You L. 187 

Let the world slide Tam.ofS. 190 

Love a bright particular st&T..AU 's WeU 210 

Leave the wurld no copy Twelfth N. 236 

Let thy love be younger Twelfth N. 239 

Love sought is good. but..... Twelfth N. 242 

Let there be gall enough Twelfth N. 242 

Lord of our presence A'. John 280 

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale... 

K.John 285 

Let's talk of graves... Rich. II. 306 

Little better than one of the wicked... 

1 Hen. IV. 317 

Loathe the taste of sweetness 

1 Hen. IV. 329 

Leisure to be sick 1 Hen. IV. 332 

Liked not the security 2 Hen. IV. 341 

Let not the heavns hear these 

Rich. IIL 479 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at 

Hen. VIIL 502 

Like an eagle in a dove-cote Coriol. 563 

Lady, by yonder blessed moon 

Rom.&J. 591 

Loves to hear himself talk... Aom. & J. 593 

Let me have men about me Jul. C. 629 

Lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 

Jul. C. 631 

Last of all the Romans Jul. C. 645 

Letting' I dare not,' wait upon... J/acb. 651 

Life's but a walking shadow Macb. 664 

Live to be the show Macb. 664 

Lay on. Macduff, and Macb. 665 

Little more tban kin, and less.... //am. 608 

Like Niobe. all tears Ham. 668 

Let it be tenable in your silence. //am. 669 

Leave her to heaven and Ham. 672 

Let the candied tongue lick Ham. 680 

Let the devil wear black Ham. 680 

Let the galled jade wince Ham. 681 

Let the stricken deer go weep. ...i/am. 681 

Let me wring your heart Ham. 683 

Ijook here, upon this picture Ham. 683 

Lay not that flattering unction. ..J?am. 684 

Lay her i' the earth ; and from... //am. 692 

Let Hercules himself do what. ...//am. 692 
Let not women's weapons, water 

drops K. Lear 707 

Little dogs and all; Tray, Blanch 

K. Lear 711 

Let's do it after the high Roman 

A7it. tt a 771 

Misery acquaints a man Tempest 8 

Mine with my heart in "t. Tempest 10 

Melted into air, into thin aiT...Tempest 13 

Man that hath a tongue.. TV'o Gen.Ver. 26 

Wine host of the Garter,... Jlf. W. of »'. 36 



Miserable 

Men were deceivers uv^ 
Masters.itisprovedalrea ' "Itfwi. . 
Making the bold wag by ti«urprais^ 
Love's L, 
Masters, spread yourselves-J/irf. N. . 
Maidens call it love-in-idleness 

Mid. N. 

My heart is true as steel Mid. N. 

Many a time and oft in lhe...Ma: Vt 
Mislike me not for my complexion. 

Mer. Vt 

Makes a s\van-like end Mer. Vt 

My pride fell with my fortunes 

As You 

Motley 's the only wear .4s You 

Men have died . . . but not for lovf 

As You 
Men are April when they woo 

As You J 

My cake is dough Tam.oft 

My friends were poor but honest 

AW 8 Wci 
Most brisk and giddy-paced. Twelfth N. 
More matter for a May morning 

Twelfth N. 
Merry heart goes all the da.y. .Wint. " 
Mocking the air with colors... A'. Jo) 
My large kingdom for a little grave. 
Rich. I 
Mark now how a plain tale-.l Hen. IV. 

Most forcible Feeble 2 Hen. IV. 

Many strokes, though with a little 

axe 3 Hen. VI. 

My conscience hath a thousand 

Rich. IIL 
Men's evil manners live in brass 

Hen. VIIL 

More peril in thine eye Rom. & J. 

My man 's as true as steel Rom. & J. 

My bosom's lord sits Ugh tly. .JSom. 6c J. 
My poverty, but not my will. .Rom. <$: J". 
Men at some time are masters. ..Ju?. C. 

My true and honorable wife Jul. C. 

Mischief, thou art afoot Jul. C. 

Memory, the warder of the brain 

Macb. 
Methought I heard a voice cry...3/acb. 

My way of life is fallen into Macb. 

Make the night joint-laborer Ham. 

Morn, in russet mantle clad fli"" 

My father's brother, but no more. ' 
More in sorrow than in anger..../. 

Making night hideous /A 

My fate cries out. and makes Hait 

More matter with less art Ham. 

Man delights not me; no, nor.. ..Ham. 

Murder, thuugh it have no tongue 

Ham. 

My imaginations are as foul Ham. 

My offence is rank, it smells to...//a?rt. 

Made you no more offence K. Lear 

Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel, grim 

K. Lear 

Mine enemy's dog A'. Lear 

Most potent, grave, and reverend 

Othello 

My salad days, when I was green 

Ant. & a 

Nothing ill can dwell Tempest 

No ceremony that to great ones 

Mea.forM. 

Not born under a rhyming planet 

Much Ado 
Nourishment which is called supper.. 

Love's L. L. 

Nature hath framed strange fellows... 

Mti\ Ven. 

Not yet so old but she mB.j...Mer. Tni. 

Now, infidel, I have you Mer. Ven. 

887 



DEX TO FA3IILIAB PASSAGES. 



As You L. 1 

iuoKed, but they loved 

As You L. 1 
Tofit grows where is no.Tam.o/S. 1 

ling comes amiss, so money 

Tam.o/S. 1 
re's own sweet and cunning 

nd TwelJlhN. 1 

-made honor dojh forget.. A'. John 1 

■irtue like necessity Rich. II. i 

all the water in the rough rude 

I Rich. II. i 

ling can we call our own but 

Rich. IL S 
that 's past praying for..l Uen. IV. i 

nore of that, Hal 1 Hen. IV. c 

is the winter of our Rich. III. 4 

e unmusical to the Volscians' 

.rs Coriol. t 

'tis not so deep as a well 

Rom. <fc J. I 

ht's candles are burnt out 

Rom. & J. I 

A stepping o'er the bounds 

Rom.&J. ( 

t that I loved Ccesar less Jtd. C. ( 

kVeyan banners flout the aky. Macb. ( 
ling in his life became him like... 

Macb. i 
compunctious visitings of nature.. 

JIacb. i 

<or time nor place did then Macb. i 

othiugcan touch him further..il/oc6. ( 

^ow spurs the lated traveller Macb. ( 

* so sick, my lord, as. Macb. i 

ither a borrower nor a lender be.... 

Ham. I 

Tnph, in thy orisons be all Ham. i 

A to speak it profanely Ham. i 

ever set a squadron in the field 

OlhcUo 

in hinge nor loop to hang a doubt 

Olhello 
jthing extenuate, nor set down 
aught Othello 

what a world of vile M. W. of W. 

ur doubts are traitors Mca./or M. 

or compell'd sins stand more 

Mea. for M. 
■"inch, a hungry lean-face vil- 

Com. of E. 

at men dare do ! Much Ado 

uat a goodly outside, falsehood... 
Jlfer. Ven. 

, good old man As You L. 

d wonderful, wonderful, and most 

As You L. 
Omittance is no quittance.. .^s You L. 

Our cake's dough on both sides 

Tam.o/S. 

Our remedies oft in ourselves 

All's Welt 

Oft expectation fails, and most oft 

All's Well 

O, what a deal of scorn looks 

Tweffth N. 

Oftentimes excusing of a fault 

K. John 

Old John of Gaunt, time-honored 

Rich. II. 

0, call back yesterday, bid time 

Rich. II. 

Old father antic, the law 1 Hen. IV. 

Out of this nettle, danger....! Hen. IV. 
O monstrous! but one half-penny- 
worth 1 Hen. IV. 

Oldest sins the newest kind of. 

2 Hen. IV. 
O for a Muse of fire Hen. V. 

888 



Once more unto the breach, dear 

friends Hen.V. 3 

Off with his head Rich. III. 4 

O coward conscience, how dost 

Rich. in. 4 
Order gave each thing view. //en. VIII. 4 

Old man, broken with the storms 

Hcn.VlII. S 
One touch of nature makes., rroif. ct C. 5 
One fire burns out another's./iom. & J. 5 

O. that I were a glove Rom. & J. E 

O, Romeo, Romeo ! Rom. & J. T 

One. two. and the third m...Rom. Sc J. I 
One writ with me in sour misfor- 
tune's Rom. & J. £ 

O judgment! thou art fled Jul. C. f 

O. what a fall was there Jul. V. i 

O, that a man might know Jul. C. ( 

Our fears do make us traitors Macb. ( 

O, I could play the woman Macb. i 

Out, damned spot ! out. I say '....Macb. ( 

Out, out. brief candle ! Macb. i 

O that this too too solid flesh Ham. ( 

O my prophetic soul ! my uncle !.//ani. ( 

O Hamlet, what a falling o(T. Ham. ( 

One may smile and smile and....//am. I 

O day and night, but this is Ham. i 

On Fortune's cap we are not Ham. t 

O, what a noble mind is here Ham. I 

Observed of all observers Ham. 1 

One woe doth tread upon Ham. i 

One that was a woman, sir Ham. ( 

O. that way madness lies K. Lear ' 

One that excels the quirks of. ..Olhello ' 
O most lame and impotent conclu- 
sion ! Olhello ' 

0, 1 have lost my reputation Othello 

O thou invisible spirit oi wine-OtheUo 

Othello's occupation 's gone Othello 

On horror's head horrors accumulate. 

OlhcUo 

Our new heraldry Ls hands, not hearts 

Othtllo 

lago, the pity of it Ollullo 

One that loved not wisely Othello 

O, wither'd is the garland of ..^7^. <i- C. 

Plays such fantastic tricks..jyca./(?r J/. 

Pleasing punishment that women 

Com. 0/ E. 

Patch grief with proverbs. ..^/iicA Ado 

Posteriors of this day Love's L. L. 

Praising what is lost makes.. ..4^r5 Well 

Purple testament of bleeding war 

Rich. IL 

Pluck up drowned honor by the locks 
\Hen. IV. 

Play out the play 1 Hen. I V. 

Purge, and leave sack, and..l Hen. IV. 

Press not a falling man too far 

Hen. VIIL 

Past our dancing days Rom. & J. 

Put a tongue in every wound. ../ui. C. 

Present fears are less than Macb. 

Pour the sweet milk of concord. .i/ocfe. 

Pluck out the heart of my mystery .... 
Ham. 

Precious diadem stole, and put it 

Ham. 

Politician . . . one that could circum- 
vent Ham. 

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er 
you K, Lear 

Patience and sorrow strove K. Lear 

Preferment goes by letter a.nd...Otliello 

Put money in thy purse Othello 

Potations pottle deep OtFteUo 

Poor and content is rich Othello 

Pomp and circumstance of glorious 
war OtheUo 

Put in every honest hand a whip 

OUuUio 



Put out the light, and then OtltcUo 745 

Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for.. 

Cym. 786 

Queen Mab hath been with you 

Kom. & J. 6S8 

Rats instincti%'ely had quit Tempest 3 

Rich in having such a jewel 

Two Gent. Ver. 24 
Rankest compound of a villanous 

smell M. W.of W. 48 

Railed on Lady Fortune As You L. 177 

Retort courteous As You L. 189 

Rob me the exchequer 1 Hen. IV. 331 

Remember the poor creature, small 

beer 2 Hen. IV. 345 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers 

Jut. a 638 

Return to plague the inventor. ..3/ac&. 6-50 

Reckless of what I do to Macb. 655 

Rich, not gaudy ; for the apparel 

Ham. 670 

Revisit'st thus the glimpses Ham. 671 

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit Ham. &Ti 

Rich gifts wax poor when givers. .//a7n. 679 

Reason , 1 ike sweet bells jangled..//nOT. 679 

Reform it altogether Ham. 679 

Report me and my cause Ham. 695 

Still-vexed Bermoothes ..Tempest 3 

Sea-change into something rich 

Tempest 5 
Such stuff as dreams are made. Tempest 13 
Seven hundred pounds and possibili- 
ties M. W. 0/ W. 35 

Sail like my pinnace M. W. qf W. 38 

Spirits are not finely touch'd 

Mca./or M. 56 

Servile to all the skyey influences 

Mea. /or M. 64 

Sense of death is most Mea./or M. 65 

Skirmish of wit Much Ado 92 

Speak low if you speak love. J/ucft Ado 95 

Sits the wind in that comer. J/uc/i .^^0 99 
Some, Cupid kills with arrows, some.. 

Much Ado 100 

Some of us will smart for iV.Much Ado 108 

Study to break it Love's L. L. 112 

So sweet and voluble is his discourse.. 

Love's L. L. 118 
Swifter than arrow from Tartar's bow. 

Mid. N. D. 141 

So we grew together Mid. N. D. 142 

Ships are but boards Mer. Ven. 162 

Speak me fair in death Mer. Ven. 165 

Such harmony is in immortal 

Me\: Ven. 167 

So shines a good deed Mer. Ven. 168 

Speak to him, ladies ; see.. ...4s Yent L. 172 

Sweet are the uses of adversity 

As You L. 174 

Sweep on, you fat and greasy 

As You L. 175 

She has a huswife's hand.....i4s You L. 185 

Small choice in rotten apples 

Tarn. 0/ S. 193 

Such duty as the subject owes 

Tam.o/S. 209 

Service is no heritage All's Well 212 

Since I have lost, have loved. All's Well 229 
Spinsters and knitters in the sun 

Twel/thN. 239 

She never told her love Twei/lh If. 239 

Some are born great, some achieve 

Twel/lhN. 240 

Snapper-up of unconsidered trifles 

Winter's T. 26S 

Sweet poison for the age's tooth 

K. John 27« 
St. George that swinged the drasfon.... 

K. John 279 



A2v' INDEX TO FA3IILIAR PASSAGES. 



So pestered with a popiojay.l Hen. IV. 
Sfime smack ofase in yo\x...2Hen.iy. 
Sleep! O gentle sleep. Nature's soft 

nurse 2 Hen. IV. 

Sell-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin- 
Hen . V. 
Sheath'd their swords for lack-.i/m. V. 

Stand like greyhounds in the slips 

Hm. V. 
Soul of goodness in things evil../fen. V. 
She's beautiful, and therefore to be 

woo'd 1 Hen. VI. 

Smooth runs the water where 

2 Hen. VI. 

Smallest worm will turn 3 Hen. VI. 

Suspicion always haunts the 

3 Hen. VI. 
Stand back, and let the eoffin.J?!cft. ///. 
Seem a saint when most l....Rieh. III. 
So wise, so young, they sa.y...Rieh. III. 

S/)ns of Edward sleep in Bieh. III. 

Shadows to-night have struck more... 

Eirh. Ill 
Sleep in dull cold marble. ../Ten. VIII. 
So may he rest; his faults. ./fen, VIII. 
Sweet mercy is nobility's true. Tit. And. 
She is a woman, therefore Tit. And. 

.,.1 Hen. VI 

Saint-sedueing gold .Rom. & J. 

Swears a prayer or two Horn. & J. 

Stony limits cannot hold love out 

Rom. & J. 
Stabbed with a white wench's black 

eye Rom. & .1. 

St raining harsh discords an d.i?om.(ir/. 
Sharp misery had worn him. i?om. it J. 

Such men are dangerous Jxd. C, 

Seldom he smiles and Jul. C. 

Scorning the base degrees hy....Jul. C. 
Should I have answered Caius.,J«;. C. 

Sleep shall neither night nor Maeb. 

Stands not within the prospect.. 3fac6. 

Screw your courage to the Maeb. 

Shut up in measureless content..3/ac&. 

Sleep that knits up the Maeb. 

Stand not upon the order of. Maeb. 

Should I wade no more Maeb. 

Show his eyes, and grieve his heart... 
Maeb. 

Saw you the weird sisters Maeb. 

Stands Scotland where it did ''...Maeb. 

Sheeted dead did squeak and gibber.. 

Ham. 

Seems, madam ! nay. It Is Ham. 

She would hang on him, as if.. ...Ham. 

Season your admiration for a Kam. 

Springes to catch woodcocks Ham. 

Something is rotten in the Ham. 

Sent to my account Ham. 

Still harping on my daughter Ham. 

Suit the action to the word Ham. 

Some of nature's journeymen Ham, 

Shame ! where is thy blush? Ham. 

Sure, He that made us with Ham. 

So full of artless jealousy Ham. 

Striving to better, oft we mar,,. A*". Lear 

Silence that dreadful bell! OlheUo 

Swell, bosom, with thy fraught..O(/ieito 

Steep'd me in poverty to the OlheUo 

Scorn to point his slow OlheUo 

Smooth as monumental alabaster 

Othello 

Sometime we see a cloud Ant. & C. 

Some griefs are med'oinable Ojm. 

Tester I '11 have in pouch..J/. W. of W. 

Tlie king's English M. W. nf W. 

Thereby hangs a tale M. W. of W. 

As You L. 

'• Tam.of S. 

Thereby hangs a tail Othello 

Thou hast somi crotchets..ilf, W. of W. 



The world 's mine oyster. ..J/. W. of W. 
The short and the long of it. M. W. of W. 

Think of that. Master Brook 

M. IF. of W. 
Thyself and thy belongings.itfca./or.t/. 
That in the captain 's but &..Mea.for M. 

Take, O lake those lips away 

ilea, for M. 

Trust no agent Much Ado 

The most senseless and fit man 

Much Ado 
Thank God you are rid of a knave 

Much Ado 
They are not the men yon. ..Much Ado 

They that touch pitch Much Ado 

The fashion wears out more apparel.. 

Much Ado 

Th' idea of her life shall Much Ado 

That's the eftest way Much Ado 

To write me down an R&s....Mueh Ado 
Too hard a keeping oath. ..Lore's L. L. 

The boy hath sold him a bargain 

Love's L. L. 
Teaches such beauty as a woman's 

eye Love's L. L. 

They have measured many a mile 

Love's L. L. 

The course of true love Mid. N. D. 

This is Ercles' vein Mid. N. D. 

To hear the sea-maid's music 

Mid. N. D. 
Two lovely berries moulded. 3/id.A'.D. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet... 

Mid. N. D. 

The lover, all as frantic Mid. N. D. 

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy 

Mid. N. D. 
The true beginning of our end 

Mid. K D. 
The best in this kind are but shadows 

Mid. N. D. 
The iron tongue ofmitinight.Mid.N.D. 
Though Nestor swear the jest.J/er, Ven. 

There are a sort of men Mer. Ven. 

They are as sick that snrfeit..3/er. Ven. 
The villany you teach me....3/er. Ven. 
Tell me where is fancy bred.3/er. Ven. 

Thus when I shun Scylla Mer. Ven. 

'T is mine, and I will have it.Mer. TVn. 
The quality of mercy is noUMer. Ven. 

To do a great right, do Mer. Ven. 

'Tis not in the bond Mer. Ven. 

Thou Shalt have justice Mer. Ven. 

The man that hath no music. .3fcr, Ven. 

These blessed candles of the night 

Mer. Ven. 
That was laid on with a trowel 

As You L. 
Tongues in trees, books in„..4s You L. 

Therefore my age is as a As You L. 

The why is plain as As You L. 

The fair, the chaste, and unespressive 

As You L. 
Time travels in divers paces. yls You L. 
Thank heaven fasting for a good 

man's love As You L. 

Too much of a good thing. ..yls You L. 
Tush, tush ! fear boys with bugs 

Tam. of S. 

The hind that would be All's Well 

The place is dignified by the doer's 

deed All's Well 

"T is not the many oaths AU's WeU 

The webof our life is of All's WeU 

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty 

Twelfth N. 

Trick of singularity Twelfth N. 

This is very midsummer madness 

Twelfth N. 
The rain it raineth every day 

Twelfth N. 
" " " " " "....K.Lear 



To unpath'd waters, undrcam'd 

shores Winter's T. 

Talks as familiarly of roaring lions.... 
K. John 

Thou wear a lion's hide K. John 

To gild refined gold J5.'. John 

This England never did nor.. .if. John 

The tongues of dying men Rich. II. 

The ripest fruit first falls Rich. II. 

Thou hast damnable iteration 

1 Hot. IV. 

'Tis ray vocation, Hal 1 Hen. IV. 

There 's neither honesty 1 Hen. 1 V. 

The blood more stirs to rouse a lion... 

1 Hen. IV. 
Three misbegotten knaves„l Hen. IV. 
Tell truth and shame the devil 

1 Hen. IV. 
Take mine ease in mine inn.l Hen. I V. 
Two and two, Newgate fashion 

1 Hen. IV. 
This sickness doth infect....! lien. IV. 
Two stars keep not their motion 

1 Hen. IV. 
This earth that bears thee dead 

1 Hen. IV. 

Thou didst swear to me 2 Hen. IV. 

Thus we play the fools 2 Hen. IV. 

Thy wish was father, Harry ..2 Hen. IV. 

That's a perilous shot Hen. V. 

This day is call'd the feast of. .Hot. V. 
Then shall our names familiar.Hcn. V. 
There is occasions and causes.. Hen. V, 
Thrice is he armed that hath. 2 Hen. VI. 

The bricks are alive 2 Hen. VI. 

Thou hast most traitorously. 2 Hen. VI. 
Things ill got had ever bad success.,.. 

3 Hen. VL 

Thus I clothe my naked villany 

Rich. in. 
Thou troublest me ; I am not.Rich. III. 
Their lips were four red Toses- Rich. III. 

Tetchy and wayward was thy 

Rich. in. 

Thus far Into the bowels of the 

Rich. Ill 
True hope is swift, and Ries..Rich. III. 
Thingdevised by the enemy, BioA. III. 
'T is better to be lowly born. Hen. VIII. 

'Tis well said again Hen. VIII. 

Then to breakfast with what appetite. 

Hen. Vin. 
Time hath, my lord, a wallet. Troil.& C 
Things in motion sooner catch 

Trail. & C. 

The end crowns all Trail, d C. 

That book in many's eyes. ...iJom. & J. 

Too early .seen unknown Rom. & J. 

Too like the lightning which. ifom.it J. 

Thy old groans ring yet Rom.&J. 

Taking the measure Rfrm. & J. 

The world is not thy friend... 'om.&J. 
'T is lack of kindly warmth..Tim. of A. 

The livelong day Jul. C. 

There was a Brutus once JtU. C. 

Think you I am no stronger Jul. C. 

The Ides of March are come Jul. C. 

The choice and master spirits. ..JwZ, C. 
Though last not least in love.,.,/u(, C. 

Thou art the ruins Jul. C. 

The most unkindest cut of all,.. J^u?, C. 

To have an itching palm Jut. C. 

There is no terror. Ca.ssius Jul. C. 

There is a tide in the affairs Jid. C. 

This was the noblest Roman Jul. C. 

To win us to our harm Maeb. 

Two truths are told Maeb. 

Time and the hour runs through. jV(Ic6. 
There 's no art to find the mind's. jl/ac6. 
This castle hath a pleasant seat.. il/nei. 
There's husbandry in heaven.... Vneh. 
Thou marshall'st me the way Maeb. 

889 



AN INDEX TO FAMILIAR PASSAGES. 



Thy very stones prate ilacb. 

The labor we deliKht in Macb. 

They placed a fruitless crown.... J^facb. 

Things without all remedy Macb. 

They are asf^ailable Macb. 

Thou canst not say I did It Macb. 

Thou hast no speculation Macb. 

Take a bond of fate Macb. 

The flighty purpose never is o'ertook. 

Macb. 

Throw physic to tlfe dogs Macb. 

This bodes some strange eruption 

Ham. 
Then, they say, no spirit dares.. .Kam. 
Trappings and the suits of woe. .//am. 

That it should come to this Ham. 

Thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked 

meats Ham. 

To thine ownself be true Uam. 

The air bites shrewdly Uam. 

To the manner born Ham. 

There needs no ghost Ham. 

There are more things in heaven. i/am. 

Time is out of joint Ham. 

This is the very ecstasy of love. ..//am. 

'T is true, 'tis pity; and pity Ham. 

Though this be madness Ham. 

There is nothing either good Ham. 

'Twas caviare to the general Ham. 

They are the abstract and Ham. 

The devil hath power to assume.//ani. 

To be or not to be Ham. 

The glass of fashion and the Ham. 

The very age and body of Ham. 

Though it make the unskilful laugh.. 

Ham. 

Thou art e'en as just a man Ham. 

The lady protests too much ifam. 

'Tis as easy as lying Ham. 

They fool me to the top of my....i/am. 
'Tisnow thevery witching time.//am. 

This is the very coinage Ham. 

There's such divinity doth hedge 

Ham. 
There 's rosemary, that 's for remem- 
brance Ham. 

The hand of little employment.. //am. 

The age is grown so picked Uam. 

To what base uses we may Ham. 

'T were to consider too curiou.sly. //am. 
Though I am not splenitive and rash. 

Uam. 
There 's a divinity that shapes. ..//am. 

There's a special providence Ham. 

This fell sergeant, death, is Ham. 

Tremble, thou wretch A'. Lear 

Take physic, pomp, expose thyself.... 

^ K. Lear 

'T is a naughty night to swim... A'. Lear 

The prince of darkness is a A'. Lear 

The worst is not so long as we... A'. Lear 
Through tattered clothes, small vices 

do A'. Lear 

The gods are just, and of our... A'. Lear 

The wonder is, he hath endured 

K. Lear 
The robbed that smiles, steals.. .0(te(to 
That men should put an enemy. Othello 

To be once in doubt is once Othello 

Trifles light as air are to the Jealous... 

Othello 

This denoted a foregone conclusion... 

Olhdlo 

To beguile many, and be beguiled 

Othello 

They laugh that win Othello 

'Tis neither here nor there Othello 

This is the night that either Othello 

There's beggary in the love that 

Ant. & C. 

This morning like the spirit of. 

Ant. 6: C. 

890 



'T Is slander, whose edge is sharper.... 

Cym. 787 

The game is up Cym. 787 

Uncertain glory of an April day 

Two Gen. Ver. 21 

Unless experience be a jewel 

M. W. 0/ W. 42 

Unlettered small knowing soul 

Love's L. L. 114 

Under the greenwood tree. ....Is You L. 176 

Uneasy lies the head 2 Hen. IV. 360 

Under which king, Besonian? 

2 Hen. IV. 362 

Upon what meat doth this Jul. C. 629 

Unhand me, gentlemen Ham. 671 

Use every man after his desert... //07n. 677 

Unpack my heart with words. ...//am. 678 

Undiscovered country from Uam. 678 

Upon this hint I spake Othello 725 

Unused to the melting mood.... Othello 747 

Virtue is bold, and goodness 

Mea.foT M. 66 
Vile squealing of the wry-necked fife. 

Mer. Ven. 166 
Very good orators when they are out. 

As You L. 184 

Villanous company 1 Hen. IV. 330 

Very pink of courtesy Rom. & J. 593 

Violent delights have violent ends 

Horn. S: J. 594 

Villain and he be many miles 

Kom.&J. 599 
Vaulting ambition which o'erleaps.... 

Macb. 650 

Vile blows and buffets of. Macb. G55 

Where the bee sucks Tempest 15 

Woman's reason Two Gen. Ver. 19 

We burn daylight M. W. of W. 39 

What the dickens his name.Af.W.o/ IT. 44 

What a taking was he in. ..3/. W. of W. 46 

Why, all the souls that were.3/ea./ar M. 62 

Weariest and most loathed. i/f a. for M. 65 

What 's mine is yours Mea.for M. 77 

Wretched soul bruised with adversity 

Com.nfE. 80 

When the age is in, the wit is out 

Much Ado 104 

Wliat we have, we prize not.Mucfi Ado 105 
What great men have been in love?... 

Love's L. L. 114 
Within the limit of becoming mirth... 

ioi'e's L. L. 116 

What fools these mortals he-.Mid. N. D. 141 

Why should a man whose blood 

Mer. Ven. 151 

When you have them, they..3/fr. Ven. 151 

When 1 had lost one shaft. ...3/tT. Ven. 151 

When did friendship take. ■ 3fer. Ven. 153 

Whether those peals of praise. .1/er. Ttfn. 160 
Wouldst thou have a serpent sting...... 

Mer. Ven. 164 

We'll have a swashing and.yls You L. 174 

We shall ne'er be younger.... Tam. of S. 192 

Would take her with all faults 

Tam.ofS. 193 

Whose words all ears took captive 

AU's WeU 229 

Wherefore are these things hid 

Twelfth N. 234 

Woman, take an elder than.. Twelfth N. 238 

What's her history ? Twelfth N. 239 

Windy side o' the law Twelfth N. 244 

What is the opinion of Pythagoras 

Twelfth N. 247 

Whirligig of time brings m..Turlfth N. 250 

When you do dance, I wish... Wint. T. 265 

When Fortune means to men. .AT. John 285 
We cannot hold mortality's strong 

hand A'. John 287 



Who can hold a fire in his band 

Rich. II. 
What doth gravity out of his bed 

1 Hen. IV. 
With all appliances and means 

2 Hen. IV. 
We have heard the chimes..2 Hen. IV. 

Winding up days with toil Hen. V. 

Warwick, peace, proud setter-up 

3 Hen. VL 
Woman in this humor woo'd? 

Rich. III. 

World is grown so bad Rich. III. 

What pain it was to drown. ./i/cA. ///. 

Welcome ever smiles, and farewell.... 

Troll. & C. 

Where dwellest thou ? Coriol. 

Weakest goes to the wall Rom. & J. 

When King Cophetua loved. /2oJtt. & J. 

What's in a name? Rom. & J. 

Was ever book containing. ../?om. & J. 

White wonder of dear Juliet's hand... 

Rom. & J. 

We have seen better days Tim. of A. 

We '11 do any thing for gold.. Ttm. of A. 
When I tell him he hates flatterers 

Jul. a 
VThen beggars die there are do. .Jul. C. 

Who is here so base Jul. C. 

When that the poor have cried../M?. C. 
What private griefs they have.../«^ C. 

When love begins to sicken Jid. C. 

Whether we shall meet again. ..Ju?. C. 

When shall we three meet Macb. 

What are these, so withcr'd Macb. 

What thou wouldst highly Macb. 

Wine of life is drawn Macb. 

We are men, my liege Macb. 

We have scotch'd the snake Macb. 

When the brains were out the... J/acb. 

What man dare. I dare Macb. 

What, will the line stretch out...Macb. 

What, all my pretty chickens Macb. 

What's done cannot be undone. .3/ac&. 

Where got'st thou that goose look? 

Macb. 

We'll die with harness on Mach. 

Whether in sea or fire, in earth. .//am. 
While one with moderate haste..//am. 

While memory holds a seat Uam. 

Within the book and volume Uam. 

What a piece of work is a man. .//am. 

What's Hecuba to him, or he Uam. 

With devotion's visage and pious.//am. 
What form of prayer can serve...//am. 

We know what we are, but Uam. 

When sorrows come, they come..//am. 
What imports the nomination of this. 
Uam. 
Whip me such honest knaves... OfArfto 
Wealthy curled darlings of our na- 
tion Olfiello 

When I love thee not. Chaos is come.. 

Othello 
Who steals my purse, steals trash 

OthcUo 
Who does i' the wars m.0Te....Anl. ct C. 
Weariness can snore upon the flint.... 

C(/mb. 

You shall comprehend all vagrom 

3Iuch Ado 
You have too much respect.. 3/er. Ven. 

You take my house Mer. ]'en. 

Yet words are no deeds Hen. VIII. 

Ye gods, it doth amaze me Jul. C. 

Yond Cassius hath a lean Jul. C. 

Your face, my thane, is as a book Macb. 
You have displaced the mirth.....l/ac6. 
Yet who would have thought.. ...1/nc6. 
You must wear your rue with. ...//am. 
Y'our name is great in mouths. .0(/n«o 




ALPHABETICAL INDEX 

TO THE 

CHAEACTEES IN SHAKESPEAEE'S PLATS. 



PAGE 

Anron, a Moor Tit. And. 564 

Abbot «/■ Wcsttnlnater Rich. II. 295 

Abhor.sun, a.n executioner.iVea. /or SI. 56 

J6i'a7iam, sen'ant to Montague 

Rom. <fc J. 584 

Achilles, Grecian commander 

Trail. S: C. 510 

^rfa>?t, servant to Oliver .4s You L. 170 

Adrian, a Neapolitan lord-.-.Tempe^f 1 
Adriana, wife to Antipholus of 

Ephesus. Com.oJ E. 78 

.Sgeon, a merchant of Syracuse 

Com. of E. 78 

JEmilia, wife to .j;geon Com. o/ £. 78 

.i'lHiViiis.a noble Roman.... TA And. 564 

JEneus, a Trojan commander 

Trail. & C. 510 

-4cra»ie/nrton, Grecian general 

Trail. & C. 510 

Agripi>ii, friend to Csesar int. & C. 748 

.-l./«ijr, (.Jreciau commander. Troi/.d* C. 510 

.Uarbti.i, sou to Tamora Tit. And. 664 

Alcibiades, an Athenian general 

Tim. of A. 60S 

Alex. Iden, a Kentish gentleman 

2 Hen. VI. 410 

Alexander, servant to Cressida 

Trail. & C. 510 

.ilexas, attendant on Cleopatra 

Ant. & a 748 
Alice, a lady attendant on the Prin- 
cess Katharine of France Hen. V. 361 

.4Jo»i*o, kingof Naples Tempest 1 

Imbassadoi-s, to kg. Eng Hen. V. 364 

intiens, lord atteudiug on the ban- 
ished duke As You L. 170 

Aiulruiuache, wife to Hector 

TroU. & a 510 

Angela, a goldsmith Com. of E. 78 

Angela, duke of Vienna's deputy 

ilea, far M. 56 

Angus, a Scottish nobleman Slacb. 647 

e Bullen, afterwards queen 

Hen. VIII. 486 
An old widow of Florence. All 's Well 210 

teiii'r, a Trojan commander 

Trail, d- C. 510 
ti'Sfoii us, a Sicilian lord, n'mffr's T. 251 

Antioehus, king of Antioch iV. 803 

4ntiphal,is of Ephesus,} twin 
4.ntiphvlus of Syracuse, j brothers. 

Cbm. 0/ £. 78 

IntoHio, brother to Leonato 

Much Ado 92 
t nton io, brother to Prospero. Tempest 1 

t.ntonio, friend to Sebastian 

Tuidfth y. 232 



Antonio, father to Proteus 

7«'0 Gen. Ver. 

.4«toHio, a merchant of Venice 

Her. Yen. 

Apeniantus, a churlish philosopher. 

Tim. of A. 

Apothecary Rom. & J. 

Archbishop of Canterbury ..Hen. V. 

Archduke of Austria A'. John 

Archibald, Earl Douglas...! Hen. IV. 

Archidanius, a Bohemian lord 

Winter's T. 

Ariel, an airy spirit Tempest 

Artetnidarus, a sophist Jul. C. 

.4rf /ml', nephew to King John. iT.JoATi 
Arviragus, son to Cymbeline....CVm. 
Audrey, a country wench. .v4s You L. 
AuUtlycus, a rogue Winter's T. 



Bagot, servant to king Rich. II. 

JBalthasar,servsint to Portia.iVer. Yen. 

Halthazar, a merchant Com. of E. 

Balthazar, Don Pedro's servant 

Much Ado 
Baltkasar, servant to Romeo 

Rom. & J. 

Banquo, a Scottish general Macb. 

Baptista, a. genl[eia&n of Padua 

Tarn, of S. 
Bardolph, follower to Falstaff. 

1 Hen. IV. 
Bardolph, follower to Falstaff. 

2 Hen. IV. 
Bardolph, follower to Falstaff. 

M. W. of W. 
Bardolph, formerly servant to Fal- 
staff Hen. V. 

Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner 

Mea.forM. 
Bassanio, friend to Antonio.iVer. Yen. 
Basset, of the Red Rose faction 

1 Hen. VI. 

Bassianus, brother to Saturninus.... 

Tit. And. 

Bastard of Orleans 1 Hen. VI. 

Bates, a soldier Hen. V. 

Beatrice, niece to Leonato.. JIfucA .4<io 

Belurius, a banished lord ....Cym. 

Benedick, a young lord of Padua 

Much Ado 
Benvolio, friend to Romeo.. iJom. & J. 

Berkeley Rich. III. 

Bernardo, a Danish officer Ham. 

Bertram, count of RousUlon 

AlVs Well 
Beds, a follower of Cade...2 Hen. VI. 



Bianea, daughter of Baptista 

Tarn, of S. 

Bianea, & courtesan Othello 

Biondello, servant to Lucentio 

Tarn, of S. 

iJiron, attending on King Ferdinand. 

Love's L. L. 

Bi.thop of Lincoln Hen. VIII. 

Bishop of Winchester 1 Hen. VI. 

Bishop of Ely Hen. V. 

Bishop of Carlisle Rich. II. 

Blanch, niece to King John. .A'. John 
Bolinybrake, a conjurer... .2 Hen. VI. 

Bona, sister to the French queen 

3 Hen. VI. 
B&rachio, follower of Don John 

Much Ado 

Boult, a servant Per. 

Bottom the Weaver Mid. N. D. 

Boy, servant to Bardolph, etc. .//en. V. 
Boyet, attending on the Princess of 

France Love's L. L. 

Brabantio,&Yeneti&n senator Othello 

Brandon Hen. VIIL 

Bullcalf, a recruit 2 Hen. IV. 

Bushy, servant to king Rich. II. 



C<7irAnMs,a Scottish nobleman. .Vocb. 

Coins Tit. And. 

C'niKxlMcin»,a Roman general. Ci/m. 

Cains Marcius Coriolanus... Canal. 

C<i/i(>fm, servant to Prospero.. Tempest 

Calchas, a Trojan priest.... Trail. & C. 

Calpurnia, wife to Caisar Jul. C. 

Catnillo, a Sicilian lord.... Winter's T. 

Canidius, lieut. -general to Antony... 
Ant. i- C. 

Caphis, a servant Tint.af A. 

Captain of Band of Welshmen 

Rich. II. 

Capucius, an ambassador..//cn. VIII. 

Capulet, an Italian noble. ..Jt;o7w. ct J. 

Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Win- 
chester 2 Hen. VI. 

Cardinal Campeius Hen. VIII. 

Cardinal Wolsey Hen. VIIL 

Cardinal JPandulph, Pope's legate. 
K. John 

Cardinal Bourchier, archbishop of 
Canterbury Rich. III. 

Casca, conspirator against Ctesar 

■Jul. C. 

Cassio, Othello's lieutenant Otlidlo 

Cassius, conspirator against Ca;.sar... 

Jul. a 

Cassandra, a prophetess... Troii. d: C. 

891 



INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN THE PLAYS. 



Celia, daughter to Duke Frederick- 
's You L. 

Ceres, a spirit Tempest 

CcHtnoHf a lord of Epliesus Per. 

Hiartes the Wrestler As You L. 

(Jmrles, dauphin, afterward king of 

France 1 Hen. VI. 

Clinrles VI., king of France. Hen. V. 
Chtirmian, attendant on Cleopatra.. 

Ant. & a 

Clmiillon, French ambassador 

K, John 

CMroH, son to Tamora Tit. And. 

Chorus Hen. V. 

Christopher Sly, a drunken tinker.. 

Tarn, of S. 
Cliristopher Urswick,& priest 

Jiich. III. 

Cicero, a senator Jul. C. 

Cinnn, a poet Jul. C. 

Cintia, conspirator against Cffisar 

Jul. C. 

Clarence's son Rich. III. 

CliiuUio, a young gentleman 

Mea. for M. 
Claudio, a favorite of Don Pedro 

Much Ado 
Claudius, servant to Bmtus....Jui. C. 

Claudius, king of Denmark Ham. 

Clrmniues, aSicilian lord. irm^er's T. 

Clrim, ^'overnor of Tarsus Per. 

Ctcopatra, queen of Egypt.. /I n(. <fc C 

ditus, servant to Brutus Jul. C. 

Ctoteit, step-son to Cymbeline.... Cym. 

Clown Ant. & C. 

C'/««'», servant to Mrs. Overdone 

Mea. for M. 

Gown, reputed brother to Perdita 

Winter's T. 

Clown All 's Well 

Clown, servant to Lady Olivia 

Twelfth N. 

Clown, servant to Othello Othello 

Cobweb, a fairy Mid. N. D. 

Coininius, a Roman general... C>rtoi. 
Conrade, follower of Don John 

Much Ado 

Constable of France Hen. V. 

Constance, mother to Prince Arthur. 

A'. John 

Cordelia, daughter to Lear. ..A'. Lear 

Corin, a shepherd As You L. 

Cornelius Ham. 

Cornelius, a physician Cym. 

Costard, a clown Love's L. L. 

Countess of Auvergne 1 Hen. VI. 

Countess of liousillon All* 8 Well 

Court, & soldier Hen. V. 

CraHwter, archbishop of Canterbury. 

Hen. VIII. 
Cressida, daughter to Calchas 

Trail. & C. 
Cromwell, servant to Wolsey 

Hen. VIII. 

Curnn,a. courtier A'. Lear 

Curio, attendant on Duke Orsino 

Twelfth N. 
Curtis, servant to Petruchio. Tam.ofS. 
Cynibcline, king of Britain Cjjm. 



J><i»*<irt«i»i«, servant to Brutus. J7ii. C. 627 

Vai'ii, servant to Shallow.. 2 Hen. IV. 339 

Daughter of Antiochus Per. 803 

Decius Brutus, conspirator against 

Civsar Jul. C. 627 

Delphobns, son to Priam... Troil. & C. 510 

Demetrius Ant.& C. 748 

Demetrius Mid. N. D. 133 

Demetrius, son to Tamora.. Tit. And. 561 

Dennis, servant to Oliver. .^s You L. 170 

Dercctas, friend to Antony..yl«(. <& C, 748 

892 



Desdrmona, wife to Othello... Ottrito 
Diana, daughter of an old widow of 

Florence All's Well 

Diana, goddess Per. 

J>icft «Ae /JMfc/ter, a follower of Cade. 

2 Hen. VI. 

Diomedes, attendant on Cleopatra.... 

Ant. & C. 

Diomedes, Grecian commander 

Troil. & a 

Dion, a Sicilian lord Winter's T. 

Dionyza, wife to Cleon Per. 

Dogberry, a constable Much Ado 

Doctor K. Lear 

Doctor Dutts, physician to King 

Henry Hen. VII L 

Doll Tcar-sheet,&strUTQpet.2Hen.IV. 
Dolahella, friend to Ca;sar...^ii(. di C. 
Domitius JEnobarbus, friend to An- 
tony Ant. & a 

Donalbain, son to Duncan Macb. 

Don Armado Love's L. L. 

Don John, bastard brother to Don 

Pedro Much Ado 

Don Pedro, prince of Arragon 

Much Ado 

Dorcas Winter's T. 

Dr. Caitis, a French physician 

M. W. of W. 
Dronhio of Ephesu8,'[ twin 

Dromio of Syracuse, i hroihers 

Com. of E. 

Duchess of Gloucester Rich. II. 

Duchess of York Rich. II. 

Duchess of York, mother to King 

Edward \\'.,&.c Rich. IIL 

Duke of Albany A'. Lear 

Duke of Alen^on 1 Hen. VL 

Duke of Aumerle, son to Duke of 

York Rich. II. 

Duke of Austria K. John 

Duke of Bedford, brother to King 

Henry V Hen. V. 

Duke of Bedford, uncle to King 

Henry VI 1 Hen. VL 

Duke of Bourbon Hen. V. 

Duke of Buckingham, of the king's 

party 2 Hen. VI. 

Duke of Buckingham Rich. IIL 

Duke of Buckingham....Hen. VIII. 

Duke of Burgundy A'. Lear 

Duke of Burgundy Hen. V. 

Duke of Burgundy 1 Hen. VI. 

Duke of Clarence's daughter 

Rich. IIL 

Duke of Corntvall A'. Lear 

Duke of Exeter, uncle to King 

Henry V Hen. V. 

Duke of Exeter, of the Lancaster 

party : 3 Hen. VL. 

Duke of Florence All's Well 

Duke of Gloucestcr,'bTOihGT to King 

Henry V Hen. V. 

Duke of Gloucester, uncle to King 

Henry VI 1 Hen. VL 

Duke, living in exile As You L. 

Duke of Milan, father to Silvia 

Two Gen. Ver. 
Duke of Norfolk, of the duke of 

York'.s party 3 Hen. VI. 

Duke of Norfolk Rich. IIL 

Duke of Norfolk Hen. VIIL 

Duke of Orleans Hen. V. 

Duke of Somerset, of the Lancaster 

party 2 Hen. VI. 

Duke of Sofnerset, of the Lancaster 

party 3 Hen. VL 

Duke of Suffolk, of the king's party. 
2 Hen. VL 

Duke of Suffolk Hoi. VIIL 

Duke of Surrey Rich. 11. 

Duke of Venice Mer. Ven. 



Duke of Venice Othello 722 

Duke of York, cousin to King Henry 

V Hen. V. 3&4 

Dull, a constable Love's L. L. 112 

Dumain, attending on King Ferdi- 
nand Lovers L. L. 112 

Duncan, king of ScoUand Macb. 617 



Earl of Cambridge, conspirator 
against King Henry V Hen. V. 

Earl of Essex K. John 

Earl of Gloucester A'. Lear 

Earl of Kent A'. Lear 

Earl of Northutnberland...Rich. II. 

Earl of Northumberland, enemy 
to King Henry IV 2 Hen. IV. 

Earl of Northumberland, of the 
king's party 3 Hen. VL 

Earl of Oxford, of the king's party. 
3 Hen. VL 

Earl of Oxford Rich. III. 

Earl of Pembroke A"". John 

Earl of Pembroke, of the duke of 
York's party 3 Hen. VI. 

Earl JJifrrs, brother to the queen of 
Edward IV Rich. III. 

Earl of Salisbury K. John 

Earl of Salisbury Rich. II. 

Earl of Salisbury Hen. V. 

Earl of Salisbury 1 Hen. VI. 

Earl of Salisbury, of the Y'ork fac- 
tion 2 Hen. VL 

Earl of Suffolk 1 Hen. VL 

Earl of Surrey 2 Hen. IV. 

Earl of Surrey Rich. IIL 

Earl of Surrey Hen. VIII. 

Earl of Warwick, of King Henry 
IV.'s party 2 Hen. IV. 

Earl of Warwick Hen. V. 

Earl of Warwick 1 Hen. VL 

Earl of Warwick, of the Y'ork fac- 
tion 2 Hen. VL 

Earl of Warwick, of the duke of 
York's parly 3 Hen. VL 

Earl of Westmoreland, friend to 
King Henry IV 1 Hen. IV. 

Earl of Westmoreland, of King 
Henry IV.'s party 2 Hen. IV. 

Fnrl of Westmoreland Hen. V. 

Earl of Westmoreland, of the king's 
party 3 Hen. VI. 

Edgar,sor\ to Gloucester K. Lear 

Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester.. 
A'. Lear 

Edmund, earl of Rutland, son to the 
Duke of York 3 Hen. VL 

Edmund of Langley, duke of York, 
uncle to King Richard 11. ..Rich. 11. 

Edmund Mortimer, earl of March.. 
1 Hen. IV. 

Edmund Mortimer, earl of March.. 

1 Hen. VL 
Edward, son of duke of Y'ork 

2 Hen. VL 
Edtpard, prince of Wales..3 Hen. VI. 
Edward, afterwards King Edward 

IV.,sontothedukeofY'ork.3H«i. 1'/. 
Edward, prince of Wales, son to 

King Edward IV Rich. IIL 

Egeus, father to Hermia....il/id. N. D. 

Eglamour, agent to Silvia 

Two Gen. Ver. 

Elbow, a constable Mea. for M. 

Eleanor, duchess of Gloucester 

2 Hen. VL 

£7inor, mother of King John. A'. JoAn 

£Jisn6et/i, queen of King Edward IV. 

Rich. TIL 

Emilia... Winter'.'< T. 

Emilia, wife to lago Olhellt^' 

English Doctor Maeb> 



ki<^ 



INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN THE PLAYS. 



kros, friend to Antony Ant.& C. 748 

i.'srn.ies, a lord of Tyre Per. 803 

I'scatus, iomt deputy with Angelo... 

' Slea.JorM. 56 

EscnlttSf prince of Verona.. iiowi. & J. 6S4 

Euphrottitis, an ambassador 

Anl. it a 748 



I 



f 



Fabian, servant to Olivia... 7V'rf/W N. 

JFantjt a ^herifl"'s officer 2 Ben. IV. 

Father that has killed hi.i son 

3 Hen. VI. 

Feeble, a recruit 2 Ben. IV. 

Fentvn M. W. of W. 

Ferdinand, son to the king of 

Naples Temped 

Ferdinand, king of Navarre, 

Lov^s L. L. 

Fextr, a cIovTi Twetflh N. 

Flaminius, ser%-ant to Timon 

Tim. of A. 
Flavins, steward to Timon. Tim. of A. 

Flavins, a tribune Jiil. C. 

Fleauce, Banquo's son Macb. 

21orise[,sonofPolixeues..Winter's T. 

Fluellen Htn. V. 

Flute, a bellows-mender... .Mid. .V. D. 

Fool A'. Lear 

Ford M. W.nf W. 

Foriinbras, prince of Norway. .iJam. 

Francisca, a nun Mea.for M. 

Francisco, a Danish soldier Ham. 

Frn n Cisco, a Neapolitan lord. Tempest 
Frederick, brother to the banished 

duke As Yuu L. 

Frinr ,Tohn, a Franciscan..i?a7n. & J. 

Friar Laurence, a Franciscan 

Eoin. & J. 

Friar T^ancis Much Ado 

Froth, a foolish gentleman. Jfea./or M. 



Gad.shill, a.ttiief. 1 Hen. IV. 

Gallus, friend to Cjesar Anl. <t- C. 

Gardiner, bishop of Winchester 

Hen. VIII. 
Garter King^at^aryns.... Hen. VIII. 

Geffrey FitZ'Feter, earl of Esses 

K. John 
General of French forces. 1 Hen. VI 
Getttletvoman, Lady Macbetb's at- 
tendant Macb. 

George, duke of Clarence, son to the 

duke of York 3 Hen. VI. 

George, duke of Clarence, brother to 

King Edward IV Rieh. III. 

Gertrude, queen of Denmark.. .i/oTTi. 

Ghost of Hamlet's father flam, 

Goncril, daughter to Lear K.Lear. 

Gonzalo, counsellor to the king 

Tempest 

Governor of Sarfleur Hen. V. 

Governor of Paris 1 Hen. VL 

Gower, of King Heury IV.'s party.... 
2 Hni. IV. 

Grn^er Ben. V. 

Gower, or Chorus Per. 

Grandpri, a French lord ... Ben. V. 

GratiOHo, brother to Brabantio 

Olhello 

Gratiano, a friend to Bassanio 

Mer. Ven. 

Gravedigger, first ,. Ham. 

Gravedigger, second Ham. 

Green, creature to King Richard 11.. 
Rich. IL 

Gregory, servant to Capulet 

Rom. & J. 

Grcmio, suitor to Bianca...7'am. of S. 

Griffith, usher to Queen Katharine... 

Htn. VIIL 



Gruniio, servant to Petruchio 

Tarn, of S. 190 

Guiderins, son to Cymbeliue....O/m. 775 

Giiildenstern Bam. 666 

Hamlet, prince of Denmark Ham. 666 

Harcourt, of King Henry IV.'s party, 

2 Hen. IV. 339 

Hecate .Vac5, 647 

Hector, son to Priam Ti-oil. & C. 510 

Helen, wife to Menelaus....3Voi7. & C. 510 

Helen, woman to Imogen Ci/m. 775 

Helena, in love with Count Bertram, 

Atfs Well 210 

Helenas, son to Priam TroU.ik C. 510 

Helena, in love with Demetrius 

Mid.N.D. 133 

Helieanus, a lord of Tyre Per. 803 

Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, after- 
wards King Henrj- IV Rieh. II. 295 

Henry, prince of Wales, son of King 

Henrj- IV 1 Hen. IV. 316 

Henry, prince of Wales, afterwards 

King Henry V 2 Hen. IV. 339 

Henry Percy, son to earl of North- 
umberland Rieh. II. 295 

Henry Percy, earl of Northumber- 
land 1 Ben. IV. 316 

Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur.... 

1 Hen. IV. 316 
Henry, earl of Richmond..3 Ben. VI. 434 
Henry, earl of Richmond, afterwards 

King Henry VII Rieh. IIL 458 

Herniia, in love with Lysander 

Mid. N. D. 133 

Hemiione Winter's T. 251 

Hero, daughter to Leonato..ilfKcft Ado 92 
Hippotyta, queen of the Amazons... 

J/id. N. D. 133 

Holland, a follower of Cade 

2 Ben. VI. 410 
Holofernes, a schoolmaster 

Love's L. L. 112 

Horatio, friend to Hamlet Bam. 666 

Hortensio, suitor to Bianca. Tarn. ofS. 190 

Hortensius, a servant Tim. of A. 608 

Host of the Garter Inn.M. W. of W. 35 

Hubert De Burgh K.John 275 

Hume, a priest 2 Hen. VI. 410 

Humphrey, duke of Gloucester 

2 Hen. VL 410 

Hymen As I'ou L. 170 

lachimo, a friend to Philarlo....CVn, 775 

Jff^o, Othello's ancient Othello 722 

Jwoi/t'n, daughter to Cjinbeline.O/m. 775 

Iras, attendant on Cleopatra..4n(. & C. 748 

Iris, a spirit Tempest 1 

Isabella, sister to Claudio..Jfta. /or M. 56 

Isabel, queen of France Hen. V. S&J 

.Tack Cade, a rehel 2 Ben. VI. 410 

James Gurney, servant to Lady 

Faulconhridge K. John 275 

Jainy, an officer in King Henry's 

army Ben. V. 361 

.laquenettn Lore's L. L. 112 

Jaqxtes, a misanthropical lord 

As You L. 170 

.Taqxtes.'bTOXhGT to Orlando. ^5 I'ou X, 170 

t/pssirrt, Shylock's daughter.,VfT. TW. 1.50 

Jeweller Tim. of A. 608 

.loan la Pucelle, commonly called 

Joan of Arc 1 Ben. VI. 389 

John Seaufort, earl, afterwards 

duke, of Somerset 1 Hen. VI. 389 

John of Gaunt, uncle to King Rich- 
ard II Rieh. IL 295 

John Mortonjbishop of Ely.fitcft.///. 458 



John Talbot, son of earl of Shrews- 
bury \Hen. VL 380 

Julia, beloved by Proteus 

Two Gent. Ver. 18 

Juliet, beloved by Claudio.i/fa. for M. ^ 

Juliet, daughter to Capulet.Kom. <t- J. b!^l 

Julius Cersar Jnl C. 627 

Junii€s Sruttis, tribune of the peo- 
ple Coriol. 536 

Juno, a spirit Tempest 1 



Katharina, the Phrew Tarn, of S. 190 

Katharine, daughter of Charles VI., 

king of France Ben. V. 364 

Katharine, a lady attendant 

ioir's L. L. 112 

King Fdward IK Rich. IIL 458 

Kiiiii of France i'. Lear 69« 

King of France All's Well 2ie 

King Henry IV. of England 

1 Ben. IV. 318 
King Henry IV. of England 

2 Ben. IV. 3S9 
Ki">i<7 Henry V. of England.Ben. V. 3M 

\Ben.VL a'S 

■IBen.VL 410 

3iTCTl.r/. 4.'}4 

Ben.VIIL 486 

K.John 275 



King Henry VI. 
King Henry VI. 
King Henry VI, 
King Henry VIII. 
King .Tohn 

King Lear of Britain K. Lear 698 

King Richard II. Rich. II. 295 



lady Anne, wife to the duke of 

Gloucester Rieh. IIL 

lady Capulet, wife to Capulet 

Rom. & J. 
lady Faulc<ynbridge,ra(A\ieiT to the 

Bastard and R. Faulconhridge 

K. John 

Zady Grey, queen to Edward IV 

3 Ben. VL 

lady Macbeth Mach. 

lady Macduff. Macb. 

Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 

Rom. d' J. 

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Owen 

Glendower 1 Hen. IV. 

lady yorthumberland...2 Ben. IV. 

lady Percy, Hotspur's wife 

1 Ben. IV. 

lady Percy 2 Ben. IV. 

I.aertes, son to Polonius Bam. 

lafeu, a satirical old loTd..All 's Well 

launce, servant to Proteus 

Two Gent. Ver. 

launcelot Gobbo, Shylock's servant, 

Mer. Ven. 

Lavinia, daughter to Titus Androni- 

cus Tit. And. 

le Beattx, a courtier As Ycu L. 

Lennox, a Scottish nobleman. ...Wacb. 

Leonine, a servant Per. 

Leonardo, sevx&ut to Bassanio 

Mer. Ven. 

ieoiiafo, governor of Messina 

Much Ado 
Leonatus Posthumus, husband to 

Imogen Cim. 

Leontes, king of Sicilia.... Winter's T. 
XoreH«o, in love with Jessica. Jf^. Ten. 

Letris. the dauphin A'. John 

Lewis, thQ dauphin. Ben. V. 

I>wis XI., king of France..3 Ben. VI. 

Lieutenant of Tower 3 Ben. VI. 

Ligariits, conspiTa.toT against Caesar, 
Jul. a 

Lodovico, kinsman to Brabantio 

Olhrtro 
Longarille, attending on King Fer- 
dinand Love's L. L. 

893 



INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN THE PLAYS. 



Z^ird Aberffaveiiny Beit. VIIT. 

Xord Jinrdolph, enemy to King 

Henry IV 2 Hen. IV. 

Xftrd JierkHey Rich. II. 

Jjord Bifjot K. John 

Lord Chamberlain Hen. VIII. 

Lord Chancellor Hen. VIII. 

Lord Chief rfustice of the Kinff's 

Bench 2 Hen. IV. 

Lord Cliffordf of the king's party.... 

2 Hen. VI. 
Lord Clifford, of the king's party... 

3 Hen. VI. 

Lord Fitzwater Rich. II. 

Lord Grey, son to Edward IV.'s 

queen Rich. 111. 

Lord Hastings, enemy to King 

Henry IV 2 Hen. IV. 

Lord Hastings, of the duke of 

York's party 3 Hen. VI. 

Lord Hastings Rich. III. 

Lord Lovel Rich. Ill 

Lord Marshal Rich. II. 

Lord Mayor of London. ..Rich. III. 
Lord Mowbray, enemy to King 

Henry IV 2 Hen. IV. 

Lord Mivers, brother to Lady Grey.. 
3 Hen. VI. 

Lord Boss Rich. II 

Lord t^ands Hen. VIII 

Lord Say 2 Hen. VI. 

Lord Scales, governor of the Tower. 

2 Hen. VL 

Lord Scrooji, conspirator against 

Henry V Hen. V. 

Lord Stafford, of the duke of York's 

party Z Hen. VI. 

Lord Stanley Rich. III. 

Lord Willoughby Rich. II. 

Luce, servant to Adriana... Com. oj E. 
Lucentio, in love with Baptista's 

daughter Tarn, of S. 

Lucetta, waiting-woman to Julia 

Two Gen. Ver. 
Liiciana, sister to Adriana. Cam. o/£ 

Liicillns, friend to Brutus Jul. C. 

Lucilius, servant to Timon. Tim. of A. 

Lticio, a fantastic ilea, for M. 

Lucius, a boy Tit. And. 

Lucius, flatterer of Timon.. Tm.o/yl. 

Lucius, a servant Tim. of A. 

Lucius, servant to Brutns Jul. C. 

Lucius, son to Titus Andronicus 

TU. And. 
X/ucullus,i\&tteTeTotTlmon.Tim.ofA. 

Lychorida, unrse to Marina Per. 

Lysander, in love with Uermia 

Mid. N. D. 

Lysintachus, governor of Mitylene. 

fcr. 



JU. Antony Ant.S: C. 7-18 

M. .Emil. Lepidus, a triumvir.,/«(.C. 627 

M, JEniil. Lepidus, a triumvir 

Anl. & C. 748 
Macbeth, a Scottish general, after- 

"■"r-'.s king of Scotland Macb. 647 

■iff, a Scottish nobleman..J/f«-6. 647 

tff'sson Macb. 647 

orris, an officer in King 

y'sarmy Hen. V. 364 

'lit, son to Duncan, king of 

md Macb. 647 

io, steward to Olivia 

Twelflh N. 232 

/iMj!,sonofLeontes. n'mter'sT". 251 

las, a Danish officer Ham. 666 

w, -son to Coriolanus Coriol. 536 

9 Andronicus, brother to 

Andronicus Til. And. 564 

t Antunius, a triumvir.^zi/.C. 627 
«94 



Marcus Brutus, conspirator against 

Cffisar JiU. C. 

Mardian, attendant on Cleopatra 

Ant. & a 

Margarelon, bastard son of Priam... 

Troil. & a 

Margaret, married to King Henry 

VI 1 Hen. VI. 

Margaret, queen to King Henry VI. 

2 Hen. VI. 
Margaret, queen to King Henry VI. 

3 Hen. VL 
Margaret, queen to King Henry VI. 

Rich. Ill 

Margareti La.dy Hero's attendant.... 
Mtich Ado 

Margaret ,Tourdain, a witch 

2 Hen. VI. 

Maria, a lady attendant.. ioi'c's L. L. 

Maria, Olivia's waiting-woman 

Twelfth N. 

Mariana, betrothed to Angelo 

Mea.forM. 

Mariana AU's Well 

ilfnWjin, daughter to Pericles Per. 

Marquis of Dorset, son to King Ed- 
ward IV.'s queen Rich. III. 

Marquis of Montague, of the duke 
of York's party 3 Hen. VI. 

Marshal Per. 

Martlus, son to Titus Andronicus.... 
Tit. And. 

Marullus Jul. C. 

Master Crunner of Orleans, and 
his son 1 Hen. VI. 

Master Page M. W. of W. 

Mayor of London 1 Hen. VI. 

Mayor of Yorh 3 Hen. VL 

Mectenas, friend to Csesar...j4»!(. <fc C. 

Melun,& French lord K. John 

Menas, friend to Pompey.....4n(. & C. 

Menelaus,\iToiiiev to Agamemnon... 
Troil. & C. 

Menenius Agrippa, friend to Corio- 
lanus Coriol. 

Menteith,& Scottish nobleman. J/ac6. 

Menecrates, friend to Pompey 

Ant. & a 

Mercade, attending on the princess 
of France Love's L. L. 

Merchant Tim. of A. 

Mercutio, friend to Romeo. J?om. it J. 

Messala, friend to Brutus Jul. C. 

Metellus Ciniber,conspir&tor against 
Caesar Jul. C. 

Miranda, Prospero's daughter ' 

Tciitpest 

Montague, an Italian noble. Rom. S: J. 

Montano, formerly governor Of Cy- 
prus Otlielio 

Montjoy, a French herald Hen. V. 

Mopsa Winter's T. 

Mortimer's keeper 1 Hen. VI. 

Morton, a domestic to the duke of 
Northumberland 2 Hen. IV. 

Moth, a fairy Mid, N. D. 

Moth, page to Armado Love's L. L, 

Mouldy, a recruit 2 Hai. IV. 

Mowbray, duke of Norfolk..iJicA. II. 

Mr. Ford, a gentleman of Windsor... 
M. W. of W. 

Mr. Page, a gentleman of Windsor.. 
M. W. of W. 

Mrs. Anne Page, in love with Fen- 
ton .\...M. W. of W. 

Mrs. Ford M. W.of W. 

Mrs. Overdone, a bawd. ..iUea. /or M. 

Mrs. Page M. W. of W. 

Mrs. Quickly, servant to Dr. Caius... 
M. W. of W. 

Mrs. Quickly, hostess of tavern in 
Eastcheap „ 1 Uen. IV. 



Mrs. Quickly 2 Hen. IV. 

Mrs. Quickly Hen. V. 

Mustard'seed, a fairy Mid. N. D. 

Mutius T'U. And. 



Portia's waiting-woman 

Mer. Ven. 150 

Aeitor, Grecian commander 

Troil. & C. 

irse to .Tuliet Rom. & J. 581 

Xytn, followerof Falstaffi.X W. of W. 35 

Xym, formerly ser\'ant to p'alstaff. 

2 Ben. IV. 



06rroii,king of the fairies.ilfid. N. D. 

Octavia, sister to Csesar Ant.d C. 

Octm-ius Cwsar,B. triumvir. ...Jul. C. 

Octavius Ctesar, a triumvir..i4ni. & C. 

Old Gobbo, lather to LauncelotGobbo. 

Mer. Ven. 

Old lady, friend to Anne Bullen 

Hen. V-IIL 
OW»ia»i,tcnanttoGloucester.A'. £car 
Old. shepherd, father to Joan la Pu- 

celle 1 Hen. VI. 

Old shepherd, reputed father to Per- 

dita Winter's T. 

Olivia, a rich countess Twelfth N. 

Oiitfer, brother to Orlando.. i4s You L. 
Ophelia, daughter of Polonius..lfam. 

Orlando, in love with Rosalind 

As You L. 

Orsino, duke of Illyria Twelfth iV. 

Osrie, a courtier Ham, 

Oswald, servant to Goneril....i'. Lear 

Othello, a Moor Othello 

Owen Olendowcr, a Welsh chieftain. 
1 Hai. IV. 



Page, a follower of Falstaff..2 Hen. IV. 

Painter Tim. of A. 

Pandar,a, and wife Per. 

Pandarus, uncle to Cressida 

Troil. & C. 

Fanthino, serv'ant to Antonio 

Two Oen. Ver. 
Paris, in love with Juliet. ..iJom. & J, 

Paris, son to Priam Troil, & C, 

Parolles, a braggart All's Well 

Patience, woman to Queen Katha- 
rine Hen. VIII. 

Patroclus, Grecian commander 

Troil. <t C. 

Paulina Winter's T. 

Peaseblossom, a fairy. Mid. N. D. 

Pedant Tarn, of S. 

Perdita Winter's T. 

Pericles, prince of Tyre Per. 

Peter, a friar Mca.for M. 

Peter, Horner's servant 2 Hai. VI. 

Peter of Pom fret, a prophet..A'. John 
Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse 

Rom. & J. 
Peto, follower to Falstafr....l Hen. IV. 

Peto 2 Ilcn. IV. 

Petruchio, a suitor to Katharina, 

Baptista's daughter Tarn. ofS. 

Phebe, a shepherdess As You L. 

Phitario, friend to Posthumus...C^7B. 
Philemon, servant to Cerimon.... Per. 

Philip, king of France A'. John 

Philip Faulconbridye, bastard son 

of King Richard I K. John 

Philo, friend to Antony Ant. d- C. 

Pltilostrate, master of the revels 

Mid. N. D. 

Philotus, a servant Tim. of A. 

Phrynia, mistress to Alcibiades 

Tim. of A. 



510 , 

251 \ 



19oi 



INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN THE PLAYS. 



finch, a sclioolmaster Com. qf E. 

^imlarus, s^ervant to Cassius. ./ui. C. < 
l2>i».i « io, sun-ant to Postliumus.. Cym. ' 
fpi.v(o(,foUuvrertoFalstaff...V.ir.o/IF; 

J>,,(„/ -2 Hen. IV. : 

Bristol, formerly servant to Falstaff... 
r Ben. V. : 

Players ^<'™- ' 

Poet Tim.ufA. i 

Foins, a companion to the Prince of 

Wales 1 -H^^"- -f ^- ' 

p„i„s 2 Hen. IV. : 

Polixenes, king of Bohemia 

Winter's T. \ 

rolonius, father of Ophelia Ham. 

Ponipey, a servant— ilea, for II. 

Popilius Lena, a senator Jul. C. 

Porter Macb. 

Jfortia, a rich heiress iler. Ven. 

Portia, wife to Brutus Jul. C. 

PrtatMjking of Troy Trail. & C. 

Priest Ham. 

Prince of ArrnffOn iter. Ven. 

Prince Henry, son to King John 

K. John 
Prince Humphrey of Gloucester, 

son of King Henry IV 2 Heti.IV. 

Prince John of Lancaster, son of 

King Henry IV 1 Hen. IV. 

Prince John of Lancaster, son of 

King Henry IV 2 Hen. IV. 

Prince of Morocco Mer. Ven. 

Princess of France Love's L. L. 

Procuteiiis,iiiend to Caesar..^;i«.<t C. 

Prospero, banished duke of Milan... 

Tempest 

Proteus, a gentleman of Verona. 

Two Gen. Ver. 

Provost ilea, for M. 

Pnl/liiis, a senator Jul. C. 

Publius, son to Marcus Andronicus.. 

Tit. And. 

Puck, a fairy Hid. y. D. 



Queento King JtichardZI.Rich.il. 
^iueen Katharine, wife to Henry 

VIII Hen. VIII. 

Queen, wife to Cj-mbeline Cym. 

IJuince, the carpenter Mid. X. D. 

Quintus, son to Titus Andronicus 

Tit. And. 



JfamftKf-ps, a French lord Hen. V. 

Pegan, daughter to Lear K. Lear 

lieignier, duke of Anjou...l Hen. VI. 

Jteynaldo, servant to Polonius..i3am. 

Richard, duke of Gloucester, son to 
the duke of York 3 Hen. VI. 

Sichard, duke of Gloucester, after- 
wards King Richard IIl...JiicA. ///. 

PichardPlantayenet,(iukeoi York. 

1 Hen. VL 
£ic?iardPlntitagenet,dn]xeolYoTk. 

2 Hen. VL 
Si€hard Plantayenetfdnke of York. 

3 Hen. VL 
Piehard, son of duke of York 

2 Hen. VI. 
Sichard, duke of Y'ork, sou to King 

Edward IV Rich. IIL 

Boftert Bi"</of,earlof Norfolk.i'. Jo/in 

Pobert I'aulconbridge A'. Juhn 

Pobin, page to Falstaff il. W. of W. 

Jtodtrigo, a Venetian gentleman 

Othtllo 
Pomeo, son to Montague.. ..iSom. & J. 
i2o«fi/i«d, daughter to the banished 

duke As You L. 

Jio«a{(ue, a lady attendant 

Loie'^s L. L. 



6(56 



Posencrants Ham. 

Boss, a Scottish nobleman Macb. M' 

Sugby, senant to Dr. Caius 

M. W. of w. 3; 
Bumor. 2 Hen. IV. 33! 



Salanio, friend to Bas.«anio,Jfer. Ven. 150 
Salarino, friend to Bassanio.-Ver. Ven. 150 

Salerio, a messenger Mer. Ven. 150 

Sampson, servant to Capulet 

Rom.&J. 5St 

Saturninus, emperor of Rome 

TU.And. 651 

Scarus, friend to Antony Ant. & C. /-IS 

Scotch doctor .....Jfacb. W" 

Scroop, archbishop of York.l Hen. I V. 316 
Scroop, archbishop of Y'ork, enemy to 

King Henry IV 2 Hai. IV. 339 

Sea'captain,tnend to Viola 

Twelfth N. 232 

Sea-caj>tain 2 Hen. VI. 410 

Seftasfmn, brother to king of Naples. 

Tempest 1 
SebnstiatiybTOlhev to Viola. Twelfth N. 232 

SeiewcH*, attendant on Cleopatra 

Ant. Sc C. 748 

Sempronius, flatterer of Timou 

Tim. of A. 608 

Sempronius Tit. And. 564 

Scr»Hiu»,servanttoTimon.Km.o/.J. 608 

Sextus Pom2>eius Ant.<t C. 748 

Seyton Macb. 647 

Shadou; a recruit 2 Hen. IV. 339 

SAnKoir,a countryjustice..V. W. of W. 35 
Shallow, a country juslice.2 Hen. IV. 339 

Sheriff of Wiltshire... Rich. IIL 458 

Shyloclc,a.Jevf Mer. Ven. 150 

Siciniua Velutus, tribune of the peo- 
ple Coriol. 536 

Silence, a country ]ustice...2 Hen. IV. 339 

Siliu.s, an oflScer AnL & C. 748 

Silvia, beloved by Valentine 

Two Gen. Ver. IS 

Silvius, a shepherd As i'ou L. 170 

Simoniiles, king of Pentapolis.... Per. 803 

Simjtcox, an impostor 2 Hen. VI. 410 

Simpcox's urife 2 Hen. VI. 410 

Simple, servant to Slender 

M. W. of W. 35 
Sir Andreiv Aguecheck... Twelfth X. 232 

Sir Anthony Denny Hen. VIII. 486 

Sir Henry Guildford Hen. VIII. 486 

Sir Hugh Evans, & Welsh parson.... 

M. W. of W. 35 
Sir Hugh Mortimer, uncle to the 

duke of York 3 Hen. VL 431 

Sir Humphrey Stafford...! Hen. VI. 410 

Sir James Blount Rich. III. 458 

Sir James Tyrrel Rich, III. 458 

Sir John CoU-ville, enemy to King 

Henry IV 2 Hen. IV. 339 

Sir John Palstaff. M. 11'. of W. 35 

Sir John Palstaff. 1 Hen. IV. 316 

Sir John Falstaff. 2 Hen. IV. 339 

Sir John Fastolfe 1 Hen. VL 389 

Sir John Montgomery 3 Hen. VI. 434 

Sir John Mortimer, uncle to the 

duke of York 3 Hen. VL 434 

Sir John Somerville 3 Hen. VI. 434 

Sir John Stanley 2 Hen. VI. 410 

Sir Michael 1 Hetl. IV. 316 

Sir Xathayiiel, a curate. .lore's L. L. 112 

Ail- Sicholas Taux Hen. VIIL 4S6 

Sir Oliver Martext As You L. 170 

Sir Pierce of Extnn Rich. II. 295 

Sir K. Brakenbury, lieutenant of 

the Tower Rich. IIL 458 

Sir Richard Batcliff. Rich. IIL 458 

Sir Bichard Vernon 1 Hen. IV. 316 

Sir Stephen Scroop Rich. II. 295 

' Sir Thomas Erpingham Hal. V. 361 



Sir Thomas Gargrave 1 Hen. VL i 

Sir 77iomn»Orey (Conspirator against 

King Henry V Htm. V. ! 

Sir Tliomas Lovell Hen. VIII. '. 

Sir Thomas Vaughan Rich. III. '. 

Sir Toby Belch, uncle to Lady 

Olivia Twelfth N. : 

Sir Walter Blunt, friend to King 

Henry IV 1 Hai. IV. '. 

Sir Walter Herbert Rich. IIL ■ 

Sir William Catesby Rich. IIL 

Sir William Glansdale....! Hen. VI. 

Sir William Lucy 1 Hen. VI. 

Sir William Stanley 3 ^en. VL 

Stu'ard, English general Macb. 

A7eHder,cousintoShallow.J/.B'.o/Tr. 
Smitli the weaver,a, follower of Cade. 

2 Hm. VL 
Snare, a sheriff's officer....2 Hen. IV. 

Snout the tinker Mid. A'. D. 

Snug the Joiner Mid. N. D. 

Solimis, duke of Ephesus... Com. of E. 
Son that has killed his father.. 

3 Hen. VI. 

Soothsayer Jul. C. 

Soothsayer Ant. dt C. 

Southwell, a priest. 2 Hen. VI. 

Speed, servant to Valentine 

Two Gen. Ver. 

Sjtirit 2 Hen. VL 

Starcfling the tailor Mid. A'. D. 

Stiphano, a drunken butler.. Tonpesl 
Stephana, ser^&'at to Portia.. Jfei-. Ten. 

Strata, servant to Brutus Jul. C. 

Surveyor to Duke Buckingham.... 
Hen. VIIL 



Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury..! Hen . VI. 
Tamora, queen of the Goths. Tit. And. 
T««n«, lieutenant-general to Ccesar. 
Ant. & C. 
Tliaisa, daughter to Simonides... Per. 

Thaliard, a lord of Antioch Per. 

Tliersites, a scurrilous Grecian 

Troil. & C. 
Theaetis, duke of Athens. ..Jfid. A'. D. 
Thomas Beaufort, duke of Exeter.. 

1 Hai. VL 
Tliomas, duke of Clarence, son of 

King Henry IV 2 Hai. IV. 

Thomas, & friar Mea.for M. 

Thomas Horner, an armorer 

2 Hai. VL 
Tliomas Percy, Earl of Worcester.... 

1 Hen. IV. 
Tliotnas Botherham, archbishop of 

Y'ork Rich. IIL 

Tliree witches Macb. 

Tliurio, in love with Silvia 

Two Gent. Ver. 

Tliyreus, friend to Csesar Ant & C. 

Timandra, mistress to Alcibiades 

Tirn. of A. 

Time as Clwrus Wijit^s-T. 

Timon, an Athenian noble. Tim. of A. 

Titania, qneen of the fairies 

Mid. N. D. 

Titinius, friend to Brutus Jul. C. 

Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman.. 
Til. And. 

Titus Zartt««, a Roman general 

Coriol. 

Titus, a servant Tim. of A. 

Touclistone, a clo\vn As You L. 

Iranio, servant to Lucentio ^..... 

Tam.ofS. 
Travers, a domestic to duke of North- 
umberland 2 Hen. IV. 

Tre6oni«»,consplrator against Caesar. 



Tressel.. 



895 



INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN THE PLAYS 



Trlncii' ', a jester Tempest 1 

Trailii v, Mm to Priam Trail. & C. 510 

a->ib„l, iijfw Mer. Yen. 150 

Tullus AiijidiitSf Volsciau general... 

Coriol, 536 

Tutor to niitlnnd 3 Ilcn. VI. 434 

Tu'oGi-ntlrtneHf prisoners with duke 

of Suffolk 2 Uen. VI. 410 

Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet 

Eom. & J. 534 



Ulysses, Grecian commander 

Trnil. & a 510 
Ursula, Lady Hero's attendant 

Much Ado 92 



Valentine, a gentleman of Verona... 

Tu-o Gen. Ver. 18 
FaZ€Htutf,attendant ou Duke Orsino. 

Twelfth N. 232 



ralentine TU. And. 

F«£eri«, friend to Virgilia Coriol. 

Varrtus ilea, for M. 

Varrius, friend to Pompey..Ant. it C. 

Vtrrro, sen'ant to Brutus Jul. C. 

Vattx 2 Hen. VI. 

Ventidius Tivi. of A. 

J'<;n(jdtK«, friend to Antony. 4»(. & C. 
Verges, an officer of the watch 

iluch Ado 
Vernon, of the White Rose faction.... 

1 Hen. VI. 
Fi'nof «(io,duke of Vienna. 3/ea./orJf. 
Vincentio, a gentleman of Pisa 

Tam.ofS. 
Viola, in love with Duke Orsino 

Twelfth N. 

Violentn AlVs Well 

Virifilin, wife to Coriolanus....0>riio2. 

J'oltiniand, a courtier Ham. 

J'olumnia, mother to Coriolanus 

Coriol. 



Voluninius, friend to Brutus.., 



Walter Whitmore 2 Hen ■ 

Wart, a recruit 2 He/' . 

WilUuui, in lore with Audrey.. . 

As IV •. 
William Zonysjvord, earl of b.i 

bury ■. K. .J 

William Mareshall, earl of i'- . i 

broke K. j <\t. 

William. Stafford 2 Hen. \ f 

Williams, a soldier Hei^ V 

Woodville, lieutenant of the To- ' ■ 
IHei 



Toung Cato, friend to Brutus ' 

Jul. C. C27; 
Toutig Clifford, of the king's party.. 

2 Hen. VI. 410( 
Toung Sitcard Macb. &iT. 




L3Ag'04 



- 



